#it IS an old navy coat actually

[mycological-mariner]

Wool coats are literally the best inventions in the world. Standing in a cold, wet field for 3 days and I’m unbothered, I’m dry, I’m comfy. I live next to the sea and around this time of year the weather gets Wild. Besides the ocean spray, the mist from the river, there’s hale, pelting rain and chronic Dampness. But when I’m in my big Navy peacoat, I’m untouchable. Comfy, warm, it’s 20lbs, dries easily and the best invention ever

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her. Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

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Authors note: Thank you for the love so far on this fic! I’ve spent a lot of time on it and I love sharing it with you! Please comment and let me know what you think! I’m about 4 chapters ahead so I’ll update as much as I can!💜

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Masterlist

Chapter 3

The Auction

*Fifteen Years Later*

Captain Kim Hongjoong of the infamous pirate vessel ATEEZ adjusted his hat lower over his eyes as he entered Halazia's eastern auction house. The cavernous building stank of perfumed wealth mingling with human fear—a scent he recognized from countless similar establishments across a dozen ports. Behind him, Quartermaster Park Seonghwa moved with characteristic silent grace, his elegant attire belying the deadly weapons concealed beneath his finely tailored coat.

"I despise these places," Seonghwa murmured, voice pitched for Hongjoong's ears alone. His face maintained the bored expression expected of wealthy buyers, while his eyes continuously scanned for threats.

"We're only here for information," Hongjoong reminded him. Their actual purpose was intelligence gathering about shipping routes—specifically, vessels owned by the Southern Trade Company. "One hour, then we leave."

Fifteen years had transformed the frightened cabin boys of The Crimson Serpent into men feared throughout the maritime world. At twenty-three, Hongjoong commanded not just his ship but a reputation that made naval captains alter course at the mere rumor of the ATEEZ's black sails on the horizon. His slender build and youthful features often led enemies to underestimate him—a fatal mistake many had not lived to repeat.

Seonghwa, tall and imposing at his side, had perfected an air of elegant menace that served their purposes well in places like this. His immaculate appearance and cold eyes suggested aristocratic danger—a man comfortable in society's highest circles yet capable of ordering executions between sips of fine wine.

They moved deeper into the auction house, nodding to merchants who recognized them only by reputation and gave them wide berth. The ATEEZ's unusual code was well known in maritime circles: they never harmed children, attacked slave ships rather than merchant vessels, and left distinctive compass marks on the foreheads of slave traders they encountered. This last practice had earned them the nickname "The Compass Crew" among frightened traders.

"Southern Trade Company representatives?" Hongjoong asked quietly as they claimed seats near the back of the room.

Seonghwa inclined his head slightly toward a cluster of well-dressed men near the auctioneer's platform. "Navy blue jackets with gold buttons. Victor Blackwell himself doesn't appear to be present."

Hongjoong nodded, memorizing faces for future reference. Victor Blackwell, owner of the Southern Trade Company, had risen to prominence in the slave trade over the past fifteen years. His name had appeared with increasing frequency in their investigations, though the man himself remained elusive.

"The auction begins in twenty minutes," Seonghwa noted, consulting his pocket watch. "We should have sufficient time to observe their bidding patterns and identify key vessels before departing."

"Agreed." Hongjoong shifted in his seat, uncomfortably aware of the small object nestled in the custom-sewn inner pocket of his captain's coat. For fifteen years, he had carried Mr. Hugs with him to every port, every auction house, every place where slaves were bought and sold. The teddy bear had become both talisman and conscience, a constant reminder of their unfulfilled promise.

Today was no different. Their annual return to Halazia always included visits to auction houses, following the slim possibility that they might find some trace of a girl long since grown to womanhood—if she had survived at all. After fifteen years of searching, hope had worn thin, but the obligation remained.

"We should begin considering alternatives," Seonghwa said, continuing a conversation they'd had many times. "Wooyoung's intelligence network has expanded significantly. Perhaps centralized record searching rather than physical presence would be more efficient."

Hongjoong didn't respond immediately. The same thought had occurred to him with increasing frequency. Fifteen years of searching auction houses and slave quarters had yielded nothing. The little girl they had known was now twenty, if she lived. Her appearance would have changed beyond recognition. Even her name might be different, slave owners often renaming their property to erase former identities.

Yet something kept him returning to these despised places, something beyond rational strategy. Perhaps it was simply that he couldn't bear to break their blood oath by admitting defeat.

"After today's auction," he finally conceded. "We'll discuss it with the others."

Seonghwa nodded, recognizing the significance of this small surrender. Before he could respond further, a bell rang, signaling the auction's commencement.

The auctioneer, a corpulent man in expensive but ill-fitting clothes, took his position on the platform as the first "merchandise" was brought forward—a middle-aged man with the muscled build of a dockworker, his eyes downcast as his physical attributes were described in clinical detail.

Hongjoong observed the Southern Trade Company representatives, noting which items drew their interest and which they ignored. The pattern confirmed their intelligence: the company was focusing on specialized labor, particularly those with maritime skills, likely for their expanding shipping fleet.

The auction proceeded with mechanical efficiency, human beings reduced to commodities with listed attributes and prices. Hongjoong maintained his impassive expression through years of practice, though the familiar weight of Mr. Hugs against his chest seemed heavier with each sale concluded.

"We have what we need," he murmured to Seonghwa after thirty minutes. "Their purchasing pattern is clear."

Seonghwa nodded slightly. "Two more lots, then we leave without drawing attention."

As they prepared to depart, the auctioneer's voice cut through the general murmur of the crowd.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, we come to our premium offering."

Something in his tone—a particular inflection of anticipated profit—made Hongjoong pause. The crowd's attention sharpened perceptibly as a young woman was led onto the platform.

"Observe," the auctioneer continued, "a domestic servant of exceptional quality. Twenty years old, healthy, literate, and trained in household management, music, and languages. Suitable for the finest households requiring a presentable, well-mannered addition."

Hongjoong's attention drifted from the auctioneer's patter to the woman herself. Unlike previous lots who stood with defeated postures or rebellious tension, she maintained a quiet dignity—back straight, eyes forward but unfocused, as if mentally elsewhere despite her physical presence.

Something about her struck him as vaguely familiar, though he couldn't identify what. Her features were delicate, framed by dark hair pulled severely back. Her simple dress, clearly provided for the auction, hung on a frame too thin for true health but not emaciated.

As he studied her, a strange sensation washed over him—not recognition exactly, but a curious pull, like a half-remembered dream. He found himself absentmindedly touching the pocket where Mr. Hugs rested, a gesture he hadn't consciously initiated.

"Note the excellent condition," the auctioneer continued, gesturing as if presenting a prize animal. "Previous owner was a gentleman merchant who maintained his property with care. No physical marks, no history of rebellion or escape attempts."

The audience murmured appreciatively, several potential buyers leaning forward with increased interest. The Southern Trade Company representatives conferred briefly before one raised his hand to signal interest.

"We'll begin the bidding at five hundred gold pieces," the auctioneer announced.

Bids came quickly, the price climbing as several wealthy merchants joined the competition. The woman on the platform remained expressionless, though Hongjoong noticed her eyes moving systematically across the room—not seeking assistance, but cataloging exits, noting guard positions, assessing threats. It was a behavior he recognized from his own crew when entering potentially hostile situations.

"Something's wrong," Seonghwa whispered, noticing Hongjoong's intense focus. "What is it?"

Hongjoong shook his head slightly, unable to articulate the strange sensation tugging at him. "I'm not sure."

The bidding continued, narrowing to three serious contenders—the Southern Trade Company representative, a nobleman in imported silk, and a naval officer whose insignia marked him as captain of a merchant vessel.

"Fifteen hundred," called the nobleman.

"Sixteen hundred," countered the naval officer.

"Eighteen hundred," the Southern Trade Company representative responded smoothly.

The woman's systematic scanning of the room suddenly stopped, her gaze fixing on something—or someone—in the audience. Hongjoong followed her line of sight to the Southern Trade Company representative, noting how her carefully maintained composure faltered briefly before reasserting itself.

"She knows him," he murmured to Seonghwa. "Or at least his organization."

Seonghwa's eyes narrowed as he observed the subtle interaction. "If Blackwell's company is specifically targeting her, there must be a reason."

"Two thousand gold pieces," announced the naval officer, drawing murmurs from the crowd at the exceptional price.

"Twenty-one hundred," the nobleman replied, though with visible hesitation.

"Twenty-five hundred," countered the Southern Trade representative without pause.

The woman's breathing quickened almost imperceptibly, the only sign of emotion breaking through her composed exterior. Whatever awaited her with the Southern Trade Company clearly terrified her, despite her efforts to hide it.

"Any advance on twenty-five hundred?" the auctioneer inquired, looking between the remaining bidders. The naval officer shook his head regretfully, while the nobleman wavered.

"Twenty-six hundred," the nobleman offered finally.

"Three thousand," responded the Southern Trade representative immediately.

A collective intake of breath swept through the audience. Three thousand gold pieces was an extraordinary sum for any slave, even one marketed as "premium."

The auctioneer's eyes gleamed with undisguised greed. "Three thousand gold pieces from the Southern Trade Company. Do I hear any advance?"

The nobleman shook his head, yielding to the aggressive bidding. The auctioneer raised his gavel, preparing to conclude the sale.

In that suspended moment, as the woman's carefully maintained facade began to crack with the finality of her fate, Hongjoong felt something shift within him. The weight of Mr. Hugs against his chest suddenly seemed to burn, a physical manifestation of a promise made fifteen years ago in blood and desperation.

"Twenty thousand," he said, his voice carrying clearly through the suddenly silent room.

Seonghwa's head whipped toward him, shock briefly displacing his cultivated composure. "Captain—" he began in an urgent whisper.

"Twenty thousand gold pieces," Hongjoong repeated firmly, ignoring his quartermaster's concern.

The auctioneer froze, gavel suspended in mid-air, face reflecting disbelief. "Sir, perhaps I misheard—"

"You did not." Hongjoong stood, allowing his coat to fall open enough to reveal the distinctive captain's insignia of the ATEEZ. "Twenty thousand gold pieces. In immediate payment."

The Southern Trade representative half-rose from his seat, face flushing with anger. "This is highly irregular. We were clearly—"

"Outbid," Hongjoong interrupted calmly, though his heart pounded against his ribs where Mr. Hugs rested. "Unless you wish to offer more?"

A tense silence fell over the auction house. The ATEEZ's reputation guaranteed Hongjoong would not be physically challenged, but the unprecedented bid for an ordinary domestic slave created a situation outside normal protocols.

The auctioneer recovered first, professional greed overwhelming confusion. "Twenty thousand gold pieces bid by Captain Hongjoong of the... ATEEZ." He stumbled slightly over the name, clearly recognizing it. "Does the Southern Trade Company wish to respond?"

The representative conferred urgently with his colleagues before slowly resuming his seat. "We yield," he said tightly. "But this will be reported to Mr. Blackwell."

"I would expect nothing less," Hongjoong replied, unconcerned by the implied threat.

The auctioneer, visibly relieved to avoid conflict in his establishment, brought down his gavel with unnecessary force. "Sold! To Captain Hongjoong for twenty thousand gold pieces."

Throughout this exchange, the woman on the platform had remained frozen, her eyes widening slightly at Hongjoong's intervention. Her gaze moved between him and Seonghwa with a mixture of confusion and wariness, clearly unable to comprehend why unknown pirates would pay such an extraordinary sum for her.

"Payment will be rendered immediately," Hongjoong informed the auctioneer. "My quartermaster will oversee the transaction while I inspect my purchase."

Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the platform, aware of Seonghwa falling into step behind him after only a moment's hesitation. The crowd parted before them, whispers following in their wake.

As Hongjoong approached the platform, the woman's posture stiffened further, her chin rising slightly in a gesture of defiance despite her circumstances. Up close, he could see the controlled fear in her eyes—not of him specifically, but of change, of new ownership, of unknown intentions.

"Leave us," he instructed the guards flanking her. When they hesitated, his hand moved casually toward his weapon. "Now."

They retreated hastily, leaving Hongjoong alone with the woman as Seonghwa moved to handle the financial arrangements. For a long moment, neither spoke, mutual assessment flowing between them.

"Why?" she finally asked, her voice soft but clear, containing none of the servile tone expected of merchandise addressing its new owner.

Hongjoong studied her face, still unable to identify what had compelled his impulsive action. "I'm not entirely certain," he admitted.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, searching his face for deception. "Twenty thousand gold pieces requires certainty, Captain."

The hint of challenge in her tone surprised him. Most slaves, particularly those described as "well-mannered," would display only fearful obedience to a new master—especially one with the ATEEZ's fearsome reputation. But there was something in her direct gaze, the slight tilt of her chin, that triggered a peculiar sense of familiarity.

For a heartbeat, the word "treasure" formed on his lips before he caught himself, startled by the unbidden impulse. He covered his confusion with a slight clearing of his throat.

"Perhaps I disliked the Southern Trade Company's interest in you," he offered instead, watching her reaction carefully.

A flash of genuine fear crossed her features before being quickly suppressed. "They would have paid far less than twenty thousand."

"True." He stepped closer, keeping his movements deliberate and non-threatening. "What's your name?"

She hesitated, as if weighing whether to answer truthfully. A shadow passed behind her eyes, something calculated and cautious.

"Ella," she said finally.

The name was not what Hongjoong had expected, though he couldn't have explained why. He felt a strange disappointment that made no logical sense.

"How long have you been enslaved?" he asked, voice carefully neutral.

"Fifteen years," she replied, watching him with increasing puzzlement. "Since I was five."

A jolt went through Hongjoong at this information, though he kept his expression neutral. Coincidences happened. Many children were enslaved at five. The timing meant nothing.

"Your previous owner," he continued, struggling to maintain casual interrogation. "Was it always the merchant mentioned by the auctioneer?"

She shook her head slightly. "No. I was initially purchased by Victor Blackwell. He... transferred me to one of his business associates 3 years ago."

Blackwell. The name registered immediately—owner of the Southern Trade Company, the very organization they had been investigating. The connection was too specific to be coincidental.

"Captain?" Seonghwa approached, having completed the financial transaction. "Everything is arranged. We should depart before complications arise."

Hongjoong nodded, his focus still on the woman—on Ella. "We're leaving," he confirmed, then addressed her directly. "You'll accompany us to our ship."

Wariness returned to her expression. "And what will be my duties aboard this ship, Captain?"

The implication was clear—what service would justify his extraordinary purchase? Hongjoong recognized the question as a way of preparing herself for whatever awaited, a survival strategy born of long experience.

"For now, simply to follow us without creating difficulties," he replied. "Further discussions can wait until we're safely aboard."

She studied him for a moment longer, then nodded once, decision made. "As you wish, Captain."

Seonghwa arranged his coat around her shoulders as they left the auction house, partially concealing her identity while providing protection from curious onlookers. The gesture, automatic and protective, drew a surprised glance from her but no comment.

As Seonghwa stepped ahead to clear their path, Hongjoong noticed the woman glance sideways at him with a strange expression—not fear or suspicion, but something closer to bewilderment, as if trying to place a half-remembered face. It faded quickly, replaced by the careful mask she maintained, but the moment left him unsettled.

They moved through Halazia's crowded streets with practiced efficiency, avoiding main thoroughfares where Southern Trade Company representatives might attempt confrontation. Hongjoong's mind raced with possibilities and questions that defied logical explanation.

The ATEEZ waited at the docks, black sails furled but distinctive even among dozens of vessels. Crew members paused in their duties as the captain, quartermaster, and unfamiliar woman approached. Whispers spread rapidly—word of Hongjoong's unprecedented auction bid had already reached the waterfront.

As they stepped onto the gangplank, Hongjoong noticed Ella's step falter momentarily, her eyes taking in the ship with an experienced assessment that surprised him. Her gaze lingered on details most would overlook—the modified rigging that allowed for superior speed, the disguised gun ports that hid their true firepower, the strategic positioning of lookout posts.

"Is something wrong?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head quickly. "No, Captain. I've simply... never been aboard a vessel like this."

Her answer seemed genuine, yet something in her careful observation suggested more than mere curiosity. She was searching for escape routes, defensive weaknesses, potential weapons—the behavior of someone who had learned to survive through constant vigilance.

"Jung Wooyoung," Hongjoong called to his cook, who was observing their arrival with undisguised curiosity from the main deck. "Prepare quarters for our guest."

Wooyoung approached with his characteristic flamboyant stride, though his eyes reflected the same questions evident throughout the crew. "Of course, Captain. The small cabin near yours is prepared, as always." His gaze swept over Ella with professional assessment rather than impropriety. "Food and fresh clothing, I assume?"

"Yes," Hongjoong confirmed. "And water for washing."

Ella watched this exchange carefully, her expression revealing nothing of her thoughts. When Wooyoung turned his attention fully to her, offering a theatrical bow that somehow managed to be both respectful and playful, she remained composed but watchful.

"Welcome aboard the ATEEZ," Wooyoung greeted her with a warm smile that had charmed information from countless sources. "I'm Jung Wooyoung, ship's cook and intelligence officer. And very much at your service."

For the briefest moment, something flickered in Wooyoung's eyes as he straightened from his bow—a flash of confusion quickly masked by his usual charm. Hongjoong noticed his cook's hand twitch slightly, as if he'd started to make a gesture and stopped himself.

"Thank you," Ella replied with perfect politeness, though Hongjoong noticed her attention moving past Wooyoung to the tall figure approaching from the foredeck.

Jeong Yunho's imposing height and powerful build often intimidated newcomers, but his gentle face and warm eyes typically reassured them quickly. As the ship's boatswain, his responsibilities for maintenance and deck operations kept him constantly visible to the crew, an unofficial morale officer through his natural optimism.

"Captain," Yunho greeted, then nodded respectfully to Ella. As their eyes met, an odd expression crossed his features—something between puzzlement and déjà vu, there and gone so quickly it might have been imagined.

"Is there anything you need prepared?" he continued smoothly, his professional demeanor reasserting itself.

"Ensure our departure preparations are complete," Hongjoong instructed. "I want to leave harbor before nightfall."

"Already underway," Yunho confirmed, his gaze flickering curiously to Ella before returning to his captain. "Mingi reports the cannons are secured for departure."

At the mention of the master gunner, Hongjoong saw Ella's attention sharpen slightly, though she maintained her carefully neutral expression. "Good. Tell him to join us for dinner in my quarters. You and Wooyoung as well."

Yunho nodded, offering a gentle smile to Ella before returning to his duties. Hongjoong noticed how her eyes followed the tall boatswain, something unreadable in her expression.

"Wooyoung will show you to your quarters," Hongjoong told her. "You'll find everything you need there. We dine at sunset."

She nodded, the perfect picture of compliance, though Hongjoong sensed calculation behind her composed exterior. "Thank you, Captain."

As Wooyoung led her below decks, chattering amiably about the ship and its amenities, Seonghwa moved closer to Hongjoong.

"Twenty thousand gold pieces," the quartermaster said quietly, not a question but a statement requiring explanation.

Hongjoong sighed, unable to articulate the impulse that had driven his unprecedented bid. "I don't know, Seonghwa. Something about her..."

Seonghwa hummed in contemplation.

"She matches the age and timeline," Seonghwa observed. "But so would hundreds of others."

"It's more than that. Did you see how she assessed the ship? How she watched us? There's something familiar in her movements."

Seonghwa hummed again, his voice dropping further. "When I placed my coat around her shoulders, I almost called her..." He stopped, shaking his head slightly. "It's foolish. A trick of memory and hope."

"She gave her name as Ella, not y/n,"He added, leaning against the railing.

"Slave names are often changed by their owners," Hongjoong countered. "You know this."

"True." Seonghwa’s voice remained measured. "And her connection to Blackwell is... convenient for our current mission."

"Did you notice Wooyoung's reaction?" Hongjoong asked. "He started to make that hand gesture he uses when excited, then caught himself. And Yunho—"

"I saw," Seonghwa interrupted. "But it proves nothing. We've been searching for fifteen years, Hongjoong. We've had false hopes before."

"I know." Hongjoong’s voice held rare emotion and frustration. "But we should observe her carefully."

"We'll proceed cautiously," Hongjoong decided. "Watch her, but reveal nothing about our search or our past."

"And Mr. Hugs?" Seonghwa asked quietly, referring to the teddy bear that normally sat prominently on Hongjoong's navigation table.

"I'll secure him in my private chest. She won't see him until we're certain. If she is..." he couldn't bring himself to say the name, "...if she is who we've been seeking, we need to understand why she's concealing her identity."

Seonghwa nodded, satisfied with this caution. "And if she isn't?"

The question hung between them, weighted with fifteen years of searching and the substantial sum just spent on its possibility.

"Then we've rescued someone from Blackwell's organization and potentially gained valuable intelligence," Hongjoong replied firmly. "Either way, I don't regret the purchase."

As he spoke, his hand unconsciously moved to the inner pocket where Mr. Hugs rested, feeling the familiar weight like a talisman against uncertainty. For fifteen years, they had searched for a little girl with a teddy bear. Now, a woman with guarded eyes and a carefully neutral expression had walked onto his ship, triggering inexplicable reactions from his most trusted officers.

Coincidence, or something more? The answer would have to wait.

Ella stood alone in the small cabin assigned to her, carefully assessing her new surroundings. The space was surprisingly comfortable for a pirate vessel—clean linens on a narrow but adequate bed, a small writing desk bolted to the floor, a washing basin with fresh water, and even a tiny porthole providing natural light.

The cook—Wooyoung—had shown her to the cabin with theatrical flourishes and genuine kindness that she found disconcerting after years of calculated cruelty or cold indifference. His cheerful chatter had seemed designed to put her at ease, but she recognized intelligence gathering when she experienced it. His casual questions about her preferences and background had been skillfully designed to extract information while appearing merely friendly.

She had responded with the careful blend of politeness and reticence that had kept her alive for fifteen years—answering directly but minimally, volunteering nothing beyond what was specifically asked. The act of submission without surrender that she had perfected under Blackwell's ownership.

Yet something about the cook's manner had triggered an odd sensation—a feeling of déjà vu so strong it had momentarily disrupted her careful composure. There had been a moment when he'd made a particular gesture, waving his hands animatedly as he described the galley, that had sent an unexpected pulse of familiarity through her. His bright, expressive face and theatrical movements seemed to echo from somewhere deep in her memory, though she couldn't place when or where she might have encountered him before.

Now, alone for the first time since the auction, she allowed herself a moment of genuine emotion. She sank onto the edge of the bed, hands trembling slightly as she processed the extraordinary events of the day.

Twenty thousand gold pieces. An amount so extraordinary it defied rational explanation. No domestic slave, regardless of training or appearance, was worth even a fraction of that sum. The Captain's impulsive bid made no logical sense unless he knew something about her—something worth more than a merchant captain's annual profits.

As she washed using the provided basin and changed into the clothing left for her—simple but well-made garments that fit surprisingly well—she considered her situation carefully. The consideration behind these preparations was puzzling. Pirates with a reputation for ruthlessness toward slave traders shouldn't show such care toward an auction purchase.

There had been moments on deck—the tall boatswain's gentle smile, the cook's theatrical bow, the careful way the captain had modulated his voice when addressing her—that had stirred strange emotional echoes. Like fragments of a dream she couldn't quite recall upon waking, they hovered just beyond the reach of clear memory.

It was dangerous to dwell on such feelings. Fifteen years had taught her that apparent kindness often masked deeper motives. Yet as she prepared for dinner with the captain and his officers, a strange wariness mingled with curiosity. Who were these men who had paid a fortune to purchase her, only to treat her with unexpected consideration?

The name she had given—Ella—was deliberate, a middle name. It was neither truth nor lie, simply a practical necessity. Fifteen years had taught her the value of partial truths. She would keep the name y/n to herself.

As sunset approached, bringing the promised dinner with the captain and his officers, she carefully reconstructed her composed exterior. Whatever their purpose in purchasing her, whatever they wanted from her, she would survive as she always had—observing, adapting, revealing nothing of herself until absolutely necessary.

Before leaving her cabin, she conducted her nightly ritual, though it was not yet time for sleep. The whispered names had kept her sane through fifteen years of captivity, five treasured syllables that connected her to the last moment she had felt truly safe:

"Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy."

Like a prayer or a spell, the childhood nicknames centered her. Tonight, for reasons she couldn't explain, they seemed to carry particular weight, as if the words themselves were trying to tell her something just beyond her understanding.

Shaking off the strange feeling, she prepared to face the captain and his officers—to learn, if possible, why her freedom had been worth twenty thousand gold pieces to a man who didn't even know her name.

The captain's dining cabin was larger than Ella had expected, dominated by a heavy wooden table with seating for six. Maps and charts covered one wall, while navigational instruments occupied various surfaces. The space reflected its owner: organized but not sterile, functional but with surprising touches of personality. A bookshelf held volumes ranging from navigational texts to what appeared to be poetry. A collection of small carved animals lined one shelf—whales, dolphins, birds rendered with remarkable skill.

As she entered, escorted by Wooyoung, Ella paused briefly, an unexpected wave of déjà vu washing over her at the sight of the carved figures. Something about their simple but expressive shapes triggered a memory just out of reach—tiny wooden animals pressed into a small palm, meant to be hidden in the hem of a dress.

She pushed the bewildering sensation aside, focusing on maintaining her composed exterior as Captain Hongjoong rose slightly from his seat at the head of the table—a courtesy normally reserved for ladies of quality, not former slaves. The gesture caught her off-guard, another unexpected consideration that made her wary even as part of her responded to the simple dignity it afforded her.

"I trust you found your accommodations acceptable?" he inquired as she took the seat indicated.

"Very much so, Captain. Thank you."

Seonghwa sat to the captain's right, his elegant posture and immaculate appearance a contrast to Hongjoong's more relaxed bearing. Wooyoung settled beside her with characteristic flourish, while two empty chairs remained—presumably for the tall boatswain and the as-yet-unseen master gunner.

Before further conversation could develop, the door opened to admit Yunho, ducking slightly despite the cabin's generous headroom—a habitual motion for a man of his height. Behind him followed a figure Ella had not yet seen: a tall, powerfully built man whose broad shoulders and muscular arms marked him as someone accustomed to physical labor, though his movements held surprising grace.

"Forgive our delay, Captain," Yunho said with an easy smile. "Last-minute departure checks."

"All is secure," the newcomer added, his deep voice unexpectedly soft. His eyes briefly met Ella's before shifting away, a flash of something unreadable crossing his features.

"Excellent." Hongjoong gestured to the empty seats. "Join us."

As the two men settled at the table, the captain made formal introductions. "Ella, you've met Quartermaster Seonghwa and Cook Wooyoung. This is Jeong Yunho, our boatswain, and Song Mingi, master gunner."

Ella nodded acknowledgment to each, careful to maintain her composed expression despite a strange sensation that washed over her. Something about these five men together—their voices, their mannerisms, the way they moved in coordinated harmony—triggered a peculiar feeling of déjà vu so powerful it momentarily disoriented her.

Mingi, in particular, captured her attention. The powerful gunner moved with the careful precision of someone constantly aware of his size and strength, eyes often downcast, words minimal but meaningful. There was something achingly familiar in his reserved demeanor that made her chest tighten inexplicably.

"Before we begin," Hongjoong said, addressing the table but watching Ella specifically, "I should clarify your position aboard this ship."

She tensed slightly, prepared for the revelation of whatever purpose had driven her purchase.

"You are not a slave here," the captain stated firmly. "I purchased your freedom, not your person."

Murmurs of approval came from the others, particularly Yunho, whose warm smile widened at this declaration.

"That's…" Ella hesitated, genuinely caught off-guard by this statement. "Very generous, Captain. But why? Twenty thousand gold pieces is…"

"An unprecedented sum?" Hongjoong finished when she trailed off. The phrase sounded almost rehearsed, though his expression remained genuine. "Yes. I'm aware."

"What the captain means," Seonghwa interjected with characteristic precision, "is that the ATEEZ has a particular interest in disrupting the Southern Trade Company's operations. Your connection to Victor Blackwell makes you valuable to us."

"As an information source," Ella concluded, relaxing slightly as the explanation aligned with her expectations. This made sense—a strategic investment rather than an inexplicable impulse.

"Partly," Hongjoong agreed. "But also as a witness to their practices. Our campaign against slave traders requires evidence beyond rumors and hearsay."

Again, this aligned with logical objectives. The ATEEZ's unusual code—targeting slave ships while sparing merchant vessels—was apparently more than reputation. These men genuinely opposed the trade that had defined her existence for fifteen years.

"I see." She chose her words carefully. "And what happens once I've provided this information and testimony?"

"You'll be free to go wherever you wish," Hongjoong replied without hesitation. "With sufficient funds to establish yourself independently."

The matter-of-fact offer of both freedom and financial independence struck Ella as either extraordinary generosity or tactical manipulation. No one gave away twenty thousand gold pieces plus additional funds without expecting significant return on investment.

"That's… remarkably generous," she said cautiously.

"It's not generosity," Wooyoung interjected with unexpected seriousness beneath his typically light tone. "It's justice."

Something in his phrasing, in the conviction behind the words, triggered a strange flutter of memory that she couldn't quite grasp. It felt like trying to recall a dream upon waking—the sensation remained while the specifics evaporated.

"I'll help however I can," she promised, the words true despite her cautious reticence. Victor Blackwell had been the architect of her suffering for fifteen years—first directly, then through his business associate. Any opportunity to undermine his operations aligned perfectly with her own interests.

"Excellent," Hongjoong approved. "We'll begin formal questioning tomorrow. For tonight, simply rest and acclimate to the ship."

Wooyoung, seemingly eager to lighten the atmosphere, began serving the meal he had prepared—a surprisingly sophisticated fare for a pirate vessel, featuring fresh fish, vegetables, and even fruits that must have been purchased at significant expense in Halazia's markets.

"I hope the seasoning isn't too strong," he said as he placed a plate before her. The words seemed casual, but Ella noticed him watching her reaction carefully, as if testing something.

The spiced fish carried an unexpected flavor she hadn't tasted in years—star anise and cardamom in a particular combination that triggered another flash of memory: a small hand offering her a piece of sweetbread drizzled with honey, a conspiratorial wink, a whispered "Special treats for special people."

The memory faded as quickly as it had formed, leaving her momentarily disoriented. She recovered quickly, taking another bite to cover her confusion.

"It's perfect," she assured him. "I've always favored cardamom."

Something pleased flickered across Wooyoung's expressive face before he turned to serve the others. Across the table, she noticed Mingi watching her with that same unreadable expression, his dark eyes intense despite his minimal participation in the conversation.

As they ate, conversation flowed naturally among the officers, revealing dynamics clearly established through years of close association. Seonghwa's meticulous attention to detail balanced Hongjoong's more intuitive leadership. Wooyoung's theatrical storytelling drew reluctant smiles even from the quiet Mingi. Yunho's gentle mediating presence smoothed any moments of tension.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Ella observed it all carefully, noting both what was said and—more importantly—what wasn't. They asked her no personal questions beyond general inquiries about her comfort and preferences. The careful avoidance of her past suggested either unusual sensitivity or specific instruction from the captain.

Throughout the meal, she felt Hongjoong watching her with particular intensity during unguarded moments. Not the predatory assessment she had experienced from other men, but something more complicated—a searching look, as if trying to confirm a suspicion or memory.

Most disconcerting was Mingi's careful avoidance of direct interaction. The master gunner spoke little, primarily to answer direct questions from Hongjoong or respond to Yunho's gentle prompting. Yet Ella repeatedly caught him studying her when he thought her attention elsewhere, his expression unreadable but somehow pained.

As the meal concluded, Hongjoong addressed a question that had clearly been on the others' minds: "You may be wondering why I've included you in this initial meeting rather than questioning our guest privately."

The officers exchanged glances that confirmed this curiosity.

"The campaign against the Southern Trade Company involves us all," the captain continued. "Each of you will participate in gathering information from Ella based on your specific expertise and knowledge of Blackwell's operations."

This explanation seemed to satisfy them, though Ella sensed an undercurrent of something unspoken—as if the captain's words answered the stated question while leaving deeper curiosities unaddressed.

"For now," Hongjoong concluded, rising from his seat to signal the evening's end, "Wooyoung will escort you back to your quarters. Tomorrow, once we're safely away from Halazia, we'll begin more formal discussions."

As the others prepared to depart, Ella found herself unexpectedly reluctant to leave. Despite the strangeness of her situation and the uncertainty of her future, something about these five men stirred an odd feeling of déjà vu—a sensation so disorienting she had to focus on her breathing to maintain composure.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

It was Wooyoung's laugh that triggered it first—a bright, musical sound that seemed to echo from somewhere deep in her memory. Then the way Seonghwa straightened items on the table with unconscious precision, as if disorder physically bothered him. The gentle care in Yunho's movements despite his size. The way Mingi's eyes briefly met hers before looking away. Even the captain's habit of rubbing the back of his neck when thinking deeply.

All of it felt hauntingly familiar in a way she couldn't possibly explain. These men were strangers—pirates who had purchased her for strategic information. Yet being among them felt like… remembering something she'd never consciously forgotten.

She shook off the unsettling sensation as Wooyoung escorted her back to her cabin, his cheerful chatter about the ship's daily routines washing over her like comfortable background noise.

"Sleep well," he said when they reached her door, his smile genuine in a way that made her chest ache with some unnamed emotion. "Tomorrow will be a new beginning."

Alone in her cabin, Ella carefully examined her surroundings once more, searching for any sign that these men might somehow know her true identity. Finding nothing conclusive, she prepared for sleep with the mechanical efficiency of someone accustomed to making do with brief rest.

As she had every night for fifteen years, she lay in the darkness and whispered the five names that had kept her sane through the worst moments of her captivity: "Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy."

The childish nicknames were all she remembered of their real names—five boys who had protected her aboard a different ship long ago. Their faces had blurred with time, becoming more ideal than memory, but the nicknames remained crisp and clear, a litany that connected her to the last moment she had felt truly safe.

"Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy," she repeated softly, a prayer and a promise that had sustained her through fifteen years of survival.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

[hearts4chriss]

Teachers pet.

CollegeProfessor!Matt x CollegeStudent! black fem!

Prompt: in which you have a crush on ur teacher, yet he has a thing for you no matter how wrong it was, and he notices your little movements in class to get his attention, one day it pushes him over the edge and he teaches you a lesson for it, not with a bad grade

“I know I’m young but, my mind is well beyond my years”. - teachers pet by Melanie Martinez

Contains: teasing, loads of suggestive touching, neck sucking, spanking, desk sex!, backshots, m!oral receiving, degrading, dumification, f!oral receiving, mentions of Matt having a huge cock, overstimulation, pet names, HELLA dirty talk, choking, hair pulling, kissing, mentions of reader w fat ass, fantazing like this. HEAVYYY AFTERCARE

a/n: this one’s dirty as hell😭😭

Fuck.

I was in class sitting next to one of my friends trying my very hardest to focus on this lecture of business and finance 2, my teacher Matthew Sturniolo.

He made basically impossible, the all black pants with his sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone. And fuck those tattoos.

The way Matt’s rings would sit on his fingers, I’d desire for them to be on me and inside me.

He was undeniably attractive, and he knows that he is, he’s well aware of the affect he has on me, the same smirk he’d give me as he glanced around the class making sure we payed attention, whenever I was working and he’d whisper “you need any help, sweetheart?” His hot breath on my ear making my thighs close together.

Today was one of those days, I wanted to mess with him as I was well aware of what I could potentially make the 25 year old man feel.

I was in my dorm room with my roommate Anna @worldlxvlys as we were getting ready to head out to class.

I buttoned up my short sleeve white shirt with the red and navy plaid skirt just barely covering my ass as the thin pink material hugged my curves.

I slipped on my thigh length white socks with these stupid dress shoes putting my boho braids in a high ponytail.

I applied my lip gloss and soon enough I was ready to go just waiting for Anna.

“Girl let’s goooo”. I chuckled ushering her to the door and she rolled her eyes following suit.

“Let me guess you have Professor Sturniolo first period”. She nudged me playfully and I nodded

“Duh! That’s why I’m rushing you, so I can see that man”. I bite my finger mimicking a blowjob motion with my hands and she gasped slapping my shoulder as we walked up to the main hall.

Ur actually insane for that. She shook her head at me and I disagreed.

Soon after our chatters I made my way into my class.

The second she walked in I couldn’t help but let my eyes drift to her thighs, the way the thin white stockings cover her brown skin makes my pants tighten.

when she gave me that small smile, her lipgloss coating over her plump lips made me die to feel what they’d feel like on my cock.

When she turned to go to her desk, she bent down grabbing binder. Her skirt rose up making my cheeks turn a cherry shade as the thin pink material hugged the curves of her ass. I tried my hardest not to stare because she’s my student.

Of course she’s 8 minutes early.

I leaned back in my chair tilting my head back letting my mind wander.

oh fuck- you feel so good baby. I moaned as I thrusted deep inside her cunt, her legs shook against my desk as her nails clawed the front begging to cum for a 3rd time.

Please please- mm- let me cum I’ll be such a good girl I promise- she babbles as I lay a harsh smack on her ass and she jolts back against me.

should’ve thought about that before teasing me with that slutty skirt- I gripped her shoulder tightly thrusting harsher and quicker as he jaw dropped only producing whimpers and squeaks

I was stroking myself under the desk as low grunts flowed out my mouth just imagining this scenario.

She’s always do this shit on purpose. She never wore skirts this short unless I was teaching her that day.

Did she think I was clueless?

I’d been waiting for the right moment to bend her over and fuck the shit out of her, teach her her a lesson

The way she’d bite her lip at me as I was trying to teach, it all made sense she wanted to drive me crazy.

I threw my head back against my chair, completely forgetting she was in my class.

“Mr.Sturniolo are you- oh-“ my eyes widen when I turn around meeting him seeing his hand below the desk his cheeks turning a pink shade”

“Fuck just- shit I’m sorry sweetheart I can’t help myself around you-“ he mumbled groaning as his gaze met mine,- a wetness forming between my thighs.

“do you need my help?” I ask, realizing what I said I quickly turned my back and Matt let out a small laugh.

“I do actually, be a good girl for me and suck my cock yeah?” He smirks initiating for me to come over with 2 fingers and my throat tightens as I made my way to his desk.

I approach the side as he slides his chair out being met with his hand around his dick. Which was big.

hell the thickness of it was enough to make me squeeze my thighs together as well as the red tip along with the length. How was that supposed to fit in my mouth?

“What are you waiting for? Been dying to feel those lips on me all fucking semester”. Matt admits biting his bottom lip as I crawl on my hands and knees positing myself in front grabbing the base as he groans tilting his head back

I have his tip a few kitten licks making his hand gravitate towards my hair, the cool rings on my scalp before I started bobbing my head up and down.

“ah shit- feels so fucking good-“. He moaned watching me look so submissive below him, the sight of him alone in all black moaning my name turned me on so much more than It should’ve, and sucking him off was like a dream come true.

“Mmm fuck- ur such a good girl, helping ur professor out yeah?”. Matt shuddered pulling my braids slightly tighter and I nod as best I could before quickly resuming my actions, I had to make him cum in under 8 minutes.

“atta girl, keep going- gonna cum just watching you like this- sucking my cock like a little slut-“. His eyes flutter shut as I lick stripes up his dick, the veins on my tongue felt euphoric as well as hearing him sound like this just from me

“atta girl”, another thing he’d always call me, I wasn’t slow? No way he didn’t have maybe..have a thing for me. His student.

there was absolutely no doubt that I was a teachers pet. There was no other teacher I’d do this for, I’m not even failing his class I have an A-.

I felt him twitch in my throat, occasionally thrusting his hips tugging my hair.

“can i- fuck- fill ur pretty mouth up sweetheart?”. Matt pleads, almost as if the way he’s asking he wants to cum in my throat.

I tapped his thigh signaling he could and with that he came down my throat as I swallowed licking the excess from his dick.

“Was that okay Mr-“ I start off, slightly nervous because all I wanted was to make him feel good resulting in him laughing slightly.

“More than okay, you can call me Matt when I’m not teaching”. He gives me that signature sly smile that drives me up a wall helping me up as he fixed his pants and I began walking back to my seat.

As I watched her walk back, realizing how unbelievably sexy she looked in the skirt, a question filled my mind, biting lip watching her walk away.

“are you gonna behave today?” I said putting my belt back on, smirking slightly to see if she knew what I was talking about.

“What? I always behave”. I sit at my desk tilting my head to the side acting like a clueless puppy and he walks up placing his ringed hands on my desk staring down at me.

“If you consider wearing a skirt that short purposely bending over in front of me and giving me fuck me eyes, is behaving, I think your wrong honey”. He chuckles and my eyes widen as I bite my tongue. That’s was everything I was doing.

“So, if you don’t behave in class today, I might have to teach you a lesson sweetheart, you wouldn’t want that would you?”. His eyes pouring in my soul were captivating, almost immediately when those words left his lips I crossed my legs.

He tapped my shoulder going back to his desk and everyone started filing in the class and I let out a deep breath.

Nia @nicksmainbitch sat next to me and Scoots closer to me.

“Girl what’s tea, what happened?” She sat next to me and I side eyed Matt then opening my mouth showing her my throat and she gasped.

“NO F-“ she yelled before I shushed her seeing how he looked in my direction giving me a small wink making my stomach flutter.

“Ooo y’all nasty, I knew he liked you! Since the first fucking day, he’s been eyefucking you”. Nia whispered the last bit to me and tilted my head.

“Wait wait, how do you know? Tell me!”. I poke her teasingly and she laughs.

“Okay sooo….

August 31st Los Angeles California,

University of Southern California

somehow me and Nia applied for the same school and both got in and majored together in business so here we were roommates and in the same class.

I was pretty focused on my studies, hell I even got offered to Harvard and other ivy leagues guy USC seemed about right for me.

I walked into class immediately meeting eyes with my professor. Matthew Sturniolo.

the following week

I walked in class sitting next to y/n, the one thing I saw this past week was how he looked at her, the way he’d always make sure she was okay, the way he’d constantly pass her desk giving her a smile. No way he didn’t like her….

FASTFORWARD SECOND SEMESTER PRESENT

“Anddd yeah that’s basically what I noticed just within the first week”. She started before Matt let out an obnoxious cough.

“Do I need to separate you two?”. He said leaning on his desk speaking in his normal voice.

I bit my lip making eye contact with him watching his eyes widen.

“No Mr.Sturniolo I’ll stop talking”. I say slowly and nia taps my thigh and I let out a soft giggle looking up seeing Matt’s jaw clench I quickly remembered my punishment Id receive, but was that gonna stop me? Fuck no.

The majority of class consisted of me teasing him, purposely fixing my button down so my tits we’re practically falling out, dropping my pencil so I’d have to bend down, my ass poking out in front of him.

All of this justtt to push him over the edge.

If only I knew what I was in for.

Just as I was about to leave the class being I was the last one he pulled my arm closing the door and locking it.

“Where do you think you’re going?”. Matt tilts his head backing me against the wall the heat between my legs growing.

“You think I couldn’t see what you were doing sweetheart?”. His finger on my chin my eyes meeting his feeling my panties dampen.

“You have no idea what I’m about to do to you…” he smirks gripping my thighs wrapping them around his waist slamming me on his desk making me gasp when his lips come in contact with my neck.

“Matt..”. I sigh deeply tilting my head back as he continues sucking harshly on the soft skin closing my thighs.

Matt let’s put a chuckle as he marked me up, his stubble burning into my skin, the desire in my body growing the more he touched me. Wondering what he would do to me.

“Take this off for me”. He tugs on my shirt and I nodded un doing the buttons, watching how his breath would hitch, revealing my pink lacy bra matching with the panties I had on.

“God- you look so sexy in this”. Matt mumbles his hands groping my tits making me let out a soft moan as he pulled away and I whined before he slapped my thigh and I gasped watching him go down on his knees.

My heart beat picked up as he slid my skirt off and panties revealing my bare pussy directly in his face.

“Ur so fucking wet, did i do this to you sweetheart?” He smirks running two fingers through my folds making me whimper and my lips part slightly.

“I suggest you open that pretty mouth and answer me, because I have all day to fuck the attitude outta you”. He speaks somehow still dominate as he’s on his knees and my stomach flips at his filthy words.

“Yes- you did- it was you” I squirm impatiently and he chuckles.

“that’s more like it”. Matt said lowly before looking me in the eyes licking a stripe up my wetness making me moan out softly squeezing my eyes shut

“such a pretty pussy, can’t wait to see the mess you make”. His hot breath on my core sends vibrations through me as his lips attach make an obnoxious suction noise making me squeal and tug on his hair.

“O-oh god-“ my breathing picks up as I begin to moan without a pause as Matt’s tongue flicks at an inhumane pace, his nose grazing my bud and his stubble against my thighs.

His hands grip my thighs pulling me more onto his face and I shriek gripping Matt’s hair tighter only fueling his ego and desire to go quicker

I was in such a euphoric state, hearing his mouth mix with my wetness, I had lost it when he shook his head in my pussy, he was good

“fuck- oh my god-“. I shudder my chest heaving as I watch him feeling my eyes blur at the pace of Matt’s tongue, not wasting a second or a drop of my arousal as he became pussydrunk off of me.

“Mmm you taste so good..”. Matt’s warm breath against my dripping cunt leaving small kisses making me squeal from the pleasure, not removing his head from between my thighs once.

The sound of her moaning my name above me as I held onto her thighs keeping her upright. She tasted so good almost as if I was meant to do this to her. The way she would squirm in my grasp every time my nose brushed against her clit which was often because I couldn’t get enough of her. Her pussy was perfect and every wrong thought of the student-teacher was completely gone.

I’ve been waiting for this moment for months. My own fucking student whose thighs I was now buried in between.

“shit Matt-“. My eyes flutter shut letting him take over my body my hips occasionally shooting up before Matt pulls them back down holding me in place.

“yes- oh shittt im s-so close”. I moan loudly pulling on his hair tightly feeling my the pit in my stomach become hotter.

“yeah? I want all on my tongue baby, give it to me”. He speaks quickly before resuming thrusting his tongue in and out of me.

“Fuck! I’m c-cumming”. I squeal feeling my body loose control as I squirted all on his tongue and around his mouth as it dripped down his chin.

He laps up every last drop making sure not to waste any.

“Tired already?” He chuckles standing up beginning to unbuckle his belt again and that grabs my attention.

“Wait-what are you doing?” I gasp watching his pants drop followed by his boxers, his hard cock with that similar red tip from earlier, spring out hitting his stomach.

“Oh sweetheart you didn’t think I would keep you back and not fuck you?”. Matt smirks bending me over the desk, his hand holding my head sideways as I shriek and the sudden contact of the cool glass of his desk.

I feel his cool rings come in contact harshly with my ass leaving a stinging feeling along the soft skin.

“Just couldn’t behave today could you, hm?”. He taunts repeating the same action making me jolt, pushing against his cock.

“No? Looks like I’ll have to fuck some sense into you yeah?” Matt smacks my ass again slightly harder me squeal.

“Probably like this don’t you, getting treated like a whore by ur professor. Doesn’t it turn you on?” He grabs my neck making my throat tighten and i whimper at his words.

“That’s not a response sweetheart”. Matt shook his head chuckling whilst keeping that firm grip on my neck.

“I-f-fuck it turns me on-“. I choke out and he releases his grip to run his tip in between my folds, the sticky sound from my previous orgasm and his pre cum mixing caused him to groan out of pleasure.

“Fuck, can’t wait to fuck ur pussy loose”. Matt mumbles before sliding into me halfway and my legs already feel weak, the stretch of him was indescribable.

“I’m only halfway pretty girl, you gotta take all of me I know you can”. He presses a soft kiss to my back before pushing all the way bottoming out.

“matt-fuck p-please-“. I stutter on my words as he’s practically balls deep inside me.

“Please what? Use ur words baby”. He massages my hip.

“Fuck me”. I turn back to look at him, my bottom lip tucked between my teeth was more than enough for him to start moving, not letting me adjust to his large size.

Matt didn’t start off slow, he went right to hard rough thrusts causing his hips to connect with my ass roughly making all sorts of noises come out, hardly any words were formable.

“God you feel so good..been waiting for this”. Matt lets out a deep moan as his hands hold my hips forcing me to take all of him, his tip brushing my g spot making my legs shake and I scream each time.

“Mmph f-fuck..”. I cry out, babbling as he fucks me senseless becoming drunk on his cock.

“Can’t even get a word out? God ur such a slut”. His hands dig into my ass making me squeal gripping the edge of the desk.

Matt’s pace was like he didn’t plan on stopping, he wanted me to feel every thick inch of him, and that this was something I’d never forget.

“Can’t wait to see you full of my cum, gonna fill you up so good”. He grunts gripping my shoulder to snap his hips quicker and my jaw hangs open the only thing coming from are squeals, heavy breaths and moans of his name.

“shit shit- feels s-so good”. I squeak out just above a whisper, the way he was fucking me there was no way I’d be able to walk the next day.

Matt’s deep grunts and moans made my pussy clench around him, fuck I could probably cum in the next minute.

“Fuckk- I love this pussy so fuckin much-“. Matt shudders at the feeling of my walls closing in on his large cock, the pace and pleasure were enough to make me feel like this.

“Please please”. I babble out like a helpless puppy and he chuckles slowing his thrusts and I whine.

“Fuck-no please Matt I-i need to cum”. I whine impatiently and he slaps my ass and I jolt back again feeling the head of his dick abuse my g spot

“you sure? Didn’t seem that way in class”. He chuckles his pace more slow and deep still knocking the wind out of my lunges.

“No! I’m sorry i-I’ll be a good girl I promise just please let cum”. I beg and he rubs my side gently.

I let out a deep sigh to myself, I mean how awful would I be if I didn’t let my favourite student have an orgasm.

“Mm much better”. He mumbles resuming his pace and my head falls forward my stomach tightening again as I feel that knot begin to burst.

“Oh fuck! Yes yes I-I’m cumming-“. I squirm feeling a hot liquid trickle down his cock but yet, he doesn’t stop pounding inside me and I reach back to push his hand away but he grabs both of them placing them behind me.

“M-Matt too much I-I’m sensitive!”. I cry out and he shakes his head with a cocky grin slapping my ass harder than normal.

“Should’ve thought about that before misbehaving huh sweetheart”. Matt mocked me thrusts harshly as my cum coated his cock making a mess on his lower stomach and my ass.

Matt continued his harsh movements as I felt his dick twitch inside me.

“fuck I’m gonna cum inside you yeah? Fill you up with my mmph babies”. He groans not letting up on his pace as I already feel an orgasm approaching me again.

Tears roll down my face from overstimulation as I’m about to cum for a 3rd time today.

“O-oh god Matt-please cum inside me-“. I babble on my words feeling a bit of drool on the corner of my mouth begging him to fill me up with his cum.

“atta girl, cum for me sweetheart, I know you got one more in you”. He pants reaching down to rub my clit, feeling his fingers graze my overstimulated bud and I squeal at the pressure of his fingers.

“f-fuck!”. I scream curling my toes as I felt like I was going to pee but i began squirting all over his cock and lower stomach, Matt thrusted slowly before filling me full of his warm thick liquid.

Matt rested his head on my shoulder stuffing me full of his cum and catching our breath.

He slowly slid out of me. I winced at the loss of him, being he was quite large.

“Fuck-you look so hot like this”. Matt bit his lower lip, his voice raspy and tired as he looked at my abused hole, full of his and my cum leaking out dropping on the floor.

Matt noticed I hadn’t said a word, and my legs shook slightly from the pleasure and whimpers and pants left my mouth as I look like a rag doll, sheen layer of sweat covered my body.

“hey, baby you okay?”. Matt rubbed my shoulder waging for an answer.

“Yeah just- really tired”. I pant and he grabs my waist sitting me on his lap.

“I know, I wore ur ass out didn’t I”. He lets out a breathy chuckle and I slap his chest rolling my eyes.

1 month later

Ever since me and my teacher Matthew sturniolo had sex, we never stopped.

Literally never stopped.

“come on hurry up I have 10 minutes!” He pulls me into his office quickly beginning to unbuckle his belt

and the time after that…

“fuck fuck fuck!”. I threw my head back as he gripped my ass tightly rocking me on his cock as I rode him in his chair

“God you feel so fucking good on top of me sweetheart..”. Matt mumbles into my neck slapping my ass, his cool rings felt electric on my body

Shit I even started sleeping at his house on the weekends.

“morning gorgeous”. Matt yawns pulling me into his grasp again and I giggle pulling him into a kiss.

I was sleeping with, My professor, Mr. Sturniolo,

Tag list !! : ̗̀➛

@mattsleftnipple03 @bernardsleftbootycheek @sturniolopowers @gdsvhtwa @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @chrisslut25 @princessbetsy123-blog @mattslolita @guccifrog @blahbel668 @mattsneezing @trickywritters @hearts4chris-deactivated2024040

@nonamegirlxsturniolo @luvmxtt @theyluv-meee @hoesformatt @luv4kozume @kikisturnioloo @itzdarling @pepsiimaxx @babyddolly @iiheartstef @junnniiieee07 @vicsguitarr @ast3ro1dzz @sturniolowhore @st7rnioioss @emma4eva @braindead4l @ihearttsyouu @kqyslyho3 @imaslut4kehlani @sturnsfav @sunsetsturniolos @sturniololoverr @gamermattsgf @lilyloveschris @dlyansworld @chrisloyalgf @soimightlikeoldmen69 @abbie13sworld @ineedchriscock @sturniol0s @chrissgirlsstuff @luhsexcbihh @rubyjaneaxx @love4chris

[bimrwolf]

The Christmas Arrangement

steve harrington x fem!reader words: 12,672 warnings: eventual smut!!! 18+ (minors dni) steve's emotions are supressed in this one.... his dad died summary: Steve Harrington thought asking his stubborn intern to play his girlfriend for the holidays would be simple. But "pretend" starts to get a little complicated when moments feel a little too real. a/n: everyone writes for summer steve... but i need more christmas steve sigh Part 1 / Part 2

The office was quiet except for the low hum of the heater kicking in and the occasional rustle of cardboard boxes. You stood in the middle of the sleek, open-plan space, hands on your hips, surveying the mess of holiday decorations strewn around you. Red-and-gold garlands coiled like lazy snakes, tangled string lights blinked in erratic patterns, and a stuffed Santa Claus stared at you from his perch on the countertop, looking unimpressed.

The office smelled like old coffee and artificial pine as you adjusted the garland on the filing cabinets for the third time that morning. The decorations were your idea—an attempt to liven up the drab Harrington & Co. Advertising office. 

"Corporate holiday spirit, my ass," you muttered, yanking a plastic wreath out of the chaos. The smell of fake pine hit you in the face as you tried to fluff it up, but it only ended up looking sadder.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the hall made you freeze mid-fluff. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. “Fantastic,” you grumbled. You purposely turned up the radio to blast Santa Baby. You were the first person in the office and you knew your boss, Steve Harrington, would make a comment about you being early for once. 

Your boss was, how you say, an asshole. It took you selling your soul for him to agree to use the company credit card for these cheesy decorations. 

Steve Harrington stalked past you toward his glass-walled office, shedding his coat and scarf like they were physically offending him. His dark hair was windswept in that annoyingly perfect way, and he looked like he had stepped straight out of a GQ spread, down to the polished leather shoes and a slight pout that made you want to smack him or… well, something else you weren’t going to admit.

You turned to watch him cross the room, his broad shoulders stiff under his tailored navy suit. He dumped his briefcase unceremoniously onto his desk and flopped into his chair, dragging a hand through his hair. He looked tired. More tired than usual, which was saying something. For someone who seemed to have it all—wealth, looks, charm—Steve Harrington carried a cloud of stormy energy around him that seemed to zap the joy out of every room he entered lately. 

You couldn’t help it. You strolled into his office, smirking when it was clear your presence was unwanted. 

“Good morning, Mr. Harrington.” You knew he hated when you called him that. 

He winced, rolling his eyes. “Morning,” he muttered. 

You waltzed closer to his desk, holding an animatronic snowman, hopping on the desk, crossing your ankles. You placed the snowman in front of him, pressing the button that made it wiggle back and forth as it blared a jazz version of Frosty the Snowman. Steve gave you an unimpressed brow. 

You hesitated, humming to the tune. "Bad morning or bad life?"

Steve's hazel eyes flicked up at you, narrowing. "You always this…perky, or is it just when I haven’t had coffee yet?" He pressed the button on the snowman to make it stop.

"Wow, Grinch vibes already. It’s not even eight," you said, shaking your head in mock disappointment. "Don’t tell me you hate Christmas, Mr. Harrington. That might actually make me quit."

“That would be a Christmas miracle!” He snorted, though it was more a tired exhale. "I don’t hate Christmas. I hate…" He gestured vaguely, his mouth flattening into a grim line. "Stuff."

"Stuff," you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Very descriptive. I’ll be sure to add that to my notes: ‘Boss hates stuff.’”

Steve didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes briefly flicking to the decorations scattered behind you. His gaze landed on the garlands outside, and his jaw tensed.

"Remind me why I agreed to all of this?” 

You didn’t answer right away, busy adjusting the stuffed snowman that now sat precariously on the corner of his desk. It was probably a bad idea to push him this early in the morning, but it was hard to resist. Something about Steve Harrington’s thinly veiled irritation was endlessly entertaining.

“Because I wore you down,” you said finally, sitting back on his desk with a self-satisfied smile. “Persistence is a key marketing strategy. Consider yourself sold.”

"No," he replied, dragging a hand through his hair and leveling you with an exasperated look. "I agreed because it was faster than arguing with you."

This was how most of your interactions with Steve went: a series of minor battles where you, armed with stubborn optimism and just enough sarcasm to keep things interesting, chipped away at the polished, vaguely disheveled wall he called a personality. Most days, he didn’t give you much to work with—just clipped answers, unimpressed glances, and the occasional reluctant smirk when you pushed the right buttons.

Today, though, something was different. The faint crease between his eyebrows had deepened. His tie was slightly askew, like he’d thrown it on without bothering to check the mirror. He looked... off. The usual self-assured edge was dulled, replaced by a quiet tension that made you hesitate, just for a moment.

You reached over, straightening his tie and he quickly swatted your hand away. “You’re in a mood,” you huffed. 

He looked at himself in the reflection of his computer, fixing the tie himself. He raised a brow. “And you’re not?”

“Mine’s the fun kind. Yours is… whatever this is. Like someone pissed in your cheerios.” 

“I don’t eat cheerios.” You rolled your eyes, messing with some papers on his desk. It was obvious he didn’t want you to touch them because he snatched them from your hands. 

“It’s a figure of speech, Mr. Harrington.” You paused, examining him. “What’s going on?” 

"Nothing," he said too quickly, picking up a pen and tapping it against the desk. "Just tired."

It was a bad lie, and you both knew it. But if he wasn’t going to elaborate, you weren’t going to push. You learned early on that prying too much only made him retreat further into himself.

Instead, you tilted your head and let a teasing smile creep back onto your face. "You sure? Because you’ve been walking around like someone canceled your favorite TV show."

“I don’t watch TV.” 

"Of course you don’t," you said, sighing.  "Too busy glaring at people and sighing dramatically."

The sudden buzz of his desk phone broke the tension. Steve reached for it, but you were faster, snatching the receiver off the hook before he could stop you.

"Harrington & Co.,," you answered, saying your name brightly, giving him a look that dared him to stop you.

He didn’t care, leaning back in his seat, probably thinking, one less person I have to talk to. 

"Hello, dear!" a warm, feminine voice said on the other end. "I wasn’t expecting such a cheerful voice. Who is this?"

You froze, your bravado faltering for the first time. Steve noticed your demeanor change. “Uh���” You scrambled for a response, ignoring Steve trying to reach for the receiver. 

The woman answered, “This is Steve’s office? He gets on me for always calling his personal telephone. So I thought today, I would call the office. How rude of me, this is his mom. Who am I speaking to?” 

“Steve’s mother?” You asked absentmindedly. You grinned cheekily when Steve’s eyes went wide. 

He took a sharp intake of breath, reached out to take the receiver away, and hissed, “Don’t–” 

“Mrs. Harrington!” You greeted her, pulling away from Steve. “I’ve heard so much about you from your son.” 

Steve quickly stood up, standing in front of you when he saw you were going to try and jump down from the desk. You held out your hand to stop him from coming any closer. Steve’s jaw tightened, and he mouthed, Hang up.

"Oh! Are you the girlfriend he’s been hiding from me?" she asked, her voice bright with excitement. 

Your stomach dropped. Girlfriend? You glanced at Steve, who looked like he was actively regretting every life choice that had led to this moment. 

"I..." You hesitated, torn between correcting her and seeing where this was going. "Well—" 

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. You shrugged at Steve. You would be smarter to say no and just give him the phone, but also watching him react the way he did made you buzz. 

"It’s all so new," you said vaguely, tilting your head to shoot Steve an innocent smile. You twirled the phone cord around your finger, taking far too much delight in the way he was practically vibrating with barely contained frustration. "We haven’t really put a label on things yet."

Steve’s jaw dropped, and he ran a hand down his face like he was trying to physically wipe away the situation. He mouthed again, Hang up! but you ignored him, your smirk widening.

"Oh, that makes sense," Mrs. Harrington said brightly. "Steve has always been so private. But I knew something was up! A mother knows these things."

"Of course," you said, your voice light and agreeable. "He’s such a delight to be around. I can see why you’re so proud of him."

Steve made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, pointing at the phone like it was going to combust in your hand.

"And you sound so lovely!" Mrs. Harrington continued. "You must come to Christmas. We’d love to meet you properly."

Your grip on the phone tightened. "Oh, um..." You hesitated, glancing at Steve, whose expression had shifted from exasperation to outright panic.

"It’s just a small family gathering," Mrs. Harrington added, as if sensing your hesitation. "Nothing too formal, in fact, it’s mostly his friends. Steve hasn’t brought anyone home in ages, so this will be such a treat!"

You opened your mouth, half-ready to backtrack, but Steve grabbed the phone from your hand before you could say another word.

"Mom," he said sharply, his tone strained. "Hi. Yeah. No, she’s not—"

He paused, his free hand rubbing at his temple as he listened to whatever his mom was saying on the other end. His shoulders slumped slightly, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like the weight of the world had just landed squarely on him.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice quieter now. "Fine. Yeah. I’ll talk to you about it later. See you then. Bye."

He hung up with a sharp click and turned to you, his expression a mix of disbelief, annoyance, and something you couldn’t quite place.

"You’re unbelievable," he said flatly.

"You’re welcome," you replied, hopping off the desk and dusting your hands like you’d just finished a job well done.

Steve just stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to will himself into a different dimension where this conversation had never happened. Finally, he sighed, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair. “Will you just go finish polluting the office with more cheap plastic while I try to write your termination letter.” 

You knew he was fibbing, but you still frowned. “What? It’s not like I told her your deepest darkest secrets.” You just made his mom believe he was in a relationship. 

He laughed incredulously. “You know exactly what you did. You made her believe we…” he motioned between you two. “As if.” 

You crossed your arms, scowling. “Excuse me? As if? Mr. Harrington, you would be lucky to even dream about dating me.” 

He held his hand up. “This is your fault,” he said, his tone sharp, “If you hadn’t answered my phone–”

“You’re seriously blaming me?” you interrupted, your voice rising. “You’re the one who didn’t tell her the truth.” 

“And say what? Say, ‘No mom, that’s only my annoying pain in the ass intern who can’t stay out of my business. Not my girlfriend.’” He readjusted the items on his desk from the spot you had sat on. 

“Yes, although I would leave out all the filler words, that’s not really important.” You regretted your comment immediately. 

Steve’s nose flared. You looked at the clock. Wow, new record of making Steve Harrington angry enough to kick you out of his office. He shut the door in your face, the lock clicked on the other side. You tried to peer inside, but he closed his curtains so no one could look into the office. 

The next morning, the office was humming with quiet activity. A few coworkers had come in early, and the sound of keyboards clacking mixed with the faint murmur of a distant phone ringing. You were nursing a cup of coffee at your desk, trying to forget about yesterday’s debacle. Steve hadn’t spoken to you since slamming his office door, and frankly, you were hoping to ride that silence out for the rest of your internship.

But peace wasn’t in the cards.

Your name was called out. Steve’s voice cut through the office like a blade. You glanced up to see him standing in his doorway, his tie slightly loosened and his jaw tight. He looked like he hadn’t slept. “In my office. Now.”

A few heads turned toward you, and you resisted the urge to groan. With a quick glance at your coffee as if it could save you, you stood and made your way to his door.

When you stepped inside, Steve closed the door firmly behind you, leaning against it for a moment like he needed to gather himself. His office smelled faintly of coffee and cologne, and the tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“You okay there, Mr. Harrington?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

His jaw tightened when you called him that. But he didn’t say anything about it. There seemed to be more pressing matters on his mind. “No,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms. “We need to talk about yesterday.” He walked past you, leaning against his desk. 

“Oh, come on,” you said, throwing up your hands. “It wasn’t that bad. Your mom seemed thrilled. I bet she even slept better knowing her darling son isn’t as emotionally unavailable as he looks.”

“This isn’t funny.”

You frowned, suddenly aware of how serious he looked. “I didn’t mean—”

“You’re coming to Christmas,” he interrupted, cutting you off.

Your mouth fell open. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You’re coming to Christmas,” he repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “My mom is expecting you. She’s already told everyone that I’m bringing someone.” He walked behind his desk, looking out at the busy Chicago streets. You thought he was being melodramatic.

“That’s not my problem,” you said, crossing your arms. “You could’ve told her the truth, but instead, you—”

“You’re the one who answered the phone,” Steve said, his voice rising. “You’re the one who decided to play along and make it worse.”

“Worse?” you scoffed. “I saved you from having to explain why you’re still single and miserable. You should be thanking me.”

Steve’s face fell. “You think I’m miserable?” He turned away, and you thought he looked almost sad. 

“Don’t dodge the point,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re the one dragging me into your family drama.”

“I’m not dragging you into anything,” he said, leaning forward and planting his hands on his desk. “I’m offering you a deal.”

“A deal?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve nodded, his jaw tightening. “I’ll pay you. Whatever you want. Double your hourly rate for every day you’re there. All you have to do is show up, pretend to like me, and keep my mom happy.”

You stared at him, your brain working overtime to process what he’d just said. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

“You want to pay me to pretend to be your girlfriend for Christmas?” you asked. “That’s… that’s insane.”

“No, what’s insane,” Steve shot back, “is the fact that my mom is already planning to introduce you to half of Hawkins like we’re engaged. So unless you want to explain to her why you suddenly bailed, this is happening.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of a response. Part of you wanted to storm out and let him deal with the fallout on his own. But another part of you—the part that had seen the vulnerability in his eyes—hesitated.

This wasn’t just about avoiding an awkward conversation with his mom. Steve was clearly under a lot of pressure, and as much as you hated to admit it, you’d helped create this mess. Walking away now would feel… wrong.

“Fine,” you said finally, crossing your arms. “But I have conditions.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What kind of conditions?”

“For starters,” you said, holding up a finger, “I’m not answering any weird questions about how we ‘met.’ That’s on you.”

“Fair,” Steve said, nodding.

“And I get final veto power over all cringe-worthy PDA. In fact, minimal to no PDA unless absolutely necessary,” you added. “I’m not about to get handsy with my boss.”

Steve grimaced. “Trust me, that’s not on my list of priorities.”

“Good,” you said, ignoring the small flicker of irritation at how quickly he’d agreed. “And finally, you’re driving.”

Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Deal.”

You studied him for a moment, still trying to wrap your head around what you’d just agreed to. “This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Steve said, sitting down and leaning back in his chair. 

You shook your head, already regretting this. What a Merry fricking Christmas to you. 

***

The road stretched out ahead, flanked by frost-tipped trees and the occasional weathered fence. The closer you got to Hawkins, the quieter it became, as if the small Indiana town had been forgotten by time. Even the car seemed to absorb the silence, its heater humming softly against the chill that seeped through the windows.

You glanced at Steve, who was gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, his knuckles pale against the leather. He hadn’t said much since you left Chicago, aside from the occasional grunt in response to your attempts at conversation. It wasn’t unusual for Steve to be closed off, but there was a weight to his silence now, something that settled in the car like a third passenger.

For the past few hours, you’d filled the space with music and idle chatter, throwing out observations about roadside diners and Christmas light displays in an effort to keep things light. But as the miles ticked by, your energy waned, leaving only the sound of a muted playlist in the background.

When Steve finally turned onto a narrow residential street, the tension in your chest grew. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting—some sprawling estate with a wrought-iron gate, maybe—but the house that came into view was surprisingly… ordinary.

The two-story home had a certain charm, with its neatly trimmed hedges and a string of multicolored Christmas lights hanging from the roofline. A dusting of snow covered the front yard, softening the edges of the picket fence and the stone path that led to the front door. A wreath hung crookedly from the door, its red bow slightly frayed, as if someone had pulled it out of storage at the last minute.

Steve pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, leaning back against his seat with a deep exhale. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the house like it was something he’d rather avoid. You resisted the urge to ask what was on his mind, instead focusing on the knot in your stomach that had been tightening since the trip began.

This was it. You were about to step into Steve Harrington’s world—the one he avoided talking about, even when you pried. The weight of that realization made your throat tighten.

"Home sweet home," Steve said finally, his voice flat as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

You followed suit, stepping out into the cold. The air was sharper here, biting at your cheeks and turning your breath into soft clouds. As you stood by the car, taking in the house, you couldn’t help but notice how still everything was. Hawkins felt like a far cry from the bustling chaos of Chicago, a place where time moved slower and the world seemed quieter.

Steve grabbed your bag from the trunk without a word, slinging it over his shoulder before nodding toward the house. You trailed after him, your boots crunching against the snow-dusted path.

The door opened before you reached it, revealing a petite woman with short, dark hair and a radiant smile. She stepped out onto the porch, clapping her hands together against the cold.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, her voice warm and bright. "I was starting to think you got lost."

Steve’s mom, you realized. Diane Harrington was every bit as charming as her voice had suggested on the phone. She descended the steps quickly, wrapping Steve in a tight hug before pulling back to examine him.

"You look tired," she said, brushing a stray piece of lint off his coat. "Have you been eating? You look thinner."

Steve sighed. "Hi, Mom."

Her eyes shifted to you, her expression lighting up as she stepped closer. "And you must be the girlfriend," she said, taking your hands in hers before you could react. "I’m so happy to meet you. Steve said you were pretty but I wasn’t expecting you to be this gorgeous."

Pretty? Heat crept up your neck, and you shot Steve a quick glare. He looked away, suddenly very interested in the snow beneath his boots.

"Thank you, Mrs. Harrington," you said, mustering your most polite tone. "It’s, uh, really nice to meet you too."

"Diane," she corrected with a smile. "Come inside, both of you! It’s freezing out here."

Steve brushed past her into the house, leaving you to follow. The moment you stepped inside, warmth enveloped you, carrying the faint scent of cinnamon and pine. The interior was cozy, with polished hardwood floors, soft lighting, and a large Christmas tree dominating the living room. Ornaments dangled from its branches, reflecting the twinkling lights, while neatly wrapped presents were piled underneath.

"This is... cute," you said, glancing around. It was homier than you’d expected, filled with little touches that spoke of a family that cared about the details—a bowl of candy canes on the coffee table, stockings hanging from the mantel, and framed photos lining the walls.

"You make it sound like a dollhouse," Steve muttered, dropping your bag by the couch.

Diane bustled in behind you, already pulling off her scarf. "I hope you’re hungry. I’ve got cookies in the oven and plenty of hot cocoa if you want some."

"That sounds amazing," you said, offering her a genuine smile.

"Good! I’ll grab you both a cup," she said, disappearing into the kitchen.

The moment she was out of sight, you turned to Steve, your voice low. "You could’ve warned me your mom was this... friendly."

Steve let out a short laugh, leaning against the arm of the couch. "What, did you expect her to interrogate you at the door?"

"Honestly? A little," you admitted, glancing toward the kitchen.

Steve smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something guarded about him now, a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t eased since you arrived.

"You good?" you asked quietly, crossing your arms.

"Fine," he said, brushing off the question. "Just... try not to make this worse than it already is."

You frowned, about to respond, but Diane returned, balancing a tray of steaming mugs and a plate of cookies.

"Here we go!" she said cheerfully, setting them down on the coffee table. "Now, sit, both of you. I want to hear everything."

You exchanged a quick glance with Steve, the unspoken weight of the situation settling between you.

This was going to be a long few days.

You weren’t sure what you had expected from Steve’s mom, but “relentless enthusiasm” wasn’t at the top of the list. Diane seemed to have a bottomless well of energy, firing off questions between sips of cocoa as you and Steve sat side by side on the couch. The way her eyes sparkled with every word made it clear she was thrilled you were here—and just as clear that Steve hadn’t prepared her for your arrival.

It was a stark contrast from her annoyingly moody son. 

"So," Diane began, leaning forward with a curious tilt of her head. "How long have you two been seeing each other?"

You hesitated, sneaking a glance at Steve. He was staring straight ahead, jaw tight, doing his best impression of someone who wasn’t deeply regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

"A little while," you said finally, keeping it vague.

Steve let out a small, sharp breath—relief, maybe—but you weren’t about to let him off the hook completely. "Steve didn’t tell you?" you added, shooting him a pointed look.

Diane’s brow furrowed slightly as she turned to Steve. "No, he didn’t."

"Must’ve slipped my mind," Steve muttered, his tone flat. He grabbed his cocoa and took a long sip, clearly hoping to disappear into the mug.

"Slipped your mind?" you repeated, incredulous. "Wow. That’s not the kind of thing you forget, Mr. Harrington."

Steve turned his head just enough to glare at you, his hazel eyes narrowing. "I’ve been busy."

"Too busy to mention your girlfriend to your mom?" you shot back, the word "girlfriend" sticking to your tongue like peanut butter.

He returned a sarcastic smile. “Seems I get a bit distracted when I’m worried about my employees coming in late to work and messing with things that’s none of their business.” 

Ouch, that was definitely targeted at you. 

Diane’s eyes darted between the two of you, her smile turning a little more amused. "You two bicker like an old married couple," she said with a laugh.

Steve groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "We’re not—"

"That’s just how he is," you interrupted, cutting him off. "Always so cheerful and charming. It’s why we get along so well." You grabbed his hand. You suddenly became aware that you had never touched him before. It felt strange. His hands were softer than you had imagined. Not that you had imagined what they felt like… but you just assumed they were callused just like his personality. 

His glare deepened, but he couldn’t exactly contradict you without blowing the whole thing wide open. Watching him squirm was deeply satisfying. He gave you an awkward smile, laying his other hand on top of yours. 

"Well, it’s nice to see him with someone who keeps him on his toes," Diane said, clearly delighted.

"Trust me," you replied, leaning back against the couch with a smirk. "It’s a full-time job."

Steve didn���t respond, instead finishing off his cocoa with a pointed slam of the mug onto the table. You could feel the frustration radiating off him, but he kept his cool, probably for Diane’s sake.

"Speaking of full-time," Diane said, seamlessly steering the conversation back to you. "What do you do? Steve said you work together."

"That’s right," you said, nodding. "I’m a marketing intern at Harrington & Co."

"Oh!" Diane’s smile widened. "So you work for Steve?"

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. "Technically, yes."

"Technically," Steve repeated, his voice dry.

You shot him a look. "Yes. Technically."

"Interesting," Diane said, her tone growing more curious. "That must make things... complicated."

"It’s not so bad," you said quickly, plastering on a smile. "We’ve got a great dynamic."

Steve snorted, earning a sharp nudge from your elbow. "Right, dear?"

"Sure," he said, rubbing his side where you’d jabbed him. "Great dynamic."

Before Diane could ask anything else, the sound of the oven timer chimed from the kitchen. She clapped her hands together, her excitement bubbling over. "The gingerbread cookies are ready! Stay right here—I’ll bring some out."

The second she was out of earshot, Steve turned to you, his voice low and tense. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Me?" you said, feigning innocence. "I’m just being the charming, delightful girlfriend your mom thinks I am."

"Charming?" Steve repeated, his brows lifting. “Have you ever been in a relationship before?”  

You ducked your chin into your chest, taking away your hand from his because there was no point since his mother wasn’t in the room. 

You hoped he was too self-absorbed to notice the shift. But you were never that lucky. “Wait, don’t tell me…”

“Just, shut up.” You snapped. 

Steve shook his head, muttering something under his breath as Diane reappeared, balancing a tray of perfectly iced gingerbread men. You quickly fell back into the good girlfriend role you were hired to play. 

"Here we are," she said, setting the tray down with a flourish. "Steve, be a dear and get her a blanket from the closet. I don’t want her catching a chill."

You smiled sweetly as Steve stood, his frustration barely hidden. He stalked toward the hallway, mumbling something about how "this was all a mistake."

When he was gone, Diane leaned in slightly, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "He really likes you, you know."

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"My Steve," she said, her smile softening. "He doesn’t bring just anyone home. At least not since his father…” she sniffled. She gave you a hopeful smile. “You must mean a lot to him."

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Steve reappeared before you could process what she’d said, tossing a folded blanket into your lap without a word.

"Thanks," you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Don’t mention it," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The tension between you lingered as Diane handed you both cookies, her voice filling the space with cheerful chatter. You focused on nibbling the edges of your gingerbread man, trying not to think too hard about her earlier comment—and why it made your stomach flip.

“Uh… sorry. Is there a restroom I could use?” You asked shyly, biting your lip. 

Diane put her hand on her cheek. “Oh dear! I got so excited I forgot to show you around. Steve, can you meet us upstairs in your room with the bags?” 

Diane led you up the staircase, her steps light and quick despite her small frame. You followed behind her, gripping the railing as you took in the house. It was cozy in the way older homes often were, with creaky wood floors and framed photos lining the walls. One caught your eye—a younger Steve in a basketball uniform, his face frozen in a proud, gap-toothed grin. Another showed him with his arm slung around a shaggy-haired boy, both of them laughing mid-moment.

“This way, dear,” Diane called, pulling your attention back to the present.

She stopped at the end of the hallway and pushed open a door, gesturing for you to step inside.

“Here we are!” she said brightly. “Steve’s room.”

You hesitated at the threshold, peering inside. The room was surprisingly neat, with a made bed covered in a navy comforter, a single wooden desk tucked into the corner, and a few sparse decorations on the walls—mostly framed posters and a few shelves of books. It was plain, a little impersonal, like the room of someone who’d stopped living here a long time ago.

"Uh, nice," you said, stepping inside awkwardly. "Where, um… where am I staying?"

Diane blinked, her expression shifting from cheerful to confused. “Here, of course.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh. Uh… here?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “There’s plenty of space, and the bed is big enough for the both of you.”

You froze, unsure how to respond. “Oh, that’s, um… generous of you, but—”

“Mom,” Steve’s voice interrupted from behind you. You turned to see him standing in the doorway, bags in hand, his expression a mixture of irritation and disbelief. “You didn’t say we’d be sharing a room.”

Diane’s brows knit together in a faint frown. “Well, where else would she sleep? The guest room hasn’t been used in years—it’s full of boxes. And the couch is far too small.” She smiled at you. “I’m sure you two don’t mind. You are a couple, after all. I’m not a naive mother, I know you had girls over back in your high school days.”

Steve coughed, “Mom!” 

You glanced at Steve, your heart pounding. His jaw tightened, and he looked away, clearly trying to keep his frustration in check. His cheeks were red. 

“Right,” you said weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Of course. No problem.”

“See?” Diane said, beaming. “I knew you’d be fine with it.” She reached out and patted Steve’s arm. “Be a gentleman and help her settle in. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

With that, she swept out of the room, leaving the two of you standing in thick, suffocating silence.

Diane’s footsteps creaked softly down the stairs, leaving behind a silence so thick you could feel it pressing against your skin. You glanced at the door, half-expecting her to reappear and tell you it was all some kind of misunderstanding. But no—this was your life now. Sharing a room with Steve Harrington, who looked about as thrilled as you felt.

You stole a glance at him. He stood near the bed, his hands on his hips and his lips pressed into a tight line. His jaw worked like he was biting back a string of words he wasn’t quite ready to say. It was strange, seeing him out of his usual sharp suit and into something more casual. The Steve Harrington you knew from the office had a confidence that bordered on arrogance, like he could handle anything thrown his way. But here? He looked... different. Smaller, somehow.

You pushed that thought aside and forced yourself to focus on the practicalities. The bed was big, sure—but not big enough to share without bumping into each other all night. And the floor, with its thin, scuffed wood, didn’t exactly scream comfort. You could already feel the ache in your back if you tried to sleep down there.

“This is a disaster,” you said quietly, half to yourself.

Steve snorted from where he stood, arms crossed. “Tell me about it.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he shook his head and leaned back, letting out a long, slow breath. His hazel eyes drifted to the window, where the faint glow of the Christmas lights outside cast soft shadows across the room.

“Look,” you said finally, breaking the silence. “We have to figure this out.”

Steve turned back to you, one eyebrow raised. “Figure what out?”

You gestured at the bed, your voice sharp despite your best efforts. “The sleeping situation. Because I’m not sharing that with you.”

His brows knit together. “You think I want to?”

“Good,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Then you can take the floor.”

“Why do I have to take the floor?” Steve snapped, his voice rising slightly. “It’s my room.”

“Because you’re the one who… hired me. I can walk downstairs right now and tell her this was all a lie.” From the grunt he made let you know you had won the battle. 

“Fine. Only because I don’t want my mom on the list of people who think I’m a loser,” he mumbled. He started to unpack his suitcase, mostly toiletries. 

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you said quietly, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

Steve paused, his mouth half-open like he was about to retort. His walls crumbled for a split second before he composed himself upright, turning back around to the suitcase. “Tonight we always go downtown to the tree lighting ceremony. You’ll probably see some of my friends.” He changed the subject quickly, walking into his bathroom to put his stuff away. 

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The weight in his voice was unexpected, and it made your chest ache in a way you didn’t like. You wanted to poke fun at him, to say something snarky and lighthearted to cut through the tension. But the words caught in your throat, stuck behind the realization that Steve Harrington wasn’t as bulletproof as he seemed. 

He came back into the room, eyeing you up and down. “Are you wearing that?” 

You looked down at your denim jeans and sweater. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” 

The corner of his lips upturned. “Nothing. Nothing…” he trailed off, pretending to be busy with something. “I just imagine if you’re dating a wealthy man then you’d wear something…” he was treading in dangerous waters. “Sophisticated.” 

You scoffed. “Sophisticated? Have you tried hearing something called, humility, Mr. Harrington?” 

“You know, it’s weird to call your boyfriend that.” He turned, tilting his head. His 5 o’clock shadow was becoming painfully obvious to you. 

“Good thing you’re not my boyfriend.” 

“Then what am I paying you for?”

You flopped on his bed, legs up, smirking. “Have you seen Pretty Woman?” 

He shot you daggers. “You wish.” 

“Don’t think I catch you staring when I wear that one skirt.” The statement was casual.

Steve froze for half a second, his hand lingering on the edge of his suitcase. He recovered quickly, scoffing like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed. “I wasn’t staring. I was—”

“Admiring? Appreciating? Objectifying?” you supplied, your smirk widening as you folded your arms behind your head and sank into the plush comforter. “Take your pick, Harrington.”

“Monitoring,” he retorted, zipping his bag with far more force than necessary. “Making sure you weren’t breaking the office dress code.”

“Is there a dress code?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’ve seen your ties. If we’re holding people to a standard, you might want to start there.”

Steve’s mouth opened, then closed again, as if he couldn’t decide which insult to throw at you first. He shook his head and grabbed a pair of shoes from his bag instead, sitting down on the chair to lace them up. “Unbelievable.”

“What?” you said, feigning innocence. “I’m just making sure you’re held accountable. You know, for all your staring.”

“I wasn’t—” He stopped himself with a frustrated sigh, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like your name.

You let out a laugh, leaning up on your elbows to watch him. It was too easy to get under his skin, and honestly, it was the most fun you’d had all day.

“So,” you said, shifting gears, “this tree lighting thing. Is it, like, a big deal? Or just another excuse for small-town folks to put on their Sunday best?”

Steve glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “It’s a thing. Hawkins doesn’t have much going on, so the tree lighting’s kind of... important. Everyone shows up. Friends, old classmates, people you try to avoid but somehow always run into.”

“Sounds delightful,” you said, swinging your legs off the bed. “Can’t wait to meet all your friends. Maybe I’ll find out what you were like before Chicago turned you into a grumpy corporate sellout.”

Steve gave you a flat look, tying his second shoe with more aggression than necessary. “Careful, or you’ll blow your cover.”

“Oh, please,” you said with a wave of your hand. “Your mom already thinks I’m perfect. I’ve got this in the bag.”

“Right,” he said, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “You’re a regular Oscar winner.”

“Thank you,” you said, hopping up from the bed. “I like to think I bring a certain… authenticity to the role. But hey, if you’re worried, feel free to jump in and charm your way through the night. Oh, wait.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shrugging into his coat. “Keep talking like that and I’ll tell everyone you begged me to hire you.”

“Joke’s on you,” you shot back, grabbing your own jacket. “They’d believe it. Who wouldn’t want to work for Mr. Harrington?”

He paused at the door, turning to look at you with an unreadable expression. For a moment, you thought he might actually say something serious, something that would shatter the rhythm of your playful back-and-forth. But then he smirked, the teasing glint back in his eyes. “You ready, or do you need time to come up with more ways to embarrass me tonight?”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Harrington,” you said, brushing past him with a grin. “I’ve already got a list.”

***

The drive to the town square was brisk, the chill of the evening air biting at your cheeks despite the layers you’d bundled into. Hawkins, for all its sleepy charm, had a way of making winter feel like something out of a picture book. Strings of warm lights crisscrossed overhead, illuminating the streets in a soft golden glow, while shop windows displayed carefully arranged holiday scenes. Wreaths hung on nearly every lamppost, their red bows fluttering slightly in the cold breeze.

As you followed Diane through the growing crowd, your gaze wandered over the scene, taking in the families, the couples, the quiet buzz of a small town coming alive for the holidays. It was… nice. Not the kind of “nice” you were used to in Chicago, where everything felt rushed and artificial, but something simpler. Quieter.

Beside you, Steve walked with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, his posture a little stiff as he glanced around. You weren’t sure if it was the cold or the fact that he was being dragged into a public event he clearly wasn’t thrilled about. Probably both.

For a moment, your gaze lingered on him. His hair, ruffled by the wind, still somehow managed to look effortlessly styled. The sharp lines of his jaw stood out against the glow of the lights, and the way his coat fit—broad shoulders, lean frame—was almost unfair. He was handsome in a way that felt infuriatingly natural, like he didn’t have to try.

You quickly looked away, embarrassed by your train of thought. Since when were you noticing things like that about Steve Harrington? You chalked it up to being stuck in close quarters—forced proximity was bound to mess with your head.

Before you could dwell on it any further, Steve’s pace slowed, his head turning sharply toward the sound of a voice cutting through the crowd.

“Harrington!”

The name was called with an edge of disbelief and excitement, and Steve’s expression shifted immediately. His stiff shoulders loosened, and for the first time since you’d arrived in Hawkins, a genuine smile tugged at his lips.

“Oh, no,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real irritation in his voice. “Robin.”

You turned your head, catching sight of the woman weaving her way toward you both. She was tall and lanky, with short brown hair that framed her sharp, curious features. Her grin was wide, a little lopsided, and when her eyes landed on Steve, she broke into a jog.

“Steve!” she said, launching herself at him in a hug that nearly knocked him off balance.

“Robin,” Steve said, laughing as he stumbled slightly. He hugged her back with a fondness that felt almost out of character for the grumpy boss you knew.

When Robin pulled back, her gaze flickered to you, her brow quirking as her grin shifted into something sly. “And who’s this?”

Before you could answer, Diane appeared at your side, her voice brimming with pride. She gave Robin your name. “She’s Steve’s girlfriend!”

You froze, feeling your cheeks heat as the word hung in the air. Girlfriend. It sounded so foreign—so wrong—and yet, Diane said it with such certainty that you almost believed it yourself.

Robin’s expression didn’t change, but there was a glint in her eye now, a sharpness that made your stomach twist. She looked between you and Steve, her grin growing wider. “Girlfriend?”

“It’s new,” Steve said quickly, his voice a little too loud, a little too defensive.

Robin turned to you, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Her handshake was firm, her gaze lingering just a second too long. You forced a smile, hoping you didn’t look as awkward as you felt. “Nice to meet you too.”

Robin’s eyes flicked back to Steve, and the smile on her face turned mischievous. “Well, isn’t this interesting. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Harrington.”

Steve groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Robin—”

“I mean, a girlfriend?” Robin interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “And you didn’t tell me? I called you three days ago and you never mentioned her.”

“Can we not do this right now?” Steve muttered, his cheeks reddening.

Robin shrugged, clearly enjoying herself. “Fine. But don’t think you’re off the hook. We’re talking later.”

Before Steve could respond, a loud cheer rippled through the crowd, drawing everyone’s attention to the tree in the center of the square. The mayor stood on a small platform, microphone in hand, as he began his annual speech.

You took the opportunity to lean closer to Steve, your voice low. “Your friend seems nice.”

“She’s fine,” Steve said quickly, his gaze fixed on the tree.

“She knows, doesn’t she?” you pressed, unable to keep the smirk out of your voice.

Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She doesn’t know anything. Yet.”

“Right,” you said, drawing out the word. “Because she definitely didn’t look like she was onto us.”

Steve turned his head just enough to glare at you. Then he looked back at Robin, noticing the way she was still looking at you two suspiciously. “I’m going to put my arm around you,” he said, looking straight ahead. 

You were taken aback. You hadn’t really been physical, but I guess it was different when it came to being around friends. They probably knew him better than his mom. So, you just stepped closer, leaning into him. His body tensed, arm wrapping around you. It was another odd feeling, but different from how it felt when you held his hand. A jolt of warm electricity buzzed through you as you relaxed into him.

The mayor’s voice boomed through the speakers, announcing the start of the countdown, and the crowd erupted into cheers. You let yourself get swept up in the energy, your smile lingering as the tree came to life in a brilliant display of twinkling lights.

For a moment, you forgot about all the lies that were bubbling inside you. The air was filled with warmth and light, and for the first time since you arrived in Hawkins, you felt yourself start to relax.

But then you glanced at Steve, catching the way his eyes softened as he looked at the tree, and that knot in your chest tightened all over again.

As the cheers from the crowd subsided, the tree’s twinkling lights cast a warm glow over the square. People milled about, sipping cocoa and chatting, their voices blending into a low hum that filled the crisp evening air. You found yourself lingering near Steve, half-listening to Diane’s enthusiastic conversation with a neighbor while Robin hovered close, her sharp gaze bouncing between you and Steve like she was piecing together a puzzle.

“Well,” Robin said suddenly, stepping into your personal space with a grin that could only be described as trouble. “Since Steve clearly doesn’t plan to introduce us properly, I guess I’ll take matters into my own hands.” She extended her hand again, this time with exaggerated flair. “Robin Buckley, certified Steve Harrington expert and general pain in his ass.”

You laughed, taking her hand despite the slight wariness creeping up your spine. You introduced yourself again, and this time, it felt genuine. Something about Robin Buckley made things less awkward. “Nice to meet you, Robin. It’s been... an eventful few days.”

“I bet,” Robin said, her eyes narrowing slightly as she released your hand. “So, how’d you two meet? Steve’s not exactly Mr. Social these days.”

Before you could think of a plausible lie, Steve jumped in, his voice a little too quick. “Work. We met at work.” You wanted to to stomp his foot. You had given him the job to explain how you met, but you had thought he’d at least come up with something unique.

Robin raised an eyebrow. “Work, huh? And now you’re dating?”

You felt Steve tense beside you, and it took everything in you not to burst out laughing at the way he was fumbling. “It was, uh, kind of unexpected,” you said, jumping in to save him. “One of those things where we just... clicked.”

Robin’s grin widened, her eyes flicking between you and Steve with laser focus. “Clicked. Interesting choice of words.”

“Robin,” Steve said, his voice low and full of warning.

She ignored him completely, stepping a little closer to you. “So, tell me—what’s your favorite thing about Steve?”

Your heart skipped, panic rising in your chest. What was your favorite thing about Steve? His ability to get on your nerves? The way he always found new ways to irritate you at work? The fact that, despite everything, you couldn’t stop noticing how stupidly handsome he was?

“He’s...” you started, glancing at Steve, whose face had gone pale. “He’s thoughtful. In his own way.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Thoughtful? Harrington?”

“He is!” you said quickly, warming to the idea. “Like how he makes sure everyone at work has what they need, even if he doesn’t say it outright. Or how he always, uh, remembers little things—like how I like my coffee.”

Steve’s gaze snapped to yours, surprise flickering across his face. You weren’t sure why you’d said it, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. And now, looking at him, you realized they weren’t entirely untrue.

Robin studied you for a moment longer, her expression unreadable, before finally shrugging. “Huh. Well, guess there’s a first time for everything.” She turned to Steve, smirking. “Look at you, Harrington. All grown up and thoughtful.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Can we drop this now?”

“Fine,” Robin said, clearly amused. “For now.”

Before the conversation could spiral further, Diane reappeared, holding two steaming cups of cocoa. “Here you go,” she said brightly, pressing one into your hands.

Steve frowned. “Where’s mine?”

Diane took a sip of her hot chocolate tauntingly. “Maybe you should have been the one to bring her cocoa instead of standing around like a bump on a log.”

Steve groaned, his breath misting in the cold air. “Seriously, Mom?”

“Seriously, Steven,” Diane shot back, her tone sweet but firm. She patted his cheek with a gloved hand, clearly delighted by his irritation. “You could learn a thing or two about how to treat a lady.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, muffled slightly by the rim of your cup. Steve turned his glare on you, but it lacked his usual bite, his cheeks tinged with more than just the cold.

“Oh, come on, Steve,” you teased, swirling your cocoa for emphasis. “Maybe if you were more thoughtful, your mom wouldn’t have to show you up.”

Robin snickered, enjoying every second of the exchange. “She’s got a point. Chivalry, Harrington. It’s dead because of people like you.”

Steve threw up his hands. “Great. Gang up on me. Real festive spirit, guys.”

Diane grinned, clearly pleased with herself, before excusing herself to chat with a neighbor who waved her over.

Robin, still grinning, folded her arms and leaned closer to you. “So,” she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “What’s it like working with him? Does he actually do anything? We used to work together in our younger days and I wondered if anything had changed.”

You hesitated, unsure how much to say. Robin’s sharp gaze made it clear she was fishing for something, and while you couldn’t exactly throw Steve under the bus, you also weren’t about to give her nothing. “He’s... efficient,” you said carefully. “Most of the time.”

Robin barked out a laugh. “Efficient. That’s the nicest way I’ve ever heard someone say ‘bossy.’”

“Thanks,” Steve said flatly, glaring at both of you.

Robin clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Stevie. I’m sure she’s just being polite. Take it from me, it is exhausting dealing with you all day.”

Before Steve could respond, Diane called out from across the square, waving for you all to join her by the skating rink.

As you started walking, cocoa warming your hands, Steve fell into step beside you. His usual scowl was back, but there was something softer in his eyes when he glanced at you.

“Efficient?” he said under his breath, his tone low enough that Robin wouldn’t hear.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.

“That’s how you describe me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Efficient?”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your cocoa. “Would you rather I say ‘thoughtful’ again? Because I think we both know that’s a stretch.”

Steve huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” you shot back, your grin widening.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the rink. “Let’s get this over with.”

For a moment, he looked younger, softer—like the weight he carried wasn’t quite so crushing under the glow of the lights.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” he said, snapping out of it. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

Steve hesitated, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

The square buzzed with holiday cheer as the three of you approached the rink, the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting off the ice. Families glided hand-in-hand, couples laughed as they stumbled together, and the faint sound of holiday music filled the air.

The rink was smaller than you expected, a modest oval surrounded by strings of lights and wooden benches dusted with snow. A few families skated in lazy circles, their laughter cutting through the quiet hum of Christmas music playing over the speakers.

You stood at the edge, sipping your cocoa and pretending you weren’t sneaking glances at Steve as he leaned against the railing. He looked more relaxed here, his expression softening as he watched the skaters.

“You used to skate?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Steve snorted. “Not exactly. I was more into sports that didn’t involve falling on my ass.”

“Ah, so basketball and being a high school heartthrob?” you teased, smirking.

He shot you a sideways look. “Something like that.”

Before you could press further, a group of skaters passed by, waving at Steve. One of them called out his name, laughing, and you could see his old reputation hadn’t faded entirely.

“Small-town royalty,” you said under your breath, shaking your head.

“Jealous?” he asked, his smirk returning as he straightened up.

“Hardly,” you shot back. “I prefer the anonymity of city life. No one there knows me well enough to make assumptions.”

Steve’s smile faltered slightly, something flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah. That’s the good part, isn’t it?” The weight in his voice caught you off guard, and before you could respond, he turned away, his gaze fixed on the skaters again.You wondered what memories were circling in his head, what had caused that flicker of something—regret, maybe?—to cross his face.

“You know,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, “if you want to prove Robin wrong, this would be the perfect opportunity. Show me your moves, Harrington.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, though there was the faintest hint of amusement behind them. “I don’t skate.”

“You just said you don’t fall on your ass,” you countered, grinning.

“That’s not the same thing,” he replied, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “And besides, I don’t have anything to prove to Robin.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, tilting your head. “Then why do I feel like you’re avoiding it because you know you’ll look ridiculous?”

Steve straightened, his brows knitting together in mock offense. “I do not look ridiculous.”

“Then prove it.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “I’m not playing this game.”

“Scared?” you teased, stepping closer and raising an eyebrow. “I mean, it’s fine if you are. You can just admit it.”

Steve stared at you, his lips twitching as though he was trying not to smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“Efficient and insufferable,” you said, crossing your arms. “It’s called versatility.”

Robin reappeared then, her grin wide as she caught the tail end of your exchange. “What’s this? Harrington getting cold feet?”

Steve groaned, running a hand down his face. “Not you too.”

“Oh, definitely me too,” Robin said, slapping him on the back. “Come on, Stevie. Show your girlfriend how it’s done.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to remind Robin that you hadn’t actually agreed to this skating charade, but the words caught when Steve turned to you. There was something challenging in his gaze now, something that made your stomach flip.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low and even. “Let’s do this.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Wait, what?”

“You wanted proof, right?” he said, already pulling off his coat and tossing it onto a nearby bench. “I’ll show you.”

Robin’s laughter rang out as she clapped her hands together. “This is going to be amazing.”

Steve stepped onto the rink, his movements deliberate and measured as he adjusted to the ice. For someone who claimed not to skate, he wasn’t half bad—his steps steady as he began to move in slow, cautious circles.

“See?” he called out, flashing you a smug grin. “No falling. No looking ridiculous.”

You crossed your arms, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “You’re going slow enough for a toddler to keep up.”

“Keep talking,” Steve said, his grin widening as he picked up the pace.

For a moment, you just watched him, the teasing comment you’d planned dying on your lips. Under the glow of the lights, his smile was defenseless, easy—something you weren’t used to seeing from him. He moved with a kind of grace that caught you off guard, his confidence radiating as he made another smooth lap around the rink.

“Okay,” you said reluctantly. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Steve echoed, stopping just in front of you. He leaned against the railing, his cheeks flushed from the cold. “That’s all you’ve got?”

You smirked, leaning closer. “Fine. It’s impressive... for someone who spends most of his day sitting behind a desk.”

Steve’s laugh was warm, and for a second, it felt like the rest of the crowd faded away. Then Robin appeared at your side, nudging you with her elbow.

“Careful,” she said with a sly grin. “Keep looking at him like that, and people might start thinking you’re into him for real.”

Your cheeks burned, but before you could respond, Steve pushed away from the railing, his gaze flicking to Robin.

“Alright,” he said, his voice full of mock bravado. “You’re next, Buckley. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Robin snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Steve smirked, gesturing toward the ice. “Scared?”

“Not a chance,” Robin replied. “I just have this thing where I don’t voluntarily humiliate myself in front of an audience.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “That’s a shame. Because if you’re half as bad as I remember, it would’ve been a great show.” Robin rolled her eyes, muttering something about “childhood trauma” before stepping back toward the bench.

Steve turned back to you, his grin softening. “You coming or what?”

You hesitated, your heart doing an unexpected flip. “I... don’t skate.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Really? And here I thought you were fearless.”

“Fearless,” you repeated, narrowing your eyes. “Or just smart enough to know my limits?”

Steve held out his hand, his smirk fading into something gentler. “Come on. I won’t let you fall.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you reached for his hand.

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over Steve’s outstretched hand. It was warm, even in the freezing air, and the way his hazel eyes held yours felt... different. For a moment, you forgot the small-town square, the hum of holiday music, and even Robin’s knowing smirks. All you could focus on was Steve.

“Alright,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

Steve’s smirk softened, and he tightened his grip, leading you cautiously onto the ice. Your boots wobbled the instant you stepped off the safety of solid ground, your legs feeling impossibly unsteady.

“Relax,” Steve said, glancing over his shoulder as he guided you. “You’re not going to fall.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you muttered, clinging to his arm. “You’re not the one flailing like a newborn deer.”

Steve chuckled, and the sound sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. It wasn’t his usual scoff or the dry laugh you’d heard before—it was quieter, more genuine. “You’re doing fine,” he said, slowing his pace.

Fine wasn’t the word you’d use. Every step felt like a battle, your balance precarious as you gripped his arm like a lifeline. You caught a glimpse of Robin on the sidelines, her grin wide with amusement. “Do you think she’s buying–”

Before you could finish, your skate caught on the ice, and your legs gave out. Steve’s hand shot out to steady you, but in the process, his own balance faltered. The next thing you knew, you were both tumbling down in a tangle of limbs, hitting the ice with a loud thud.

The cold bit into your palms, and for a moment, all you could do was blink up at the string lights above you, your breath fogging in the air.

“Okay,” you groaned. “This was a mistake.”

Steve’s laugh broke through the haze, full and unrestrained, and you turned your head to see him lying beside you, one hand over his face as he tried to catch his breath. It was the first time you’d ever heard him laugh like that—loud and free, without any trace of the prudent bitterness you were so used to. The sound was infectious, and before you knew it, you were laughing too, the absurdity of the situation overtaking you. Your head fell carelessly on his chest.

“You’re terrible at this,” Steve said between breaths, his voice light with amusement. You felt his hand splay against your back. 

“Me?” you shot back, propping yourself up on your elbows. “You’re the one who said you wouldn’t let me fall!”

“I didn’t think you’d take me down with you!”

Your laughter mingled with his, echoing across the rink. For a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered—just the two of you, lying on the ice, laughing like kids.

When you finally managed to untangle yourselves and scramble back to the railing, Diane was waiting, her expression soft. The two of you giggling as you took off your skating boots. “That laugh,” she said, her voice wistful. “You sound just like your father.”

Steve froze. The easy warmth in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a tension that tightened his jaw and straightened his posture.

“Mom,” he said flatly, the single word carrying a warning.

Diane’s smile faltered, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just—”

“I’m going to return these,” Steve cut her off, his voice clipped as he turned toward the rental booth. 

You watched him walk away, the lightness from earlier evaporating with every step. The Steve Harrington who’d been laughing with you on the ice was gone, replaced by the closed-off version you’d first met.

Robin sidled up beside you, her expression unusually serious. “That’s a sore subject,” she said quietly, nodding toward Steve.

“What is?” you asked, though you already had an idea.

“His dad,” Robin replied, crossing her arms. “It’s been... hard on him. They weren’t exactly close, but, you know, losing a parent messes you up. He tries to act like he’s fine, but... well, you’ve seen how he is.”

Your stomach twisted. You had no idea. The Steve you knew from work never mentioned his father, and you hadn’t thought to ask. Now, pretending to know him—really know him—felt heavier than ever.

“Yeah,” you said softly, nodding as if you understood. “I know it’s been hard on him.”

Robin gave you a small, sad smile. “You’re good for him, you know.”

Her words caught you off guard, and you glanced at her, unsure how to respond. “What makes you say that?”

Robin shrugged. “You make him laugh. He hasn’t done that much lately.”

Your chest tightened as you looked back toward Steve. He was at the rental counter, returning his skates with a forced politeness that didn’t reach his eyes. Even from a distance, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he carried himself like he was bracing for a fight.

You weren’t sure what to say or do. But as you watched him retreat further into himself, one thing became clear– Steve Harrington wasn’t just your grumpy boss or the boy-next-door pretending to be your boyfriend. He was someone who carried more weight than he let on. 

The drive back to the Harrington house was quieter than you expected. Diane hummed along to Christmas music on the radio, and Robin had waved goodbye at the square, promising to catch up with Steve later. You’d stolen a few glances at him in the passenger seat, his profile sharp against the faint glow of streetlights. He hadn’t said much since the rink, his jaw tight and his gaze fixed on the snowy roads ahead.

By the time you reached the house, the warmth of the living room felt almost stifling. Diane retired to her room with a cheery “Goodnight!” and Steve muttered something about getting water before disappearing into the kitchen. You lingered in the living room for a moment, trying to steel yourself for what would inevitably be an awkward bedtime arrangement.

When you finally made your way upstairs, Steve was already in the room, leaning against the dresser as he scrolled through his phone. He glanced up when you entered, his expression unreadable as you shut the door behind you.

“Uh, so,” you started, gesturing toward the bed. “How do you want to do this?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“The sleeping thing,” you clarified, crossing your arms. “You’re right. It’s your room, so—”

“No.” His voice was firm, cutting you off before you could finish. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Okay, then... I can grab some pillows or something. Make it work.”

Steve shook his head, setting his phone down on the dresser. “That’s not happening either.”

“Steve—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, his tone a little softer now. “Just take the bed.”

You frowned, feeling a twinge of guilt. “What about you? Where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll figure it out,” he said, but the way his gaze flickered to the bed made it clear he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

You let out a sigh, brushing a hand through your hair. “This is ridiculous. We’re both adults. We can share the bed. It’s not a big deal.”

Steve hesitated, his jaw ticked as he glanced at the bed again. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound casual despite the heat creeping up your neck. “It’s not weird unless we make it weird.”

Steve let out a breath, nodding slightly. “Okay. But if you start snoring, I’m kicking you out.”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Right. Because I’m the one who snores.”

He smirked faintly, grabbing a spare pillow from the closet. “Just don’t hog the blankets.”

The bed was softer than you expected, the navy comforter heavy and warm against the chill seeping in from the windows. Steve lay on his side, facing away from you, his breathing steady but not quite even enough to pass for sleep. You stared at the ceiling, the quiet stretching between you like a fragile thread.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, listening to the faint creak of the house settling, before you finally worked up the nerve to speak.

“Steve?” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shifted slightly but didn’t answer.

“You’re awake. I know you are,” you pressed.

After a moment, he sighed, his voice low and rough. “What?”

You hesitated, turning onto your side to face him. His back was still to you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand clenched slightly against the pillow. “I was just... thinking about what your mom said earlier,” you ventured carefully. “About your laugh.”

Steve didn’t respond, but the silence felt heavier now, the air between you thick with something unspoken.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked.

“No.” 

The word was curt, final. But you didn’t back down.

“Sometimes it helps,” you said quietly. “Talking, I mean. You don’t have to, but—”

“I don’t want to,” he interrupted, his voice sharper now. “It’s late. Go to sleep.”

You frowned, your chest tightening. You should’ve dropped it, let him have the space he clearly wanted. But something about the way he said it—like he was pushing you away out of habit, not because he didn’t need to talk—made you stay.

“Okay,” you said softly. “I just... I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you. Losing your dad.”

Steve stiffened, and for a moment, you thought he’d snap at you again. But when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost bitter.

“You don’t have to pretend you get it,” he said, still not turning to face you. “We weren’t close.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt,” you countered gently.

He let out a hollow laugh, finally rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “You don’t get it. My dad wasn’t... He wasn’t some great guy. He didn’t care about me or my mom. He only cared about what I could do for him.”

You stayed quiet, letting him find his words.

“He wanted me to follow in his footsteps,” Steve continued, his voice low and bitter. “Take over the business, be just like him. I thought... I thought maybe if I did what he wanted, he’d finally be proud of me. But it didn’t matter. Nothing I did was ever enough.”

Your chest ached at the weight in his voice, the years of frustration and hurt wrapped up in every word. 

“And now he’s gone,” Steve said, his jaw tightening. “And I’m still doing this job because... I don’t know. Because it’s all I’ve ever known. Because I don’t know what the hell else I’m supposed to do.”

The room felt impossibly still, his words hanging in the air like fragile glass. You wanted to say something, anything, to make it better. But you knew there wasn’t a quick fix for something like this.

“I’m sorry,” you said finally, your voice soft.

Steve let out a breath, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Yeah. Me too.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a while, and you weren’t sure if you’d overstepped. His breathing was steady, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling, and you wondered if he was retreating into himself again.

You sighed softly, turning your own gaze back to the ceiling. “For what it’s worth,” you started, your voice quiet but steady, “tonight was kind of... nice.”

Steve glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his expression skeptical. “Nice?”

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a small laugh. “The lights, the skating, even Robin grilling us... It was different. A good different.”

He frowned, shifting slightly. “Different from what?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. This wasn’t something you talked about often, and definitely not with people like Steve Harrington. But something about the quiet of the room, the faint hum of the heater, and the way he’d let down his walls just a little made you feel like you could.

“From how I usually spend Christmas,” you said finally, your voice soft. “If I was back in Chicago right now, I’d be on my couch. Probably eating takeout. Watching some random TV marathon.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. “That’s it? No family dinner? No tree?”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head. “I’ve never really done the whole Christmas thing.”

His frown deepened. “Why not?”

“I was a military brat,” you explained, letting your hands rest on your stomach as you stared at the ceiling. “We moved around a lot. My dad was always deployed, my mom was always busy, and holidays just... weren’t a priority. There was no time for decorating or big dinners. Half the time, we didn’t even know where we’d be by Christmas.”

Steve’s gaze softened, his brows furrowing slightly. “That sucks.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “It was what it was. I didn’t really know anything else. But nights like tonight? They’re kind of a breath of fresh air. Hawkins is... cozy. Even if it’s a little chaotic.”

Steve let out a small huff of laughter at that, and you smiled despite yourself. You thought you heard him whisper, “You have no idea.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” you continued, glancing at him. “Your mom is relentless, and Robin is terrifying in the best way. But the lights, the tree, the skating... it was nice. A little overwhelming, but nice.”

Steve didn’t respond right away, his eyes flickering back to the ceiling. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost thoughtful. “So you’ve never had a tree? Or, like, stockings or presents or any of that?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the "p." “I mean, there were a couple of years where my mom tried to make it festive, but it was always last-minute stuff. A wreath on the door, maybe some cookies if she wasn’t too busy. But the big, magical Christmas? Never had it.”

Steve turned his head to look at you, his expression unreadable. “That’s... kind of depressing.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Gee, thanks, Steve.”

“I didn’t mean—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I just... I don’t know. Christmas was always a big deal in my house. My mom would go all out. Lights, decorations, giant tree. My dad hated it, but she didn’t care. She said it was her favorite time of year.”

You smiled faintly. “She’s good at it. Making things feel festive.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “She is. She’d approve of your atrocious office decor.”

You snorted. 

Silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt... softer. Like the weight you’d both been carrying had eased just a little. 

“You know,” you said after a moment, turning your head to look at him. “If you ever get tired of this job, you could probably make a killing as a skating instructor.”

Steve snorted, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious!” you insisted, grinning. “You were, like, weirdly good out there. It was kind of infuriating.”

“Infuriating?” he echoed, his smirk growing.

“Yeah,” you said, rolling onto your side to face him fully. “You’re annoyingly good at things you don’t even like. It’s not fair.”

Steve chuckled, the sound warm and low, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else—the fake relationship, the awkward sleeping arrangement, even the tension lingering from earlier.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Steve’s gaze lingered on you, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Thanks for coming.”

You gave him a half-hearted smile before flopping over. Sleep finally took over.

[thesharktanksdriver]

Determination (Platonic)

Part 1 Part 3 Shanks beast pirates

Tagged: @peachsuka28 @emptynessinmyworld @badluckinfrench @j-s-l-m @tigerfang-rage @madokamagicaa @rymtea

Please give some suggestions of others y/n has met on their journey in the comments. I wanna see who else people want them to befriend/meet

I plan to later on do an entire thing for marineford. Be prepared for that and more stuff about y/n’s devil fruit

Once again this is non linear. Partially cause it’s easier that way and cause y/n has lived so long that their memories are kinda jumbled/they don’t really perceive time anymore (I kinda focused on that in this)

At some point in your eternal journey you began to write down your adventures into a small notebook

It’s leather bound with bright lettering on the front

A custom clasp in the shape of a star to keep the soft yellowed pages tight together

Sometimes you read it when out at sea with nothing to do but letting the wind guide your way to place of new and old

Before tucking it away into the pocket of Roger’s coat

Old ink of a dark navy blue stands out on the paper

Stark against the light yellow

With your feet dipped in the salty water of the place you called paradise you pull it out once more

Content in relaying over memories and people you’d once met

Let’s see who we have in store for today

Sengoku

Waking up on Marineford of all places after dying was certainly not on your list of islands you wanted to visit

An island dyed white and blue with golden accents sprinkled throughout the crowds of marines that walk through the area

The headquarters sat at the very top, loud and proud on the crescent moon shaped island

Honestly you very much contemplated just jumping into the sea to end up somewhere else

But as you stood at the very edge of the bay , leaning a bit forwards as the sapphire blue waves crash against the old stone walls

A hand grasps your shoulder

Turning around your met with the sight of a marine you had vaguely remembered Garp talking about

Sengoku, the Buddha

Your eyes trail upwards past his face to the pelican sat atop his marine hat

It stares down at you as does the marine who looks at you with concern

Especially since he sees no fear in your eyes along with contemplation

You had seriously thought about jumping into the sea all Willy nilly

It wasn’t even accounting the fact you may have a devil fruit

He quite literally drags you into the base, you don’t really complain since he gives you crackers

Similar ones to Garps favourites though a different brand

He sits you down, trying to get as much information out of you

It…isn’t successful

Your just chilling in his office, eating, looking around and giving the vaguest answers ever

Like he asks you about the island your from and you respond “a summer island a long ways from here. A place where fruit is plentiful and the corrupt hands of society do not touch” or some shit

He’s too stressed to deal with that type of shit so he doesn’t push further

Garp has been in his ass as of late along with the fact he’s worried about Rosinante

So his solution is to for now allow you to work as a delivery person for letters and documents

You actually quite enjoy it

Meanwhile this poor man is stressing over the fact that there is seemingly zero leads to any parents?

He’s just gotten somewhat unclear reports about a child on a raft drifting from island to island

Someone who reportedly has a track record of befriending the most unlikely of people

His migraines are getting worse at this point

You come to like the somewhat stern marine, oftentimes talking to him once done delivering letters and such around base

Most conversations are on ethics, morality and life

It’s odd but the way you talk about it seems as if your a weathered person who had seen more than the eye can see

Something in him leads him to feel as if your older than you looked

And then you somehow end up doing the most child-like thing and that feeling momentarily goes away

It’s weird and conflicting

But something he comes to get used to

In a lot of ways you remind him of his adoptive son

You have his smile and kindness that you extend to others even if they had sneered at you in the halls

The energy to complete a job no matter how big or small

A pension for somehow ending up in some sort of danger, though now it’s not from having two left feet

It’s from a lack of spacial awareness and not having any care for your safety

You’d think after such a long time seemingly on your own there would be some sort of fight or flight instinct

But from what he could observe there was absolutely none

It leaves him scared

He grew to care for you

See you as someone he’d take in within a heartbeat

But despite that and the offers he gives you of a home with fresh meals and someone who would care for you

You decline every time

Your tired from going to place to place yet you decline all offers of a stable life

A child should want some sort of stability, yet you throw that to the wind

He supposes that your burning determination and self sufficiency are good factors but a child your age shouldn’t have that

You should be carefree and going on a whim

But instead as he looks in your eyes he sees the tired visage of someone who had long lost their innocence to the world despite the laid back nature you show

It’s sad, it leaves him sometimes awake wondering what exactly you had been through

Maybe it was marines, it would explain your apprehension at first around him

Hair standing on end despite the lax facade you put up

Eyes looking at him with caution like a frightened and cornered cat. Calculating how to best go about the situation

The way in which you discuss with him about justice and what it meant

He digs more and finds scraps of nothing

Meanwhile as all that happened you were blissfully unaware of his spiral of worries

Just focusing on your job as you memorized the headquarters and marine procedures

You had nothing else to do plus it could come in handy

Along with that you befriend some of the few decent marines

One of which you spend quite a lot of time with despite Sengoku complaining about the smoke smell that hangs off your uniform…and the second hand smoking risk

Not like it can kill you quick so you don’t really care

You listen in on a lot of juicy marine rumours

There is quite a surprising amount of it

Despite your comfortable happiness here it’s merely an afterthought

You know you can’t stay here long

It feels as if it betrays Roger and the many other pirates you had found yourself in the company of

You desire freedom and marines are in direct opposition of that

But with this experience you find growth in your views

Marines weren’t all bad. They served the purpose of keeping order, something naturally needed in the world

But they are overstepping, wanting entire control when there needs to be a balance of both order and chaos to keep things in line

Plus you met a few that you’d otherwise consider good people in a system they thought would do good

You can’t fault them for that, not when so many sought out with good intentions

Secretly you prepare your leave, your boat already having washed up in the bay a few week back

Your not sure why but it always seemed to show up where you were

Maybe another aspect of your devil fruit? You don’t know it’s full capabilities but don’t question it

You’d rather let life do what it does best and put things in order if the stars align

At this point your prepared to leave but hold out for a bit longer for Sengoku’s sake

But then you delivered to him a letter whilst he was having a meeting with a fellow marine

Even before you enter the room you can recognize Garp’s boisterous laughter

Despite his now more apparent age from time he’s still eccentric and buzzing with excitement

As you enter the room you keep your head down and caps brim tilted as to shadow your face

Sengoku notices this but doesn’t voice it aloud as Garp laughs about something

He barely gets a image of you before your out the office

Heading to the small room designated as your own as you write a letter saying goodbye

You can’t stay, can’t risk it

Sengoku arrives a couple hours later completely exhausted from Garps usual rambling

He’s not sure how someone can go from business to about his grandsons

He has your dinner in hand, apparently you never showed up at the mess hall

His voice and knocks are responded with silence

Worry gnaws away at him, the feeling of something being wrong apparent more than ever

the door creaks open and your not there

What he’s met with is an open window with sheets cascading down the wall and a note

He runs to the pier despite knowing your not there

It’s there he takes time to actually read the note

A thank you but an explanation about how you must leave. Head off towards yet another adventure in the grand world you called home

Tears cascade down his cheeks as he reads it

They do not get better when it tells him that you would always remember his kindness

And that he taught you something valuable to viewing the world

Heading back to his office he thinks back to his son once more

Something finally coming to mind

He swears he remembers Rosinante mentioning someone similar to you as a childhood friend

The only person him and his brother had as children

He shoo’s off that thought though

They were dead

His son watched that firsthand

But because of that he knows that Rosinante would want to know of you

He takes the picture he took of you in the delivery uniform and placed it in a letter

He’d have his son look into perhaps finding you

Or at least extending a helping hand if he hand found you adrift at sea

He’d stash away the reminders of your stay lest he get an earful from Garp

Speaking of which, the idiot hero of the people seemed more alert for some reason. Just saying he was on the look out for an old friend…odd

Kid pirates

They find your ship as your drifting at sea

You were fishing at the time, passing the time plus trying to get some potential food

And then you see this giant ship pull up near yours

Your not really scared though a bit surprised cause you recognized that Jolly Roger

You’d heard a lot about this crew, but you didn’t know who was the captain

Seems like your question will be answered

Staring down from the side of the ship is someone with fiery red hot hair and someone wearing a mask with an equally wild mane of golden locks

For some reason though the red head looks familiar

Extremely…ohhhh you knew him

Oh shit you knew him when he was a kid

And now he’s grown up (you’d hadn’t even realized it’s been that long) and your still as young as you were back then

With no possible explanation to write you off as a different person

Shit-

Before you can do anything your lifted out from your ship via a metal bracelet on your arm made of wire and screw

Curtesy of Kid all those years ago who stares at you with a mixture of confusion, shock and anger

His crew is watching with batted breath wondering what he’ll do

“I’m guessing you want an explanation”

“No shit”

“Captain let’s take this someplace private”

With that the two take you to his workshop, a place similar to the one he had growing up

Yet it’s now not just a shack

Around the room there’s metal scraps and almost completed projects scattered around

It smells of iron, rust, determination, stubbornness and oil

All of which you’d come to associate with the red haired captain you now sit across from

And of killer who you now recognized despite the mask

You don’t have much of a choice to tell the truth

Especially since you know for a fact both would be able to tell if your lying

Kid is angry, perhaps not at you but for the circumstances of your life

It’s no wonder that even as children you were a bit odd

Staring off into space as you’d say some weird cryptic shit

But it also explains the sadness as well

The few times he caught you silently mourning something or someone in the dead of night

His anger fades though and becomes something else when you mention you didn’t know the years had flown by and he was grown up now

It scares him

You hadn’t realized the large passage of time from when you left that one night to now

When you admit that your even a bit shaken and confused but shrug it off

That really fucking terrified him especially when you begin to recount some of what you’d done in that time

For so long he and Killer assumed you died but perhaps you had something worse than that

You’d lived through so much

Through bloodshed and war

Through loss and grief

Countless deaths of not only the people you’d formed a connection with but yourself

Pain was now a meer concept to you

He sees how strong you are (and he heavily respects that) but at the same time how close you are to the breaking point

When Kid cares for someone it’s akin to molten steel

It’s burning brightly and protectively forming a hard barrier towards it and danger

There are a few people he’d ever stick his neck out for to protect (that being his crew and Killer)

And one of them is you, the only other person in his childhood that ever stood through thick and thin with him

By god will he ever admit it through words but with actions

And his actions are subtle as hell to those who don’t know him

On deck as his crew are rowdy he makes sure to keep out and eye for you, especially considering how your prime bumping into material for being so short

Luckily for him though your usually on someone’s shoulders or being playfully tossed around

Despite how clashing the rest of the crew’s personalities are from your own you fit in. Your calmness allowing you to go with the flow of their escapades

It’s not really surprising to him, but there are a few of the crew who comment about it

There were a lot of ways to describe you but he thought the best was the eye of the storm

A peace and calm within the swirling winds of danger and chaos

Bringing a calm breeze and momentary warmth

It’s easy for him to notice but his men are more content

Happy as you indulge in games with them or give a break from the hecticality of life at sea

This is of course all good and nice but Kid is somewhat huffy when you spend too much time with them

When this happens killer usually gives you a signal so you go spend time before kid ends up destroying something

One of his favourite pastimes with you is having you help with his tinkering

Sitting in a small chair made of metal and scrap as he works diligently

During these times he doesn’t talk, just listens as you tell stories or stay silent with him

It’s therapeutic in some way

Especially since the only background noise is the clanking of metal

Sometimes you ask about his devil fruit power and he shows off

Making you oh and ah about the versatility of what he can do

It makes something in him swell with pride especially since you look at him with awe

Just as he did as a kid when you told stories of pirates

During the late nights in which his crew are asleep you both talk

He digs deeper into your stories and gets madder and madder when more and more of your life is exposed

Most of your responses when hearing the truth is pity but his is anger

A weird but validating reaction that makes your long died out anger ignite a little

He lets you punch, scratch and scream to let it all out. Encouraging you to do so

Sometimes you swear you can see a brightly shining star in him. His determination for something that burns like a furnace used to heat up metal to bend to his whim

Killer is much like kid in the fact that he’s worried about and cares but he goes about it a much different way

He’s the only voice of reason on this ship

And he’s honestly glad to have someone else who’s level headed

As much as he loves his captain and crew it can kinda get annoying sometimes when he’s the only responsible person

Your at least not jumping to set the ship on fire every 3 minutes unlike some people

Hearing your situation now makes a lot of sense when thinking back to when he and Kid where young

There were a lot of inconsistencies and things that didn’t make sense

But now they do on the fact you were a seemingly immortal traveler

It makes him upset like Kid though

Your situation wasn’t fair

Your life wasn’t the dream your once made it out to be

Sure there are moments of happiness dispersed through the cold harsh waters but it took you dying in horrible ways to get there

You didn’t see that but you felt it’s affects

The occasional times he’d have you help cooking and then you’d blank out

Be stuck in your mind till he snaps you out of it and you explained how you were once eaten

It’s terrifyingly eye opening to how the world treats someone like you

A kind and calm soul who only wants freedom amongst the waves

Yet though they are sometimes treated with kindness there is also cruelty

Like Kid it leaves him angry

Upset on how you let yourself be treated in such a way along with brushing it off

Not only that but it’s also concerning

How you endure the worst things he could imagine yet it seems to be an afterthought

Until he finds you in the middle of the night staring out at the darkness with a certain look in your eye

There’s not much he nor Kid can do but he promises himself he’d try

Try for your sake to actually value yourself

Killer on the ship is the cook amung other duties as well, but cooking is his favourite

He has you help out as a second pair of hands

To be honest he doesn’t trust anyone else on the ship to cook without accidentally (or purposefully) poisoning someone so he usually does it alone

It’s the only time of peace on this madhouse that he calls of home

And it’s nice he gets to share it with someone

He assigns small tasks for you to do on the account your still a kid (despite how much you protest and say your literally older than him)

Cutting vegetables, grabbing ingredients, taste testing and stirring are your main priorities

But occasionally he has you help with other things as long as he can keep a close eye on you

He knows for a fact if you hurt yourself you wouldn’t tell him and brush it off

And by god he doesn’t need you to die of something stupid just cause you didn’t care to tell him

Unlike Kid he’s not afraid to verbally give affection

It’s just in private moments that he prefers it

Soft thank you’s and moments in which he admits he had missed having you around

The logical side of him knows he and Kid can’t convince you to stay but the emotional side tries anyways

Showing you how happy you could be if you stayed here

How the crew saw you as their own

How much safer you’d be rather than just drifting from place to place

It’s a loosing battle but one he tries anyways cause he cares

And he knows Kid cares despite the fact he tries to deny it

Cause Killer knows Kid

Seen how the red haired captain had been more motivated as of late

How much happier he is

The fact that when you bring up leaving the red haired captain locks himself in his workshop for the night to try and distract himself

He wishes you’d see how much you affected people, affected them

Cause despite what you thought of yourself your able to do the impossible

You leave a real impact on those you’d met even if it was for a short time

The crew sometimes pester him for answers on how he and Kid already knew you but he doesn’t budge

That’s a private matter that only you could disclose if you so wanted to

But for now he just says you were friends beforehand which gets some confusion

Speaking of the crew, he watches as you interact with them

Quickly somehow worming your way into their hearts as you did his

Watches as you play poker and they teach you how to cheat at the game or sing shanties while they drink

He may or may not have gave a few a good knock on the head for letting you take a few sips

(Kid hides the fact he gave you some as well)

He carry’s you off to bed and sneaks you some sweats he snagged at a port

Even allows you to brush and braid his hair in private

Kid once walked in and laughed his ass off about killer going soft

And then the two had a playful fight

Meanwhile you sat there laughing

It was like old times

As always you eventually leave but not before the crew throws a large party in your honour (and partially to drink the feelings away)

Before you set off again kid gifts you a bracelet made by him and a small piece of paper

To always find them if you needed their help

You smile and set off, not knowing how the crew stares with ignorant hope you’d turn around

Crocodile

Your not sure how but somehow you ended up in a desert with absolutely no idea of what island this was

Naturally you decided to lay in the sand and wait to die so you’d wake up somewhere else

But a few hours into that a shadow obscures the harsh sun that had been glaring at you for hours

A man, black slicked hair and elegant clothes with a golden hook for a hand

Beside him is another man, what you assumed to be a bodyguard of sorts

“Hi what desert is this?. I’d like to know where exactly I am before I die”

Yeah they definitely didn’t expect that for an answer

But with what you said you seemed to intrigue the hooked man

“Alabasta. What are you doing out here in the first place alone kid?”

“Woke up here. Was waiting to die”

Admittedly crocodile was just gonna save you as to make his imagine of being the hero of this country even better but now you’ve really got him interested

Even Daz was somewhat surprised and intrigued by your comment and lax attitude towards death (even your own)

So as he takes you back to the city, taking in the fame that came with it, he decides to “look after you” until your parents come to claim you

As any kind Samaritan would do

Your calling bullshit on that but amuse his words anyways

At his casino he talks to you as he does paperwork and take mysterious calls you leave the room for

While your curious you respect his privacy which he seems to appreciate

Crocodile is a peculiar man

Someone of specific interests and a golden viper-like tongue that leads to fools eating out the palm of his hand

You can see that though, quite easily actually

Eyes looking past the hand he holds out to the hook he hides behind his back and goons just behind the corner

He honestly applauds that you see it

In his words your “a smart kid.” Which you assume is something he doesn’t say often

Much like an oasis in the scathing sands of the desert

Your conversations with him are much more personable rather than focusing on his clearly defined goals and plans

That isn’t your business to divulge in, but his character is up to your judgment

He’s obviously not a good person but half of the people you’d called friends were criminals and killers alike

Sure some had morals but there’s still a stated fact that they had taken lives in pursuit of their goals

Roger included

You’d be a hypocrite to think otherwise

Talks often involve subjects of death and the goal of freedom

And what freedom meant in this world that was quickly having it taken away

Crocodile is tinged by death much like the lingering smell of his cigars

It follows him like a plague, like sand stuck to your clothes after getting wet

Yet despite that it’s a clearly interesting topic to him especially since you disregard your own safety

He’d seen it in the desert and at his casino where you nearly got shot by an angry patron

You don’t care about your own death

But when it comes to others it’s a different story

It’s interesting to him

Why were you so selfless in the fact you’d carelessly throw your life away for someone else’s

In this world it’s one only won by the selfish

He’s a prime example of that

At his core he knows he’s selfish, his goal is an example of that fact

Yet despite how foolish it is to not be selfish…with you it’s admirable

You don’t have some sunny and innocent view on the matter. You know it’s a loosing game yet you pursue it anyways

Perhaps it’s more foolish in that way but you don’t care

Not when you have the freedom to choose and make those choices anyways

Freedom matters to you more than words can describe and he relates

It is freedom that let him make the course of his own destiny

Changing who he once was to the person he is now

Now comfortable in his own skin and confident in his abilities and identity

Perhaps it’s cause you had your freedom taken away at some point but you relate in some way

Not having the choice in a matter and suffering due to it

He doesn’t go into full detail on the matter but you have a knowing look in your eye and a semblance of deep respect because of it

It makes a part of him feel light and airy

Despite all the clearly scummy aspects of himself that are as clear as day to your eyes….you respect him

Some still deeply insecure part of him curls up at that and wants to cry

You respected him

That’s something he’d always wanted

It’s not motivated by fear and greed but true respect for the hardships he’d been through to get here

Worry curls up in his gut, swirling and violent like the sands storms he creates

Shit, he’s attached

What’s worse is that you’d wormed your way into the others hearts as well

Even Daz has to admit you grew on him

Your a lot like a cancerous sore. Growing and spreading to a new part of the body

Yet he can’t will himself to cut you off

And neither does his inner circle

It complicates things but at this point he accepts it after a brief moment of reflection and thought

He hadn’t thought of trying to find your parents and had the posters taken down

Now fully intending to keep you as his own

He doesn’t ask you on the matter, just slowly begins the process

Decorating your room to your preference

….which was very hard considering you didn’t have one and settled for the bare minimum most of the time

Yeah it’s a bit of a challenge especially since your beginning to catch on real quick

It’s kinda easy to tell when someone goes from “I’m keeping you around for entertainment” to “I’m keeping you around as my kid now”

While you appreciate the offer and effort you don’t particularly like your freedom being impeded upon

“You know that’s hypocritical right?”

“Yes but when have pirates ever been people of their word?”

“Touché…but I’m still not happy about this”

As this happens he begins to dig deeper to who you are

Intent on figuring out if you had parents and if he could perhaps…get “custody” to put it broadly

But that becomes a challenge when there’s seemingly nothing about you except for vague whispers across the sea

A legend

A story

A song

It’s old, going back to the days of Roger and references to before that as well

A tale of a star that never really died

It’s forgotten to many but to a few it still lives on

And he has the vaguest idea from the description in the song that it’s you

But for awhile it’s a mere speculation

Until you end up dying in front of him from a deal gone wrong

Despite the fact you knew the bullet would pass through his body you instinctually throw yourself in front of him

The bullet piercing your chest

A deafening silence filling the moment between him and his inner circle of baroque works

And then chaos

Their swiftly dealt with, the perpetrator personally having their body liquids drained within mere moments

And then he’s at your side as Bentham does their best to stop the bleeding

Despite the fact your bleeding with a piece of led stuck in your chest your unfazed

Shrugging it off as “pain is a concept to me at this point”

It makes him angry, sad and determined all at the same time

Angry at the fact you must’ve experienced so much pain that something like this is nothing to you

Sadness that you’ve went through this before

And determination to stop it from happening again. To have the ability to protect you

“Let it be known that when you come back I’ll be looking for you”

“So you know?”

“Had some connections…found an old story but you just confirmed it”

You giggle lightly at that, not even wincing as you cough up some blood with your laughter

They all watch as your eyes fade of their light and then after that your body breaks into sparkling dust

Crocodile is a selfish man, one driven by ambition and greed

It’s funny you think he’d let go someone he considered to be a diamond in the rubble

One that shone as bright as a star in the sky

He extinguishes his cigar under his boot, grasping the small bits of starlight in his hand before it slips through his fingers like sand

He chuckles, how ironic

In the world populated by the greedy he intends to be king

And a king guards his treasure especially something that is as priceless as you are in this world

“Watch out kid. You’ve gotten me attached and there’s no undoing that now”

Boa Hancock

For a brief time you had spent a couple months or so as a celestial dragon’s slave

It was by complete accident that you were kidnapped and subsequently sold

But in that time you’d come to learn more of the politics of the world

Specifically the inequality of rules for nobles from the world government

You don’t spend much time as a slave but it’s torturous

Permanently scaring your mind with the pain of being branded as property

Seen as an object that can be broken

In your time there though you remember 3 girls

That time is a blur in your mind but you remember giving your limited food to them

The group being taken aback by the kindness as you explained you’d be fine

It went on like that for awhile

You never got their names but you gave them yours

They were sisters, the one with black hair being the oldest of the trio

It was a friendship made out of desperation

Of knowing that none of you were alone

The eldest of the group is one day forced to kill you for the pleasure of the sick bastard who had branded you all

She’s sobbing

He’ll kill her sisters if she doesn’t

You tell her it’s ok, that she must do what she can to survive and keep them alive

That death didn’t scare you

Her devil fruit turns you to stone within an instant but not from romantic love

It’s from the love of a friend

Of someone who’d cared for her and her sisters enough to give up your own for them

For her to keep them safe

The statue crumbles and she’s left sobbing

Gold floats from the grey dust that scatters around her

She thinks back to some of your last words

She had to be strong for her sisters

Make sure they get out of here lest your sacrifice be in vain

She’d be strong so she can protect

Just as you protected her and them from a violent fate

Even through the scar isn’t there anymore you scratch at your back

Remembering the pain of that seal

You can’t remember who the symbol belongs to anymore

Other than then being some type of royal

The cycle begins again

Smoker

You met him during your brief time at marineford

One of the only Marines whom you found to actually be good

Not just seeing things as simply black and white good and bad

Sure, he had a job to do and accomplish but he at least had a sense of morally grey justice

A well weighted scale so one side is not preferred over the other

It’s because of him that the smell of lingering smoke now leaves a sense of comfort to you

Admitting this to him makes the rather gruff man go completely red

Much like the lot end of those cigars that he loves so much

Despite how own duties he’d help you deliver things at the base

Having his smoke help carry letters across the island within minutes as to give you a small break

Speaking of which, he basically forces you to have mandatory breaks from work

Oftentimes literally dragging you off to go get something to eat

You have the feeling he has a soft spot for kids but vehemently denies that fact

(The way he buys you ice cream and lets you sit on his shoulder says otherwise but ok)

Another thing supports this fact is that he grows quite concerned at your complete disregard for your safety

The man has a panic attack every time you make an odd comment about “do you think I’d die from this height or shatter my legs” and “could you theoretically give people cancer or kill them via smoke blockage in the lungs?”

You can’t convince him that you had a happy childhood before this

Sengoku not being able to find your parents makes this thought worse

You didn’t know him for very long but you hope to one day run into home again

Charlotte LinLin

Somehow you ended up at an orphanage after someone found you asleep and adrift at sea

It most cases this would’ve been a blessing

To you it was an annoyance as they left you at a place for the abandoned and mourning

A reminder of where you might have ended up if you haven’t ate your fruit

Hadn’t taken the reigns of fate in your hands and steered it towards the endless blue sea

Immediately you want to leave the moment you can, especially since you get off vibes from “mother caramel”

That woman is up to something real bad

You can feel it deep in your bones

But you end up staying when you meet a peculiar girl

She’s young but not little, she towers over you like a giant

Puffy pink hair kept in two buns and freckles cheeks paired with a large toothy smile

She’s an interesting character, so like always you end up staying

Her name is Linlin, someone with monstrous power yet is innocent to a frightening degree

She has a kind heart yet doesn’t realize her strength

Something you try to help her with

Linlin is ecstatic to have you as a friend especially since you don’t seem out off by her size

You stay by her side, more specifically on her shoulder and tell her stories that make her eyes widen in curiosity

Telling stories of other races, showing her that the other children who aren’t human aren’t needing to be fixed like she initially thought

Their all perfect

She’s still a little confused but she gets the gist of it

Another thing she doesn’t get is discrimination and thinks it’s stupid

She expresses a dream of a place where everyone can live in peace

It’s a beautiful dream but one that is far fetched, yet you can’t help but tell her to go for it

Because there’s no harm in trying

Mother Caramel seemingly assigns you as Linlin’s impulse control

Seemingly since your the only one who can actually make her listen when she’s blind from rage

As much as you don’t like the old woman, she’s got a point

Linlin is a hurricane if made angry and you’re the key into keeping it at peace

She seems to note that to herself for some greater reason

In the end you didn’t know Linlin for very long but she seemed to hold you in such a high regard she deemed you her “bestest friend!”

It’s nice

But like all things they come to and end

But surprisingly it’s by her own hand

At her 6th birthday everyone had come together to make her sweets knowing she loved anything sugary

She was in tears, grin so wide you thought it was big as the red line

She ate and ate

Until there was no cake left

But like in those blind rages she didn’t see

She didn’t see there was nothing left

Didn’t notice what she now began to eat was the rest of the children sitting nearby

Mother caramel

And finally you

Eventually she woke up, finding herself alone and confused

Glitter flowing up into the sky

Years later you hear about some island meant to be a utopia for all people

It reminds you of that little pink haired girl

But that can’t be, you heard the pirate behind it was a maniac

That couldn’t be the innocent girl you met and became friends with

…how did you die that time again?

All the deaths have merged together or you can’t remember which death went where

For all you know the one where you got eaten was that one

But that can’t be

From what you remember Linlin was kind if not naive

She couldn’t

Wouldn’t

The cycle begins again

Katakuri

For awhile you stayed at an island that specialized in baked goods

And that served as a calling for the famous pirate known as “big mom” and her children

The island was not yet under their…”protection” but was being negotiated with as of when you visited

And on that island you found yourself at a bakery buying sweets to your hearts content

Specifically donuts

The one where we’re apparently particularly good

And honestly it’s been awhile since you’d treated yourself to a good meal

Soooo you splurged a bit and bought them all

And that leads to an odd meeting when you run into the giant of a man with a pink tattoo and fur lined scarf covering the bottom half of his face

The chefs cower as they tell him that their all out of the sweet treat

Despite the evident frown he doesn’t look as if he’s about to trash the place like the chefs are making it seem

He simply seems disappointed and a bit sour

Despite how everyone is clearly afraid of him you poke his arm making him look at you

“We can share if you’d like. I don’t mind”

From the mortified looks of everyone in the room it’s evident everyone is half expecting him to flat out obliterate you on the spot

But much to their surprise he seem to think it over

“If you see me eating I’ll kill you”

“Aight, that’s fine with me. We can eat back to back, then I won’t see you”

The bakery is left silent as you leave with the pirate

They prey your alright

Just as your promised you eat back to back. He creates a small house of mochi as you put down the donut box and you both eat

It’s peaceful and nice

He half expects for you to turn around but you don’t

You don’t even seem to consider it as you happily eat and engage in small conversations

It’s odd being asked such mundane things like “how was your day?” And “what do you do for a living?”

Let alone by someone who isn’t currently shaking in fear

….it’s nice

You let him have the last donut much to his surprise

He enjoyed this much more than he thought he would

So he comes up with an ultimatum

“I’ll be too busy to buy them before they sell out…would you be willing to buy them and then we do what we did today?”

“Sounds fun to me.”

He leaves with a warm feeling in his chest

Not even his siblings treated him in such a relaxed manner…it was refreshing

The next day ticks by and he finds himself awaiting for the meeting to be over

He stops himself from tapping his foot but his irritation occasionally seeps out

It goes to help speed up conversation though and then he’s free

Like the day prior you both meet at the same place

He insists on paying you back but you refuse

It’s confusing but he doesn’t make a comment about it

In the grande scheme if things this is such a small thing but it begins to mean the world to him

He’s only intended to stay here for a week yet he dreads that final day

So much so that he finishes business early

When you go to the shop you find that their already sold out much to your displeasure

You go to tell the sweet toothed man you befriended and find him already with the confectionery

You eat back to back once more for the last time

Enjoying the donuts that bring him momentary relaxation and relief from the pressure to be the prefect son

The perfect big brother

It’s nice

And for once he feels as if he was his true self around someone

You hear him cry but don’t turn around out of respect for him

Instead you just offer him more food and gently pat his arm

A small “thank you” falls from his mouth and you smile

You thank him in return for the pleasant company

He wonders if this is what is mother experienced when having her “bestest friend” all those years ago

The one story that him and all his siblings had heard growing up

About someone much like yourself

He leaves the island with a smile beneath his scarf and a noticeable better mood

His siblings ponder about what happened but he doesn’t speak a work of it

This was a treasure he’d like to keep to himself

For some reason his mother has a knowing look

Btw wanted to thank you all for liking this so far. I was honestly kinda scared to actually post for one piece but I’m glad people are enjoying my content for it. I recently got into the show and wanted to write about it cause I love it so much.

[thatgirlsza]

Without you♡

Satoru Gojo x fem reader

Angst, Fluff

Gojo is frantic. Big blue crystal eyes, wide and scanning everything as he flies down white corridors. The people along the white walls who watch him in white coats and colorful scrubs are bewildered as his feet stomp hard against the tiles. Whispering and wondering, what has the man so panicked? He ignores it, though, ignoring everything as he tries to concentrate his six eyes on you, but his head is spinning, his vision is hazy, and he can't even feel you.

Soon he reaches the reception desk, where a blonde stands at attention upon seeing him. She has eyes that hang down from the side as if she has grown old and tired, and a soft, calculated smile to not be rude but be kind. Satoru notes this, not sure why—anything to get his mind off of the fact he can't find you—and begins to splutter.

"I'm looking for my wife, (name) Gojo. She was rushed here last night. I wasn't in town." He says rushed, breathless. Guilty at how the words fell out, his wife rushed to the hospital the night before, but he wasn't home. It's true he had basically flashed here as soon as he heard it, but the guilt still hung. His poor, sweet, innocent wife is collapsing while he, the person who promises to protect her, is at work. But he swallows those feelings down and awaits the blondes response as she clicks through the computer, then looks backs at him.

"Room G5, she's been awake for a little while now and can be discharged later today after she sees the doctor." She says plainly but is greeted by the dark navy silhouette as he rounds the corner going towards you. His heart is pumping and his eyes are fast reading over each door until it's yours. His mouth is dry, and his palms are sweaty, reaching for the knob.

The door bangs open, revealing you. Your beautiful eyes reflect back into his, and his heart melts, making hot pools in his eyes. "(Name)." He all but whimpers as he approaches the bed and wraps you in his arms, the feeling of your warmth making his heart beat at a more comfortable pace. Your scent soothes his agitated hands, and your small laugh against his ear is a reassurance that you were actually there.

"Oh my. My big baby." You squeal as he tightens his grip on you, too afraid to let go of how perfectly okay you seemed. "I was so worried; I can't even begin to tell you how glad I am that you are okay." He speaks his eyes shut as if this were an illusion he wished to stay in, but when you pull him back and he opens them, he is greeted with you smiling at him so brightly that the sun that poured into the windows beside couldn't compare.

In that moment, he wonders what his life would be without you. Gojo without (name) is like a flower with no pollen and no way or reason to grow. Like a home without warmth, a simple building to wonder in and out of. "I love you." He hiccups as he sinks his face back into your neck. He doesn't want to wonder what life will be like without you anymore but would rather enjoy you because you are here now.

[insanityclause]

Benedick in a bedazzled belt and matching sparkly shoes, Claudio clad in a gold lamé cropped co-ord. Much Ado About Nothing may be more than 400 years old but Jamie Lloyd’s current spin in London’s West End plants it very much in the modern day. Key to its contemporary update? The costumes, which look as if they have been plucked straight from a Hollywood red carpet.

Recently, menswear has been leaning into a new fun fashion era. Bland black tuxes are out. In their place? Everything from sheer chiffon shirts to sparkly jewellery. Greta Gerwig’s box office-breaking Barbie film, in which Ryan Gosling leaned into his himbo character Ken on and off-screen, may be approaching its two-year anniversary but its impact is still reverberating in menswear. No one, from the 72-year-old Jeff Goldblum to gen Z’s Timothée Chalamet, can resist. Even at this year’s Bafta awards, usually a more restrained carpet, a dazzling brooch was a menswear staple.

And now the Kenification effect has come to theatreland.

Soutra Gilmour, the costume and set designer for Much Ado About Nothing, which is at Theatre Royal Drury Lane, says she started by looking at how menswear has evolved over the past couple of years. “It’s moved away from those massive oversized shapes and instead has become more conscious of the body,” she says. “The fabrics and textures have also been elevated.”

Bridget Escolme, the author of Shakespeare and Costume in Practice and a professor of theatre and performance at Queen Mary University of London, says evidence suggests that Shakespeare’s original audiences would have seen its actors also “dressed in the fashions of the day”.

Gilmour began by getting the cast to try on different types of clothing. “On stage, you’re not actually looking at the clothes,” shesays. “You are looking at the person. Their body is a tool so you need to clothe them in a way that elevates rather than obliterates them.”

Gerald Kyd as Don Pedro (second left) has a hot pink look in Much Ado About Nothing. Photograph: Marc Brenner

Gilmour and Tom Hiddleston (who plays Benedick) decided on the character’s navy silk shirt and matching knife-pleated trousers because they look “like a second skin”. Gilmour adds: “This sculpts his body while still allowing him to move.”

The shirt’s giant lapels were chosen to draw attention to his face. But it is the shimmering belt added to give the look “more of a fever dream quality” that steals the spotlight as he shimmies and body rolls across the stage. Hiddleston leans into the peacock aesthetic, flashing his abs as he proclaims”: “I am loved of all ladies.”

Gilmour also wanted to challenge the norms of gender conformity. “I didn’t want to get too bogged down in whether people were wearing male or female clothes,” she says. “It’s something I’ve been doing for a long time. And it’s a constant conversation, thinking about masculinity and femininity and what those terms actually mean.”

The result? King Don Pedro (played by Gerald Kyd) wears a hot pink look including a silk blouse unbuttoned to the navel. The antagonist Don John (Tim Steed) plots Hero’s (Mara Huf) downfall in florals and pearls and at one stage the cunning Borachio (Mika Onyx Johnson) appears in a full-length flamingo pink faux fur coat.

Escolme says it is exciting to see today’s red carpet culture referenced for a play “so explicitly concerned with appearances and superficial judgments”.

Tim Steed as Don John (left) and Mika Onyx Johnson as Borachio in Much Ado About Nothing. Photograph: Marc Brenner

The softer clothing choices for Hiddleston and others deliberately contrast with what the female cast members wear. Beatrice (Hayley Atwell) and Hero wear towering shoes while Beatrice’s jumpsuit has oversized shoulder pads.

“I wanted the women to physically take up space. I think it’s interesting to soften the men’s presence and define and raise the women’s physical presence,” says Gilmour.

Part of Shakespeare’s enduring appeal is his modern thinking, she adds. “Four-hundred years later it still feels relevant. Costume always telling a story. From gender to class there is still so much politics around clothing.”

[callmrmorrow]

no cecil, you can’t work yourself to death

some angst, some silly stuff. standard protocol. enjoy! cecil and andy (oc)

For Cecil Stedman, everything is endless. There’s no simple, fate-ordained snip of the thread, no exhaustion-borne heavy eyelids and limbs, no time when his desk isn’t piled high with paperwork. No time for anything but work and improvement, success to smear over failure like salve. Burning the wick at both ends and watching as everything else is cast aflame.

Once upon a time, when his hair was still barley-gold and his flesh whole, he had dreams of being human. He dreamed of settling, letting dust coat his navy suit and the glass case of his American flag pin in old age, with a pair of labrador pups to chase him away from joint pain and the other things that came with dying. Things like doubt. He’d entertained the idea of a kid, which meant a spouse, which meant a bigger bed and bigger salary and joint filing taxes at a quaint dining table with a toddler in his lap.

But dreams were useless now, because Cecil Stedman didn’t sleep anymore.

“Mr. Stedman,” Andy’s voice called through the mist of memory, clear as a bell. “Oh, shit, sorry. Are you busy?”

Cecil glanced at the door, Andy’s head peeking through the small square window. ”Yeah, I am. Come back l—”

The door slid open. The young man — eighteen now — took soft steps into his quarters, glancing around with wide blue eyes. His hair was cropped short in an uneven buzz, courtesy of Rex Splode, and he was dressed in pajama pants with little Seance Dogs flying across them. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt and an apron with an Xbox controller superimposed over the words I AM GAMER. In his hands was a steel tray with two bowls of steaming… something. He was wearing a surgical mask over his nose and mouth.

Cecil checked his watch before glancing back up at his employee with an arched brow. “It’s two in the morning, kid.”

“Seriously, where did the day go?” he replied, gaze lingering on Cecil’s remembrance wall. “Donald said you were feeling under the weather?”

“Donald lied,” Cecil muttered, taking Andy’s moment of distraction to tuck his tissue box in a desk drawer.

Andy turned to face him again, finishing the journey over to Cecil’s desk and setting the tray down. “Nice,” he said, lowering the mask. “Okay, Donald said you were feeling hungry.” He rotated the tray so one of the bowls was facing Cecil. He peered into it hesitantly, the golden broth of chicken noodle soup staring back at him.

“Donald didn’t say that, either,” Cecil said, stifling a cough by clearing his throat. Andy gave him a skeptical look, a tilted head and narrowed eyes. “Listen, kid, if you have something important—“

“I do!” He said. “I swear I do.” He looked around again. “Do you have a chair? I don’t wanna… stand over you. It feels really weird.”

Cecil sighed, rubbing his temple. “No, I don’t.”

“Right, because, you know, who else would be in here?” Andy said, more to himself than Cecil. Then, he spun on his heel and walked out of the room, automatic door shutting behind him. Cecil just stared at where he’d been standing, half in disbelief, half waiting for his phone to ring and another global catastrophe to occupy him.

Cecil sniffled, grabbing another tissue and dabbing at his nose. One bad day in the North Dakota air, cleaning up after the Lizard League’s latest debacle, and he’d somehow caught a cold. Certainly the last time he intended to go out without a puffer on. He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking. He hadn’t been thinking straight for the past week, actually, loath as he was to admit it. His work, as per usual, had been flawless, but when it came to managing himself and the kid charged with protecting him…

He could pinpoint where he’d lost the path, and it was last Saturday. Andy’s eighteenth birthday. Donald had been the one to remind him, in the way that only Donald could, that eighteen was a big year. A legal adult. While the world and its chaos wouldn’t stop for anyone, let alone Cecil Stedman or Andy Spurling, Cecil had tried his hand at a celebration. Closer to a thank you than a party, he’d taken Andy out for dinner at a nice Italian place, and brought Donald along even though he couldn’t possibly have an appetite.

He’d been halfway through giving Andy his birthday gift — one of the vintage Seance Dog action figures that he’d been trying to nab off of Ebay for months — when Rob had teleported him out of the restaurant and to Guardians HQ. Apparently Martian Man had gone missing.

The following days had been a veritable whirlwind of stress and confusion. Omni-Man had taken up the extra work with a willingness that put a pit in Cecil’s stomach, and the ensuing media frenzy had him coordinating with the entire American government.

Four days later, Martian Man was found in an abandoned apartment complex in Chicago, nursing a little homeless kid back to health. And with that done, he could finally breathe.

Until North Dakota and its icy chill and sniffle-inducing snowfall, clogging his sinuses and moistening his throat in a way that made his coughs ugly and wet. Cecil sneezed just as Andy pedaled through the door on a wheeling office chair. His finger shot out and pointed at him. “Knew it. And bless you.”

Cecil grimaced as he wiped his nose. “Put the mask back on, Andy.”

”Oh, yeah. Good idea.” Andy pulled it back up over his nose as he wheeled over. From his apron pocket he produced salt and pepper packets and plastic spoons, setting them down neatly on the tray. “So, the important thing I came here to do is… this.” He gestured to the soup. “Made it myself.”

He looked at Cecil expectantly, probably grinning ear to ear behind the mask. Cecil closed his eyes and exhaled through his mouth. Shit.

“This is where you try the soup and say, wow, Andy, that’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted!” He said from beyond his vision. “And then I say, gee, thanks, boss. And then we eat soup and be grateful for the fact that another night has passed without the world ending or any more superheroes going missing.”

Cecil opened his eyes to look at him, really look and scrutinize. For a moment, he felt an insurgent urge to apologize for his birthday, for the four straight days when he’d dismissed the kid out of hand due to pure, unfiltered and unfettered stress. It was in bad taste to yell at a kid just after his birthday when he just wanted to check in on you, but no one had the guts to tell Cecil that except Cecil himself.

Andy was still watching him. Guess this is as good an apology as any on my end…

Cecil picked up the spoon and lowered it into the soup, brought it to his lips. He didn’t meet Andy’s eyes as he tasted it, chewed chicken, swallowed. “Pretty good for your first time, Andy.”

The young man leaned back in relief, breath escaping him. “Yeah, I might be the greatest to ever do it,” he said, resting his hands behind his head, before pretending to check his phone. “I think that’s Gordon Ramsey calling me. I gotta take this. Yes, hello? Yes, this is he.” He cupped his mouth against the phone, looking at Cecil conspiratorially. “No, I can’t take the job. My boss would be super unhappy. Irreplaceable, yeah. So sorry.”

”Alright,” Cecil said tiredly, giving in and eating some more of the soup. “I get it.”

Andy faked hanging-up, finally lowering his mask and picking up his spoon. “I’m not mad about Saturday, you know. Or Sunday, or Monday… or Tuesday… you get it.” He took a moment to slurp at his soup. “I just wanted to finish our dinner when you had time. Which is now.”

Cecil looked down at his soup again, feeling a strange twist in his chest that he couldn’t quite identify. “Thanks, kid.”

”You’re very, very welcome,” Andy said, pointing at him with his spoon. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He leaned down and pulled out a plastic baggie of green leaves. Cecil stared at him, and Andy stared back, before stuttering. “Oh— no it’s not— it’s tea leaves.” Cecil was still motionless, and Andy lowered the bag, realization dawning on his features. “You’re more of a coffee person. Damn, I should know that by now…” His other hand produced a bag of coffee grounds. “Because I do. Half city roast, courtesy of Donald, by the way. Also, can you tell Susan to actually trust me? Four years here and she still won’t let be bring anything in unless it’s in a transparent baggie.”

“I’ll let her know.” Andy beamed at him, and Cecil wasn’t sure what to say. “Thanks,” he repeated again, sucking his cheeks in and trying not to look half as uneasy as he felt. “I’m sorry about your birthday. Martian Man sends his apologies.”

”I know,” Andy said with a lopsided grin. “Who do you think taught me how to make this soup? You know how embarrassing it is to be taught how to cook by an alien from another planet? Apparently that little kid he was caring for frequented this soup kitchen — you don’t care about all that.”

”No, I do,” Cecil said, going back for the soup, already feeling his sinuses clearing up. “Making up for your birthday dinner, right?”

Andy’s brows shot up. “Well, in that case… shit’s been crazy on Global Guardians recently. They added some of the Teen Team members and I’ve been getting dogged on by these Atom Eve mains. You’d think with my reflexes I’d be better but I swear these people are cheating — also happy birthday, as of like two minutes ago — but then again everyone’s cheating—“

Cecil couldn’t help the way he almost choked on his soup, glancing up at Andy. “What?”

”No, seriously. If I’m losing, everyone on the enemy team is cheating, and that’s the truth.” Andy lifted his bowl and began to drink straight from it, pausing to continue. “I might’ve forced Donald to tell me when your birthday is, down to the minute. I mean, sixty. That’s big. You’re almost old enough to run for president.”

Cecil barked a laugh. “Alright, that’s enough.” He looked down at the food again, sniffling despite himself. “Continue on the… game thing.”

Andy pulled a face. “Wow. You know what? Get sick more often. Softens you up, Mr. Stedman. Anyways, like I was saying…”

The kid had a talent for talking endlessly when given the opportunity, but Cecil found that he didn’t mind it half as much as he did anything else. He knew, in his gut, that Andy was reading him like a book, that he could tell Cecil wasn’t accustomed to this sort of camaraderie, that this probably would never happen again because really…

The world wouldn’t stop spinning for guys like them. But just for tonight, it really felt like it did.

[starvu]

Crosswords and Cuddles || s. reid

where you and spencer spend some quiet and peaceful time together after he comes home from work

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader (if something doesn't seem right to gn, please let me know)

genre: pure fluff

content warnings: none

word count: 1,8k

a/n: my second fanfiction, we're on the right track!! still sorry for my not so good english, i'm struggling not to repeat myself too much and use different adjectives, but i'm having a bit of trouble with that for now. anyway, i hope it won't bother you too much, have fun :))

You and Spencer loved spending time together and tried to spend as much time together as possible. Even though he spent most of his time working for the BAU on new cases and your job was demanding. That's why after two years of being together, you moved in together so you could share as many small, mundane moments together as possible.

Spending time together, you didn't even have to exchange much conversation. Your mutual presence was enough in most cases. The awareness of each other's warmth and care, a feeling that was clearly felt in the air, even if it was unspoken. You simply loved to accompany him in everything, and he loved having you around.

This evening was no different. Spencer didn't have any demanding cases this time. He could work with the team at Quantico. They didn't have to fly anywhere far, so he could come back to you every evening. You never knew when he would fly out again, so you were always happy when he could be home. Your peace was never certain. They could always have a new, demanding, brutal case that would cause him to disappear to the other side of the country, neglect sleep, drink more coffee than usual, and give no signs of life.

You were lying on the couch in your dark apartment. The apartment smelled of old books and coffee. This was the smell of your home now, it reminded you of the place you returned to and lived in. Your coats hung next to each other on the hangers in the hallway, your shoes were lined up neatly on the shelf, and your mugs were waiting in the kitchen cabinet. Your cup of coffee, which had way too much milk in it, stood on the dark brown, oak coffee table, accompanied by crosswords books, pens and scientific books from many fields from the library.

You two had brought those books by the kilos in canvas bags a few days ago. You couldn't even carry that many books from the library and you just made gooey eyes and a slightly bribing smile at the old lady librarian. This poor old woman, after so many of your visits, was already giving in to you. Spencer even tried to go above and beyond for you and just put some books away, but you fought for them. You were absolutely happy to have them in your bags, sitting on the subway, and riding home. Okay, actually you both were really excited to read all of these books.

You were wrapped in blankets, slightly sleepy the couch, even if the living room was lit with warm, not too bright light from a lamp. You had probably done everything, you had cooked dinner, you had read, you had done crosswords and looked up nonsense on your phone, you had even rearranged the books on the shelf, but not enough to disturb Spencer. You simply couldn't wait for him to finally come home, You yourself came back from work earlier than usual, so you waited a while, and the afternoon without him seemed so long.

As you were slowly dozing off with one eye, you heard the sound of a key turning in the lock of the door. You got up from the couch, still a little sleepy, but your expression brightened when you saw Spencer walking in front of the door. After he quickly hung his brown leather bag and navy coat on the rack and took off his sneakers, he wrapped his arms around your waist and hugged you tightly, resting his chin on the top of your head, feeling at peace after the whole day. He finally breathed a sigh of relief as he felt your closeness and your familiar, calming scent.

"It's good to see you." He mumbled, adding nothing more. That was enough for you to understand how his day had gone. It had gone hard.

You smiled as you rested your head on his chest, you were glad he was finally around. You didn't ask about his day right away, you didn't want him to have to deal with it even at home, in his quiet place.

"It's good to see you too." You said quietly in a sleepy voice.

He recognized your sleepy, tired voice immediately, and he pulled away slightly but still held you close, running his fingers through your hair. “Did you sleep, sleepyhead?” He smiled warmly.

"Uh no, no. I was just waiting for you. Tired after a whole week of work, you know how it is." 

He just nodded slightly in understanding, leaned down slightly and kissed your forehead. “Don’t overwork yourself, please.”

His concern always warmed your heart, you appreciated the care like nothing else, but it also worried you a little. It worried you that he always worried about you more than himself.

"You really shouldn't worry so much, I'm fine, Spence." You always repeated the same words, trying to reassure him and make him not worry so much, focus on something else, something less worrying.

He just sighed quietly in disapproval of your words. He knew perfectly well how you felt about his concern. He also knew that you were strong and could handle yourself perfectly well, and yet he wanted to make sure that everything was okay.

You quickly disappeared into the depths of the apartment, accessible, undemanding conversation, occasional laughter and the sound of forks clinking against plates filled the silence that had previously reigned throughout the apartment, only broken by the ticking of the clock in the living room.

Empty plates sat on the edge of the coffee table, even if it irritated Spencer in some way. Your coffee had long since gone cold, and you fidgeted a bit as you lay together on your completely too-small couch. That was the way you spent your time together without words. You were lying on opposite ends of the couch, buried under blankets, each of you with your own crossword puzzle and pen in hand, although sometimes you just preferred to glance up and watch Spencer concentrate, maybe stare a little. But that wasn't a bad thing, was it? Especially when he seemed oblivious to your actions. Sometimes you would nudge him in the ribs a little with your foot.

You really enjoyed these moments, sometimes when you relied on Spencer's intelligence and wanted to get a hint for your crossword, you had to pay a price for it, in the form of a quick kiss or a peck. You weren't even sure which of you preferred this way of rewarding for a hint more. In truth, Spencer always believed that if you put in the effort, you would find the answers to your questions yourself and that you were capable of more, but he didn't argue with you much. Instead, he would often start blabbing about the topics you asked about, telling you more about them, and you listened devotedly.

This time, however, Spencer noticed that you weren't very active on your crossword puzzle and paused his own for a moment. Well, you were just tired and your brain wasn't working at a very high level anymore.

"Hey, is something wrong, are you okay?" He asked with genuine concern and warmth in his voice. "You seem off."

You shook your head. "No, everything is still fine." But instead of staying on your end of the couch, you put the crosswords and pen on the table and, fidgeting a bit again, turned completely the other way. It's very possible that you'd crushed Spencer's side a bit with your leg in the meantime. Now your head was right on his shoulder, you were lying on the same side. He smiled slightly.

"Oh, you’re really clingy."

You just looked up, giving him a slightly exaggerated, scowl, even if you weren't mad at him for saying it. He raised his hand, letting you rest your head on his chest. He still held the crossword puzzle in one hand, the pen in the other, but he kept making sure you were comfortable. You felt at peace when you felt the warmth of his chest and the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat. He felt the same way when it came to your closeness. He slowed down his pace of solving the puzzle, letting you answer the words you already knew the answer to. 

He usually solved crosswords as fast as he could, beating his previous results, but this time it was about your peace. Even when both of his hands were occupied, he held you close and tight, kissing the top of your head with every clue you knew the answer to. And sometimes with a clue he knew the answer to. You suspected that he was just looking for an excuse to some extent, because he actually kissed the top of your head when you were thinking about the answer, or for no reason at all.

After solving a few more sheets, he put what he was holding on the table. He wrapped his arms around you and you didn't protest in any way, you let him. You knew that sleeping on this couch wasn't good for either of you, your backs and well-being, but everything indicated that this was where you would be sleeping. After a moment, he snuggled up to you even tighter, shifted slightly and put his head in the crook of your neck, placed a few lazy kisses there, drawing patterns on your back with his fingers. At that moment he was more laying on top of you with his whole body, but careful enough not to crush you and put his whole weight on you. With each situation like this you felt like you loved this man even more.

That didn't stop you from teasing him a little, referring to his previous comment. "Who's the clingy one now?" You smirked.

He raised his head slightly, staring at your face, even secretly admiring it, although he remembered every detail it hid, every mole, eyelash and freckle. He wanted to defend himself somehow from your words, but in the end he lowered his head and went back to holding it in the crook of your neck. "Okay, maybe I'm guilty." He admitted, but he didn't loosen his grip around you one bit.

"Yeah, you are."

"Is it bad?"

"No." You even replied a little quieter than usual.

It wasn't a bad thing, you loved his clingy moments. You slowly raised your hand to run your fingers through his messy, slightly overgrown hair. He didn't have to ask for it, you knew it would ease his tiredness after the whole day and he would fall asleep faster without the agony he often had before going to sleep. Somehow you felt his growing calmness and sense of security as you made all these little gestures.

[oddverse]

Hard week so here’s a few propesci hcs off the top of my head

Pescis favorite food is fish, and he’s not a picky eater either, queue prosciuttos horror at seeing him eat anything with scales and a tail right out of the can

Prosciutto loves lemons, lemon cake, limoncello, lemon scent, he’s just a fan of stout things, coffee, scotch, etc!

Prosciuttos fav three colors are yellow, navy blue, and violet

Pescis are green, fuchsia and black, he’s wears the yellow coat because he knows pro likes it

Pesci considers himself pretty alternative/punk to prosciuttos dismay

Prosciutto loves old movies, and older media in general, he’ll hardly touch anything less than 20 years old

Pesci is actually very similar! with exceptions, he’d love shrek

‼️pure doll housing‼️

Pesci was kind of unsure of prosciuttos gender for a long while when they first met, this is a common occurrence for an acquaintance of pros

Prosciutto was unsure of Pescis age for a long time, just never thought to ask

Prosciutto - orphan, raised in church

Pesci - raised by a single mother, died when he was 17

Pescis is the youngest in the squad but coincidentally he was the oldest one to join (pro - 16, melone - 17, ghiaccio - 18, risotto - 18, formaggio - 13, illuso - 17)

Prosciutto joined the Passione when he 16, after running away from the church and dead end modeling gigs, becoming a stand user a year or so later, Pesci joined at 19, after a drug deal gone wrong ending with prosciuttos gun to his head

[gallivantingheart]

Use Your Mouth as an Anchor

masterlist | next

🍵 chapter 1: lychee ����

who?: soonyoung/hoshi x (f)reader

word count: 834

genre/s: fluff, humour, social media!au

warnings: some course language

genre: social media!au, princess diaries II !au, humour, romance, mild angst

warnings: none, as of yet

**please ignore the timestamps - they are not accurate**

The office after a news cycle was simultaneously quiet and loud. The stress reset before building again. So the coffee in your hand - an order excessively complicated with oat milk - looked like it would actually have time to be consumed today.

Your Head Editor, Minhyuk, points at you with a finger guns through the opening of his office doorway as you come past, his dark hair styled to perfection. He always looks like such a slacker.

“Hey Chon. That piece on Wednesday? Damn fantastic. How did you know?” He marvels with his keen smirk.

You wink and shoot finger guns back. “I have my sources.”

At minimum being the cook’s assistant and the assistant footman - they were old school  buddies of yours. Somehow despite your job, most forget that your family is infamous for their longstanding claim to the Amaide crown. Maybe it’s the fact you don’t mention your name very often or that you live in a rundown cottage on the opposite side of the island. It helps if people forget.

Your colleague, Wonwoo, has a desk that backs onto yours, his long limbs stretching out beneath his desk. He usually runs a portion of the entertainment section and is often rubbing shoulders with the most affluent for the best gossip. It’s surprising, seeing as he’s so quiet, but he’s always had a way of bringing out the most in others. Both of you also tend to overlap in terms of events and sources for articles.

“Another glowing review from our Head Editor.” He says dryly.

“Of course.” You hum as you spin and preen in your chair. “If only I got more than that. With Eunbi on maternity leave I was secretly begging for the assistant editor’s gig. If only for a little bit.” You put your fingers close together and squint through them to see his rolling eyes. “Just a taste.”

“One day, but I’m sure that at this point Minhyuk’s only keeping you in this position because of your Royal contacts. No one could fill your shoes. They made this role just for you, remember?” He’s softly spoken and very mild about it as he adjusts the wire frames of his glasses.

You groan and loll your head back in your seat. “Don’t remind me. I might gain a conscience about it.”

Just as Wonwoo is chuckling at your complaints, the office executive assistant whizzes through the office, dropping off post and internal communications for the day. A heavy, textured envelope lands on your desk from over your shoulder, frisbee-ed haphazardly. The magnolia tinted envelope is serious and makes your stomach swoop. Your name and work address are looped in formal cursive in the available space, along with a singular lemon printed post stamp. The envelope is sealed with navy wax, the Park family coat of arms. Your hands shake and your aren’t graceful at all with the letter from the Royal house. It takes you a few times to scan the writing and take in its meaning. Holy crap.

You spin to face Wonwoo, sitting with your firmly planted feet and legs apart in your dress trousers. He blinks, eyes sparking in surprise.

“What?” He asks.

You lean forward across the walkway, waving the heavy paper under his chin. “This is an invite to the royal family’s welcoming soiree. The King and Queen have been away on business in Korea for at least three months - at least publicly. This will be the night they celebrate their official return.” You getting an invite, of all people?

It’s no secret that your family is weird, unhinged, delusional. Whatever you wanted to call their obsession over the rightful heirs to the Amide royal line. Your uncle led the charge, having always been an eccentric to say the least. Swearing till he was blue in the face that the Chon bloodline were the rightful heirs to the Amaide throne and future of the people. The irony there being that he was a man who had a slim chance of getting within breathing distance of that title and power. Worse is that your whole family indulged his outlandish claims, treating them as gospel. Why else had you split to South Korea for your studies as soon as you could? Protect yourself from that drivel and disgusting brain rot. Unfortunately your studies eventually ended and you had to return to the hellfire that was your family. Landing you here as a Royal Correspondent at Genoa Post, the leading news outlet in Amaide.

So, back to the matter at hand. Why would the Park family invite the heir to their greatest enemy into their home? Was this invite extended to any of your other family?

It felt so much like walking into the lion’s den, vastly different from fishing for next week’s news reel from the back doors and harmless shadows.

“What do I do?” You hiss.

Wonwoo stares for a long moment at the paper between you before shrugging. “I guess you go and find out.”

[tgmsunmontue]

You need to learn how to fall 3/10

Hangster (and IceMav) - Bradley is too tall to be a naval aviator and instead becomes a sky diver, specialising in spin recovery. He is a civilian contractor to the Airforce and Navy to teach pilots how to survive parachute spins from ejections. A more in-depth version of this post.

PROLOGUE 2003-2006

2007-2010 – The middle years

                He ends up with another part-time job, fortunately using his human performance part of his degree and working as a personal trainer, mostly early mornings. Jumping out of planes is expensive. He moves out of the house him and Mav usually live in, but months later ends up moving in with Ice when he’s diagnosed with cancer. They don’t sugar coat things, not now that he’s an adult. He has to listen to them talk about wills and property and investments and assets; wants to stick his head in the sand and just chant la-la-la until it all goes away. He doesn’t want to consider his life without them both in it. Hard enough to think he’s already lost his actual parents, he can’t lose them too.

                He sits through it though, signs forms he reads carefully because both Ice and Mav frown and look disappointed the first time he signed without even looking. They get similar forms for him, given his current career and he’s pretty sure Mav has to excuse himself to go and throw up when he says he doesn’t want to be kept on life support indefinitely if he has a bad fall. Ice just nods and accepts his decision with quiet equanimity and he wonders if it’s because he is facing his own mortality. He starts a YouTube channel, figures out how to take effective video and then edit it properly. Loads them up without commentary; originally it’s for those he’s taken up for tandem jumps, but then it’s for other instructors around the country, and then a couple of them move overseas. His channel has a small but dedicated following.

                One of the silver linings of Ice’s cancer diagnosis is the fact he seems to no longer give any fucks about what people might say about his relationship with Mav. Don’t ask, don’t tell is still in effect but it’s also definitely very firmly in the don’t tell realm as far as Bradley can figure out. Everyone who they interact with seems to simply know that they’re together, and have been for as long as everyone remembers. Definitely for as long as he remembers. No one wants to tell and he guesses that Ice is high enough up that there’s probably blind-eyes all over the place.

                Then Ice insists on Mav moving in, which he promptly leaves the house for, not wanting to hang around for listening to the argument or hearing the makeup sex that will surely follow. So they put the house on the market, then he’s given the money and told he can finally buy the plane he wants which he delays a little and carefully shops around, listening to the advice of his old instructors and also Ice and Mav. All his gifts for years are centered around either skydiving or filming and editing software. It doesn’t escape his notice that Mav’s gifts tend towards the safer indoor aspects, while Ice tends toward the safety needs. They’re both supportive in their own ways.

                Living together, all of them, properly for the first time, results in the sudden influx of photos that pop up, every flat surface has frames with photos and Ice starts taking more photos. All of their lives are visually documented on the walls and bookshelves, although Bradley notes the front room Ice uses as a study and work room remains very formal and devoid of any personal touches. Other than formal portraits, like his graduation photo. Regardless of what room he’s in he feels like he is at home.

…             …             …

                His nightmare becomes a reality, although not in full. The call he got was from Bradley, starting off with I’m alive but I’m on the way to the hospital. He’d then passed the phone over to someone else. Apparently he’d taken a bad landing after being forced to use his second backup shute. He’d been too close to the ground so had hit it hard. His hands are shaking as he walks down the hospital corridor, the only thing that has him not vomiting is the fact that Bradley is the one who called him. That Bradley was alive; maybe not alive and well, but alive enough to call him.

                “Bad fall,” Mav mutters. “Like he’s tripped over the front step and grazed his hands…”

                He pushes the door open to Bradley’s room. He’s pale, face covered in bandages, one arm in a cast and both legs in braces, but not as he’d imagined a broken spine and him being in something like full-traction it’s a little bit of a relief.

                “He’s damned lucky.”

                “Doesn’t look lucky.”

                “He had his legs tucked up, hit the ground and rolled. Like it was as natural as breathing. He dislocated his shoulder but continued with the momentum… most people I know would have hit the ground feet-first despite years of training and the shock would have caused spiral fractures. They’ve braced his ankles as a matter of precaution because the x-rays showed no damage, which is a miracle but also isn’t surprising considering he walked into the hospital. We don’t usually say that you can be a natural at skydiving, but this kid is definitely a natural.”

                Mav sighs.

                Of course he is.

…             …             …

                “If the cancer didn’t get me, then I’m sure jumping out of a plane isn’t going to kill me either.”

                “Fighting words. It’s a good thing I’m taller than you. When we come into land you’re going to lift your legs.”

                He listens as Bradley takes him through everything, despite the fact that he knows it all, having listened to it so often he’s pretty sure he could repeat it back, learning it alongside Bradley and quizzing him on it. He can follow Bradley’s instructions, he’s in the Navy. When he’s strapped to Bradley, waved the all-clear he feels a little frisson of abject terror but it’s too late, he’s falling toward to the ground and then his fear fades away and he lets out a whoop of joy, hears Bradley’s amused laughter before it’s whipped away by the rushing air. They hit the ground and it’s gentler than he thought it would be.

                “Woo! What a rush!”

                “Yeah? You like it?”

                “It reminds me of my first launch off a carrier. Damn. Yeah. I get it now. Love you kid,” he says, knocking his own helmet against Bradley’s, the words aren’t ones he says often, but feels the need to say them more often now. Doesn’t want Bradley to ever doubt how he feels. Mav either for that matter…

                “Love you too.”

…             …             …

                “You were both up there, together.”

                He should have known it would give Mav another nightmare and he curls himself around him, makes gentle shushing noises under his breath, glad now that he doesn’t have to try and do this over the phone.

                “Do you trust him?”

                “Of course I do!”

                “Then know that skydiving, especially tandem skydiving is safer than driving to and from the hangar. Car accidents are far more common and hurt far more people than skydiving does. You’ve seen him with his gear. Hell, we check it. He’s damned good at what he does. He’s meant to be up in the air just as much as you are…”

                Mav lets out a little hiccupping breath and Tom knows he’s got something that’ll definitely take his mind of everything else.

                “You know, there’s something else I want to check off on my bucket list…” Tom says, and he’s not going to move, but his otherwise grand plans aren’t getting a look in right now. This feels right.

                “What?”

                “Pete Mitchell, will you marry me?”

…             …             …

                Ice and Mav leave plans on the table one night. An extension to the house, with a shared internal door but his own front door; effectively making two houses. A large bedroom, another room for an office with a desk, extension to the garage so he can store his gear, enough room to roll out his chutes and carry out checks. It’s very clearly an invitation to never move out, but also to live independently and he finds the sticky notes they use to communicate when they’re too busy to actually stop and talk. Simply draws a heart and writes love it in the center.

                He doesn’t bother looking at moving out of home again.

2011-2015 - The later years (NEXT PART)

[itwasrealtome]

AGENT GRAY

Chapter Seven • HAUNT YOU EVERYDAY

TAGLIST FORM

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

⚠️DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Olivia Benson x fem! FBI Agent OC

Summary:

Content Warning: SVU & Violent Crimes talk • Mention of a Crime Scene, police talk, murder, bodies, SA, victims (adults and children), blood, violence and abuse, a killer| Mention of classified deployment | Mention of the Navy | BIG WARNING FOR THIS • Religious Talk • using religion as a way to punish and purify, mention of the Bible, being punished with a wooden spoon and soap, mention of Bible verses, using verses as weapons, committing a crime and using a religion to excuse it, mention of words such as sermon or preaching, explicit talk about being punished by an abusive parent.

A/N: Do not hesitate to share your opinion! A big thank you to those reading. Hope you have a nice day/night. ALSO, YOU CAN GET TAGGED BY FILLING THE FORM 👆🏻

*

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 4

Upper East Side — Manhattan

11:56 PM

The street was unnervingly quiet for a crime scene.

Midnight on a Sunday should've meant peace for this sleepy Upper East Side neighborhood–kids asleep, TVs flickering behind curtained windows, families winding down from the weekend. Instead, the house at the end of the block was ringed with cruisers and crime scene tape, flashing lights turning the early December frost into a strobe of red and blue. Officers moved with subdued urgency, technicians already setting up their equipment. A faint hum of radios and murmurs buzzing in the background like static.

Miles parked a few houses down, killed the engine, and stepped out into the cold. He slammed his car door shut, shoulders hunched against the bite of the air. The moment his boots hit the pavement, something in him shifted. That old, tight coil in his gut wound itself back up. He didn't need to see the bodies to know what kind of scene it was. The officer's voice over the phone had been clipped and grim. He hadn't asked for details. He didn't need them.

For the first time in a long time, he headed for the scene alone. He had been able to drive his own car, park as he pleased and hadn't even been allowed a few dry remarks on the way. His partner wasn't there. For once, she wasn't the one stepping out of the driver's seat, already halfway toward the scene before he could even close the door.

It felt wrong.

His shoes scuffed against the pavement as he made his way toward the crime scene tape, flashing his badge to the uniform standing guard before slipping underneath. The house, an elegant brownstone with Christmad lights already strung along the porch railing, looked almost untouched from the outside. But Miles knew better. He knew what kind of horrors hid behind walls that should've been safe.

Just at the foot of the front staircase, Olivia and Fin stood, deep in quiet conversation. The call had dragged them out of bed too, right into the city's paralyzing cold. They'd had their fair share of murders and shady cases, but this one was much more typical of what the FBI duo was used to. If they were there, it was on the grounds of clear signs of abuse.

The wind was tugging lightly at Olivia's coat, brushing away the scarf wrapped snugly around her neck. She looked rigid–arms crossed against her chest, jaw set–but calm. Her eyes gave her away. She didn't look at the agent right away, scanning the street behind him, the shadows between the cars, the stretch of sidewalk that remained stubbornly empty. Only when he was a few feet away did her gaze settle on him, brows subtly lifting.

—Just you?

Her voice was low, carried more by cold air and instinct than actual curiosity. Miles nodded, stepping up on the sidewalk, shoulders still squared against the biting wind.

—Yeah. Just me tonight.

There was a beat of silence, the kind that lingered longer than it should have. Olivia's eyes searched his face for a second too long before glancing again toward the street, her brow furrowing.

—Gray's not with you?

Fin, reading the tension in the air with a veteran's ease, gave a slight nod and slipped inside, leaving them under the dull glow of the porch light and the howling wind that made the railing creak. The agent shifted his weight and looked past Olivia for a second, as if trying to organize his thoughts against the icy ache settling in his bones. Then he exhaled, long and slow.

—She left. November first. Got called up.

The words seemed to hang there for a second, carried between them by cold air.

Olivia blinked, lips parting.

—Left?

—Yeah. Navy. Classified deployment, he said, his voice lower now, edged with something that wasn't quite irritation–more like resignation. They didn't give her much time. They called her on Halloween night and she was gone by sunrise. Not a lot of room for goodbyes.

The wind blew again, harsher now. The SVU Lieutenant turned her face slightly into it, adjusting her scarf as she did, but not before Miles saw the flicker of something across her face. Surprise, of course–but also a note of something more personal, more subtle. Disappointment, maybe. It passed quickly, but he caught it.

—That was over a month ago, she murmured.

He hesitated. His breath came out in a puff as he tilted his head slightly, studying her.

—She didn't tell you?

Olivia met his eyes, and for a second, the streetlight caught something guarded in her expression. Her hands were buried deep in her coat pockets, but her voice had lost its evenness, just slightly.

—No. I thought... I don't know. I thought she might've said something. We'd been talking more, working more together. She didn't mention a word.

Miles pressed his lips together and looked away, dragging his gloved hand down his face before glancing toward the taped-up door.

—That's Lexi. She carries most of her life like it's classified, even when it isn't. Doesn't mean she doesn't want to talk–it just means she doesn't always know how.

Olivia gave a small nod, but her jaw was tense. She looked back down the street again as if she expected Alexis to materialize from the dark, a few minutes late, brushing snow off her jacket with a sheepish smile. But there was no movement. No shadow. Just cold.

—She was getting good at it, you know, Olivia added softly. The talking.

Miles didn't reply right away. He just stood there, eyes fixed on the distant shadows curling along the sidewalk. All he could think about was Alexis and the years of knowing her in ways few people ever would. He was her partner, he knew how her mind worked, how she compartmentalized every emotion with surgical precision, how she'd rather carry a burden alone than risk unloading it on someone else.

He'd spent long enough beside her to understand that Alexis didn't disappear to keep people out–she disappeared to keep them from having to carry pieces of her too. And yet, despite all that, she had started showing up in ways that surprised him.

She had been opening up, bit by bit, with Olivia. He'd seen it happening, watched her soften in ways most people didn't even realize she could. So when the Lieutenant said she'd thought Alexis might've told her, that she was getting better at talking, it didn't surprise him. It just made the silence she left behind feel that much heavier.

—What are we looking at?

He forced her to refocus, pulling both of their attention back toward the house. Olivia shifted, as if only remembering about the case.

—Family of four. Parents, teen daughter, little boy. All of them found dead by the father's brother who stopped by to drop off Christmas lights. The door was unlocked. Nothing's stolen, but...

The sights were still vivid in her mind. The bodies had been carefully moved and placed so as to leave a message. Blood had splattered everywhere, leaving trails on the floor. Both mother and daughter had suffered violence and abuse before being killed.

—Brutal doesn't begin to cover it. Some kind of religious undertone–scripture carved into the floors, handwritten notes on the walls. It's...

—Twisted.

*

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 6

Langford House — Manhattan

01:14 AM

The kitchen table looked more like a murder board than the heart of a family home.

Printouts and photographs had taken over the soft floral tablecloth Ava insisted on keeping year-round. Bible verses were scrawled on yellow legal pads, half a dozen highlighters lay uncapped, bleeding color into the wood beneath them. A tableau of violence was all Miles could see. Each evidence captured the grotesque aftermath of a family's annihilation: the father, the mother, the daughter and son, their lives extinguished in an almost ritualistic way.

The words haunted him. Words written in blood and etched into skin, words meant to condemn, to purify, to punish. His fingers traced the edges of the Bible that lay among the files–his own relic from a past life, its pages annotated with the scribbles of a younger, more devout boy. He could still remember the sting of the wooden spoon against his skin, the taste of soap as his father forced it into his mouth to 'cleanse the lies'.

"He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him"

"Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him."

Phrases his father had used like weapons.

Phrases Miles had once memorized alongside spelling words and the Pledge of Allegiance.

He drew in a breath through his nose, held it, and exhaled slowly. The silence of the house pressed down on him, different from the usual quiet that came with the late hour. This was something heavier. Oppressive. Every page on the table felt like a doorway into a past he thought he'd buried deep enough to forget.

Until this case.

Until a killer began using the same distorted gospel to justify atrocities.

Four victims in one day. Two other families targeted in another state. All with the same ritualistic pattern: scripture carved into walls, Bibles left open to marked passages, the same words whispered by the dying girl who clung to life long enough to speak.

"He said it was for God."

Miles rubbed at his neck, fingers pressing into the tense muscles just above his collarbone. The killer wasn't just quoting scripture–he understood it. Twisted it with precision. This wasn't zealotry. This was personal. Educated. Cold.

And somehow, that made it worse.

From upstairs, the house creaked—a soft, sleepy sigh of wood in the winter wind. Outside, December had buried the neighborhood in frost. The windows were fogged at the edges, and despite the heat running low, there was a chill in the air that made his skin feel tight.

The stairs creaked behind him. He didn't need to turn to know who it was. The steps were slow, careful, almost too quiet. Ava had always moved that way when she didn't want to startle him—especially on nights like this.

—You're still up, she said softly, padding barefoot across the tile.

She wore one of his old shirts, sleeves pulled down over her hands, her voice the kind of warm and low that only came when she was worried.

—I could say the same about you.

He glanced back with a tired half-smile, taking in sight the woman he had once promised everything to. No matter the years, Ava was still the most beautiful woman in the world–even when she wore that concerned frown.

—I woke up and you weren't in bed.

She paused, looking at the mess across the table. Her eyes moved over the photos, the notes, the quotes underlined again and again. Miles had been called abruptly on Sunday night. She'd seen him leave in a hurry and, for once, hadn't had the chance to be reassured when spotting his partner's car in front of the house. Alexis hadn't returned yet. He had left on his own. If he hadn't said anything about the affair during the evening, Ava already knew it was nothing ordinary.

—It's the case?

—Yeah. He reached for the legal pads and pushed it a few inches to the side. It's the case.

Ava didn't need to ask what kind. He saw it in her eyes—recognition. Sadness. That edge of protective fire that always sparked when the past tried to claw its way into their lives again.

—He's not just using the Bible. Miles dragged a hand down his face with a sigh. He knows it. Word for word. Book, chapter, verse. He's not guessing, Ava. He's quoting it like a sermon. Like he's preaching.

She came to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing her cheek to the top of his head. It was quiet for a moment: her breathing with him, him trying to breathe at all.

—It's hitting too close.

The agent didn't deny it.

He let the silence stretch.

—You remember when I was ten and I lied about breaking the garage window?

Ava's arms only tightened. She had heard the story before. It was part of the secrets they preferred to confide in each other rather than turning them into threats to their happiness.

—He washed my mouth out with soap, Miles said, barely above a whisper. Told me it would cleanse the sin. That lying was the Devil's tongue. Then he made me read Proverbs 12 aloud. Every verse about honesty. Over and over. Until I could recite it without stuttering.

His wife exhaled softly, her hand moving to the back of his neck, warm and steady. She wanted to envelop him, keep him away from all that darkness. It was all he'd ever known before her. All that continued to haunt him.

—He's not here anymore, Miles.

—But someone like him is. He looked up to her, jaw clenched. Someone who thinks pain is redemption. That blood is sacrifice. That fear equals obedience.

She stepped to one side, her soft, slender hands wrapping around his face. Somehow, she could still see in him the young boy she'd known. Timid. Haunted.

—And you're not that boy anymore. You're not a scared kid trying to survive in that house. You're the one protecting people now.

—I just... he hesitated. I wish she was here.

Ava stilled, her thumb resting on the man's dark eyebrow. She didn't need any clarification. She just knew. There were three women in Miles' life. His wife. His daughter. And–

—Lexi. She gets this kind of broken logic. She sees through it. And she'd know how to put herself between me and this damn spiral.

The brunette sat down across from him, gently nudging his coffee aside to take his hands.

–She'll come back, baby. You know that.

—Yeah, but when?

His voice cracked before he caught it, and he turned away, embarrassed. He loved to joke about Gray being a ticking time bomb and how she'd had that effect when she arrived at the New York Bureau. But one thing he never said was how much this woman had become family.

—She left the day after Halloween. You've been holding your breath ever since.

—I didn't realize how used to her being around I'd gotten until she wasn't. She's always just... there. No matter what. Even when I don't ask.

—Because she sees you. The real you. She doesn't flinch away from it.

—I don't want Charlie to grow up seeing that side of me, he said suddenly. The side that can't sleep. That spirals into these memories and won't let go.

Ava reached across the table, suddenly puzzled by one of the Bible verses on one of the pages. She tapped on it, bringing the legal pad closer.

—For the Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. That one never made the cut when your father was preaching, did it?

—No. It didn't.

*

Taglist: @nciscmjunkie @certainlychaotic @thefatobsession @ginasbaby @makkaroni221 @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr

[theartisticpixelbit]

Alright, It's finally time for Twilight's B.B.B.F.F! I didn't change his design too much, mostly just added a beard, grey'd his coat and styled his hair. I did add a few healed scars, he's the captain of the Canterlot Royal Guard, of course he's going to have a few.

════ •✧• ════ MIDDLE NAMES WORK THE SAME AS LAST NAMES IN MY AU, MOST CHILDREN TAKE THE LAST NAME OF WHICHEVER PARENT THEY WANT ════ •✧• ════

~Bio~ Name: Shining 'Star' Armor Nicknames: B.B.B.F.F (Twilight Sparkle),  Gender: Male (Straight) Race: Unicorn Parents: Twilight Velvet (Mother), Night Light (Father) Siblings: Twilight 'Star' Sparkle Partner: Mi Amore Cadenza (Wife), Queen Chrysalis (One Night Stand) Children: Mi Amore Aphrodite 'Flurry Heart' (Daughter), Mi Amore Ares 'Platinum Shield' (Son), Mi Amore Eros 'Crystal Reflection' (Adoptive Child) Other Relatives: Celestial 'Del' Dawn (Aunt-In-Law), Lunar ‘Del’ Dusk (Aunt-In-Law), Princess Amore (Ancestor-In-Law)

~Headcanons~ 🛡️ The day Twilight was born, Cadence and Shining Armor stayed in the waiting room, playing games and butting horns jokingly, practicing for his dream of becoming a Royal Guard 🛡️ Shining doesn't know how to feel about his aunt-in-law, Celestia, married to an alternate reality version of the stallion that tried to take his's wife's kingdom from her three times.  🛡️ Shining Armor is not only the husband to Princess Cadence, he is also the top of her Royal Guard. He spends years training new recruits. 🛡️ Although his look and behavior is rather jock-like Shining actually really likes to enjoy the nerdy things in life like reading comics and attending monthly dnd sessions with his friends. He also adored reading books with his L.S.B.F.F (Little Sister Best Friend Forever).

🛡️Once a month he has Spike, Big Mac, Discord, and a couple of his old school friends over for D&D sessions.🛡️ Shining Armor was the firstborn to Twilight Velvet and Night Light.  🛡️ His grandfather on his mother's side was captain of the Canterlot royal guard. 🛡️  Shining Armor dreamed from a young age to be captain of the royal guard one day. He worked hard to prove himself and was a natural at shielding magic.

[Image Description: A digital art reference sheet of a redesigned Shining Armor from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. He is a male unicorn pony with a light grey coat, his mane is a mix of 3 different hues of blue, a dark navy, a lighter navy, and a sky blue streak, he has a medium sized beard with the same colors. He wears a golden wedding ring on his unicorn horn, a golden crest with his royal guard symbol on his chest, and golden metal shoes on his front two hooves. He has long straight fetlocks on his back hooves. His back two hooves are a navy blue. His cutie mark is a golden shield adorned with different shade’s of gold and a purple six pointed star. His horn is also displayed casting a magenta colored magic. The image also includes a watermark reading 'TheArtisticPixelBit'. End ID]

[somerandomjewelleryonthefloor]

❝Another dimension❞

Edward x César unserious drabble. (In which César was able to stay in the past)

A drabble in which Edward is really angry over missing a ship to loot, and gets a head massage by César to quell his anger.

Warnings?: while I care for historical accuracy, I also kinda don't. So don't expect EVERYTHING* here to be truly historically accurate. Also nothing besides fluff and Edward loving César because who doesn't love César?

"Edward!" Maggie yelled to Edward before he slammed the door on her face.

A long list of misfortunes happened that week. Their ship getting hit and needing a repair, some of their stuff getting stolen while doing a port-stop at St Sivilian, losing their map- and now missing the chance to do damage to a navy ship was the cherry on top.

The sounds of the sea waves hitting "Poseidon's Revenge II",

Edward took off his leather coat and sword-strap from his shoulder, and he sat on his bed. The mattress gave into his weight barely, after being stuffed to the brim with random things.

"..." He started at the wall in front of him. Silently.

Unmoving, his anger boiling beneath his skin. He wanted to scream, but he didn't want to scare anyone outside (and the seven seas FORBID he scares Ginny).

As he simmered in his spot, his knuckles clenched to the point that you could see the bone underneath, his body tense. His head snapped to the door to his cabin when he heard a soft knock, followed by a smooth deep voice...

"My Edward?" César called out,

his long nails could be heard on the other side unintentionally scraping the wood as he lightly pushed the door open.

"My darling?" He called out again.

A pair of beautiful hazel eyes could be seen through the crack in the door. Wisps of long brunette hair strands filled his face.

"... What." Edward still looked at César with narrowed eyes.

his tone still holding the agitation he felt, though he tried to not sound too annoyed to his beloved.

"you're worse than I thought..." César entered the room, softly closing the door behind him.

Moving towards the bed, be sat down next to Edward. A hand going to his shoulder to try and soothe him. Rubbing in circles, his nails lightly poking through his top.

Edward followed the circular motion with his gaze for a few seconds, before putting his hand on top of César's and pushing it off. César frowned, now moving his now-pushed off hand to Edwards chest, his fingers moving along the necklace Edward wore. Tapping on the beads.

Edward didn't make a move to push his hand away this time. Simply looking at his boyfriend's eyes, that were hidden under long eyelashes.

"You wanna tell me the biggest thing going on in that head of yours? Or are you going to simmer in silence the entire time?..." César looked into Edwards pupils.

It reminded him of black pearls, 2 holes of a black void, that with shine had turned it into a night sky.

"I'm just annoyed. I guess everything else happening the last few days built up, and this missed-opportunity to get to a navy ship was the last thing I needed..." Edward explained in a whisper, his eyes struggling to keep contact with his beloved's.

All he could see were doe brown eyes, half-lidded and boring into his. Unwavering, as he could feel a hand on his chest playing around with his necklace. It made his breath fasten, only by a bit.

Looking away, César only listened to him, before sitting closer and pushing his black hair up, giving the spot a little peck.

"I know something that could help clear your mind..." César then looked at his top, "actually, two things..."

"hm? And what are these 'two things'?" Edward looked back at him.

César moved his hand from the necklace to Edwards top.

"first, you need to get out of this old thing... It has tears and cuts- how are you going to think clearly if you're not wearing fresh clothes?"

Edward only looked down at himself. Being used to wearing clothes with tears, he usually stitches it back together. So he didn't see the problem an accidental time-traveler from the future would have, about clothes like his.

César pulled him a little closer by the coller. His expression neautral, but his eyes said it all. [Seriously, my Edward?] he thought.

"just trust me on this, I'll even find you a top..." César then stood up, going towards a dresser Edward had.

Opening up the first drawer, all César could see was coins and jewels a-plenty. All glittering different colours and shapes, all tucked away. Closing it, he opened the second drawer that was full of clothes. Mostly tops and pants, but there was also random scraps or cloth.

"hm..." César hummed as he pulled out a linen shirt.

It was beige linen, with frills hemming the edges of a tie up neckline. It smelt dusty, like it'd been rotting away. With batwing sleeves, it wasn't César's first Choice- but Edward could make anything work right?

Imagining him in it, showing off his cleavage, seeing him untie the neckline,

[ooh yes, this'll do~] César thought, smiling to himself.

Turning to look at Edward, who was in lalaland. Staring blankly at the floor with his elbows on his lap, his hands dangling down.

César moved forward, kneeling in front of him, he reached out and tapped his nose.

"Don't do that." Edward quickly grabbed his hand and pushed it away, his eyes moving to César's.

It made him giggle as he took his hand away from Edward. Holding the beige top, he draped it over Edward's left knee.

"C'mon my dearest, try this on, I think you'll like wearing something different..." César then stood up, moving back and facing the wall, "I'll even look away."

Making a point, he stuck his chin up and closed his eyes even. Though Edward couldn't see, as Cesar's thick knee-length hair made a wall.

Sighing, Edward lifted up the top César picked out. Looking at it.

[not a colour I usually wear, but if he so insists...] Edward thought.

Setting it aside, Edward grabbed the bottom of his top and pulled it up, over his head. Peeling it off his skin. Feeling the sun on his body, the warmth on his skin, it was a nice pleasantry before he reached his hands inside the beige shirt and pulled it over his head and down his body.

After his arms went through the sleeves, and he settled in the fabric, he looked down at himself. The top blending in with his skintone a bit as he was tan himself.

After he heard the stopping of fabric moving, César looked back at Edward. Looking him up and down, and smiling.

"You look so much nicer..." César walked back to the bed and sat next to Edward. Resting his head on his shoulder.

Putting a hand back on Edwards chest, playing with the necklace again, be suddenly remembered something.

"... And... Edward, my darling" César pushed some hair out of his face, "Just lean on me. I'll give you a head massage..."

César looked at Edwards neck, that had a faint throbbing vein still. Running a hand over it before looking back up at him.

"I can tell you're still angry..." César kissed his head again, his hands holding onto him. Gently pulling on his shirt, encouraging him to lean on him.

Edward looked over at him, the furrow in his brow unwitting slightly...

"A head massage?"

"Yeah. I'll just rub your head for a bit, and then I'll leave you to chill out..."

César coaxed Edward to lean into him once more. Leaning closer and lightly rubbing the stubble and thin stache on his face into Edward's cheek as he nuzzled into him, still gently pulling on his clothes towards him.

Edward couldn't help but feel a flush of heat fill his face, turning it a tint of red. This wasn't the first time César did this, and it was certainly a welcome gesture, but even though he knew how it'd go- it always gets to him on some level. Deeper or shallow, it doesn't matter. It always got him.

The feel of long eyelashes tickling his skin, the feel of facial hair lightly scratching at his skin, the small hums he could hear up close, or maybe it was just the skin-on-skin contact. Those were the only things he could really describe as factors at the very least...

Hearts shining in his eyes, his gaze softened as César pulled his own face back, looking at him. Again, beautiful hazel doe eyes looked into his, and his heart felt like it was being stabbed.

How could someone be so beautiful? How could such a man exist? And on top of that, find and love him as he was?

... Okay, enough being bewitched by this siren, like Robert says.

Edward took a deep breath as he leaned into César, hands guiding his face to rest on his chest. Arms wrapped around his body, the feel of César's heartbeat drumming against his. The smell is seawater and flowers, the feel of soft thick hair, the should of César's calm breathing...

GET ON WITH IT, SOMERANDOMJEWELLERYONTHEFLOOR.

"..." Edward closed his eyes halfway as the feel of a hand slid into his smooth hair, long nails tapping along his scalp.

César lightly caressed his head, before using the pads of his fingers to rub against his head in circle motions. His hair getting messed up as César continued to massage his head. His fingers moving up, moving down, moving to the sides, to the very top of the border from scalp to skin.

Edward closed his eyes, it felt as though any remaining angry thought were getting plucked out, like feathers getting plucked from a bird to make a quill. One by one, he felt more at peace the longer this massage continued.

Seeing how relaxed he was, César moved his hand from his head and ran it over his face to his chin. His thumb caressing Edwards cheek, holding him as it he were the most fragile of porcelain whilst knowing he's stronger than a boulder.

Letting himself be vulnerable, in the arms of his dearest, he felt himself relaxing. Every muscle in his body that was tense, now relaxed. All thoughts of screaming and eating walls were gone.

The head massage was so divine, he felt himself entering an entirely different plane of existence.

Stars and really really bright colours, like a kaleidoscope filled his mind. All there was, was César and himself. Intertwined like vines, melting into eachother as if they were butter in a microwave.

Constantly moving colours, and silence.

[Did I just die?] Edward accidentally thought, he quickly opening his eyes again with his heart having a spike in beats- Just to see himself in César's arms getting a head rub, before calming down and closing his eyes up again.

It was that good.

It was like holding... No... Actually, this moment couldn't be described as anything else.

It was love.

As the seconds went by, Edward became so relaxed that he forgot César also had duties. Immediately showing concern when César pushed him back to sitting up right, and getting up.

"César?"

"My dearest Edward, I still have to help around the boat." César gave his forehead a soft kiss, "I was here to help make sure you didn't kick a hole in the wall or something, and I've succeeded, so naturally..."

With a flourish, his flowy Juliet sleeve moved in rythym with the flowy purple scrap of cloth tied around his hips as he went to the door.

"And also Edward, you look adorable in that top. Wear it more often, maybe." He winked before sauntering off outside.

With the door now shut. Edward laid down in his bed and recollected his thoughts of today.

Seeing things a bit more positive, he thought of things to do that would benefit the crew... Even Oliver and his little enterouge.

He couldn't speak badly on him though, he knew César loved him aswell and wanted them both to get along.

At least Charlie didn't see him melting today. That's a good thing, always.

With the blush receding from his face, he got up from his bed, putting his leather coat back on and his sword-strap, he felt lighter. Less like an anchor and more like a feather.

[Oh César, how do you get me?] He thought as he finally left his room again into the bright outside.

[shvaliyeh]

reera, chancellor of state of zaetia, royal advisor to the king. soul reader and the last existing shadow wind. 3400+ years old, he / him.

001. GENERAL.

NAME:  liu wenyan. AGE:  appears in his thirties, is actually 3500+ ORIGIN:  kingdom of zaetia. SPECIES:  reera, belonging to a specific race nicknamed shadow winds. most of the race is now extinct and their name is unknown to most. GENDER:  trans man, he / him. LANGUAGES:  common craidesoa tongue, ancient zaetian, zaetian, narbaradi. OCCUPATION:  chancellors of state. ORIENTATION:  bisexual.

002. APPEARANCE.

his hair is white, cut slightly unevenly at the ends, giving it a natural, wind - swept look. it falls to his lower back, often left loose, though he occasionally ties it back into a low, simple ponytail during formal occasions or battles. he always wears a specific hair accessory that features a crane as its central motif, something that was given by his mother when he was young. his eyes are a pale, icy gray, almost silver, with a piercing quality that seems to look straight through a person. he has a lean, athletic build. though not overly muscular, his physique reflects years of discipline and training. wenyan favors simple, functional clothing, often in muted tones like charcoal gray, deep navy or black. his usual attire consists of a fitted long coat or cloak that drapes to his calves, paired with a high - collared tunic and tailored pants.

003. PERSONALITY.

wenyan is marked by a stoic and composed exterior that often makes him appear aloof or unapproachable. his serious and cold demeanor, paired with a neutral, unenthused expression, gives little away about his true thoughts or emotions. he prefers to keep his feelings tightly guarded and focusing on logical, practical solutions rather than emotional responses. however, beneath this detached facade lies a caring and protective individual. his reserved nature often hides the fact that he is profoundly empathetic toward those he values. he has an innate ability to assess people and situations with an almost unnerving precision, thanks to his soul - reading powers. this adds to his calm and deliberate approach to challenges, as he prefers to analyze and strategize rather than act impulsively. while his detached demeanor can make him seem unfeeling, it’s more a reflection of his cautiousness and his desire to avoid unnecessary conflict or vulnerability.

004. RELATIONSHIPS.

STATUS:  verse dependent. SIGNIFICANT OTHER:  verse dependent. PARENTS: liu chengxing, father. liu fanglin, mother. SIBLINGS: liu xinyue, older sister.

005. POWERS.

WEAPONS:  he carries a range of them, but is usually found with a blue and grey bladed staff. AIR MANIPULATION:  an ability inherited by every member of his race. users can create, shape, control and manipulate air and wind, they possess complete control over the layer of atmospheric gases and various compounds surrounding the planet that is retained by its gravity and possibly wind movement of air relative to the surface of the planet. since air cannot be seen by conventional methods, neither can the attacks and derivatives formed from it, making it an invisible and versatile weapon that is very difficult to block and dodge. since air is the originator for most natural disasters and all forms of weather, the users have control over nature’s most dangerous element allowing them to perform a wide variety of feats. SOUL READING:  an ability that only wenyan possesses. he can perceive and read the souls, whether free or in body. he can study and observe the nature of one's soul and find weaknesses based on the nature of the observed souls. by reading souls, he can see and feel the being's characteristics, personality, feelings, memories, whether they even have a soul, damage others' souls have endured and whether or not another entity is possessing or influencing the person on a spiritual level. MESMERIZATION:  reeras can make humans do their bidding. the reera only needs to have eye contact in order to seize your mind with a simple phrase or change in tone of voice. GLAMOUR:  able to cast vivid and convincing illusions in order to trick others, making it appear more appealing and beautiful. GENERAL REERA ABILITIES:  teleportation, immortality.

FULL STORY:

the shadow winds were an ancient race of reera born from the union of wind and shadow. legends say they were almost ethereal in appearance, with faintly glowing, wind - like markings on their skin and silver or pale eyes that reflected the moonlight. renowned for their mastery over wind and shadow, they could move silently, disappear into the darkness and manipulate gusts to evade or ambush. their abilities made them useful as messengers and assassins, but also feared and misunderstood. during the celestial war, they became targets of exploitation. desired for their abilities, they were hunted and eradicated by those who sought to weaponize or destroy them. despite their skill in evasion, their small numbers and lack of strongholds left them vulnerable. by the war’s end, they were believed to be extinct. their culture and stories faded into myth, carried away on the winds they once commanded.

unbeknownst to the world, a single lineage of the shadow winds survived: the liu clan. they concealed their existence and assimilated into the kingdom’s court. over centuries, they established themselves as key political players, known for their cunning and influence. despite their prominence, the clan has kept the truth of their full heritage a closely guarded secret. to the outside world, they are simply shadow winds— an enigmatic and resourceful family with an uncanny knack for gathering information and manipulating outcomes. outsiders are rarely allowed into their inner sanctum. those who interact with the family are kept at arm’s length, ensuring that no one uncovers their secrets.

now, during the current era, they refer to themselves only as shadow winds, avoiding any mention of their true origins. they allow their mystique to be misinterpreted, letting rumors swirl while steering attention away from their true heritage. every liu child is trained from a young age in the arts of stealth, misdirection and subtle manipulation. they are taught to conceal their abilities, using them sparingly and only in ways that cannot be traced back to their true nature. two of those children were wenyan and xinyue.

xinyue was the elder of the two, born and raised as their family's new prodigy. wenyan was born second and despite their family's traditions, he still struggled with the expectations placed on him, not wanting to be what his sister was working towards, though the help of xinyue taught him not to constantly push himself to his breaking point and to ease up. during that time, he was a hopeful child, calm and kind towards everyone around him and making many allies that later on helped him reach where he needed to be.

xinyue's sharp mind and ambition were praised within the family. but while the clan valued subtlety and balance, she desired something more: power. she was not content with merely preserving their legacy in secret— she wanted to reshape the world in the image of their lost glory. at the age of eighty - five, she orchestrated an elaborate ruse to sever ties with her family and free herself from their restrictive traditions. during a royal court banquet, a staged assassination attempt left her presumed dead. the "assassins" were actually mercenaries she had hired and her "body" was replaced with an unrecognizable double burned beyond recognition. the clan mourned her loss, though some suspected the truth. during this time, her brother was so stricken with grief that his own ability activated itself.

it was in the weeks following xinyue's death that wenyan began to notice strange sensations around people. at first, it was subtle. he would feel a pull when near someone deeply troubled or a faint sense of warmth when near those with pure intentions. he brushed it off as emotional sensitivity, the result of mourning his sister, but the sensations grew stronger over time. his abilities fully awakened during a private family ceremony to honor his sister. as he knelt before her memorial, he suddenly felt an overwhelming rush of emotions: not his own, but hers. he was transported to a surreal plane and felt everything she had felt. wenyan confided in his mentor, an elder within the clan who had guided him in their family’s arts. it was concluded that he might have inherited a dormant ability, a power to see and read the essence of others' souls.

soul reading was a rare talent even among his own kind. it allowed him to perceive the truth of a person’s heart, their intentions and even glimpses of their past and future. such power came with risks, though. delving too deeply into a soul could overwhelm the reader, blurring the lines between their identity and the person they touched. he began training and as he honed his gift, he discovered that each soul had its own "texture" or "color". some were warm and inviting, while others were cold and jagged. the experience was overwhelming at first, but with time, he grew more adept at navigating it. soon he began to piece together the truth: xinyue’s death had been a fabrication. her soul was too vibrant, too alive, to belong to someone truly gone.

fifteen years after her "death", his sister reappeared. she stormed into the capital city during a royal festival, leading a group of masked cultists. with the grace of a dancer and the fury of a tempest, she unleashed chaos, wielding her abilities openly for the first time. the truth was, she had created an allyship with an eshra and fused their magic together so she may become more powerful and remained in one of the old temples of the shadow winds, becoming a cult leader. she exploited outcasts, mercenaries and those who felt wronged by society. they operated in the shadows, performing acts of sabotage and assassination against powerful nobles and merchants.

and then, wenyan's true test came when the current king, ailun's father, tasked him with investigating a series of disturbances in the capital. unbeknownst to them, these incidents were the work of xinyue's cult. during his investigation, he encountered a wounded cultist. though hesitant, he used his ability to read the man’s soul, delving into his memories. and because of that, he saw his sister in the background. for the first time, he fully understood the depth of her transformation. a confrontation happens and while he tries to reach her as her brother, there was no use. the eshra had reached so far into her soul that this was not the person he knew anymore. this led to one of zaetia's greatest and most traumatic events, a battle that lasted for days.

it ended in xinyue's death, but the destruction she caused left the kingdom reeling. his entire clan was dead, entire provinces lay in ruins and the rest of the cult scattered into hiding. wenyan returned to his home, but instead of receiving gratitude, he was met with suspicion and hostility. the people viewed him as a reminder of his sister's crimes, a potential threat who could follow in her footsteps. the kingdom’s nobles denounced him and whispers of treachery spread like wildfire. he chose to bear the blame silently, knowing that defending himself would only deepen the public’s mistrust. this changed, however, when he gained an unlikely ally.

ailun, the new king had been crowned a while ago after his father, the previous king, had been challenged due to his terrible ways of ruling. he sought him out. unlike others, the king saw wenyan's actions not as a betrayal but as a necessary sacrifice to save the kingdom. he then accepted the role of chancellor of state, leaving him to be ailun's closest royal advisor. though he remained an outcast in the eyes of the public, he worked tirelessly to undo the damage xinyue had caused.

centuries later, wenyan establishes himself as an important figure in the kingdom. he is sent to work on fixing the divide between the people of narbarad and zaetia and spends time between the safe havens of narbarad created by shams azari and the similar camps in zaetia where the two of them travel together. (more info will come on this soon :p)