#than a week? to arrive? and so i got my hopes up. the most dramatic canine sigh you can imagine

[zvdvdlvr]

Indisputably Difficult to Choose ✰ JayVik x Reader

✰. You’re Viktor and Jayce’s new roommate- a flirt and a damn good cook. Thankfully, you get along well with the two men! Maybe too well. Eventually, you can’t tell where the line between ‘just friends’ and ‘more than friends’ is.

✰. WC: 1.7k. Female reader. I have no idea if Vik is russian or Czech but most reddit posts say hes russian😭??? Friends to lovers trope. Miscommunication trope? Oh well! Sorry for any errors in the spanish or russian pet names- I definitely didn’t use google translate. . .

It wasn’t every day that you got roomed with both life-altering scientists. And yet, here you were, offering them a sly smile. “Hello.”

Jayce smiled right back at you easily and opened the door further. “Welcome home, stranger,” he greeted.

After adjusting the backpack hanging from your shoulders, you stepped into the room. “Good to see a handsome face whenever I arrive home,” you murmur absentmindedly as you examine the walls and floors. “Where’s my room?”

Jayce nodded towards the hallway. “Down there.”

Later that night you met Viktor. Tall, lean, devilishly handsome Viktor.

You were making yourself at home in the kitchen making pasta for dinner when he cleared his throat. Turning, you smiled at the man in front of you. “I hope you like tortellini, Viktor,” you said.

He hummed. “I’ll eat anything that isn’t cooked by Jayce.” Viktor hears an incredulous gasp from the other room and chuckles. “It smells good,” he says politely, stepping closer to the stove.

“I like to make a good impression.”

And by God, you do.

Almost two weeks later you finally find your rhythm. Wake up, get ready for class, go to class, go to the lab to help out the boys (because helping out world-changing scientists looks damn good on your resume), decide what to have for dinner, drag the boys home, go to sleep, repeat. A long and tiresome but rewarding list.

Five and a half months later and midterms were finally over! You were on break and had so much free time on your hands but didn’t feel like going in to work every day. So: you made your boredom the boys’ problem (though you knew they wouldn’t actually complain).

Today was one of the rare days you could convince Jayce and Viktor to stay home with you because there weren’t any classes and ‘why let your favorite roommate be all by her lonesome?’ It was easy to convince Jayce. When Jayce finally relented, the both of you turned to Viktor with hopeful smiles.

“As long as you make that beef stew for dinner,” Viktor finally grumbled. As he hobbled away dramatically, Jayce laughed as you whooped excitedly.

When you were done basking in glory, Jayce wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You would have bet your life savings that Jayce melted further into you when you wrapped your arm around his waist since you could not reach his shoulders. “Viktor wouldn’t actually say no to you anyway, doll,” Jayce said casually, flopping onto the couch and pull you with him.

Dynamics between the three of you were. . . perplexing. Viktor was a quietly independent person who bonded with you over food, riddles, and literature. When he had seen your Harlan Ellison novels, you swore you saw the metaphorical wall of defense behind his piercing amber eyes crumble. The first time Viktor sat on the counter and had an emotionally intelligent conversation with you (while you made chicken fajitas as per Jayce’s request) was the first time you heard Viktor truly laugh- a sound from deep in his throat that temporarily distracted you from the sizzling meat in front of you. After that, Viktor had warmed up to you enough to slide into the hug Jayce pulled you in when they returned from the lab.

Jayce had almost immediately clicked with you. His charmingly pathetic smile and himbo aura were captivating. Jayce had gasped allowed when you were still decorating your new room. “Oh my Jan- is that. . ?” He then started helping you tack up posters and other goodies you had to decorate your space while gushing about some of the bands, movies, and television programs you were interested. Jayce, you learned, had a soft spot for predicable romance and science fiction movies- though he often narrated errors in information while watching anything sci-fi. He was also very physically affectionate: pulling your legs into his lap during movie nights, gently moving you by the waist whenever he was in the kitchen, wrapping an arm around you while walking to the coffee shop, and an obscene amount of hugs. You thought it was a little odd at first, but he does it to Viktor too- and you couldn’t really judge because you flirted with them and called them nicknames. A lot. 

When dinner time finally rolled around, you had a pot of steaming vegetable stew on the stove. Three bowls and three spoon were all waiting to be used off to the side. Viktor had made a beeline to the kitchen the second ‘food’ left your mouth and by the time Jayce got up and you’d entered the kitchen, Viktor’s bowl had tears of broth rolling down the side as it pleaded for help. “Smells good, Солнышко,” he praised. 

“Thank you, darling scientist of mine,” you hummed, handing Jayce a bowl.

“Wha-“ Jayce spluttered behind you. “What about me? Have I not earned the title of your favorite darling scientist?”

Viktor snorted as he started the short trip to the dinner table.

You threw your head back in laughter, eyes closed. If you were watching the two bickering men boys, you would have seen Jayce’s mock hurt melt completely off his face as he watched you laugh happily before letting his eyes flicker over to Viktor; who was completely immersed with you (not the stew). You didn’t see Viktor looking up to Jayce with a certain look in his eyes and tilt his head all in the blink of an eye.

“I mean, Viktor did fix my console and the T.V. without me having to ask,” you say as your laughter fades. “I guess pretty boy over there has you beat.”

Jayce clicks his tongue, catching your eyes. “Then I’ll have to make it up to you, tu hermosa mujer,” he says with a low tone, the spark in his eyes that burns in his eyes when you usually flirt was absent. “Hm?”

You blink. Mouth open as your eyes frantically flicker between Jayce’s eyes and the unchanging smile on his face. “I- I guess so.”

Viktor coughs so loud you instinctively take a step back. “If you guys are continue kindling your blooming romance, I’d like to remind you that I am still here.”

You don’t look at Jayce as you blink out of the confused haze you found yourself in thirty seconds ago and start to the table. “Don’t be jealous, pretty boy,” you halfheartedly joke at Viktor.

“I’m not jealous,” Viktor says, watching you intently. “Because I know I could be better than Jayce at anything you wanted.”

“Is that right?”

Viktor raises and eyebrow at Jayce as he sits beside you in his normal spot. “Indisputably.”

“I don’t know what you guys are playing at,” you cut in finally, letting your spoon rest against the side of the half-finished soup. “But clearly there’s something I’m not understanding. This-“ you gesture from Jayce to you to Viktor “-is starting to confuse me. And I- I need you guys to figure it the fuck out because I can’t keep lov-“ you cut yourself off. Heaved a sigh before standing up and leaving with a mere ‘I need to think’.

“Y/n.” Jayce watches you grab your wallet and the coat nearest to the door- which happened to be Viktor’s- and ignore him. “Y/n, baby, please-“

You slam the door on the way out.

Viktor is standing up before Jayce can say anything. “Let’s go,” Viktor tells Jayce, shoving his arms into another one of his coats. “I don’t want her out during the dark.”

Jayce understands Viktor’s fear, knowing Viktor’s anxiety was multiplied tenfold by what he’d experienced and heard during his life in the Undercity. “Okay.”

Adrenaline and anxiety propelled Viktor forward into the night, rain soaking his useless coat. Jayce had your location pulled up on his cell and was confident that he and Viktor were close. “We’re almost there,” he told Viktor over the pattering rain.

“There! Is that-?”

“Y/n!” Jayce shouted, seeing the hooded figure halt for a second before you started walking faster.

“Куколка please wait,” Viktor called. “I cannot run after you- please just talk to us!”

You stopped. Turning, the pair could see your bloodshot eyes and wobbling lip.

“Oh, my Родная,” Viktor cooed, dropping his cane to wrap his arms around you and Jayce.

Jayce held you and Viktor upright, feeling his heart shatter when he felt you shaking in his arms- crying over something he did. “Y/n, mi amor, I’m so sorry,” he finally said. “We are sorry.”

Viktor leaned on Jayce as he went on. “Y/n, I think it’s safe to say that Jayce and I. . . our feelings for you, you see-“

“We’re in love with you,” Jayce blurts. “The cuddling, the cooking, the affection, the flirting-“

Viktor nods. “But we didn’t know how to tell you without making you choose because, quite honestly, I am scared that you’ll leave or- or, I don’t know. The point is: I didn’t want to complicate our relationship by telling you the way we feel for you.”

“My boys,” you murmur, your hand going up to cup each of their cheek. (Thank Janna that there were no passersby due to the rain.) “Would it be wrong to say that I don’t want to choose? Because. . . I don’t think I could choose.”

Jayce feels himself exhale. Viktor sags against him: the soul-crushing possibility of you leaving was out of the question. “Please come home, mujer preciosa,” Jayce pleads weakly, leaning into your palm. “We can make this up to you-“

“However you want,” Viktor adds quickly, sticking his bottom lip out with a shrug.

You laugh weakly and nod. “Yeah- yes. I’d love to go home. Hold on, pretty boy,” you say before bending down to retrieve Viktor’s cane.

“Is it too early to say I love you?” Viktor asks, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You chuckle and let yourself be sandwiched between the two men who you’d been enamored with for the past six months. “I already know you do, but it wouldn’t hurt to say,” you say.

“Well, we can say it as long as you want us to,” Jayce says, watching you with fond eyes.

[leatherbookmark]

aw, when i was ordering the albums they said "usually ships out by the release date", so i was excited about that, but then the release is SOON and they still haven't shipped it so i guess something happened or maybe they had a whole lot or orders, and now i see that they changed it to "usually ships in 3-7 days". a lot of orders then, i guess! u_u

[sleepyjuice]

patience is a virtue - jj maybank

Summary: you finally get on birth control, which means you and jj finally get to raw dog it, whoop

Warnings: 18+!!!!!!!! SMUT, p in v sex (reader is on birth control but theoretically both parties are tested and clean and exclusively sleeping with each other), little bit of praise kink, cream pie, fluff? soft jj <3

wc: 2771 wtf 🫣

A/N: so I decided to start writing again and then this happened lol. I’m probably rusty and this is my first time writing for jj so I hope it’s okay and y’all enjoy!!!<3

Jj had been counting down the days until your doctor's appointment. You were finally getting on birth control, the arm implant, to be specific. You had done your research, as well as an initial consultation with your doctor to go over all of your options and decided that the ‘one and done’ route would be the best for you.

You and jj had been together for a little over a year, using condoms every time you had sex. As much as you both liked the security of you not getting pregnant, you both wanted more, you both craved more. Not only that, but you had irregular and horribly painful periods and when your doctor mentioned that being on birth control could stop your periods, that was more than enough to convince you to take that step.

The day finally came, though, and jj insisted on driving you to your appointment, ignoring your assurance that it was a quick and easy procedure.

“jj, it’s not like I’m getting put under for a major surgery or something, it’ll probably be only like ten minutes. No medicine or anything.” You told him as you buckled your seatbelt. There was no changing his mind.

jj rolled his eyes as he started up the twinkie, already having made arrangements with john b over a week ago to let him borrow the van.

“I know, baby, but this is a big moment, wanna be there for you.” He said with a grin, pulling onto the road and starting towards your doctor’s office.

“Well, I appreciate it. I honestly think you’re more excited than I am.” You giggled, glancing over at your boyfriend as you pulled your hair up into a ponytail.

“Now what makes you say that?” He teased, knowing damn well he had this appointment marked in his phone calendar and his extra ass even drew a dick and a smiley face on your little desk calendar you had.

You had arrived shortly after, and just as you predicted, the whole appointment only took about ten minutes and was pretty painless. jj waited in the car for you to be done, smiling ecstatically at you once he saw you make your way out the office doors and towards the twinkie.

“How was it? Did it hurt?” He asked as soon as you got into the car, looking at your arm that was now wrapped in a bright pink bandage.

You shook your head, leaning across the seat to softly kiss your boyfriend, his hands finding your hair first before slowly trailing down your body to rub on your thighs as he deepened the kiss. You knew exactly what he was trying to do, so you pulled away with a laugh.

“Nope, nope, don’t even think about it. This thing doesn’t start working for seven days.” You told him, smiling innocently at him as you watched his face drop. You swore all the light in his eyes left his body for a second. He was so dramatic.

You were obviously disappointed too. It would have been nice to go straight home and have what would probably be the best sex of your life right away. But then you would have to go and buy a Plan B, and then this would all be for nothing.

“Now what the fuck? How are they gonna call this shit modern medicine but that shit doesn’t start working for a week?” jj scoffed, one of his hands still resting on your thigh while his other raised to softly graze your bandage, “like, they put a whole ass stick in your arm. What’s it even doing for these seven days? Just sitting in there doing nothing? They really need to make advancements to this shit.” he rambled on, but he couldn’t help but start laughing once you did.

“You are the most dramatic person I have ever met. We just gotta wait it out. Although, with all this anticipation, hopefully you can last more than a minute.” You mumbled the last part, your gaze leaving jj’s as you buckled your seatbelt, knowing he would start huffing over your comment.

And that he did, huffing as he started the car, running his fingers through his hair. “That’s — shut the fuck up. Don’t act like this won’t be torture for you, too.” He mumbled back, backing out of the parking lot and heading towards the chateau.

It had been a long week since your appointment. You and jj had never gone this long without having sex. You could have still used a condom in the meantime, but after a conversation in bed the first night, you had both decided to wait until you could do it raw for the first time. You were struggling, to say the least, but you had more composure than jj did all week.

He wasn’t making it easy though. The way he cuddled against you in bed, his hard dick pressing into your lower back made you crave the feeling of him inside of you. You almost caved multiple times every time he touched you, you just wanted more. But he respected your agreement, even though it was just as torturous for him. Touching your skin, seeing the way the bottom of your ass cheeks stuck out of the bottom of your shorts, all he wanted to do was rip your clothes off and bury himself inside of you. But he could wait, it would be worth it.

It couldn’t have been more perfect timing. Day seven had finally come around and your beautiful and wonderful friends all happened to have plans, which meant you and jj had the chateau to yourselves. It truly felt like a gift from god.

It was late morning, the soft glow of the sun peaking through the sheer blinds of the bedroom jj had made his own had woken you from your sleep. jj was still sleeping soundly next to you, his face pressed against your neck, an arm draped firmly across your waist.

“jay,” you whispered, softly rubbing circles on the back of his neck, your face being close enough to leave soft kisses in his messy blonde hair.

“mm- oh, fuck,” jj rasped, quickly gaining consciousness as he realized it was finally morning. He was so excited to sleep last night because it meant the next day would come quicker. It was like a kid on Christmas Eve. “it’s time?” He lifted his head from your neck, rolling himself over so he was on top of you, his hands holding himself up above your head on the pillow.

“It’s time,” you giggled, reaching up to cup his cheeks, “I’m done being patient. Need you inside me.” You whispered, and at that, jj leaned down, connecting your lips. He wasn’t completely rough, but he wasn’t gentle, and god did you miss this.

Your lips didn’t part from one another as his hands moved their way down your body. His fingers fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt that clad your body, yet another thing making him absolutely feral.

You disconnected to breathe, and so that he could lift your shirt above your head, discarding it on the cluttered floor. You looked up at him, now only in your panties, finding that familiar comfort that lived in those beautiful blue eyes of his.

“Fuck, missed seeing you like this, baby.” He panted, his breath hot on your skin as he lowered his mouth down to your tits, his tongue circling your sensitive nipple as you gasped, reaching up to entangle your fingers in his hair.

He soon took your whole nipple in his mouth, humming in satisfaction against the warm skin, while also lowering his body to grind his boxer clad dick against your wet center. He was achingly hard, no doubt his boxers were already stained with the precum that was eagerly leaking out of his sensitive tip.

You whimpered softly as he grazed his teeth against your nipple as he sucked sloppily, the feeling of his mouth on you making your center pulsate harder.

“jj, need you, please..” you whined, grinding your hips up against his dick, the fabric beneath the two of you was too much. You needed him.

“Okay, baby, okay,” he breathed, pulling his mouth off of your nipple with a pop, leaving the skin red and wet, “need to taste you first.” He added before scooting down further on the bed, giving himself enough room to pull his shirt over his head and discard it with yours.

He quickly repositioned himself in front of your legs, his ring clad fingers cold on your skin as he pushed your knees apart, sliding his hands up your thighs as he spread your legs. He was met with your underwear which you could feel was soaked, and you were sure it was quite the sight for him to see.

“Jesus, fuck, you’re soaked.” He hummed, palming his hands up and down your thighs until he reached the waistband of your underwear, his fingers not hesitating to pull the fabric down your legs and off of your body completely.

“There she is,” jj smiled at the sight of your pussy before him, running a finger through your wet folds, circling your entrance and sliding it back up to rub torturously slow circles against your clit. He was acting as though your pussy was his best friend who he hadn’t seen in months. Again, he was dramatic.

“Please, jay, fuck, you — you can’t torture me now, ‘s been way too long.” You whined, your eyes shutting for a moment as you clenched around nothing, his touches making your veins feel like fire. You needed something.

“M’kay, baby, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just missed this. Don’t like not having you for so long.” He finally gave in, lowering his head to finally take you in his mouth, his tongue flicking quickly against your clit as his wet lips closed around it, sucking the sensitive bud in his warm mouth.

You couldn’t hold back the moans that fell from your lips, the feeling of his mouth finally on you mixed with the soft breaths leaving his nose that was pressed against your pelvic bone was everything.

“That’s right, that’s good, yeah? Just what you needed?” He pulled back for only a moment to glance up at you as you nodded quickly in response before his middle finger teased your wet entrance. Without another word, he pushed his finger inside of you, bringing his mouth back on your clit at the same time as he began pumping his finger inside of your tight pussy, not missing the sweet gasp that left your parted lips.

He got a rhythm going as he always did, eventually adding his index finger, stretching your tight walls around his fingers as his mouth moved sloppily against your clit. It was a wet mess already, his chin and fingers completely soaked with your juices, the sound of your moans and his soft praises filled the room as he quickened his pace, bringing you closer to your high.

“I’m close, fuck me, I’m gonna come-“

It took only a few more pumps from jj, the way he curled his fingers perfectly, not missing a beat as your stomach tightened before contracting, your eyes squeezing shut as you moaned loudly, reaching forward again to grip tightly onto your boyfriends hair, pulling rather hard as your orgasm took over your body.

Your pussy clenched around his fingers as he pulled them out, bringing them up to his lips to lick them clean as he grinned lovingly at you.

“That’s good, baby, you’re so good for me,” he cooed, leaning down once again to press a sweet kiss onto your sensitive clit, making your breath hitch as you came down from your high. “You ready for me now? Been dreaming of this since I met you.” jj studied your face for any sign of hesitation, brushing a loose strand of hair that had fallen by your eyes.

“I’m ready, please, need to feel you.” You responded rather quickly, wholeheartedly enjoying the foreplay, but this is what you had been waiting for, you were ready to feel him fully.

“I got you, I got you…” he gave a quick kiss to your lips before sitting up and removing his boxers. His cock sprung free, happily unrestricted now, his tip red and swollen, precum now leaking out down his shaft.

You watched as he gave himself a few quick pumps, lubricating himself with his precum before positioning his cock in front of your pussy, gathering your wetness onto his tip before lining himself up with your entrance.

One hand held his cock as he slowly pushed himself inside of you, the other holding your bare waist. It was immediate euphoria for the both of you. You both had no idea what utter pleasure had been beneath the thin condom you had grown so accustomed to.

jj paused once he bottomed out, his eyes meeting yours as you nodded profusely for him to keep going. He needed a second, your joke about him not lasting was now fresh on his mind, but he was determined to make this last for the both of you, and he would be damned if he didn’t give you at least one more orgasm.

“Fuck me, Y/N, holy shiiitt you feel so perfect. So perfect for me. Pussy was made for me.” He groaned, taking a deep and shaky breath before he felt like he could begin moving again.

And so he did, his thick cock pushing in and out of you as you desperately reached up to grab the back of his neck, your fingernails digging into the soft skin making his little curses and moans grow louder.

Sex had never felt this good before, no barriers at all, just jj, completely jj. Watching his eyebrows furrow in pure and utter pleasure as his lips parted was sending your stomach into a frenzy and realistically you both knew that this first time going raw wouldn’t last too much longer, but that was okay.

“Love you, love you, feels so good, just— fuck, harder, please, I’m close.” You whined, your pussy clenching around jj’s cock as he quickened his pace, his hand that was holding your waist now moving down to rub at your clit, knowing that was going to do it for you.

“C’mon, baby, let go, yeah? Come for me, fuck — love you so much, so so good..” he praised, his cock hitting your sweet spot so perfectly while his fingers worked tirelessly against your clit, and that was all it took for your orgasm to hit you at full force, showing no mercy as your back arched, your fingers digging even deeper into your boyfriend’s skin. You didn’t even know what words left your mouth as you rode out your high, but you couldn’t care less.

jj’s gaze left your eyes as he looked down at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, juices everywhere, no doubt leaving a mess on the sheets. But the sight of that alone, mixed with the euphoria of being inside of you completely raw, not to mention the way your pussy clenched repeatedly around his cock, that was it for him. He pushed in one last time, his tip hitting deep inside of you as he came, truly inside of you for the first time. Thick spurts of come shot into you as he completely lost his composure, his arms unable to hold him up any longer, collapsing against your bare chest.

“My baby, god, fuck, I love you so much, you’re… ahh, fuck.” jj moaned one last time, needing a moment to catch his breath before he could move again. What felt like forever was only a few seconds, however, and he slowly pulled his softening cock out of you, not missing the way you winced at not only the sensitivity but the loss of fullness.

Taking a breath, jj leaned over the side of the bed to grab his t-shirt, gently wiping up his mess that was now spilling out of you. He made a mental note to put a towel down next time, might save a load of laundry, and a shirt.

“You did so good, baby. I’ve never felt so good in my fucking life.” He kissed your swollen lips once he finished wiping you up, smiling tiredly at your sweet post orgasm face, cheeks pink with a small but satisfied little smile on your lips.

“Yeah, no, that was well worth the wait.”

[halfvalid]

the blade daughter, pt. 1

ABOUT

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

alternate title: dracule mihawk cures your daddy issues!

rating: mature

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!dracule mihawk | live action!straw hat ensemble

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 23.6k total | 8.3k this part

description: as the daughter of dracule mihawk, you've been living alone at home, unwilling to go out and find a life of your own due to the belief that your father needs you around. but when he sends you off to buy him a jacket, you end up running into a pirate crew—and a particular swordsman—that end up changing how you feel.

tags: mihawk's daughter!reader, female reader, canon-typical violence, cursing, no use of 'y/n', pet names per mihawk ('dear', 'darling', 'sweetheart', 'little hawk'), emotional hurt/comfort, sexual harassment (from nameless OC), slow burn

author’s note: finally she's here! i'm posting it spaced out because i don't want to overload you all with a 23.6k fic in one post... IMPORTANT NOTE: i did some research from the animanga for mihawk's personality, weapons, and home, but this is still very much only a fic for OPLA and not the other iterations of the material.

the fic is not exactly only a romance; it focuses a lot on the reader's personal character development along with her relationship with mihawk too. i hope you guys don't mind! i kind of lost the plot lol.

reader is mihawk's biological daughter, but is stated to take after her mother and doesn't bear similarity to mihawk. so the fic is poc reader friendly!

Your dad was late to dinner again. 

To be fair, Dracule Mihawk didn’t exactly follow a schedule. He was fickle—back when you’d been a girl, he’d been around all the time, because although he was a lot of things, Mihawk was not an absentee parent. But as you’d grown older, he started being less strict, leaving you alone for days and weeks until you’d finally matured into an adult. Mihawk spent most of his time away from the house, now—but you agreed to have dinner together every week, no matter what part of the ocean he was in. 

And he was late. 

You’d started cooking the meal early, only for Mihawk to not show up when everything was ready. Or after everything was ready. Or even when everything had cooled, and you’d eaten your fill, and waited in your chair for him to arrive. He finally showed up a quarter past two in the morning, the doors of the dining room bursting open to announce his entrance. 

You cracked an eye open from where you’d been dozing in your seat. “You’re late.” 

“I’m sorry, darling,” Mihawk said, taking his hat off and bowing with a flourish. He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. “I got a little busy. Garp had me deal with a pirate in the East Blue.” 

You made a face at him as he sat down to eat. “Could’ve at least let me know. Den den mushi exist for a reason.” 

“Ah, well, my apologies.” Mihawk sighed, dramatic as ever—you couldn’t find it in you to be mad at him for more than a few minutes, though, something he knew well. “It would’ve gone quickly had some upstart not challenged me to a duel. So I had to spend the night.” He tsked, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “And then I went to visit an old friend. Red-haired Shanks.”

“I remember him.” You got up from your seat, moving to the kitchen to rifle in the icebox for a popsicle. “Another duel? What’s this week’s body count?” 

“You know I don’t tally such trifling matters, sweetheart,” Mihawk said. You shrugged, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen to watch him start eating. “This pasta is cold.” 

“Wasn’t cold four hours ago,” you said, languidly licking at your popsicle. “No sympathy here, dad.” 

“Fine,” Mihawk said. “Anyway, I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of the man. Tall, green hair, three swords.” He wrinkled his nose. “Said people called him the Demon.” 

“Roronoa Zoro,” you affirmed, slipping into the chair beside your father. “Scariest pirate hunter in the East Blue. You killed him?” 

“Clearly not much of a pirate hunter, considering he’s a pirate now,” Mihawk said, the scrape of his knife and fork ringing around the room. “Joined the man I Garp sent me after, this little boy in a straw hat. And no. I let him and his crew go.” 

You paused, voice faltering as you registered the words. “You let him live?” 

“Yes. He was rather interesting. I expect he’ll come find me later,” Mihawk answered. You stared at him, still baffled. Your father was a lot of things, but a man of mercy was not one of them. Your earliest memory of him exacting his power over others was when you’d been two, watching from your crib as he speared the nanny for calling you a brat. A touching gesture, for certain, but still. “But enough about work. How have you been, little hawk?” 

“Bored,” you said with a sigh. “It’s so dull on this island.” 

Mihawk looked amused. “You could leave. I’m not restricting you here anymore.” Back in your teen years, Mihawk hadn’t let you leave the house—something about enemies wanting to kill his daughter or whatever else nonsense. He’d trained you personally, though, so you were nearly as fearsome as your father—able to beat anyone in combat in the blink of an eye. “You don’t have to stay.” 

“The house would get all dusty,” you protested, lips tugging into a line. And it wasn’t like you hadn’t done any exploring. Mihawk had taken you to all four seas throughout your adolescence, and you’d taken vacations to everywhere of importance. You just—didn’t have much of a point to leave, really. You very much preferred not to, something tying you firmly to the island, to your castle. “And besides, where would I even go?” 

“I hear the East Blue is interesting this time of year,” Mihawk said. “You could venture around here, but…” He shrugged. “The Grand Line is dangerous.” 

You made a face. “I’ve lived here my entire life. I can take care of myself.” 

“Certainly,” Mihawk agreed easily. “But it’s simply not worth it. You really should get out more, dear. It’s not good for your health.” 

“Maybe,” you said, but you weren’t very enthusiastic about it. “Here, I’ll clean Yoru for you while you finish eating.” You moved around the back of his chair, lifting his sword off the jacket he hadn’t bothered to shed from his back. You grimaced upon seeing a line of dried blood along the blade. “Dad.”

“Sorry, dear,” Mihawk said, and you rolled your eyes, carrying the sword over to the living room. You set Yoru down with a heavy thud, pulling out a box of materials. Mihawk came over to watch you, one arm propped against the doorway as his aureate eyes gazed down as you worked.

Compared to your dad, you looked relatively normal. You’d always taken after your mother—a mysterious woman you barely had any memories of—and the relation between the two of you was never immediately obvious. The fact your eyes were plainly normal instead of bearing the golden hawk eyes Mihawk had was another factor added to that, too. 

You pulled out a bottle of oil, pouring it generously over Yoru’s blade before grabbing a cloth to carefully wipe it with. “Where in the East Blue?” you asked abruptly, not looking up. Mihawk’s fork clinked along the ceramic of his bowl, presumably surprised you’d actually consider the offer of leaving. 

“Well, I could send you out to run some errands if you wish. I’ve got some things to attend to,” Mihawk optioned. “There’s this one store in Loguetown with a rather nice jacket I’ve had my eye on.”

You shot him a disbelieving look. “You want me to go to the East Blue to buy you a jacket.” 

Mihawk shrugged. “My birthday’s coming up.” 

“No, it’s not.” You slid your rag along the edge of Yoru’s blade, folding it in half before wiping the entire thing again to ensure there was no grime left. “Finished. Maybe I’ll just stay—” 

Mihawk gave you a look. 

“Fine. Loguetown it is,” you said with a sigh. “Don’t give me a crew. I’ll just take one of the sloops. I’ll get your dumb jacket for you.” You got up, tossing the cloth over a shoulder to hand wash later. “I’ll leave later today.” 

Mihawk clicked his tongue. “You’re so enthusiastic, darling. I can practically see the excitement oozing off of you.” 

You rolled your eyes, moving past him to go up to your room. “Short trip,” you said. “No more than a couple of days.” 

“The little hawk, so incited to leave the nest.”

“Shut up.” 

Mihawk had complied with your wishes, as when you woke up the next morning, he had already prepared a sloop for you to board alone. You packed some of your things, not being too fussy about the clothing or other objects, knowing that the boat was already well-stocked on its own. Mihawk waited to send you off, though you knew he probably had affairs to attend to by now. 

“Be good, darling,” he said, while you were loading up the last of your stuff. Just like your father, you preferred to wear your sword on your back; a present he’d given you at the age of thirteen. “I’ll call you. I’ve got business in the South Blue.” 

“Have fun,” you said, and he kissed the back of your hand before pushing you off. 

Loguetown was just how you’d remembered it, buzzing with civilians and pirates alike. The stores were plentiful, and filled to the brim with customers—it was all a little overwhelming compared to the peace and quiet you were used to. Still, it wasn’t a bad place to stay for a few weeks, and you might as well take your time there. 

You slung your coat on as you exited the docks, glancing around the town in search of something to do first. Since you weren’t especially interested in retrieving a jacket for your father just yet, you beelined to the nearest tavern to grab something to eat. It was a lot easier traveling without Mihawk at your side—as much as you loved him, he had the habit of attracting both trouble and fear wherever he went, and he was near impossible to go out with. 

The tavern was full, but not too crowded, and you managed to slip over to the bar without much trouble. It seemed to mostly consist of pirates—rough men with flowing jackets and holsters of guns and swords at their hip, clustered together in groupings that clearly proved their alliances with each other. You were one of the only patrons who was alone.

You gestured for the barkeep, and she bustled over from where she was serving a particularly ragtag group of pirates. They were mismatched, colors oddly paired—a girl with neon orange hair, a short man with a straw hat, one wearing a flowery shirt and goggles and the last man dressed in clothes far too formal for a bar. “What can I get for you?” she asked, a thick brogue dragging down her words. 

You told her your drink order, still eyeing the group. The barkeep followed your vision and let out a sigh. “Don’t bother. Three men have already tried to capture him for the bounty.  Broke half my furniture. And we got a rule here, anyway—no fightin’.” 

“Does he have a bounty?” you asked with a frown. She scoffed. 

“Does he ever. Thirty million berry, child. Highest in the East Blue.” She shook her head. “That crew won’t let anyone touch ‘im. Hell, I think his first mate’s still outside cleaning up the bodies.” She sighed again. “Well, I’ll have that drink out for you in a moment.” 

You nodded, slipping into the closest available chair. Now that you were paying attention, you could see practically every pair of eyes fixed on the group—specifically, on the man in the center wearing the straw hat. 

Before you could ask another question, the door to the tavern opened, and a lean, green-haired man filled the doorway. You glanced over at the barkeep, a flash of recognition in your eyes. “That’s Roronoa Zoro.” 

“Aye,” she said, setting your drink in front of you. “If there’s someone who might be able to cash in that bounty, it’d be him. But believe it or not, he’s with the Straw Hat.” 

You watched as the pirate hunter made his way to the table the others sat at. The glint of his famed three earrings reflected off the tavern lights, and the sword on his hip swayed as he walked—but there was only one rather than the three you’d heard tales about. “Yeah, my father said something of the sort.” 

The barkeep hummed, turning to attend to a pirate who’d taken a seat at your left. “And who’s your father, lass?” 

“Dracule Mihawk.” 

The pirate beside you raised his head, turning towards you in almost alarm. Beside him, his crew quieted, and the barkeep glanced up to meet your eyes. “Dracule Mihawk?” she repeated incredulously. 

“He sent me to buy him a coat,” you said. “I don’t suppose you know where any shops are around here?” 

“Er, there’s a shop off main you might want to see,” the barkeep said, eyes flickering over to the pirate crew that had changed their focus to you. “Anything else for you, then?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” you said, taking another sip of your drink. She nodded, leaving the bar in favor of moving over to another table. The pirate beside you turned slowly, stool scraping against the floor as he sneered down at you.

“Dracule Mihawk’s daughter, eh?” he asked. “Care if I buy you a drink?” Behind him, the rest of his crew tittered. You just sighed.

“Sorry, my father doesn’t let me go out with anyone who hasn’t bested me in combat.” You knocked back the rest of your drink, glancing up and down the pirate’s figure. He didn’t look like much—two pistols strapped to the hip, a longsword on the other, a raggedy leather jacket with a hat to match. 

The pirate scoffed. “Please,” he said, though you could see his skin turning rapidly crimson. “I doubt you’re even related to him. No hawk eyes or nothing.” 

You met his gaze, lips tightening into a line. “I take after my mother.” 

“Biggest lie I ever heard, aye, crew?” The pirate turned back towards the rest of his men, and they cheered in agreement. You huffed out a sigh, trying your very best not to turn combative—despite everything, you were proud of your relationship with your father, and anyone trying to call you a liar for your lineage just left you vexed and angry. Before you could step away, though, the pirate turned towards the rest of the tavern, apparently having had a bit too much liquor. He raised his voice, practically yelling now. “Oi! This girl thinks she’s the daughter of Dracule Mihawk!” 

Out of your peripheral vision, you saw Roronoa Zoro look up, the rest of his crew glancing over at you at the words. You were distracted within a second, the pirate shoving your arm. “Hey, don’t look away, girl. I’m trying to—” 

You grabbed onto his wrist, nails razor-sharp as they embedded into his skin. “Don’t touch me.” 

“Oh, you think you’re tough, do you?” The pirate yanked his hand out of your grip. “Did your daddy teach you how to fight, huh? Think you can beat me?” 

“I know I can beat you,” you answered. The pirate reached for his sword, then, fingers tightening around the hilt. 

“Alright, let’s make it a bet then. You beat me, I believe your claim about being Mihawk’s daughter.” His lips curled back into an ugly sneer, and you debated stepping out of the conversation and just going off to find that shop for your dad’s coat anyway. Fights like these were never worth getting into, and you really didn’t want to break any more of the barkeep’s furniture after she’d let out her annoyances to you. 

Before you could, though, the pirate opened his big mouth once again. 

“I beat you, and you go to bed with me.”

You were whipping your sword out before you could even think, red flashing in your vision as you scraped your blade out from the holster on your back. The metal gleamed under the lights, white steel bright as day as you leveled it in your hand. It wasn’t the largest weapon, a perfectly balanced cut-and-thrust spadroon with a golden hilt wrapped in white ribbon. You tightened your grip on the handle. 

“I beat you,” you hissed, voice low, “and you’re dead.” 

He lunged for you, pulling his sword out in one solid stroke and meeting yours in a loud clang. You shot an apologetic look towards the barkeep, spinning on your back leg and kicking the pirate away. The force caused him to stumble, sword skittering to the side as you shoved it off your blade. 

One of his crew members had cocked a gun to your head, and you spun your swords toward him, blade cutting through the metal like it was butter. The rest of the crew stepped back, one or two of them lunging for you. You parried all of their attacks, shoving them to the ground until they stopped trying to fight. 

The captain had gotten up, a fierce snarl upon his face as you slammed your blade down towards him. He blocked it with his sword, and then went for various attacks towards your figure—you dodged each one of them, parrying them easily as you moved backwards. At the last one, you used your weight to buck the sword back in his direction, and he stumbled again. 

You ducked down, sweeping him off his feet with a well-aimed kick to his shins, and he fell, sword clattering out of reach as he dropped flat on his back. You towered over him, pointing the edge of your blade at his throat. 

“You want me to go outside to kill him?” you asked. The barkeep sighed. 

“If you don’t mind, lass.” 

“Not at all.” You bent over, grabbing firmly onto the pirate’s shirt and yanking him upwards. His crew made a move towards you, but you just shoved your sword in their direction, and they stepped away. You spun your sword’s hilt around in your hand with a flourish, then started dragging the captain out the tavern door. 

“No—wait—let me go,” the pirate begged, once you dropped him to the gravel outside and moved your sword to his throat again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean it—you’re a pretty girl, that’s all—” 

“I don’t date men who can’t beat me in combat,” you said coolly. “Lower your expectations.” With that, you spun your sword again, sliding it back on the holster of your jacket. “I’ll let you live just this once. If you ever make any comments towards a woman again—” 

“I get it. I’m sorry,” the man said, scrambling to his feet. You just eyed him. 

“I need another drink.” 

The tavern was dead silent when you returned to your seat, gingerly sitting back down on the stool you’d first occupied. “Another drink, if you don’t mind,” you said to the barkeep, and she nodded. A moment passed as she filled your mug, and then she asked—

“Is Dracule Mihawk really your father?” 

“Unfortunately,” you muttered, taking the drink she offered and taking a swig. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the Straw Hat pirate and his crew muttering amongst themselves. One of them nudged Roronoa Zoro in the side, and he grimaced, the loose shirt he wore parting with the motion. You caught a glimpse of bandages, wound tight with blood seeping through a familiar line. Yoru’s doing. 

Zoro stood up, making his way over to the bar beside you. He propped his elbows on the table, but he didn’t sit, nodding at the barkeep. “Another round for my friends,” he said. His voice was quieter than you’d expected; a low mutter and almost soft in timbre. He glanced over at you, eyes flickering down and up again before he spoke. “I tried to kill your father.” 

“Yeah, he told me,” you said. “Roronoa Zoro. What happened to your other two swords?” 

Zoro scoffed. “Your dad.” 

“He can be a little dramatic sometimes,” you said apologetically. He glanced over you again.

“You don’t look much like him.” He paused. “Figured I’d know if Mihawk had a daughter.” 

“I take after my mother, and he’s very overprotective,” you said, getting just the slightest bit annoyed about everyone questioning your parentage. The barkeep returned then, sliding five beers across the table over to Zoro, and you stood up. “Now if you’d excuse me, I have some shopping to do.” 

You exited the tavern after paying your tab, wandering around the streets of Loguetown to find the closest clothing store. Your father’s style was ridiculously grand, so it’d be something in the nicer branch of the city—you had just entered your best guess when you pulled out a shell phone, pushing the little snail into your ear and calling your father’s number. 

He picked up on the first ring. “What is it, darling?” 

“Did you have a specific coat in mind?” You glanced through a row of black leather, trying to find one that’d match Mihawk’s liking. “I’m at this place called Lady Tide’s Dressing Boutique. It’s the bougiest place I could find.” 

“Lady Tide’s would be correct,” Mihawk said. “I trust your taste. Pick something I’d like.” 

“You better be paying me back for this,” you threatened, turning the corner as you spoke. You jumped back in surprise, letting out a squeak as the Straw Hat pirate from before appeared right in front of you, a grin stretching up his face. 

Mihawk’s laugh crackled through the line at your surprise. “Get startled, dear?” 

“The pirate Garp sent you after is stalking me,” you deadpanned. The Straw Hat pirate’s grin only widened. “I’ll call you back.” 

You hung up, taking the den den mushi out of your ear and back into its case. “What?” 

“You’re a really good fighter,” the Straw Hat said brightly. “I’m Monkey D. Luffy, and I’m going to be King of the Pirates. You should think about joining my crew!” 

“I—” you stared at him in disbelief, mind reeling from the whiplash of his words. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not a pirate.”

Luffy tilted his head to the side in question. “But your dad is Mihawk.”

“That doesn’t make me a pirate. I just stay at home for the most part,” you said. Luffy continued following you around the store, however, even as you stepped past him to browse more jackets. You glimpsed the rest of his crew hanging around the store, though none seemed to do any actual shopping. You figured Lady Tide’s was probably out of their price range. “Why are you still following me?” 

“I think you should join my crew,” Luffy repeated. “Have you ever been to the Grand Line? That’s where we’re headed next.”

You gave him a look. “I live in the Grand Line.” 

“Whoa,” Luffy breathed. “Well, you must know all about it, then!” 

You turned away from him, picking a jacket off the rack in front of you and appraising it. Golden buttons, long tailcoat, wide lapels—not really Mihawk’s taste. You set it back. “Not really,” you finally answered. “Like I said, I stay at home for the most part. Haven’t done much exploring.” 

“Don’t you want to?” Luffy asked, taking a step closer to you. You flinched. “Your dad’s one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea! You should be going out and adventuring, not just staying at home and doing whatever Mihawk tells you to!” 

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice low. “I stay home because I want to. Not because my dad forces me to.” Your words bore no lie, but still, there was a rumble of uncertainty deep in your gut. Mihawk had always been supportive, but pirating had always been his thing. You preferred the solace of your own home, and there was no point in adventuring when Mihawk had seen it all before. 

“I’m just saying, what do you even do all day?” Luffy asked with a quirk of the lip. “Stay home and clean? Go out once in a while to buy groceries or get stuff for your dad?” He gestured at the coat you were holding, and you flushed, shoving it back onto the rack. “Isn’t it boring? Don’t you want more than such an average life?” 

“I’m perfectly happy with my life right now, thank you,” you snapped. “Go preach to someone else.” 

Luffy had stopped walking, then, looking at you with an almost sympathetic expression on his face. “Living isn’t the same as thriving, you know,” he said. “You should go out. Find adventure. Aren’t there things you want to know? Questions you want answered?” 

“Luffy.” You turned to see Roronoa Zoro move to his captain’s side, head dipping as he spoke to him. His tone was quiet, but you could still overhear— “Leave her alone. We’ve got business.” 

Luffy looked dejected at that, but he agreed, bowing his head towards you before turning to the rest of his crew. They’d gathered by the mouth of the store, engaged in their own various activities as they waited. You watched Luffy turn to leave, words climbing up your throat even as you tried to swallow them down. “Wait!” 

Luffy turned, that bright smile reappearing on his face. “What?” 

“I want to know one thing,” you said, taking a step closer to the captain and his first mate. You glanced up at Zoro, who met your gaze. His face seemed carved of steel, skin bearing no grimace, eyes betraying nothing. “Why did my father let you live?” 

Zoro looked away, and you realized he probably didn’t know the answer himself. Before you could speak again, though, Luffy interrupted. 

“Because Zoro’s the best,” he declared, capturing your attention away from the injured swordsman. He slapped Zoro’s bicep with a heavy thud, and you were surprised when the other man didn’t even flinch. “And he’s gonna be better than Mihawk one day. He’s going to defeat him in a duel and take his title and become—” 

“The world’s greatest swordsman,” Zoro finished. The words were muttered under his breath, clearly to himself rather than intending for you to hear. 

You watched them for a moment before finally turning away. “Okay,” you said. “Good luck with that.” 

Luffy stared at you for a moment longer, but Zoro was already turning away and walking towards the rest of the crew. There was an unsettling feeling in your gut, one you tried to squash. Whatever—you had better things to do than worry about some Straw Hat pirate and a retired pirate hunter. 

You returned to your browsing, looking through various jacket designs until you finally fell across one you were certain your father liked. It was ridiculously expensive, but your father’s taste had always been so—you purchased it without a second thought, slinging it across a shoulder and returning to your sloop for the rest of the day. 

To your great disappointment, the Straw Hat pirate’s words continued to echo throughout your head. His demeanor was off-putting, to say the least—the extreme amounts of candor and cheeriness he had made for a disorienting combination. Even as you tried to stop thinking about his terrifyingly honest words, you couldn’t. Don’t you want more than such an average life?

You sighed, mood irritable from the day's events. You’d returned to your sloop and hadn’t done much of anything for a few hours—past having a meal and cleaning up your boat, there was nothing to do. You mulled over your options, wondering if you shouldn’t just start the journey back home. But Luffy’s words came back to you. 

“I need a drink,” you muttered, donning your coat and leaving to attend the first bar you could find. 

You went someplace ritzy this time, near the peak of Loguetown where neon lights glimmered in the dark hour. It was crowded, and music blasted through the bar, pounding bass nearly making the floor reverberate. You slipped inside without much trouble, squeezing through the crowd and making way for the bar at the other end of the room. 

You bought yourself a drink, knocking it back in just a few gulps. There were marines patrolling around in the building, although none of them seemed too keen on completing any of their duties. Pirates walked around freely too, but these ones were more dignified than the ones you’d seen in the tavern at town. 

“You hear Straw Hat Luffy’s here at Loguetown right now?” someone muttered to your right. You glanced over with a furtive gaze to see who was speaking—two men, dressed in fine silks and coats. Swords dangled from their hips. Pirates, maybe, or pirate hunters. “His ship’s docked over by south port.” 

“You’re not going to try and nab him, are you?” the other pirate hunter asked, fingers pinched around a thin glass of something. “That bounty’s hefty, but fighting them’ll be…” 

“I’m getting a bunch of hunters together,” the first one said. “We’ll split the bounty. At midnight, once the whole crew’s asleep. I followed the navigator; seems they’re not leaving until the morning.” 

“Thirty million split between many isn’t much.” 

“Well.” The hunter made a vague gesture, a smirk playing at his lips. “I doubt we’ll all be alive by the end of the night, if you know what I mean.” 

“Right.” The second hunter downed the rest of his drink. “I’ll be there. Where’s the rendezvous point?” 

“Slip forty at south port. Come at midnight,” the first one replied. “My boat. Theirs is at fifty-two.” 

You turned away, knocking back the last of your drink before setting the glass back down on the counter. Your mind reeled, and you pulled out a pocket watch to check the time. Nearly eleven. Only an hour left. 

“Another drink,” you called, but you stopped after that one. Logically, you knew the Straw Hat crew would be able to handle themselves. Your father wouldn’t have let Zoro go had he not been an impressive fighter—and Luffy certainly had to have some tricks up his sleeve, having such a high bounty and all. But an ambush was an ambush. 

You needed to go home. 

You paid your bill and slunk outside, taking the long road down to the port. You were docked in the east, but you found yourself wandering towards south port, hands shoved in your pockets and sword heavy on your back. 

There was no logical reason to get involved with pirates, you tried to tell yourself. That was Dracule Mihawk’s area of expertise. That was Dracule Mihawk’s life. Not his daughter’s. You were not a pirate—there was no point in being one. Mihawk has done everything already. 

You stepped onto the pier of south port, the wooden ramp trembling under your feet. They were shoddily constructed; oak on water, with pegs every few feet or so and ropes thrown casually across the walkways. It was overcrowded with boats, too—ships of every kind and size, smushed into spots not big enough for them depending on how much you paid the dock men. The moon shimmered on the surface of the East Blue. She was calm today, waves lapping at the edges of the docks, tranquil in the night. 

You checked your watch again. Nearly midnight. 

Dock forty moored a relatively small ship, but it was crowded with men—ten or fifteen, maybe, and you knew they’d be killing each other when the fight was through. Thirty million berry divided between so many people was barely worth it. You slunk past them, counting the numbers of the boat berths. 

You knew the boat before you looked at the slip number based on appearance alone. It was large in size, a caravel sporting a gigantic goat figurehead. You stared at it, brows furrowed, jaw slack. Well, it was certainly a ship. There was a large sail boasting the ship’s jolly roger—a crudely designed skull and crossbones sporting the same straw hat their captain wore. 

With a sigh, you pulled yourself onboard, careful to not make a sound as you landed on the deck. It was quiet, but you doubted the crew didn’t have at least one lookout for trouble. You tiptoed around the mast, moving towards the foredeck.

You were just about to step a foot on the staircase when a gleaming katana came to your throat. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Roronoa Zoro was as calm as ever as he held a blade to your jugular, posture perfectly straight, eyes tilted in your direction. You glanced down at the blade, registering the smooth metal. It was the white-handled one; upon seeing it closer, you could better register its quality. It must’ve been insanely durable, more so than his other blades considering Yoru hadn’t shattered this one in battle—one of the strongest blades in the world. 

“What’s the sword’s name?” you asked. 

Zoro ignored your question. “What are you doing here?” he repeated. 

You sighed, turning towards him, although you were careful not to touch the sword. Zoro’s grip didn’t budge. “There are pirate hunters coming here,” you answered. “At midnight. An ambush.” 

Zoro still didn’t move. The night sky cast his entire face in shadow, the only light on board being a trembling lantern by the interior doors. You could just barely see the gleam of one eye, yellow light shining on his cheekbone. “Why would you come?” 

“Honestly, I don’t know,” you answered coolly. “My father let you go for a reason. It’d be a shame if you died before you realized why.” It was an easy lie—because the real reason was one you didn’t want to think about. Because Luffy’s words struck something in you. Because they rang true. 

“We don’t need your protection.” 

You shrugged, only one shoulder moving upwards before relaxing again. “Just a friendly warning.” 

Carefully, Zoro lowered his blade, the steel scraping along the edge of its scabbard opening before he slid it closed. “The Wado Ichimonji.” 

Your eyes were still on the sheathed katana. “Hm?” 

“The sword. Its name is Wado Ichimonji.” 

You tilted your head back, angling it towards the sword strapped to your jacket. “Hiru,” you said. “That’s mine.” 

“Day,” Zoro translated. “You have matching swords with your father?” 

“Just matching names,” you answered. “It’s a spadroon, not a kreigsmesser. Much smaller than Yoru. Birthday present. When I was thirteen.” 

Zoro eyed you. “I’ll wake the rest of the crew,” he said. “You can go.” 

You made no move to, consulting your watch as Zoro rang the ship’s bell. Five minutes to midnight. You could already hear the near-noiseless patter of footsteps on the pier. 

The orange-haired woman was the first out, fingers wrapped around a short wooden rod. She exchanged a look with Zoro, and he nodded towards the pier. She somehow knew exactly what he meant from that, dodging back inside the ship and returning, dragging a dark-haired man out. 

“Uh, what’s going on?” the man asked, stifling a yawn as he fiddled with a slingshot. Both Zoro and the woman shushed him. “Jeez, okay.” He noticed you then. “Oh, hey, you’re the hawk dude’s kid—”

“Shut up, Usopp,” the woman snapped. She’d moved by the boat’s side, ducked under the rim. The footsteps were getting louder. 

The blond man came out next, hands shoved casually in his pockets and dressed in clothes you genuinely did not think functioned as sleepwear. “Hunters,” the orange-haired woman said. “Ambush.” 

“Isn’t that lovely,” the blond man murmured. He caught your eye, and a smile lit up his face. “Well, hello there.” 

Both Zoro and the woman rolled their eyes. Before the blond could say anything more, though, the hunters’ footsteps abruptly stopped. 

The orange-haired woman spun up from her crouch, wooden stick extending into a long staff as she whipped it out. She slammed one end of the staff into an incoming hunter’s gut as he leapt aboard the ship, forcing him off the side of the vessel.

Everything happened all at once, then—you heard the slick shing! of Zoro unsheathing his katana, and the blond was up and running towards another gaggle of hunters within the second, legs flying in an assortment of well-placed kicks. 

You reached over your shoulder, tugging Hiru out of its straps. The blade shone bright under the moonlight, and you caught an incoming hunter’s sword with the lick of it, shoving him backwards as you spun.

“Why’s Mihawk’s girl here?” the blond called, as he slid across the deck, leg raising up into a spinning hook. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He met your eyes and winked, leaving you staring in utter disbelief until another hunter distracted you. “I’m Sanji!” 

“Okay?” you asked blankly, letting out a huff of exertion as you whipped your sword toward the hunter. He’d pulled out one of his guns, wielding his blade one-handed as he fumbled with the trigger. You breathed in, recalling your father’s words from the thousands of hours spent training. Take advantage of any imbalances, sweetheart. Focus on the center of gravity. 

You aimed a sliding kick at the man’s gun, using Hiru to push against his blade. The pressure caused him to fling halfway across the ship, body thudding against the mast before falling to the ground in a heap. 

“Impressive,” Sanji whistled from his spot across the ship. 

“Shut up,” Zoro and the orange-haired woman said in unison. Zoro was beside the fallen hunter in a second, katana slashing cleanly through his torso before he spun and shoved the blade straight into an incoming man’s stomach. Sanji just scoffed. 

“Show-off,” he said accusatively. Zoro rolled his eyes, turning towards Sanji to argue, when you glimpsed someone at his back. You lunged for the man, sword cutting cleanly through his jugular before he fell across the deck, decollated. 

Zoro turned, glancing over his shoulder at the body and then up at you. “You’re welcome,” you said, flicking Hiru to the side. Spatters of blood dripped off its blade. 

“...Right.” The number of hunters had considerably thinned, only three or four left. The orange-haired woman was still fighting two of them, placing hits of her bo staff along two mens’ skulls. Usopp had crouched by the forecastle, firing pellets off with his slingshot. Sanji dusted off the final two men, until only the ringleader was left. 

“Wait, wait.” The hunter backed away until he ran into the ship’s railing. He scrambled for his pistol, but as Zoro, Sanji, and the orange-haired woman advanced on him, apparently realized the idea was in vain. “We—we can talk about this.” 

“I don’t think we can.” You turned at the new voice, watching as Luffy slipped out from the captain’s chambers. His hand came up to adjust his hat, crowned atop his head as always. “You came aboard my ship and tried to hurt my friends.” 

The hunter’s jaw fell slack, mouth drying over as Luffy came to stand in front of him. The rest of the crew had parted to allow him space, and Luffy titled his head up, the lick of light from the lantern shining against his skin. A crescent-shaped scar under his eye glowed bright, the skin paler than the rest of his face.

“Gum gum…” he started, voice steadily rising in volume as he extended his hand backwards, fingers curled into a fist. To your surprise, his arm just kept stretching back, limb getting longer and longer with a distinctly rubbery stretch until it was all the way at the other side of the ship. “Pistol!” 

His arm snapped back all in one, knocking the hunter straight in the jaw and shoving him off the ship in one, devastating blow. You stared at his flailing body, watching as he dropped straight into the ocean ten or so meters away with a loud plop. 

You turned towards Luffy, one brow arched in question. “You’re a Devil Fruit eater?”

“The Gum Gum fruit,” Luffy said brightly. He adjusted his hat once more, fixing it atop his head before reaching an arm out to pat you on the shoulder. “Thank you for warning us. You’re a good person.” 

“Don’t mention it.” You glanced down at Hiru. “Have anything I can clean my blade with?” 

“Sure! Let Sanji cook you something while you’re here,” Luffy said. “It’s the least we can do.” 

“Of course,” Sanji said with a little bow. “What would you like? Name anything and I’ll make it.” 

You eyed him. “…Anything.” 

Sanji let out an exaggerated sigh. “So uninspired. Meet you in the kitchen, then. We can leave the mosshead to clean up the bodies.” 

The orange-haired woman just rolled her eyes. “I’m going back to bed,” she declared. She glanced over at you, appraising you in one solid sweep up and down your body. “I’m Nami.” 

With that final word, she departed, snapping closed her staff and slipping back into the boat. Luffy, Usopp, and Sanji shuffled into the boat, presumably the kitchen. Zoro just sighed, setting his katana to the side to start cleaning up the corpses left after the battle. 

You made no move to follow the others inside, watching as Zoro easily lifted up one of the hunters. The lines of his biceps strained as he climbed off the ship, still hefting the body before finally placing it down on the pier. 

“Just toss them into the ocean,” you called. Zoro glanced over his shoulder, registering you standing there. He picked another body up. 

“I don’t want to block our slip,” he answered. 

“Fair enough. Any oil around here?” You wandered to the ship’s side, glancing through the boxes fixed to the deck. Zoro gestured in some direction that harmed more than it helped, really, but you dug through some boxes before unearthing something you could clean Hiru with. 

You worked in silence, slicking the blade with the oil and rubbing off all the blood and mess that had gotten onto it. Zoro was quick, piling up all the corpses and barely-alive bodies by the dock. He shoved a few of them awake with his boot. “Go find a doctor,” you heard him mutter under his breath. You suppressed a laugh. 

Eventually, Zoro climbed back on board, searching for his sword only to find it in your hands. You carefully polished off the last of the blade, then presented it to him. “You’re welcome.” 

“…Thanks,” Zoro said, sheathing it in one smooth swipe.

“The cut,” you said, glancing down at his torso again. His shirt was covering the bandages, but you knew they were still there. “It was Yoru that did it. Not Kogatana.” 

“The big one, yeah,” Zoro answered. You watched him thoughtfully, although you didn’t say a word. He seemed to get impatient by that, and was speaking just a moment afterwards— “Why?” 

You gave a quick shake of your head. “Nothing,” you answered, the lie slipping easily off your tongue. But your mind churned with thoughts, the mere brain activity making your stomach curdle. It hadn’t clicked before, but now—your father didn’t use Yoru on anyone who wasn’t worthy. And letting Zoro live—letting the entire crew go, against Garp’s orders? 

This was a more interesting group than you’d anticipated. 

Zoro eyed you for a moment as you were lost in thought, though he didn’t say anything to interrupt you. Once you finally looked up, he adjusted, clearing his throat. “Should go inside to make sure the waiter isn’t burning down the kitchen,” he said, straightening.  

You stood up, sliding Hiru into its scabbard on your back. “The… waiter?” 

Zoro shook his head. “Long story.” He gestured with his head, nodding towards the double doors. “Kitchen.” 

You followed him, the soft aroma of garlic and meat wafting around the room the instant you stepped foot inside. Everyone was crowded around the kitchen island, propped on chairs and staring as Sanji prepared a meal before them. You joined the group, glancing over Usopp’s shoulder to watch. 

There was a stir-fry on the stove, garlic and onions joined by various other vegetables. Sanji drizzled soy sauce along the pan, scraping it around once with his spatula before turning down the heat. He added in some rice—leftover, it looked—along with some battered eggs, mixing it all together. 

“Vegetable and chicken fried rice,” Sanji said, turning off the heat once everything had cooked through and starting to distribute it into servings. “I went for something universal because I don’t know what you like.” He met your eyes, flashing a giant, warm smile again. You took the bowl he offered, fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic. 

“Thank you,” you said. The four of you stood in silence, and you had the feeling that you were intruding. The crew was a tight unit, that much was certain—wound tightly around each other, ropes intersecting in delicate knots and bows. You turned your attention to your meal. You hadn’t had a real supper, so the food was a welcome surprise, and it was damn near close to the best thing you’d ever tasted. 

“So,” Luffy started, “Not to bug you about it a hundred times, but…” You glanced up. His expression was earnest as he met your eyes, lips tugged upwards in an encouraging smile even as he spoke. “Are you joining us?”

“Am I—? Oh,” you said, realizing what it was Luffy was referring to. “Is the offer still standing?” 

“Always,” he answered brightly. “You’d be a good fit for our crew, you know.” 

Would you really? There wasn’t much of anything special about you besides your parentage. You were as skilled a swordswoman as any, but there were hundreds better and stronger than you. There was no one thing you truly excelled at. “I’ll think about it,” you said hesitantly. 

“Well, think quick. We leave at dawn,” Luffy said. “Meet us back here at blue hour if you’d like to join up.” He smiled again, all unassuming, and it was hard to believe a boy so pleasant had a thirty million berry bounty hanging suspended over his head. He yawned, stretching out his long limbs. “Well, I’m off to sleep. Sanji’s next watch.” He glanced over at Zoro. “Why don’t you walk her back to her slip, Zoro?” 

 Your brows furrowed, about to object, but Zoro was already standing up. He opted to say nothing, leaving you to set down your empty bowl and say your goodbyes in a hurry to follow him out. 

The bodies on the pier had thinned, the alive ones presumably having dragged themselves to town to find a doctor. Zoro stepped over the heap of corpses, and you followed suit, walking in silence down south port. “I’m a little far,” you said. “You might lose your way heading back.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Zoro dismissed. “I’m… sorry about Luffy. He can get overly enthusiastic.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” you said with a shake of your head. “Are the rest of the crew open to me joining, though? It didn’t seem like he consulted any of you.” 

Zoro’s brows lifted at that, though you weren’t certain why. “We’re all fine with it,” he said eventually. “Luffy wouldn’t invite someone who wouldn’t fit.” He hesitated, the plod of your footsteps creaking against the dock walkway for a few paces before he parted his lips again. “I’m going to fight Mihawk again, you know.” 

“I figured,” you answered. You could feel Zoro’s eyes on you, scraping along your skin like they were blades themselves. 

“You’re not upset by that?” 

“Everyone wants to kill him for some reason or another,” you said. “You’re not the first.” Though there was something undeniably special about him. The fact he was still alive, for one. “I figure you’re a long way from that, so I’ll have a father for a few years more until you try to kill him again.” 

There was something in the way you phrased your words that sounded so very ironic, and Zoro couldn’t suppress the light grunt from escaping his lips. It was dry, brittle—but closer to a laugh than a scoff, you could tell. “Is that your blessing?” 

“Sure,” you said. “I, Dracule Mihawk’s daughter, hereby allow you, Roronoa Zoro, to murder my father in a duel.” The lightness in your tone dropped. “If you don’t mind me asking…” you took in a light breath, letting the taste of the words melt on your tongue before slipping them out. “Why do you want to, anyway? Defeat him, I mean?” 

“I made a promise to someone a long time ago,” Zoro answered. His footsteps slowed as you reached your slip, the small sloop you’d sailed all the way to Loguetown calm as ever where it was moored. The black sails—vague, nondescript—sucked away all the light the moon attempted to cast on it, so it was even darker than the rest of the surroundings. “I told her I would become the world’s greatest swordsman.”

“That’s heavy,” you remarked, turning to face your companion. His skin was waxy and dull under the moonlight—aftereffects of the injury he still hadn’t fully recovered from. Zoro just shrugged. 

“Maybe. It’s my life’s dream.” 

“He’s a good father,” you said. “I think he’d like you.” You paused. “Well, he does. He wouldn’t have let you live if he didn’t.” 

Zoro stiffened, the lines of his body tightening, spine pulling up just slightly. You noticed the change—you always did. Observation had always been one of your biggest strengths. Maybe you hadn’t gotten the golden irises your father had, but you had hawk eyes of your own in that way. Never missing a thing, picking out all flaws and details in a scene. “I’m not sure if I want him to like me.” 

“He doesn’t feel hatred for a lot of people,” you said. “Just disdain. Though I’m fairly certain he’d have skewered that drunk at the bar earlier if he’d been with me.” 

“The one who—” Zoro looked distinctly uncomfortable as he remembered what the pirate had offered you. He made a vague gesture instead, just mildly vulgar in motion. You suppressed a laugh. 

“Exactly,” you agreed. “He doesn’t have patience for that sort of thing. He also feels no man who’s weaker than me in combat isn’t man enough to be with me, though I have questions about that particular rule.” 

Zoro snorted. “You could definitely do better than the drunk pirate.” 

“Right.” You glanced up at the moon, watching the steady silver glow of her face along the edge of the horizon. She was full, round and white, soft powder creasing the dents and shadows of her face. “I’m out for the night, then. Thank you for walking me.” 

Zoro shrugged. He didn’t say anything, so you turned away, stepping onto your sloop without another word. You ducked into the interior room, closing the door firmly behind you so you could finally relax. 

You had only a handful of hours of rest ahead of you, after all.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

i'll be making a taglist for this series; just comment if you'd like to be added!

© halfvalid 2023

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 2)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 1, Part 3

summary: Your new roommate has... interesting habits.

warnings: sexually suggestive, nothing explicit.

a/n: i think i've realised miggy in this fic is a combo of his movie and comic counterpart. Miguel O'Hara: part-time whore lmfaooo

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 4.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lady death, at the cradle of a babe.

You've decided: if Miguel's the Sun, then you're a black hole. Cold and dark where he was warm, to seemingly everyone else but you. Even then, the metaphor didn't carry, and O'Hara wasn't quite the shining centre of the universe you had first thought him to be.  

In the dim gloom of a little lamp on your bedside table, you’re left squinting at a crisp white document. Blank; save for a thousand tabs open, and the blue links of a half-hearted bibliography. You’ve got the bare bones of an assignment; left too late, as usual. The rest lies at the tip of your tongue; nips at the ends of your fingers like the heat of cigarette butts, and as fleeting as wispy smoke in an ashtray. To get yourself through it, you’ve resorted to romanticising it all, pretending you're a wistful poet dipping the feathered end of a quill into ink. Writing something… revolutionary; as opposed to the mish-mash of articles and studies you’ve crammed within the last hour and a half. There’s a pounding at your skull: the dull beginnings of a migraine, most likely. You squeeze at your temples, eyes shut – and the thrum matches the thud at your thin walls. Rhythmic, obscene, and it creates a cruel staccato; shaking the flimsy plasterboard that separates your room from your roommate’s. 

He’s fucking someone. Loud, like it can’t be heard by half the complex. It's the third girl he’s had over in as many weeks. Not that you were keeping count. For a supposed tutor, you hadn’t seen much studying - despite the bright eyed young women that seemed to be at your doorstep most days. Perhaps you're being dramatic, but you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the kind of pupils Miguel had had the privilege to “teach”.

You remember the first time the true weight of Jia’s words became clear: whilst banging on the front door after a draining day of lectures. 

You’d forgotten your keys after rushing out the morning of, and arrived to a locked door in the afternoon. You had been starving, insides churning with the thought of takeout you’d saved the night before; a greasy bag nestled in the corner of your shelf in the fridge. So maybe you'd been antsy, irritable at a stretch; fist on the door like a divorce lawyer, hungry in more ways than one. 

Wasn’t Miguel already home? He had to be, you can hear the low tones of his voice leaking from the gaps at the sides of the door. And.. rustling, the shift of fabric tousled and pillows hitting the floor. It’s then that you hear another voice, higher pitched; gentle and soft where his is baritone. If you’re not mistaken; and something at the pit of your stomach hopes you are, for some reason; he’s laughing, speaking in hushed tones, whilst she giggles at something he said. You bang at the door even harder, hoping the sharp rap-rap-rap interrupts him. It feels like you’ve had half of your college’s senior cohort in the city in and out of your apartment - or, at the very least, the pretty ones. For some reason, this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back; and your knuckles sting against the lacquered wood. You’ve half a mind to shout into the keyhole, to tell him to hurry the fuck up, or else–

Miguel opens, brow tight, and wiping something from his lips with the back of his hand. It’s suspicious; he looks carefully flushed, lips plump and cheeks slightly ruddy. You notice the way his head flops onto the lip of the open door; slightly out of breath like he’s done a dozen push ups. And with the way his biceps flex and tense under his open button up; paired with some slacks in a pitiful attempt to look less slutty; he might have. The image makes you purse your lips to stop inappropriate laughter: Miguel on the floor, brows kneaded in concentration as the woman in your apartment looks on, entranced. It feels more plausible than the reality; making out on your couch, whilst her hands travel to undo the button at his waistband.

What doesn’t help, is the look he gives you; like you’ve interrupted something important.

“Oh.” He says, clearly deflated. “It’s… you.”

You flash him a sarcastic smile and push past into the front room. You’ve seen her before: the girl on your couch. Sarah, a pretty thing in Miguel’s advanced Math class, you’d learned from the last few weeks. It’s not the first time she’d been over, but she doesn’t usually stay; rather, she’d drop something off at the door and twirl her hair whilst she waited. You’d answer, because of course he was never home at the right times, and she’d crane her head in for a glimpse of him. The first time; you were struck by the effortlessness of her beauty. And on your sofa, she seemed hardly fazed; the gentle curve of her stomach and thighs spilling onto the tattered cushions, donned in a patterned sundress. Her lips are pert, curved into a knowing smile as she giggles at the scene you and Miguel make at the door. 

“Hey, Sarah.” You give her a small wave as you make your way into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge. However, you don’t have the energy to dignify Miguel with a response – so you stay silent. He bristles.

“You don’t have a key, or something?” You’re digging through the shelves as he calls out to you, hands on his hips like you’re in the wrong. You can’t help but hiss under your breath. He’s got an attitude, when only one of you had been left outside the door; starved and exhausted. And the other: getting off on your sofa. Poor Miguel, left with a limp dick and full balls.

 "Forgot." Your answer is curt, and you don't even bother to look up. You can hear him scoff, incredulous - as if the mere idea was so offensive. It makes anger bubble up at your gut, head still buried behind the fridge door. 

"That's convenient." You can't hear the words that come out after, but you're sure it's not exactly glowing praise. You lob a hypothetical grenade over the lip of the fridge door: a middle finger, crisp and clear. 

Takeout in hand, and a bag over your shoulder that feels like a concrete block; you drag yourself to your room, without giving Miguel so much as a second glance. When the door slams, you're hit with the full weight of Jia's words; a moment that seems so long ago. Miguel's probably picky about who he tutors for the same reason people swipe left and right on dating apps: he's an unrepentant whore. 

The thought had seemed somewhat premature, at the time. You had had little to no evidence: a string of pretty women in your apartment did not a slut make, after all. It wasn't quite enough, just a knee-jerk reaction after a bad day. The most charitable interpretations tell you that by all means, your roommate is an upstanding guy. A model student; who left his undergrad with honours and a disgustingly high GPA, head of half a dozen clubs and societies, and currently getting his masters sponsored by a prestigious biotech company in the city. He’s a chronic overachiever, more or less.  All things you've learnt from the people he’s tutored, small talk in between sessions (and they’ve all been nice enough). It seems a little more than convenient that the prettiest ones end up in your apartment - in his bed. And yet, you can’t get a straight answer from the man himself. Favours for a couple of friends, he says every time you complain. 

With the noises you hear from the room over, you wonder how he treats the friends he really likes. 

You think he’s doing it on purpose. That’s the only explanation you’re left with as you massage your temples in desperation. A steady pounding, that makes the shared wall shudder. Interspersed with graphic moans, the higher pitched panting of his partner; Yes Miguel and Just like that; seems to blend with his groans. Sleep pulls at your eyes, and you want to scream into the pillows. It’s muffled, but you can make out his voice beyond the wall; low, hushed tones that makes desire pool at the base of your stomach. And you’d rather die than admit it; but you zone out for a moment, a little lost in the haze of a daydream. God, his stamina. It feels like they’ve been going for hours, obscene grunts and groans spilling into your room. The wide span of his shoulders, the way light is cut at his jawline - and you wonder what he’d look like on top, or the sounds he’d make underneath.

Shaking your head, you try to convince yourself: it's the lack of sleep that makes you think of the way his hands would feel on your waist.

~~~

The honeymoon stage, if there ever was one, was well and truly over. 

In the morning, you’re woken up by the thud of the front door. Laptop cracked open on the covers, you shift to wipe the drool crusted on the side of your mouth. The good news: you remember getting down a couple thousand words before fitful sleep. Not to a great standard, of course, but as your deadline approaches, you’re grateful for whatever you can scrape together. Stretching, your back creaks with the memory of last night: hunched over your laptop, barely able to concentrate. Still in pyjamas from last night, you pad into the front room, looking for water to satisfy your dry mouth. 

The bad news: you’re met with Miguel on the sofa, splayed out on the cushions lazily. There’s a mug of something on a side table, which he’s clearly neglected; eyes closed, and an arm drawn upwards to expose the tan skin of his chest. He’s wearing nothing but loose plaid pants, hair a mess and frustratingly peaceful. For once, he’s not wearing the perpetual frown you’ve been subjected to for the past few weeks, and he looks five years younger as a result. You tilt your head to the side – like a mere 90 degrees would make him look any different – and you can’t believe this was the man who was terrorising you the night before. He looks… cute. Innocent, almost.

The sight makes you scoff. You snatch a glass from the cupboard with a clink-clink, and he stirs. You watch him stretch as you fill it; a mop of brown peeking over the back of the couch. He peers over, groggy and seemingly confused. 

"....When did you get back?" His voice is gravelly, heavy with last night's sleep – or lack thereof. You ignore the feelings it stirs up; pleasant and comfortable and domestic. 

"Good morning to you too, " You say it under your breath but he hears; catches it and holds it at his chest like a songbird. One hand over his heart, he smiles, wide; a lazy, sarcastic grin, but it still makes your face heat up. It's too damn early for this, you think. "I wasn't… for fuck's sake… I came back last night."

"Oh." He frowns, sweeping into the kitchen, and opening up the cupboard. 

"I couldn't sleep." Miguel's not stupid, and you wait for him to take the hint. "There was… too much noise last night."

"So that's why you're up early." He clicks his tongue. "You don't have a lecture to be late for?"

"You don't have another girl to fuck and ignore?" Without missing a beat, you snap at him – too tired and annoyed to entertain it. 

"Ouch." It's blaise, thrown over his shoulder without a second thought. He doesn't even look at you, head buried and eyes scanning the shelves – looking for his morning coffee, no doubt. He finds it, opening the packet and elbowing you in the process, and you give him a glare. Did he have to do that right next to you? 

You catch the ghost of a smile on his face. 

"...Miguel?" You say; quietly, because you can't quite find your next words. 

"Hmm?" He hums, fiddling around with the machine; a ritual you've only caught glimpses of. 

How do you tell your roommate you can hear him have obnoxious sex through thin walls? Well, probably by opening your mouth and saying it, but anything resembling your true feelings dies in your throat. 

He doesn't prompt you to finish the question, choosing to let the silence wash over you both. The clattering of a spoon against ceramic is the only noise in the little kitchen. It's not something you hear too often - never waking up at the same time as Miguel through a combination of coincidence and sheer willpower. Naturally, your routines are asynchronous - a half step, half-hearted jig to crashing music. That is to say: if you and your roommate were partners in a… ballroom, perhaps: you’d be stepped-on-toes and two-left-feet on the dancefloor. Disastrous, to say the least.

And yet, half-asleep, you watch as he pads around the kitchen; poking into cupboards and bringing out the ingredients to a hearty breakfast. Eggs and chorizo and tortillas; your stomach rumbles at the thought of a proper cooked meal. Ever the stereotypical college student, your usual food has mostly been instant noodles and leftovers. Maybe you’re just tired, but he makes the drawers and fridge shelves seem bottomless. It’s clear Miguel eats and he eats well – because of course he does.

“Could you…” You jump a bit when he places a gentle hand at your waist, moving you to the side as he reaches for a chopping board on the counter. “Sorry. Do you mind?”

It’s brief, but the fleeting touch fucks with your head as he cooks. Flashes of the night before run up your spine, electric. You watch his deft fingers fly on the chopping board; slender, a wide palm covering the span of a large pepper. How would they feel on your waist – properly – at the crook of your back, or at your thighs? Sighing, you chew the inside of your cheek and lean your head back against the wall. You feel the whispers of another headache. It's much too early for this.

He puts a pan on the stove. Shirtless, despite the heat of the spitting oil, and he pops a piece of a bell pepper in his mouth with a little smile that makes you roll your eyes. It's smug, somehow, like he knows something you don't – like he knows exactly what he did yesterday (or rather, who) and he’s enjoying your reaction.

Except: you’re exhausted, and he’s giggling like you’ve caught a kid with cookie crumbs on their face, empty jar in hand. 

It’s a quiet he sits with, comfortable; moving around the space with the kind of familiarity that comes with time. It makes you wonder just how long he's been here, which other roommates he’s terrorised over the years. Maybe, Miguel’s got a reputation, and there’s a Yelp review sitting somewhere you’ve neglected to read.

“Did you see her leave?” He still doesn’t look at you. Instead, his eyes are trained at the eggs on the pan, onions and veg making a lopsided smile in the runny yolk. Even his food seems smug.

“Her?” You frown, not quite following. 

“...Katie?” He says it like it’s obvious, as if her name alone should set off half a dozen bells in your head. It’s Katie, this time - not Jia, or Sita, or the slew of other girls he’s been fucking in the past few weeks alone.

Your eye twitches. Involuntarily, of course, but it feels like your body is physically rejecting his bullshit.

“I didn’t know she stayed the night.” A lie, obviously. You heard her well enough through the walls, not even a couple of hours ago.

“S’okay,” He shakes his head, nonchalant. You trace the curve of his shoulders and gentle slope of his plump lips. “I would’ve called her an Uber, or something.”

“You’re a gentleman, Miguel.”

And he laughs, a deep rumble that rings off the tiles. Admittedly, you like the way it sounds, and the way his eyes crinkle up into crows feet. He’s pretty, you think. In an annoying kind of way.

Oh, fuck him. You get closer, and stick a fingertip into the rich red of the pan. Wrapping your lips around it, with the heat of Miguel at your back, and yes, it's fine. Okay, fucking incredible – you know, nothing you haven’t tasted before.

Making eye contact, you watch him blink in surprise. It’s the first time you’ve seen him unsure of himself; not dripping with the arrogance of a few minutes ago. Not wanting to give anything away, you keep your face steady.

"Needs salt, I think."

The spell is broken and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. "I've seen the crap you shovel into that big mouth of yours… ¿mi mamá no me enseñó a cocinar para que vengas a decirme que sabe mal…?"

[My mom didn't teach me how to cook so you can come here and tell me it tastes bad…?]

It's your turn to smile at the sweet taste of revenge. Not enough to fuel the next couple hours of essay writing, but a small victory nonetheless. You flash him pink tongue, and watch as his gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second. 

"More salt?" He scoffs. "You wouldn't know good food if it bit you on the ass."

It's childish, but he chucks a tea towel at your head; and you narrowly miss it. 

"Asshole." You spit out, frustrated. Your stomach grumbles, loud, and you watch his face crack, amused. 

His lips curve into a shit-eating grin. "Idiot." 

Face tight, you storm out of the kitchen. 

You're holed up in your room for the rest of the day; only leaving for snack and toilet breaks. Luckily, Miguel doesn't disturb you, except for a full plate left outside your doorstep in the morning. It tastes delicious; warm and homely, but you'd rather pull your teeth out than see that stupid fucking grin on his face. Instead, you give him a grudging thanks, shrugging as if to say: it was somewhat edible. 

And when you hit send on your essay, with a whole 11 minutes to spare, you sigh in relief. You got through it, eventually; even though your roommate is trying to kill you, your new apartment is falling apart and you're failing half your classes already. But you're through the day, and approaching the end of the week with minimal emotional damage. Key word: minimal. 

In the warmth under the covers of your bed, it makes you think. It can't get any worse, right? It won't – it can't. 

Something shifts. Like a rip in the space time continuum or a malevolent god, the universe snatches up that thought; ripe and ready to spit you back out onto the fire. 

~~~

You wake up and something feels off, already. For one, light streams in through the blinds, a slight chill from the open window. It’s peaceful, and the first thing you hear is the song of morning birds just beyond the glass, instead of cars and clattering garbage trucks. 

But it’s a Friday, and you’ve got that 9:00am; the one you were insane enough to sign up for at the beginning of the semester. What you should be hearing is the call-for-war of your alarm; the one that slaps you square across the face and wakes you the fuck up. On time, of course, but still the kind of sound that strikes fear into the hearts of grown men. Groggy, you wipe the sleep from your eyes. And then you frown. The lilting chirp of songbirds (well-fed pigeons that shit all over your windowsill, large enough to be classed as biological weapons), instead of your alarm…?

Your hands go cold, and dread creeps in. Reaching for your phone, you click it on and it shuts off just as quickly. You’re met with the red icon of a dead battery. Fuck.

Leaping out of bed, you rush into the hallway. From there, you see Miguel; out of his workout clothes and flitting in and out the kitchen. Except usually, at this time he’s just coming back from his run and banging at the door to hurry you out of the shower. He spots you and furrows his brow in confusion.

“Aren’t you meant to be…?”

You don't let him finish, and call out. “–What’s the time?” 

He looks at his watch. “Uhhh… quarter past 8?”

“Fuck!”  It erupts out of you, and you bite down the rest; opting to dart back into your room.

Miguel gets closer, pops his head towards your door; in the careful kind of way someone might approach a sleeping bear.

“Are you–”

When you open it in a robe and toiletries bag in hand, he’s there; tentative, and slow, and in your way. A beat passes and your eyes widen, incredulous. Like a fucking lump of coal, he’s slow on the uptake.

“...Move.” 

You push past him into the bathroom and he throws his hand up to surrender. You’re the oddest person he’s had the pleasure (?) of sharing an apartment with, he thinks. Mostly harmless, but hard to read.

The shower sputters to life, changing from hot to ice cold in a second. You grit down a scream, powering through it until the suds wash off. Sheer resolve makes you towel off and change in record time. 

You’re grabbing your bag and chucking whatever you can find in the fridge onto bread. Whilst making a crude sandwich, you’re distracted – going through the calculations in your head. You’ve got a train to catch in about 20 minutes, and if you keep a brisk pace you can make the walk in 15. When you switch subway lines to get across town, it’ll be tight, but you can make it up by cutting across the barriers and keeping those elbows sharp on the stairs. God forbid you miss the transfer, because you’ll have to wait another 15 minutes for the next one and–

Miguel watches by the doorway, a little amused. So caught up in your own world, you don’t notice. He takes a sip of a mug of hot coffee, and you look up. Your face, cute and all scrunched up as you concentrate; but he can’t help but enjoy the flash of displeasure on your face.

“Don’t want to hear it.” You’re spreading butter aggressively, if there was ever such a thing.

He shrugs. “...I didn’t say anything.”

“I can hear it, Miguel. You’re thinking out loud, and…” Wrapping up your meal in tinfoil, you stuff it into your bag. “...I don’t have the time to tell you to fuck off.”

With a little gasp, he clutches at hypothetical pearls. He gives you a sarcastic grin before you’re off – slamming the front door in your wake.

_

_

_

[missmielyhoran]

Little Helpers

Harry needs a bit of help, and who's better than his two little gremlins...

90sRockstar!Harry × Reader

A/N- Happens wayyyyyyy long in the future, like at least 10 years after they meet. Harry and reader are in their mid 30s

Only Angel Masterlist // Masterlist

*****

It was your birthday.

And Harry was struggling.

You've been out in New York for last week or so for work while he has been staying home with kids.

To say they're pain in the ass is an understatement, but he made his bed (or hot tub), so he had to lay in it.

Harry was the "fun" parent, to say the least, cause he can't say no, and those gremlins even tho they're only four years old are way too good at getting things their way.

Meanwhile, you knew how to shut down something you knew they didn't need. Like the large Nerf gun, Harry got them in secret and then had to listen to you yell at him while those two giggled from the stairs in timeout.

But that wasn't the problem right now.

The problem was that the house was mess, the kitchen was mess, it was your birthday and he doesn't know how to cook, clean all at the same time while taking care of kids who are already running around in backyard.

It was times like these he was amazed by how his mother, and even you did everything so efficiently. Never once did he saw a thing out of place when you stayed with kids, and he had to go out.

(Maybe cause you made the kids clean up after themselves while he sees one look of their puppy eyes and melts)

He took a deep breath in and called for the kids, "Jack! Soph! come back inside" He yelled, which caught the twins' attention. Their little head snapped towards him, and soon enough, they were running in giggling still in their pjs.

Harry shook his head and walked back inside and saw them talking to themselves. They were literally each others best friends, always attached to the hip, partners in crime, and he hoped they're like this when they grow up.

"Kids, kids and kids!" He announced dramatically. Twins giggled again, "There is only two of us, dada. Why are you saying kids three times?" They looked at each other and laughed again at Harry's trying to be mad face.

"Hey smartasses listen to me." He flicked their head lightly, "It's your maa's birthday today"

The twins' eyes went wide, and then Soph jumped, screaming "birthday" making Harry laugh. "That means we will get cake?" Jack asked his dad.

"You will if you help me" Harry shrugged, "Whoever helps me out the most will get the bigger piece!" Harry said.

Twins looked at each other again and then their dad and nodded their head quickly, "I will help you" Jack said, "Me too" Soph said in tow.

"Well then, let's start with this room. Pick up all your toys and everything else and put them where they should be." He said, walking towards the kitchen sink. It was an open plan, so he could still see the kids while cleaning up the kitchen.

He looked at the clock, and it was still 4 hours left to your arrival. He could do it.

He hopes he can do it.

*****

Harry was surprised and amused when he looked up and saw two heaving toddlers sitting on the ground.

"Well done babies, you did such a great job" He said, squatting down to their level and kissing both of their heads.

"We know" They said together. Harry laughed at that cause even if the kids looked like him, their personality was yours. Sassy, witty and smart for their age.

"We put everything in different boxes so you could see who did more work, and my box is the most filled" Jackson said cockily and Soph rolled her eyes.

"I'm just going to steal more from dad's plate" she said without any care as much as Harry would like to think otherwise it was true. He lost his right to have his own food when he become father and he's okay with it (to certain level). Harry still very much amused with their banter over cake slice, goes to the kitchen, and fetches both of them their water bottles along with a bowl of fruits.

"Why don't you two drink some water and eat all those fruits and then come help me bake the cake?" Harry asked them immediately, getting nods as an answer from hungry babies.

He took out all the ingredients while the kids ate and arranged them, so it was easier for kids to "help" him.

Soon enough, they were all done with their snacks and were standing on the large wooden stool beside Harry, watching him make the cake. Both of them have large chefs hat on and custom matching aprons Harry got for all of them for when they would cook together on Sunday mornings.

He was in the middle of cracking egg when Sophie started to fuss, "Dada I want to do it too!" She said, pouting.

Harry brought the bowl in front of her and stood behind her holding her hand, which had egg in it, and then cracked it open and put it in the bowl. Sophie giggled, finding amusement in cracking eggs, which made Jack feel left out so Harry did the same with him too.

The kids helped him as much as they could, with bringing him stuff, and finally, the cake was in oven.

Jack and Soph sat in front of the oven watching the cake like hawk cause in their words, "we want it to be perfect like maa makes it". Harry cleaned the rest of the kitchen.

"C'mon babies bath time." He announced which much to kids displeasure meant they had to move away from the oven. Harry literally had to drag them upstairs with Soph in his left arm and Jack in right.

"You two are getting heavy for me to pick you up and roam around" he said, groaning at the feeling of back ache rising.

"No, you're just getting old, dada." The twins laughed. Harry rolled his eyes at them and flicked their heads.

"In the bath. Your maa will have my head if you two are dirty" He said, starting the warm bath of them.

*****

There have been times Harry felt proud of himself, and right now, as he watches the clean house, clean kids, and a not burned cake, he feels proud of himself.

Kids were watching TV in the living room when they heard the car pull up in the driveway, and everyone was set on their mission.

Harry quickly lit up all the candles. Meanwhile, kids stood in the position near the door with paper confetti in their hands to throw at you.

Meanwhile, you feel exhausted as you get out of the car. The fashion week of this year was hectic. You were so busy you didn't even remember it was your birthday until you opened he door.

Colorful confetti flew on your face as you heard "happy birthday" in unison. Your kids stood near the door with the biggest smile on their faces with your husband behind them with cake in his hand.

"Omg, thank you so much my little munchkin" you said, sitting down on your knees and pulling twins into tight hugs. All exhaustion and stress were lost as you saw your favorite people.

"Hey, I'm also here." You heard Harry whine, making three of you laugh.

"C'mon maa, we want cake!" Jack said, first making you laugh. You kissed both of their cheeks and stood up, walking towards your husband.

You pecked his lips and smiled, "Thank you, baby." you said with a warm smile matching his. "My absolute pleasure angel" He said, kissing you again.

"Those gremlins helped me, or I was ready to have a panic attack this morning," he said, chuckling.

You brought the cake to the kitchen, Harry stood beside you his arms around your waist, and kids stood on the stool on your other side.

"Maa make a wish!" Soph said. You nodded and wished for your family to stay just like this forever and blew the candles. Jack and Soph clapped while Harry leaned down and kissed your cheeks.

Cake slices were cut and put in plate for all four of you and as you and Harry stood in the kitchen with your head on his shoulder watching your kids banter over who's slice is bigger you never felt more content.

This is all you ever wanted.

*****

I think they're my favorite couple after Harry and Autumn.

Taglist- @tenaciousperfectionunknown @that-daydream-look @harryspirate @tiaamberxx @lomlhstyles @vmpellie @sunshinemoonsposts @jayde515 @yeehawbrothers @sleutherclaw @ikea2-0 @thechaoticjoy @astridcommings @grapejuicebluesrry @gxbiqs

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[nightwriter357]

Just friends - It's fine to think a friend has nice lips

It's friday, whitch means it's time for another chapter of my Damien Haas x reader story. In this one they are joined by Shayne, Courtney and Angela for a game night. Hope you like it!!

You pushed the door open, the familiar creak announcing your arrival as you stepped into the cozy apartment. The smell of buttery popcorn filled the air, and you smiled, knowing Damien had probably already started on the snacks.

"Hey, I'm back!" you called out, holding up the bags from the store filled with snacks. You had made sure to grab everyone's favorites.

Damien looked up from the coffee table, a grin spreading across his face. "Finally! I was starting to think you got lost in the snack aisle. What do you have?"

You set the bags down and began pulling out the goodies. "Just the essentials for a proper game night. Chips, candy, popcorn—basically everything we need."

"Nice! You know the way to a gamer's heart," he joked, reaching for a bag of chips and offering you one with a mock flourish.

Shayne walked in from the kitchen, glancing at his watch. "Alright, I need to head out to pick up Courtney. You two hold down the fort while I'm gone."

You raised an eyebrow. "So, you're bringing an outsider to game night for the first time, Shayne. How do you feel about that?"

Shayne smirked, adjusting his hair dramatically. "What do you mean 'for the first time'? Angela is always here."

Damien jumped in with a laugh, "Yeah, but that doesn't count. I mean, she's basically the fourth roommate at this point. It's like she literally lives in our attic."

You giggled, imagining Angela popping up unexpectedly, like some friendly ghost haunting the apartment. "It's true! I think we should start charging her rent," you joked.

Shayne threw his hands up in mock defense. "Hey, She's just a another friend joining game night!"

Damien rolled his eyes. "Okay fine, go get her. Just remember to tell her the rules—no cheating unless you don't get caught."

You chimed in with a playful grin, "And no kissing! I'll be watching you both."

As Shayne headed for the door, you exchanged a quick glance with Damien, both of you smiling at the reminder of the kiss you shared last week. When the door closed behind Shayne, the atmosphere shifted slightly, leaving just you and Damien in the cozy living room. You plopped down on the couch, surrounded by bags of snacks, and Damien settled beside you, a casual grin on his face.

"So," he began, tilting his head slightly. "How have you been feeling since last week? I mean, after seeing your ex and everything."

You leaned back into the cushions, letting out a sigh. "I don't know... I guess I miss having someone around.. A relationship." The words hung in the air longer than you intended.

Damien tilted his head, his eyes soft and attentive. "What do you you miss most?"

You thought for a moment, looking down as you listed things off. "I guess I want someone who's supportive. Someone who'll be there for me when things get rough... like you were last week, honestly." You chuckled lightly, realizing he'd been there through more than a few tough spots.

"And someone who really listens.. I mean, I already have that with you." You felt a bit sheepish, glancing at him, but he only watched you with a warm smile, encouraging you to keep going.

"And I want to be able to laugh and have fun with someone. I want someone who I can talk with for hours, like tonight, or like... all our nights," you added, laughing a little at the thought.

Damien's smile grew. "Sounds like you've got a good friend who fits that bill."

"Yeah," you replied, smiling back. "I guess I do."

You hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "So I guess the only thing I'm really missing is... well, physical intimacy, I suppose." You bit your lip, feeling a bit flustered, the memory of your kiss from last week flashing in your mind. "Well, okay... we did have that kiss.. so maybe I'm not missing anything."

You both laughed, brushing it off lightly, but his gaze lingered a moment longer. There was a brief silence as you both shared a knowing glance, a mixture of amusement and something else lingering in the air.

"I guess that means I'm doing a pretty good job of fulfilling your needs, huh?" he teased, nudging your shoulder with his playfully, his eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, maybe you are," you replied, your smile widening as you nudged him back.

As the moment lingered, Angela burst through the door, her energy practically radiating as she beamed at the two of you. "Hey, party people! Guess what I brought?" she exclaimed, practically bouncing on her feet.

You and Damien exchanged a brief, amused glance, the playful tension from before still lingering in the air. Angela, however, was oblivious as she began rifling through her bags."Okay, I have the perfect game for us!" she announced, holding up a box that read Truth or Dare.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "How do you even win at Truth or Dare?"

Angela shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh, you can just feel it in the air, It's like a vibe."

You chuckled at her answer, imagining the chaos that would ensue. Just as you were about to comment, Shayne returned, bursting through the door with Courtney. "Here she comes, our extra special guest" he declared, gesturing dramatically to Courtney, who rolled her eyes with a smile.

"Shayne, it's just me," she laughed, stepping into the living room.

You and Damien exchanged amused looks as everyone settled into their spots, the snacks surrounding you like a delicious fortress.

Angela quickly took charge. "We're about ready to kick off game night!

Courtney nodded, crossing her arms playfully. "Alright, What's the first game?"

Angela leaned forward, her excitement contagious. "Okay guys, get ready for Truth or Dare, and it's just like it sounds! You either pick a truth and spill your secrets or a dare, and you have to do it and if you choose truth, we can ask you anything and if you pick dare, we can make you do anything!"

Courtney's eyes widened in mock horror. "Oh, I'm ready for this! But how do you actually win truth or dare?."

Damien chimed in with a grin, "You can feel it in the air!"

You couldn't help but add, "It's like a vibe!"

Laughter filled the room, setting a light-hearted tone for the evening as you all prepared to dive into the game.

Angela clapped her hands, eyes sparkling. "Okay, Shayne, truth or dare?"

Shayne smirked, shrugging. "Dare, obviously."

Angela's grin grew devious. "I dare you to call Domino's and tell them they're your favorite pizza place—and you have to be sincere about it."

Everyone laughed as Shayne's eyes widened slightly. "Alright, challenge accepted." He pulled out his phone, dialing the number and putting it on speaker. The phone rang a few times before someone picked up.

"Hi, thanks for calling Domino's, how can I help you?" the employee answered.

Shayne took a deep breath, feigning deep emotion. "I just wanted to tell you... you're my favorite pizza place. I mean it. I don't think you guys hear this enough, but you're doing an amazing job."

The room erupted in laughter as the Domino's employee paused before saying, "Um, thanks?"

"No, seriously," Shayne continued, his voice overly dramatic. "Whenever I'm down or hungry, you're there for me. And I just needed you to know how much that means."

The employee mumbled a slightly awkward thank-you before quickly hanging up, and Shayne's performance earned him a round of applause.

As the laughter from Shayne's pizza call dare faded, Angela's eyes lit up with a mischievous glint, and she turned to Damien. "Alright, Damien, truth or dare?"

Damien shrugged, smirking. "Dare."

Angela didn't miss a beat. "Describe your imaginary vagina. What's it like?"

The group went silent for a moment, but then you saw a thoughtful expression cross Damien's face. He leaned back, as if seriously considering the question. "Alright. It would be... like an old, cozy tavern, buzzing with conversation and faded laughter. It'd have vines creeping up the walls, flowers blooming outside, and birds chirping around. A little enchanted, but welcoming."

The group burst out laughing at his poetic description, but before anyone could comment, Courtney jumped in, not missing a beat. "Oh, mine would be like an exclusive nightclub," she said, smiling with a sense of pride. "There's a velvet rope around gold pillars, and a doorman with sunglasses who doesn't say a word—just gives a nod, a smirk, and waves you in."

Angela laughed and swayed a little, catching herself with a grin. She blinked, looking at her empty cup in wonder. "Somehow, I made myself drunk," she announced, as if it were the most fascinating discovery.

Shayne snorted, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, 'cause you drank a lot of alcohol?"

Angela laughed, nudging him. "Hey! shut up!"

Once the laughter died down, Courtney turned to you with a mischievous look. "Alright alright, truth or dare?"

You hesitated, glancing around before finally answering, "Truth."

She grinned, eyes alight with curiosity. "Who was the last person you kissed?"

There was a beat of silence, and you could feel everyone's eyes on you, anticipation thick in the air. Shayne broke it first, leaning forward with a smirk. "It's gotta be your stupid ex, right?"

You felt a flicker of nerves and shot a glance at Angela, silently pleading for backup, but she was already grinning, her expression full of excitement. "Oh no," she said, eyes sparkling. "It definitely wasn't."

Damien chuckled, shaking his head. “You know you have to take everything she says with a fist of salt.”

The group burst out in laughter again, Angela raising her cup proudly, as if that only added to her charm.

Your heart sped up as all attention turned back to you. You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of thrill and nerves, and finally let the truth slip out. "Um... It was Damien."

A hush fell over the group, everyone staring in shock—except for Angela, who was practically beaming, clearly savoring the revelation.

Courtney's eyes widened. "Wait, like... actually kissed him?"

Your gaze slid to Damien, who was giving you a small, amused smile, trying to keep things cool. "It was just... to stick it to my ex," you said, feeling your face warm as you tried to brush it off. "Totally a friendly, quick kiss. That's all."

Angela burst out laughing, unable to hold back any longer. "Yeah, 'quick' and 'friendly' are the last words I'd use!" she said, shaking her head as she watched you squirm.

You shot her a pleading look, but Angela was unstoppable. "It was long, it was intense, and there was nothing remotely friendly about it. I mean, I was waiting for the credits to roll!"

Courtney and Shayne exchanged wide-eyed glances, clearly reveling in this revelation. Damien remained silent, simply scratching the back of his neck with a slight, knowing smile. He wasn't denying it, but he wasn't exactly confirming Angela's exaggerations, either.

Shayne crossed his arms, clearly enjoying every moment. "So, a 'totally casual' kiss... that just happened... to make your ex jealous?"

You laughed nervously, feeling your cheeks flush under everyone's gaze. "Look, it was just one of those moments, okay? It doesn't change anything."

Angela grinned, looking between you and Damien with a knowing look. "Sure, just a 'moment.' The kind of moment that lingers."

You could feel your cheeks still warm from the group's reaction, and despite trying to laugh it off, you couldn't shake the way your mind drifted back to that kiss. It wasn't like anything had changed between you and Damien. You were still completely comfortable with him, no weirdness, no awkward moments. Just... that memory, sneaking up on you when you least expected it.

Maybe it was just because he had nice lips? That seemed reasonable. It's fine to think a friend has nice lips—in a purely platonic, totally friendly way. Nothing unusual about that.

You were so caught up in the thought that you felt that you had to test the theory, glancing across the circle. "Hey, Shayne."

He looked over at you, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

You hesitated for a second, then blurted, "Nice... lips...dude."

There was a beat of silence before Shayne's face twisted in confusion. "What? No! Stop."

The entire group erupted into laughter, and you quickly waved your hands in a "forget I said that" motion. But when you glanced over, you caught Damien's gaze—and that small, amused smile he'd been wearing grew into a full-on grin, one eyebrow arched in playful curiosity.

Okay so thinking about a kiss with a friend this much might actually be wierd. I still don't get why im still thinking about it.

The evening wore on with an easygoing flow, everyone laughing and teasing each other as the game moved from Truth or Dare to a round of charades. You, Damien, and the rest of the group settled into a comfortable rhythm—jokes were thrown around, and playful arguments broke out over who was the better actor (which, of course, was always you). The laughter echoed through the living room, filling the space with warmth.

Angela had long since sprawled out on the couch, the soft cushion welcoming her as she began to drift. Despite the ongoing noise around her, her eyes fluttered closed, a slight smile on her lips as she dozed off in the midst of the fun.

The night slipped away, eventually winding down when Shayne announced it was time for him to take Courtney home. He stood up, stretching with a loud yawn. With the room quieter now, you and Damien exchanged a glance in the comfortable silence between you two.

Damien looked over at you, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Should we cover her up? Don't want her catching a cold."

You nodded, stepping over to help. Damien grabbed a blanket that was folded up nearby, and the two of you gently draped it over Angela. She barely stirred, only shifting slightly before settling again, her face still relaxed in sleep.

"Perfect," Damien murmured, standing back and looking down at Angela. "You know we actually never figured out who won."

You smiled, glancing up at him. "She wont remember that."

Damien chuckled quietly. "True, it's our secret."

As you both stood there for a moment, the calmness of the night settling in around you, You turned to face him "I guess that's our only secret now"

He laughed lightly, feeling the warmth of the simple moment linger between you. "I still got some up my sleave."

You looked at him, "are you keeping secrets from me?"

He smiled back at you, "maybe"

You both walked toward your bedrooms, the soft click of the floorboards beneath your feet filling the quiet space. Just as you reached the door, you stopped and turned to face him.

"Damien?"

He raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a curious smile. "Yes?"

You hesitated for a second, then shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "You have nice lips."

His grin widened, a hint of amusement and something more private in his eyes. "You do too."

So I guess It's fine to think a friend has nice lips after all. 

[f1bordeaux]

An Verstappen one with “Did you ever really care about me?” and “Please stay.” Thank you

If You Cared (Part 1) | mv1

It's been years since you've indulged in a vacation. What better time is there than summer? Your family, the beach house in Italy-it seems perfect. But, for things to be just like good old times, your family needs to invite his. So of course you are having mixed feelings as the boy who broke your heart re-enters your life like nothing happened. Warnings: None Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader Word count: 2.1k Poetry style | Story style A/n: Hello! This story came to me as soon as I saw this request. I got so many ideas and I'm actually super excited to keep writing this. There will be more parts to follow, so keep a look out. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy! Part One|Part Two|Part Three|Part Four|Part Five

You always longed for the familiarity of summer.

It was by far your favorite season. Something about the warmth, the life, the atmosphere, the memories-something about it all brought you comfort. You were head over heels in love with summer. Or perhaps it was just more exciting this year knowing that you would go on a real vacation for the first time in a long while. “Let’s visit the beach house this year,” your mom had suggested. “Sure there is probably some dust in the corners, but it’s nothing we can't sweep off.”

When thinking of summer memories, the beach house in Elba, Italy, was the primary setting for all of them. From the time you were born until the time you moved out, your family would spend a handful of weeks there, drinking up the sun and inviting friends to visit. You learnt to swim in the pool behind the summer house. You learnt to cook in the kitchen of the summer house. You had your first kiss in the living room of the summer house. Right, that. Something you preferred not to think or talk about.

“Mom!” you wrapped her in a hug the second you could. After moving away from home to pursue work, you rarely saw her in person. You rarely had time to cook yourself dinner let alone come home. It would be nice to get away for a month-just you, your mom, your dad, your brother and sister and the Italian shores of Elba.

“How was your flight, my baby?” She asked, pulling your backpack from off your shoulders.

“Which one? The one from New York to Florence or the one from Florence to Elba?” As a child you always made a fuss about how secluded Elba was. It’s a small, mountainous island off the west coast. A small airport, no larger than the biggest grocery store in town, was all they had to offer. They didn’t take commercial flights from New York. Nope, you had to get on a small, ten person airplane with five other people and fly over that way. It was nostalgic, truly.

Your mom rolled her eyes. “Still dramatic as ever.”

You shrugged, a smile stamped on your face. “What can I say?”

“Let's go, your dad is at home making dinner. It should be ready when we arrive.”

Your heart felt so full, so satisfied. You felt like a child again, like a little girl viewing the world from innocent eyes. Your mom was carrying your backpack, your dad was making dinner. You wondered if they’d offer to tuck you in at night. This is what you needed the most, and you didn’t even realize it until you were in the passenger seat of your mom’s rental car, watching the coast of the island roll by in the dimming sun. New York was busy. It was loud and dirty. Elba was quiet. It was beautiful and clean.

This summer, you told yourself. I’m not going to have a single worry, not a single care in the world.

“The Verstappen’s are coming by next week.”

You almost choked on your food. “What did he just say?” Dinner on the patio was already off to a ravishing start.

You don't notice it-too busy dabbing the corner of your mouth with a napkin-but your mother swatted at your brother who held a smirk on his lips. He knew it would bother you and he also knew that mom hadn’t told you yet. He loved being the bearer of bad news. He loved pestering his older sister.

“You know, Max’s family?” He pushed on. “The boy who left you for cars-”

“Luca.” Your mom cut him off. “Enough.”

Silence hung over the table like it was a light fixture. Your dad and sister said nothing and you knew it was because those two were in favor of the Verstappen’s coming to stay. Hell, your dad was probably the one to extend the invitation. You knew your sister would back him up because she loved Victoria-the younger sibling of the two Verstappen children. Your brother obviously didn’t care. He idolized Max and his racing. It seemed like your mother was the only one on your side.

“Was nobody going to tell me until Max knocked on our front door one day?” You asked, cutting at the food on your plate.

“Max probably won't even be able to make it,” your mother tries to reassure you. “The only ones who have confirmed it are Sophie and Victoria. Ooh-Victoria is bringing the babies so that should be fun-”

“Are you just trying to calm me down, mom?” Again, the silence made itself known. You spoke first, shaking your head with an upside down smile. “You know what? I don’t care. Max or not, I’m here to have a good summer. No childhood crush or-”

“Childhood boyfriend who broke your heart.” Your brother corrected you. You kicked him from under the table, exerting an ouch from him.

“No childhood drama is going to interfere.” You finished.

“She's gone crazy.” Your sister whispered to your dad. You kicked her too.

“I’m going to have a good summer. Nobody will ruin that for me.”

And in the beginning, you did have a good summer. You spent your first full day in Elba catching up on jet lag. When you finally decided to roll out of bed at two pm, you went to the beach with your sister. The two of you had a chance to catch up, sitting on the sand with a small array of fruits to eat while you spoke. The weather was perfect, the ocean was calming, and you were reminded of how much you loved your younger sister.

“What did you do for the big twenty-two?” You asked, referencing her birthday that had preceded about three weeks prior.

She shook her hand, the grapes in her palm shifting. She picked out a bruised one, adding it to a small pile of other undesirable fruits. “Went out with some friends. I had an exam due that day though, so most of it was spent in my room working on that.”

College. Something you tried your hardest to avoid. All was futile, though. After only a few weeks in New York you realized you’d need it. “Sounds fun. Were you mad you had to leave all your friends for the summer?”

“No,” She popped a grape in her mouth. “I was excited to come back to the beach house.”

“Me too.”

“Can I start a conversation without you getting mad at me, y/n?”

You sighed. “If you start by saying that, then no.”

“How are you going to react if Max really does show up on Monday?”

It was your turn to search through the handful of strawberries you had. One strawberry had a large hole. The rest looked fine, you thought. Max. Right, that's where the conversation was. Max Verstappen. Your first crush, your first kiss, your first-boyfriend? Was it ever that? Really, you didn’t know what it was and what it wasn’t. He was Max, and you were y/n. That was all the facts you knew surrounding the two of you.

“I’ll be nice. I have no reason not to be.” You finally responded.

Your sister peeled her sunglasses off her face. She looked at you amusingly through her brow. “No reason? Really?”

A shrug lifted your shoulders. “What? Max and I were never dating.”

“Sixteen-year-old you would say otherwise.”

“Sixteen year old me was delusional.” You looked at the ocean in front of you. You were just a delusional child, right? Max was your first kiss. Max was your biggest crush. Max did break your heart. It’s pretty damn hard to break someone's heart when you’re not together, no? “I don’t care about Max anymore. If he comes, he comes. If he doesn’t? Then so be it. I really don't care, Mia.”

“Alright,” She said dismissively. “I guess we’ll find out.”

The two of you wouldn’t find out for another five days. During your time-waiting for the possible arrival of Max and his mom and sister-you explored the city, you occupied the beaches, you read some books, you went out on the boat with your brother and dad. Life was calm. There were no obligations you had to fill, no tasks at hand, no work to be done. It was you, the Italian sun, the ocean and the breeze. You seriously considered moving there. Mom would let you have the beach house, right? How could she say no to the oldest?

All was good. All was calm.

“Max is here, y/n!” Luca swung open the patio door, yelling at you with a smirk. You were lying on a lounge chair next to your sister-the both of you only wearing swimsuits as you tried to tan. “He’s a fine specimen.”

You picked up your hat from the ground and threw it at your teenage brother. “Fuck off, Luca.”

“I’m serious! Max, Victoria and Sophie are here.”

You looked over at your sister. “Go inspect.” You instructed her.

She groaned, standing up from her chair and wandering inside, not before slapping Luca on the back of the head, however. The two of them shut the door, a waft of cold air swiping across your body before disappearing. There was soft music playing from a speaker near the pool. If a car pulled up, you wouldn’t have been able to hear it. Maybe they were here, but was Max seriously with them? Did you want him here? Would it actually be easier without him here or did you want some fun this summer? Did drama entertain you? Maybe you just wanted something nice to look at while you were here.

The back door slid open. You were lying face down, the sun warming your back. You didn’t bother looking up, assuming it was Mia coming to deliver the news to you. It would be better if she didn’t see your face while telling you. Maybe you would be disappointed at the answer-whatever it may be. “Well? Is he here?” You asked, voice muffled by the lounge chair.

“Is this your hat?”

You looked up so quickly that you pulled a muscle in your neck. “Fuck.” You whispered to yourself, rubbing your fingers over the pain. Did you curse to yourself because Max was standing right infront of you, your ball cap balancing off his index finger, or because of the pain? Both, you decided. It was for both reasons.

“I’ll leave it,” He set it on the table next to you. “Here.”

“Thanks.” You readjusted yourself, sitting up on the edge of the chair. He definitely got a much better view of you than he was hoping for. You were older now, almost by ten years. Sixteen year old you and twenty five year old you looked a lot different. He figured that out pretty quick.

“Good to see you, y/n.” He smiled before turning on his heel to go back inside. His back was broad, his shoulders looked stiff. He had some stubble, but it suited him. He looked-good? No. Stop thinking like that. He probably had a girlfriend or something. He was a rich, famous, Formula One driver. No way he was single walking around looking like that.

“Right.” Nobody was around to hear you say it. So, nobody was around to hear you follow it up with, “What the fuck.”

Hesitantly, you picked up your ball cap, slipping your ponytail through the back. You walked inside, scanning the room before making any more steps forward. Mia and Victoria were in the living room. Sure enough, Victoria had brought her two children and husband. Mia was emitting plenty of ‘aww’s’ and ‘that is so cute’s’. Max was bringing luggage in through the front door. Great, they're planning on staying. Your brother shot you a smirk from where he sat at the kitchen bar. Told ya’ so.

“Max, how’d you manage time off from F1?” Your mother asked.

“It’s summer break,” He said matter-of-factly. “I don’t race again until late August.”

“So you’ll be here for the three weeks you mother and sister will be?”

Please say no, please say no, please say- “I plan to, yes.”

The sliding door snaps behind you as you let go of it. Everyone turns to look at your bikini clad figure. Victoria exchanges a concerning glance with your sister. Victoria’s husband looks at her, confused as to why there is such a thick tension in the air.

“Y/n, go shower and get dressed, we’re all going to dinner in a bit.” Your mother said, her lips pressing into a thin smile.

“Right.” You said, weaving past all the bodies. “I’ll go do that.”

Oh what a summer this was playing out to be.

[random-potat]

and they were roommates - kjs. - pt. 4

part 4. moving in (wc. 456)

Packing your belongings that's enough for six weeks in forty-five minutes is definitely easier said than done, but alas, it is not completely impossible. Honestly, you can't really tell if you are overpacked or underpacked. What mattered most was that Bada didn't kill you for procrastinating.

With five minutes to spare, you rush down to the parking lot to store your luggage in the trunk of the car.

The rest of your members come down to say goodbye. Let's just say the dramatics were turned on, that's for sure. 

“I'm surprised you actually packed quickly,” your leader says. 

“What can I say? I'm serious about my cookie dough.” 

"I can't believe you’re leaving me behind,” Ria dramatically wails. 

Rolling your eyes, you pull her in for a hug. “It’s not like I’m permanently moving; I’ll be gone for like six weeks.” You pat Ria’s back and say, "Plus, we’ll still see each other for practice.” 

“That’s only if there is something to practice for.” Eunwoo interrupts, hugging the two of you. 

Bada lovingly pinches Eunwoo. “Don't say that, Eunwoo, we still have festivals to practice for,” Bada says as she joins in the group hug. 

“As much as I would hate to break this group moment, we really have to go now, YN,” manager Woo interrupts. 

After saying what seems to be but isn’t really your final goodbyes to your group members, you head into the car for a long one and a half-hour drive away from the city.

After a long ride that only involved sleeping, you arrive outside of the shared villa that you’ll eventually be sharing with five other people, who also happen to be idols. “Can’t wait to get cancelled,” you thought. 

Manager Woo begins to give you a quick debrief of what is going to happen.  

“Everything is already set up in the house. The producers will be in the hallway guiding you where to go, and you guys will all be entering individually.”

“Wow, this is some Love Island-type shit. Minus the love part,” you quickly look around your surroundings, “and the island,” you respond.

Manager Woo gives you a stern look and says, "After that, everything is going to be directed by the producer. Schedules will be sent to you like normal, but most things won’t interrupt the filming for this show.

You nod your head.

Manager Woo gave a small smile, "Just enjoy the experience, don’t take everything too seriously, okay?”

"Sir, yes, sir.” You send a mocking salute.

Getting out of the car and dragging your luggage towards the house, you take a deep breath in and out. “Of course I’m the first one going in. Well, here goes nothing. A hot new bombshell enters the villa.”

a/n: very subtle love island references cause that was my hyperfixation when i was writing this in the summer :p but other than that hope you guys are enjoying it so far. really just creating this as i go but i do have ideas that i know i want to be in the story, so we'll just have to see where this ends up lmao!! also school has officially started as im posting this so that's really fun :)) much more writing to do although essays aren't fun

synopsis: With long-time K-pop fans asking for another season of the infamous variety show We Got Married, MBC brings it back with a spin-off, We Became Roommates. As a way to bring K-pop fans together, the first season involves six idols born in 2005. With seeing each other every day, doing missions for every episode, making memories, and fans watching and shipping, blossoming friendships and a bubbling romance can't be helped. pairing: idol!jongseob x fem idol!reader genre: idol au, crack, fluff, humour, coworkers to friends to lovers

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[worstjourney]

The Millennials' Polar Expedition

A year ago today (23 Nov 2022), I launched Worst Journey Vol.1 at the Scott Polar Research Institute. This is the text of the speech I gave to the lovely people who turned up to celebrate.

As many of you know, my interest in the Terra Nova Expedition was sparked by Radio 4’s dramatisation of The Worst Journey in the World, now 14 years ago.  The story is an incredible story, and it got its claws into me, but what kept me coming back again and again were the people.  I couldn’t believe anyone so wonderful had ever really existed.  So when I finally succumbed to obsession and started reading all the books, it was the expedition members’ own words which I most cherished.  These were not always easy to come by, though, so plenty of popular histories were consumed as well.  Reading both in tandem, it soon became clear that, while there were some good books out there, there was a lot of sloppy research in the polar echo chamber as well.

I also discovered that no adaptation had attempted to get across the full scope of the expedition.  There has never been a full and fair dramatic retelling, all having been limited by time, budget, or ideology from telling the whole story truthfully.  I was determined that my adaptation would be both complete and accurate, and be as accountable as possible to those precious primary documents and the people who wrote them.

So the years of research began.  I moved to Cambridge to be able to drop in at SPRI and make the most of the archives.  Getting to Antarctica seemed impossible, but I went to New Zealand to get at least that much right, and on the way back stayed with relatives in Alberta, the most Antarctic place I could realistically visit.  I gathered reference for objects wherever I could.  Because Vol.1 takes place mainly on the Terra Nova, which is now a patch of sludge on the seabed off Greenland, I cobbled together a Franken-Nova in my mind, between the Discovery up in Dundee and the Star of India in San Diego.  I spent a week on a Jubilee Sailing Trust ship in order to depict tall-ship sailing correctly.  I’m sure I’ve still got loads of things wrong, but I did all I could, to get as much as I could, right.

But still, everyone I met who had been to Antarctica said, “you can’t understand Antarctica until you’ve been there, and you can’t tell the story without understanding Antarctica; you have to go.”  So I applied to the USAP’s Antarctic Artists and Writers Program, with faint hope, as they do “Ahrt” and I draw cartoons.  But I must have blagged a good grant proposal, because a year after applying, I was stepping out of a C-17 onto the Ross Ice Shelf.  The whole trip would have been worth it just to stand there, turn in a circle, and see how all the familiar photographs fit together.  But the USAP’s generosity didn’t stop there, and in the next month I saw Hut Point, Arrival Heights, the Beardmore Glacier (including the moraine on which the Polar Party stopped to “geologise”), and Cape Crozier, and made three visits to the Cape Evans hut.  Three!  On top of the visual reference I got priceless qualitative data.  The hardness of the sound.  The surprising warmth of the sun. The sugary texture of the snow.  The keen edge on a slight breeze.  The way your fingertips and toes can start to go when the rest of you is perfectly warm.  The SHEER INSANITY of Cape Crozier.  The veterans were right – I couldn’t have drawn it without having been there, but now I have, and can, and I am more grateful than I can ever adequately express.  With all these resources laid so copiously at my feet, all I had to do was sit down and draw the darn thing.  Luckily I have some very sound training to back me up on that.

Now, this is all very well for the how of making the book, and, I hope, interesting enough. But why?  Why am I putting so much effort into telling this story, and why now?

Well, it means a lot to me personally.  To begin to understand why, you need to know that I grew up in the 80s and 90s, at the height of individualist, goal-oriented, success-driven, dog-eat-dog, devil-take-the-hindmost neoliberalism.  It was just assumed that humans, when you get right down to it, were basically self-interested jerks, and I saw plenty of them around so I had no reason to question this assumption.  The idea was that if you did everything right, and worked really hard, you could retire at 45 to a yacht in the Bahamas, and if you didn’t retire to a yacht, well, you just hadn’t tried hard enough.  Character, in the sense of rigorous personal virtue, was for schmucks.  What mattered was success.  Even as my politics evolved, I still took it as a given that this was how the world worked, and that was how people generally were – after all, there was no lack of corroborating evidence.  So: I worked really hard.  I single-mindedly pursued my self-interest.  I made sacrifices, and put in the time, and fought my way into my dream job and all the success I could have asked for.

And then I met the Terra Nova guys.

What struck me most about them was that even when everything was going wrong, when their expectations were shattered and they had to face the cruellest reality, they were still kind.  Not backbiting, recriminating, blame-throwing, defensive, or mean, as one would expect – they were lovely to each other, patient, supportive, self-sacrificing; in fact the worse things got, the better they were.  They still treated each other as friends even when it wasn’t in their self-interest, was even contrary to their self-interest.  I didn’t know people could be like that.  But there they were, in plain writing, being thoroughly, bafflingly, decent.  Not just the Polar Party – everyone had to face their own brutal realities at some point, and they all did so with a grace I never thought possible.

It presented a very important question:

When everything goes belly-up, and you’re facing the worst, what sort of person will you be?

Or perhaps more acutely: What sort of person would you rather be with?

It was so contrary to the world I lived in, to the reality I knew – it was a peek into an alternate dimension, populated entirely with lovely, lovely people, who really, genuinely believed that “it’s not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game,” and behaved accordingly.  It couldn’t be real.  There had to be a deeper, unpleasant truth: that was how the world worked, after all.  I kept digging, expecting to hit bottom at some point, but I only found more gold, all the way down.  How could I not spend my life on this?

Mythology exists to pass on a culture’s values, moral code, and survival information – how to face challenges and prevail.  Scott’s story entered the British mythology, and had staying power, because it exemplified those things so profoundly for the culture that created and received it.  But the culture changed, and there were new values; Scott’s legacy was first inverted and then cast aside.  The new culture needed a new epic hero.  You’d think it would be Amundsen, the epitome of ruthless success, but “Make Plan – Execute Plan – Go Home” has no mythic value, so he didn’t stick.  The hero needed challenges, he needed setbacks, and he needed to win, on our terms.

Shackleton!  Shackleton was a winner!  Shackleton told us what we knew to be true and wanted to hear at epic volume: that if you want something badly enough, and try really hard, you will succeed!  (Especially if you can control the narrative.)  Scott, on the other hand, tells us that if you want something badly enough, and try really hard . . . you may nevertheless die horribly in the snow.  Nobody wants to hear that!  What a downer!  I think it’s no coincidence that Shackleton exploded into popular culture in the late 90s and has dominated it ever since: he is the mythic hero of the zeitgeist. I am always being asked if I’ll be doing Shackleton next.  He has six graphic novels already!  That is plenty!  But people still want to tell and be told his story, because it’s a heroic myth that validates our worldview.

That’s why I am so determined to tell the Scott story, because Scott is who we don’t realise we need right now – and Wilson, and Bowers, and Cherry, and Atch, and all the rest.  The Terra Nova Expedition is the Millennials’ polar expedition.  We’ve worked really hard, we’ve done everything we were supposed to, we made what appeared to be the right decisions at the time, and we’re still losing.  Nothing in the mythology we’ve been fed has prepared us for this.  No amount of positive attitude is going to change it.  We have all the aphorisms in the world, but what we need is an example of how to behave when the chips are down, when the Boss is not sailing into the tempest to rescue us, when the Yelcho is not on the horizon.  When circumstances are beyond your power to change, how do you make the best of your bad situation?  What does that look like? Even if you can’t fix anything, how do you make it better for the people around you – or at the very least, not worse?  Scott tells us: you can be patient, supportive, and humble; see who needs help and offer it; be realistic but don’t give in to despair; and if you’re up against a wall with no hope of rescue, go out in a blaze of kindness.  We learn by imitation: it’s easy to say these things, but to see them in action, in much harder circumstances than we will ever face, is a far greater help.  And to see them exemplified by real, flawed, complicated people like us is better still; they are not fairy-tale ideals, they are achievable. Real people achieved them.

My upbringing in the 80s milieu of selfishness, which set me up to receive the Scott story so gratefully, is hardly unique.  There are millions of us who are hungry for a counter-narrative.  My generation is desperate for demonstrations of caring, whether it’s activism or social justice or government policies that don’t abandon the vulnerable.  We’ve seen selfishness poison the world, and we want an alternative.  The time for competition is past; we must cooperate or perish, but we don’t know how to do it because our mythology is founded on competition.  The Scott story, if told properly, explodes the Just World Fallacy, and liberates us from the lie that has ruled our lives: that you make your own luck.  What happens, happens: what matters is how you respond to it.  My obsession with accuracy is in part to honour the men, and in part because Cherry was the ultimate stickler and he’d give me a hard time if I didn’t, but also because, if I’m telling the story to a new generation, I’m damn well going to make sure we get that much RIGHT.  It’s been really interesting to see, online, how my generation and the next have glommed onto polar exploration narratives, not as thrilling feats of derring-do, but as emotional explorations of found family and cooperative resilience.  We love them because they love each other, and loving each other helps get them through, and we want – we need – to see how that’s done.  It’s time to give them the Terra Nova story, and to tell it fully, fairly, and honestly, in all its complexity, because that is how their example is most useful to us.  Not as gods, and not as fools, but as real human beings who were excellent to each other in the face of disaster.  I only hope that I, a latecomer to their ways, can do them justice.

[captainsophiestark]

Jurisdiction

Jack Thompson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober, and for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Requested by Anon!

Fandom: Marvel

Day Seventeen Prompt: "Strangest thing I ever heard."

Summary: Jack's meeting one of his SO's oldest friends, who just so happens to work for the FBI. Unfortunately for all of them, sometimes the job has to take priority.

Word Count: 1,115

Category: Fluff

A/N: Okay, officially *this* is the closest I've come to missing a Friday lol

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"You're never gonna believe the case I just solved."

I grinned, humoring my long-time friend as he leaned across the table and closer to me.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. So we were trying to track down this group-"

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

My friend, Robert, and I both turned at the sound of someone behind us. I smiled immediately. Chief Jack Thompson of the New York SSR had finally arrived.

Jack and I had worked together for a long time, and now we'd been dating for the better part of a year. We'd been trying to set up times for meeting each other's important friends and family, but it had been incredibly complicated trying to work around our schedules at the SSR, especially since we weren't really supposed to tell anybody about our jobs.

Robert was one of the last people in my circle that Jack hadn't met. We'd grown up together, and while I'd found my way to the SSR, Robert had built up a career with the FBI. He had no idea what I did for a living, but I knew plenty about what he did.

"Glad you could make it," I said, fixing Jack with a smile as he took a seat on the other side of me. He planted a kiss on my temple, then reached out and offered a handshake to Robert.

"Jack Thompson. Nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise," said Robert, taking his hand with a grin. "You're just in time to hear about the case my boys and I just finished up. It was a doozy."

"Yeah, I heard you were with the FBI. That's real impressive," said Jack, his voice dripping with sarcasm that only I caught. I gave him a subtle elbow to the side, but he ignored me.

"Thank you," said Robert, nodding solemnly. "Like I was saying, we were trying to track down this group we thought was smuggling weapons into the country through a port in Maine. And we found the guys we were looking for, found their operation just like we'd been expecting. But they weren't smuggling weapons."

Jack and I both raised an eyebrow, leaning forward as Robert did. He lowered his voice for dramatic effect.

"They were smuggling technology."

I raised an eyebrow, and beside me, Jack leaned even further forward.

"It was all kinds of crazy stuff," Robert continued. "I can't tell you guys most of it, since neither of you has clearance, but... it's the kind of thing that would knock your socks off. I'm talking minature engines that can just hover about a foot in the air, some crazy glowing stuff that none of us have been able to identify yet... and that's just the tip of the iceberg."

"Wow," I said, playing it up a little bit out of politeness. Robert grinned and nodded.

"I know, right? I mean, can you even believe it?"

"Strangest thing I ever heard," Jack agreed, sounding anything but floored. At the SSR, we saw stranger things than that almost every week. "You said stuff that glows? What kind of stuff? What kind of glow?"

"I really shouldn't be telling you guys this, but so far, it seems like some kind of chemical mix just sitting in a little ball, waiting for who knows what to activate. It's been a few days since we caught all this stuff, and the glow hasn't gone down even a little bit."

Jack hummed next to me, leaning even farther forward and dropping his arm from around my shoulders. I could tell he wanted to drill down on exactly what Robert had found, and I didn't blame him. But before he got the chance to ask followup questions, the waiter came over to take our orders.

By the time we'd put in our requests, Robert was apparently ready to move on from his work stories. Jack fidgeted next to me, but still, he let it go. The three of us talked about life, told (non-work) stories, and laughed over lunch and drinks. By the time things were winding down, Robert had a massive smile on his face, and he shook Jack's hand again as we got up to leave.

"It was a real pleasure meeting you, Jack. I'm glad to know my friend found someone so wonderful to spend time with."

"It was great meeting you, too," Jack said. I noticed his smile was a little more forced, but Robert apparently didn't clock it as he turned to give me a hug.

"Good to see you. I know we're both pretty busy, but let's not go this long without seeing each other again, okay?"

"I completely agree."

We shared a smile, then Robert gave Jack and I one last little wave before hustling off down the street. I turned back to Jack with a sigh and a smile.

"Well, that was fun! And I think Robert really likes you."

"Yeah, but I don't know for how much longer." Jack ran a hand through his hair, and I raised an eyebrow at him.

"What do you mean?"

"How do you think Robert would feel if I claimed jurisdiction on his case?"

I gasped, and then grimaced. What Jack was saying made perfect sense—everything Robert had told us sounded right up the alley of the things we dealt with for work.

"Now I know what that face you kept pulling was about," I said. Jack scoffed, and I put my hands on my hips. "I don't think Robert would take it very well, honestly. But... we did say we wanted to see each other more often. And taking over his case would certainly accomplish that."

That got Jack to fully laugh. He put an arm around my shoulders, and the two of us started the stroll back to our office.

"So does that mean you're on board with me talking to the FBI about the SSR getting jurisdiction over all that stuff they found?"

"I mean, yeah. Robert and I will work it out, and it'll be nice to have a reason to tell him what I really do for work. Besides, he's great, but... even in the few minutes we were chatting, it was pretty clear the FBI aren't equipped to handle this."

"No, they're not. Glad we can agree."

"Who knows, maybe this'll even work out in our favor? Robert will see us working so well as a team solving his case that he'll be even happier than when we finished lunch."

Jack laughed again, and after a moment, I couldn't help joining him. Robert was in for quite a shock the next time he saw Jack and I. I might actually have to recruit Peggy or Daniel to take a picture for posterity.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

Marvel Taglist: @valkyriepirate @infinetlyforgotten @sagesmelts @gaychaosgremlin

[restwellsoon]

Nothing in Particular | Chapter 5 - To Say What You Mean and Mean What You Say Pt. 2

Pairing: Omota Uramichi x F!Reader

Summary: A series of unexpected encounters and misunderstandings causes you to fill a large and gaping hole in Uramichi’s life.

Minors and blank blogs DNI! You will be blocked!

Warnings: unprotected sex

“Well ? Are you gonna spill everything that’s happened, or do I have to ask you everything I’ve been wondering, question by question?”

The menu distracted you both for a few minutes, but after the server took your order, Utano went straight to business. You’d left her hanging for weeks, and work had kept you both apart. Whatever was going on between you and Uramichi hadn’t left her mind, and she needed to get updates from you since Uramichi was difficult to corner and get alone.

As if you forgot what had happened in your own life, Utano decided to provide a refresher. “Where did we leave off?” The server brought your drinks first, and she dramatically sipped on her tea, pondering slowly until she grinned. “Ahh, yes. You and Uramichi took the train together after the work party and…?”

“And I slept over at his place,” you said slowly, copying her behavior and drinking yourself.

She wiggled her eyebrows and her eyes sparkled. For a moment, she ignored the fact that her friend might have had sex with her depressing co-worker. “So you two…?”

Pretending to look for your food’s arrival and commenting on the other treats that passed by, you tried to avoid describing what really happened for as long as possible. Utano rolled her eyes at your stalling.

Finally, you cleared your throat, speaking as quietly as you could. “No. I uh–I got really drunk, stripped down to my underwear, crawled into his bed, and made Uramichi sleep on the floor.”

Utano laughed, like really laughed. It was one of those ones that came from the belly, and she even knocked over her fork while doing so, drawing others’ attention to you temporarily.

“If it makes you feel better,” she said in-between wheezing and thanking a worker for bringing her a clean utensil, “he probably chose to sleep on the floor, so you wouldn’t freak out in the morning.”

Staring at the amber liquid in your cup, you considered this new perspective. All this time, you’d been lamenting over your bad behavior, unsure of even where to start with your apology or if you should even say anything at all. Uramichi truly was a kind person.

“You’re smiling into your drink,” Utano commented, cheek in hand as she side-eyed all of the desserts that passed by. She was growing impatient.

“You said he was intense, but I think he’s more considerate if anything,” you said.

“Intensity doesn’t nullify consideration,” Utano reminded you. “If anything, he’s considerate to the point that it might be…” 

She paused, trying to think of how to describe Uramichi without going into too much detail. Uramichi would rather wear the most humiliating outfits to get the scene over with than protest with the costume department. If the kids were having fun, Uramichi would pick them up and play with them for as long as they wanted despite all of his aches and pains. Hell, Iketeru told her that Uramichi sat through an awkward work dinner where he was berated for something trivial so Kikaku wouldn’t get in trouble.

“Self-destructive.”

Her words were heavy, and they sank down in your gut along with the cake you ordered.

“How sad,” you finally commented, unable to find another other word that was more fitting. You swirled the last remaining bit of tea in your cup. “I hope he finds happiness one day.”

Having known each other for nearly four years now, Utano said, “Oh, that won’t happen. The darkness in his eyes has slowly eaten away at him ☆”

It was true too. They all found Together with Maman during the darkest points in their lives, yet while Iketeru and her own demons retreated, Uramichi seemed to commune with his own. Rather than hopelessness, apathy had befallen him, leaving him spineless. 

But was Uramichi really spineless? Utano wondered. Or was he simply trying his best to game life? After all, they were at the mercy of their employers and needed to work in order to survive. It was difficult to be happy when you were just doing your best to stay alive.

“That’s just adulthood,” you confirmed, not understanding where Uramichi’s co-workers were coming from. Perhaps it was because you didn’t know him well-enough, but you still stood by that thought you first had of him. He was that beautiful doll that sat on the shelf, the one that never got played with.

“But yeah. Yesterday–or I guess this morning?–he and um, Us–Usa…? The blond , coincidentally ended up staying at my place cuz they drank too much. Uramichi and I shared my bed.”

“ And ?” Utano said impatiently. It was only naturally for someone who was in a committed, happy, and long-term relationship to live vicariously through their friends’ disastrous love lives.

“...and we just slept,” you said gloomily. 

Dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin, you were impressed per usual with Utano’s ability to eat and show nothing for it. You supposed that chasing children on set and dancing also helped with maintaining her figure.

“And if you didn’t ?” Utano pretended for a minute that the man you were interested in wasn’t her co-worker. “Would you complain then that he didn’t want to date you?”

“Are you on my side or his?” You joked, understanding what she was trying to say. Utano had the misfortune of being privy to your dating mishaps in your 20s until you gave up altogether. If you wanted something casual, they were too serious, and vice versa. She was curious to know what you wanted in your 30s now that you were wiser.

“I don’t care if we date.” She shot you a look. “ Really , I don’t. I learned my lesson from last time. But what I told you before was true. I’m not looking for anything in particular, but I’m open to seeing where this road takes me.”

Her features twisted into disbelief. “I remember saying that years ago.”

Knowing that the conversation was going into dangerous territory you shrugged.

—

“And get this! This dude was so drunk, he said that some konbini angel saved us,” Usahara laughed, pointing that dude out as Uramichi. “So who was it, Uramichi, huh? I’m sure it was one of your gymnast friends from the past. Quit trying to be cool and mysterious, dude. I bet it was Supermura , wasn’t it?”

Iketeru looked at Uramichi expectantly while Kumatani couldn’t have cared less. Utano was disinterested in the conversation completely, scrolling and tapping away at her phone.

He sighed, already at his breaking point. Uramichi clocked in less than ten minutes ago too. This was a new record. If it weren’t for this ridiculous 8 AM meeting, he would have stalked off to the smoke room for a break, but instead, he had to make small talk at this ungodly hour because of Derekida and Furode who were unsurprisingly late.

Right on cue, the door burst. Derekida and Furode strolled languidly, to-go coffee cups in hand. They were 45 minutes late.

“Everyone here?” Furode asked. Using his sunglasses as a headband, he fished for the rolled up papers in his back pocket before sitting down. Neither of them bothered to actually check before talking. 

“Well, since no one said anything, that must mean we’re all here. So,” he cleared his voice, smoothing out the papers. The cast did their best to hide their expressions as he repeated the process twice before speaking again. “Talent’s off for the next three days. Paid too . The writers and big wigs gotta think of a game plan for how we’ll promote Uramichi for the Galaxy Awards nomination. So rest up. We’ll be busy in the upcoming months–Uramichi especially.”

The cast sat silently as they let the producer’s words sink in. Three paid days off? Should they be worried of possible layoffs or an unexpected announcement about series cancelation? No, no, no. Furode said this was for the Galaxy Awards. There was no way that MHK, the greedy bastards that they were, would let their cash cow die. A more reasonable action would be for them to review their time cards. They were most likely taking their time from their PTO bank instead.

Uramichi in particular didn’t like the good news that was announced, trying to process just how busy he might possibly be. Anxiety bubbled up at the thought of long stretches of overtime and traveling from shoot to shoot and interview to interview. If awards shows were anything like athletic meets and competitions…

Glancing over at the gymnast oniisan, Iketeru couldn’t help but admire Uramichi’s expression. He looked determined–no, motivated–by their boss’ words. “You can do it, oniisan,” he cheered his co-host on, though he doubted that he needed it until Uramichi responded. 

“Can I…?” He whispered back into the void, not looking at Iketeru or anything else for that matter. “Just thinking about it already exhausts me.”

“So uh, is that all for today?” Usahara dared to ask. Uramichi and Iketeru looked as if they talking about philosophy while Kumatani wore that blank expression that meant he was zoning out. Utano still scrolled, although more discreetly, on her phone.

Derekida looked up, using an index finger to push up his slipping sunglasses. “Oh, you’re still here?” He waved them off while looking back at Furode’s rolled up papers. “Yeah, that’s it for today. Now scram . The writers need to use this room in ten.”

Following his directions as always, they left, moving in silence as a group. Their footsteps echoed in the halls until finally they left the building. Once free from the shackles of work, they took in the bright sun and fresh air.

Iketeru glanced at his watch before asking if anyone knew the time. It was nine on the dot. 

Yes, the sun was shining brightly. (No vengeful sun spirits here.) The air was fresh. The birds even sang to ring in their three days of freedom.

But rather than taking a moment to smell the roses, they collectively sighed. The sun’s glare hurt their eyes. The fresh air hurt their lungs, which were too used to the stagnant air of the closed set. The birds’ songs reminded them of the shrill screams of the children.

Most importantly though, they realized something with the righteous anger only known to those who’d been working too hard and for far too long–this meeting should have been a fucking email.

—

Guess what~

You reacted to Utano’s text with a ? reaction, not bothering to guess. You’d been working since 4 am to deal with an overseas client.

I have the next three days off since the higher ups are thinking of ways to promo Uramichi’s nom ヾ(*´ ∇ `)ﾉ

Your eyes narrowed as you typed, disregarding the ellipses that indicated that Utano was still typing.

Good for you …which means that Uramichi also has the next three days off He should rest then since he’ll be busy Or maybe you can rock his world for a few hours (or days) LOL

She flipped her phone around for a moment. Who knew that playing cupid could be so fun.

And before you try to say that you have work, I know you can use your PTO or have someone cover you for a few hours. C’mon boss lady, use that power for a dick down\(♡´౪<♡)/

God, she knew you too well. You deleted your response about having to work tomorrow, hitting a button so you no longer had to look at your conversation. Staring at the dark screen, you wondered if you should take this opportunity.

When he came over, he basically said that he was down to fuck, even if he didn’t say it directly. You recalled his words for a moment–”When I miss you again, I’ll be good to you the next time we meet”–and you wondered if maybe he’d be interested in something more. With how vague his words were and how confusing he was, being good to you could mean a lot of things: good sex, no teasing, treating you well… Your mind wandered for a moment into a daydream, imagining Uramichi being good to you as a partner until it was interrupted by Utano’s laughter.

You shook your head.

“Yeah, well, of course I have to at least try,” you said to yourself, laughing at your hesitation. 

—

From the corner of his eye, Uramichi could see his phone screen light up, but he didn’t dare to fully look at it otherwise he’d break his form. He stayed in his full planche hold for another five breaths, slowly letting his body rest on the sixth. He rolled out the tension from his body, grabbing his phone during his rest period.

A smile almost crept on his face when your name popped up on his notifications. He was grateful though that he didn't when he read the body of your message.

Good evening, When you’re free, I’d like to talk to you.

Uramichi felt bad for your subordinates whose jobs depended on their ability to understand what you meant. He reread your message three times. This had to be about something bad, right?

Sure ◉‿◉ I’m at the gym right now, but I can call you once I’m done

He was surprised by how quickly you responded.

You’re working out at this hour? Impressive. Have a good workout, and if you’re too tired after, don’t worry about calling. It’s not that important 

His timer rang, telling him that he needed to get back to work. Finished with his planches, he thought that doing a few extra lifts would help him gather his thoughts. As Uramichi loaded the plates onto the bar, he wondered if maybe he should take a picture of himself at the gym. He had a good pump going on, so maybe he could impress you even more.

He switched over to the other side to load the same amount. No, that was stupid. Besides, the thought of him taking a selfie was already making him embarrassed.

Settling himself on the bench, he thought that maybe you’d want proof that he was at the gym instead of making excuses for avoiding the conversation. If it wasn’t that important, you wouldn’t have asked to speak about it, you would have texted him instead.

Gripping the bar in his hands, he lifted it off the support, grunting as he lowered it and pushed, wavering slightly before he reset it. Something wasn’t right.

“That’s why…” he mumbled to himself, realizing that he accidentally doubled the amount of plates on each side.

Maybe it would be best if he left–to prevent an injury and to take a selfie in the comfort of his own bathroom.

—

With his towel wrapped around his waist, Uramichi looked at himself in the mirror, flexing and relaxing his well-deserved body. Years of training kept him strong and defined physically, but his mental fortitude was lacking. His fingers shook while trying to capture a picture of himself, all of them blurry, until he gave up. What an embarrassment.

He should have just called you instead of wasting his own time.

“Hello?” You said on the other line. “Uramichi?”

Suddenly he was nervous, staring at your name on the screen. This had to be something serious. Did you not want to see him anymore? He wasn’t sure if he could act like a stranger around you. How would he face Utano? “ Hi. ”

“Thanks for calling me,” you said, glancing at the time on your kitchen clock. “I know it’s late.”

“It’s not that late,” Uramichi tried to argue. 

Your clock said that it was 10:45 PM.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

It was your turn to pause, unsure of how to even start the conversation. Would it have been better to text it instead? But typing it out was more embarrassing than saying it though. It meant that you consciously chose the words that you did, read it as a fully formed sentence and still decided to text that. You would have stared at your screen until he responded.

“Utano said that you have tomorrow off.”

“Yeah, the next day too,” he said before explaining that it had to do with the Galaxy Awards. “It’s nice to finally be rewarded for my hard work with an actual break instead of more work.”

Did he want to spend tomorrow relaxing instead? A part of you felt guilty for your selfish request, but still, you started it, so you had to see it through.

“I’m off tomorrow too actually, so I was wondering—”

“—Oh that’s great,” he said, cutting you off. “You work so hard. Wanna hang out ?”

You let out a shaky breath, both relieved and surprised that he wanted to spend time with you. You weren’t being selfish after all.

Hearing your sigh on the other end, Uramichi wondered if you were annoyed. He sounded desperate to be with you, didn’t he? He should have let you finish instead of excitedly asking for your time.

“I’d love to, but um—can we do that thing we talked about last time?”

His silence meant that he didn’t remember, you thought. This conversation is over the phone, you reminded yourself, you can blurt it out, and if it gets awkward, you can hang up, block him and never go to Utano’s work ever again.

“Can I fuck you?”

The silence was heavy, and you double checked your phone to make sure that you didn’t reflexively hang up and blocked him. His name still showed up on the screen, and it counted how long you’d been talking for.

Uramichi didn’t know how to react, grateful that his phone sat on the counter. Both hands were placed on either side of it, and he leaned over, staring himself in the mirror. His face was bright red up to his ears, and the color reached down to his neck and the chest that he was so proud of.

“Sorry,” you started to apologize, “that was out of line, and–”

“Yeah,” he finally said, voice breathy and low. “Can I fuck you too?”

He felt like a fool.

You laughed quietly. Uramichi had a silly way of responding at times. “I’d love that. Can I come over to your place?”

This time, he made sure to answer quickly.

—

Ten o’clock was far too early to come over, and Uramichi regretted giving you that time. After sleeping in, he spent nearly an hour debating on whether or not he should go to the gym. He didn’t want his routine to be off, but he also didn’t want to be tired for the rest of the day. After squeezing in a quick lift, he tidied up his place, pushing his dumbbells into a corner and stuffing his oversized baguette pillow and Kotori-san into a closet.

He nearly tore the front door off its hinges when he heard a knock and then consequently slammed it when he realized it was just solicitors. That made him slower to respond to the second knock five minutes after. He sprinted to the door when he saw you calling.

You greeted him in a sundress that teased the body beneath the fabric. It seemed like you wanted to cling to the last bit of summer before things cooled down, legs bare aside from a set of strappy sandals. If Uramichi saw you on the street, he would have guessed that you were on your way to a date. Instead, you were here, meeting him at his apartment. He didn’t have too long to dwell on what a date with you might entail; by asking him if you could come in, you interrupted his thoughts.

Like the first time you met, he took you with him.

Uramichi spent too much time cleaning to think about how he would set the mood. Luckily you had gone over the boring things over the phone–yes to condoms, yeah you both were clean–but all that was left was, well, sex . It was too early to drink and he already smoked when he got out of bed. Sobriety made him hyperaware and he hated it.

“Wanna meet me in bed while I wash up?” You suggested.

He slackened his grip once you were inside, but now his hand loosely held yours in an awkward state of close but not close enough. The proximity made you self-conscious. The sun was brighter than you expected, and you were worried about your sweat.

“That’s fine,” he said, still holding your hand. “Not sure if you remember where the bathroom is, but it’s over there,” he said, pointing with his free hand. The fuzzy memory of Uramichi’s apartment became clearer with sober eyes. “Then my bedroom is that door beside it.”

He let go after dropping you off in front of the bathroom room, quickly stripping down to his boxers. The door creaked slightly, making him jump, and he was surprised to see you standing there.

“Can you help me unzip my dress?” You asked shyly, already half-turning around. “The zipper’s stuck,” you explained.

There was something incredibly intimate about holding your hair aside, so Uramichi could focus on helping you undress. An hour before you arrived, you agonized over what to wear, unsure of what impression you wanted to leave him with. You settled on a sundress, unassuming yet deceivingly sexy, but forgot the reason why you hardly wore it until it came to taking it off.

One palm pressed gently against your shoulder to create tension for the zipper to slide, and with a soft tug, it finally slid down with little resistance. His hands pushed down the sleeves, and the rest of the fabric fell with it. Now he could see and feel your bare skin. You were on fire.

Scanning over the details of your lingerie–because that was the only thing that it could be with all of the lace and sheer gauze that adorned it–he habitually clicked his tongue, being reminded of all of the costumes he wore for work. He mumbled something about it looking inconvenient.

“Thanks,” you said, turning to face him. 

If the back was inconvenient, then the front was troublesome. Sheer bra cups barely hid your breasts from him with the lace appliques that covered your nipples, the only bit of modesty that you had. The sheer material had covered enough of your bottom, but in the front, it dipped low, as if guiding the eyes down to where it wanted the wearer to look.

It was clear that Uramichi was uncomfortable, and you never had the chance to ask if he’d done something casual like this before. You supposed that it was fortunate that you were more experienced in these matters.

“Let’s lay down and talk,” you told him, giving him a light push onto the bed. He scrambled to give you space, but you crawled right beside him.

Uramichi wondered if this was how things would have been if you didn’t fall asleep before he could join you, with you taking the lead. 

“So how have you been? Your friend must have had a bad hangover.”

Not really wanting to talk about Usahara, he gave in to this being a better option than letting silence fall between you. He didn’t bother correcting you on the friend part, only commenting, “Yeah, but his body is used to that by now.”

“And what about you, Michi?”

“Oh, I wasn’t hungover at all. I only had a few drinks.”

“Yeah, I know you’ve got a high tolerance, which is why…” you trailed off, remembering that he said you couldn’t bring him back to your place because of it. “Ah, sorry. I was just remembering what you said. You’re funny. ”

Uramichi didn’t understand why you thought he was funny for saying that, but now he understood why Usahara wants to be funny so badly. Your voice softened when you said that, and your eyes looked into his to make sure he heard you. Your lips sat in a half smile as if he was the only man in the world that could make you laugh. If this was his reward for being funny, then yeah, it was something he’d strive for.

“I might have acted recklessly again,” you admitted, “so let’s take things slow if you want. I want this to be fun for both of us.”

“Well then, what do you like?”

Surprised by Uramichi’s question, you blurted out, “Oh, like sexually?” Well duh, obviously. “Um, I wouldn’t mind if you were a little mean to me in bed…” Suddenly you were shy.

“Oh, like over the weekend?”

He was so direct. You couldn’t face him but let out a quiet ‘yes.’ That judgemental ‘hm’ he let out was exciting and embarrassing all at once.

“What about you?” You asked, thinking it was unfair that all of the attention was on you. It was time to turn the tables on Uramichi.

“A lot of kissing,” he said. Despite his bluntness from earlier, he couldn’t look you in the eyes. “You can also be loud if you want. I don’t hate that.”

Somehow your bodies had inched closer to each other, and you felt each other’s heat. “It must have been torture then, to tell me to quiet down,” you teased.

He tried to downplay it. “It wasn’t that bad, but it could have been worse if things went on for longer.”

Hunger shone in both your eyes, and you moved closed until finally you kissed. The impact was soft but grew with neediness as each second passed. Your tongues explored each other’s mouths, nipping and sucking the meaty part of your lips. Hands clutched as whatever they could grab, kneading and rubbing, as your lower halves found friction in each other.

Uramichi was the first to break away, getting on top and settling between your thighs. He stared down at your heaving chest, your bruised lips, your disheveled hair. Your nipples teased him from behind your bra, and it was then that he decided to suck on them. It was a good choice. You yelped in surprise, tugging at his hair. You made another noise when he used his hand to pinch the other one. By the time he was done, your bra was wet with his spit, so he trailed his kisses downwards.

“You’re wet already?” He asked, glancing down at the slick fabric that barely clothed your sex. 

With utter fascination, Uramichi traced his index finger along your slit, the damp cloth sticking to your skin. He retraced the movement a few more times, watching as it molded to the outline of your cunt. On his last way down, his finger dipped in a little, pushing the wet fabric inside. You groaned, shifting from the intrusion. 

In a shift of energy and intention, you both hurried to remove what remained of your clothes. You ended up helping Uramichi slide off his boxers since you wiggled out of your lingerie set first.

He loved the way your face looked when you saw his cock, eyes widening as your mouth hung open. He didn’t think his size was anything impressive, but the look in your eyes when they finally met his told him that he was wrong. There was a clear expression of approval and better yet excitement .

But he couldn’t think of all the things that you wanted to do to him because he was focused on everything he wanted to do to you. He ducked down between your thighs to get a better look at what he wanted. Your pussy was puffy and shone with your wetness, making a squelching noise when he used two fingers to spread your lips. Impulsively, he leaned forward to give your clit a kiss, making you moan and drag him closer with one of your legs. 

Gently pushing one finger in, he glanced up to check your reaction, moving knuckle by knuckle until it hilted. Your brows knitted together and your hips shifted. You wanted him to move. Uramichi pumped his finger, watching the way you sucked him back in, ears perked up to the sound of your contented sighs.

Since you took one finger well, he thought another wouldn’t hurt, but you bucked up into his face. Apparently it was too much.

His apology came out muffled from his position, fingers still in remorse.

“It’s fine,” you breathed out, “your fingers are just bigger than mine, so I’m not used to them yet.”

Your face scrunched up and your lips were twisted, back arched in an uncomfortable position. Uramichi tried to think of how he could comfort you when you returned to silence. As always, he returned to his training.

“Breathe through it,” he said. Breathing helped the body relax, which you needed if either of you wanted to have sex. “How do you expect to take my cock if you can’t even handle two fingers?” He didn’t mention that it’d probably be best if he added in a third to prep you.

It seemed that Uramichi took your preference into consideration, speaking in that dark tone of his. Your body felt impossibly hot, and finally you let out a few ragged breaths, a wordless way of telling Uramichi to go on.

Going at an even pace, Uramichi reveled in the wet noises your pussy made, daring to go even faster. You still weren’t talking, just breathing heavily with the occasional groan. 

His fingers curled up when he felt a soft, tender spot. Your back arched again, and he continued to press there. 

You sounded airy and light, as if his fingerfucking had already sent your soul to heaven. “Mm… Michi,” you murmured, carding your fingers through his hair. It was a miracle that you could even say anything at all. Your legs were shaking from all the pleasure. “You better fuck me soon.”

“Are you really in a position to be making demands?” Uramichi asked. His face was flushed yet his body showed no signs of exhaustion, his fingers still pumping in and out of you at an even pace, occasionally slowly to scissor and spread inside of you.

You whimpered in response.

Trying to push in a third finger, it was too tight, Uramichi realized. As much as you tried to help him–or perhaps help yourself–by fucking yourself on his hand, you couldn’t get back that middle knuckle, even if he stacked the fingers on top of each other.

He pulled out to your protest. “What?” Pre-cum smeared against his stomach and connected him to a thin string that matched a small wet spot on his bed. “Weren’t you just begging me to fuck you?”

He grabbed at the condom on his nightstand, doing his best to open it while you kept yourself entertained. Between the scent of your desire on his fingers, its slipperiness, and watching you play with yourself, rolling on the condom was difficult, and his efforts were futile when he realized it didn’t fit. You offered to buy some since you could stop by the store on your way over, but Uramichi failed to tell you what size to get.

“We don’t need it,” you said impatiently, even going so far as to snap when Uramichi gave you a look of uncertainty. Over the phone you mentioned that you were on the pill.

Your words sent a jolt of lust down Uramichi’s spine that went straight to his cock, and he looked down to make sure that he didn’t cum prematurely.

Using one hand to guide it in, he wet it at your entrance, sliding both the pre and your slick all over. Enjoying the sounds you made, he teased you further by rubbing the head against your clit in circles until you were begging him to fuck you.

Uramichi’s prep was worth it. He slid in with minimal effort, though it was obvious that you were stretched by your body tensing. Your walls were hot and clamped down with every inch forward.

Leaning back, he said, “Your pussy looks so nice with my cock in it.”

It was the right thing to say. Suddenly you felt impossibly tight, but Uramichi tried to press against it, giving a few experimental strokes before committing to fucking you with intention.

“ Fuck ,” you said, pulling him into your chest as you looked at him with half-dazed eyes, “Michi, you feel so good.”

Focusing on the act, you both let yourself get lost in the feeling. With your legs pushed back and wrapped around him, Uramichi leaned forward to fuck you deeper, hitting a spot that made you squeal and buck up against him. You told him to keep pressing right there and begged him not to stop, calling out his name as you came on his cock. He thought he could help you ride out your orgasm, but to his embarrassment, he came shortly after. 

When he stopped moving, you looked at him, and sheepishly he admitted to cumming quickly. He was grateful that he wasn’t keeping track of the time, but now he was worried that you’d make fun of him or try to leave. Women wanted a partner that could last, didn’t they? That’s what he saw in all the porn he watched at least. He knew that his last girlfriend needed more time too.

“I’m that good, huh?” You said, admiring his chest that flushed pink and the sheen of sweat on his skin. “I can take responsibility for that,” you laughed.

You opened your arms, urging him to settle in them. Your heartbeat was deafening in his ears as his eyes grew heavy. He drifted off to sleep, dreaming about taking you on a date in that sundress when he woke up.

—

His room was darker when he woke up, and Uramichi blindly reached for you, but you weren’t there. All he could smell was your shampoo on his pillows and a mixture of your sweat and perfume on his sheets. Rolling onto his back, he checked his phone. It was now the mid-afternoon. He checked his texts, but none of them were from you. He sighed. What was he expecting?

Faintly, he heard his fridge door shut, and he sat up, hastily throwing on his boxers to investigate. Maybe, just maybe…

“Oh!” You startled, beaming as Uramichi entered the kitchen. Your smile fell as you realized that he caught you rifling through his fridge. “Sorry, I should have waited until you woke up, but I was really thirsty.” You held up your cup of water as proof. “I hope you don’t mind.” You even bowed slightly to show your remorse.

When he didn’t say anything, you looked up. “I thought you left,” was all he said.

“Without saying goodbye?” You took a gulp of water, setting it down on the counter. “No way. That’s rude.”

“Besides, I was wondering if you wanted to grab something to eat. We could order something too if you don’t feel like going out. If you don’t wanna do that, we could also make something too.”

Your rambling about food options was lost on Uramichi as relief settled in his heart, all of his worries melting away. He nodded along before grabbing your hand. “Yeah, I’m fine with whatever, but first, let’s head back to bed. There’s something I wanna do to you.”

Catching his words, you understood what he meant. An impish grin settled on your face as you asked him if he could fuck you on the kitchen counter.

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Life Lessons Masterlist

AO3

[wowbright]

Chapter 17: Supportive

Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU for december klaine fanworks challenge. Also on AO3.

Kurt arrived in Sochi in the middle of the night, exhausted from flight delays, air turbulence that shook him awake every time he’d just managed to fall asleep, and now the customs line from hell. At this rate, he'd be surprised if he got to the hotel before sunrise. The current hold-up was a media crew with cases and cases of equipment requiring a thorough poking and prodding by officials. Just Kurt’s luck, to end up behind these guys. People with that much luggage should have the courtesy to stand at the back of customs and let everyone else go through first. He scanned the luggage of the dozen or so parties between himself and the media crew and hoped against hope there was nothing interesting in their contents.

Kurt took a deep breath and reread the text from Blaine that had been awaiting him upon landing: Going to bed now so I guess I'll be asleep when you land. :( I miss you so much I’m stupid with it. xox

He smiled and texted back. Good morning, handsome. Landed safely. Can’t wait to see you. <3

Perhaps these kind of text messages weren't exactly what Sue had in mind when Kurt had promised not to be a distraction. But surely it would be even more distracting to Blaine if Kurt went cold. Not that Kurt could go cold if he wanted to.

“It’s a camera battery,” Kurt heard someone say in a familiar lilt. He looked to the front of the line.

Kurt cursed out loud. Fuck or shit or fuck me or fils de chien—he wasn't sure which one he'd said, only that a child who looked to be about eight years old (and was taking the whole standing-in-a-line-at-midnight thing with more aplomb than Kurt) stared at him with mouth and eyes wide open in shock.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Excuse-moi.” He turned away before the kid’s parent could stare at him too.

Nothing made sense. Kurt must be jetlagged and hallucinating. He'd heard of people having waking dreams when they were exhausted. Had reached that level of sleeplessness?

He shook his head and blinked. He looked front of the line again. Nope. It was real. Up at the head of the line, in one of his countless identical-except-in-color henleys and signature beanie, Adam Crawford was bickering with a customs agent.

This didn't make sense. It made absolutely no sense. Adam had moved back to England. Very dramatically, in fact, with a promise-threat that they would never see each other again as long as Adam had anything to do with it. Don't try to get in touch with me. I'm blocking you on social media. Don't ask my friends after me. I never want to see or hear from you again. Fuck, if I could keep you from seeing me on the telly, I would! Those had been, more or less, the last words Adam had spoken to Kurt. A slammed door had been involved, with a force strong enough to send the framed poster from Kurt’s production of Sweeney Todd careening to the floor.

So many fights. They had all started—or the last round of them had started—because Adam had been offered a job as a presenter for one of the big British TV shows (or maybe it was a small TV show on a big British network; Kurt never got clear on that amid all his willful avoidance of the topic). It wasn't a role on Downton Abbey, but Adam had resigned himself somewhere along the path of their acquaintance to the fact that he was better at lighthearted fare than drama, anyway. That’s why they wanted him as a presenter—because he was light and casual and funny in a non-challenging way and handsome without being threatening, which made him simultaneously someone to admire and someone viewers could imagine sharing a pint with at the pub. And being a presenter on one show could lead to being a presenter on another show, and, “Kurt, this is the break I've been waiting for. It’s not like my other television gigs, where I fly out for a few days or weeks and it’s over. It’s a steady paycheck. We’ll be filming most of the year. Come with me. The West End theaters will adore you, and the film industry is right next door—not 2,500 miles away like here. You could do it all!”

Adam had presented this like it was good news for both of them, with flowers and dinner and a three-star Michelin restaurant, the same as he’d done two years earlier when he’d announced he was ready to move in with Kurt—and Kurt had been so carried away by the gesture that he had somehow failed to notice the announcement sort of assumed that Kurt had been waiting for Adam to be ready, when in fact the idea of them moving in together wasn't even a topic that they had discussed before in any degree of seriousness. But it made financial sense, and it seemed like the next right step if Kurt was sincere about his high school bucket list item of Get married by age of 30, legally. Adam adored him, and Kurt loved being adored, and that had sustained their relationship longer than any of Kurt’s previous ones. It might not have been the all-encompassing romance Kurt had dreamed of as a lonely gay kid in Ohio. But at some point you had to learn the difference between fantasy and reality. Adam was real, and kind, and handsome, and hunky, and grounded and practical about things in a way Kurt just wasn’t. That pragmatism was a useful counterweight to Kurt’s doing things by impulse and gut feeling. It tethered Kurt to the ground.

Kurt knew Adam’s pragmatism was good for him. Even when it sent him into fits of panic, like the time—a year or so into living together—Adam had announced at another three-star restaurant that they should start planning for kids—“Not right away, our apartment’s too small for that, but maybe we could start looking at places in Connecticut, or a brownstone—and of course we’ll need to weigh adoption and surrogacy; I've never been clear on whether you have a strong preference”—and Kurt had run into the bathroom and lost all his exquisite dinner before splashing his face and telling himself he was being ridiculous. Hadn't Kurt always imagined kids as a possibility in his life? It was only logical of Adam to bring it up now. Taking care of infants was exhausting, if the co-workers who complained about it were telling the truth. Kurt shouldn't wait until some vague future a decade-plus from now when he’d have presbyopia and the sleep loss would be even more of a nightmare than it would be now.

That's what Kurt had told himself in the restaurant bathroom. Then, he’d gone back out and told Adam how forward-thinking it was of him to bring it up. But somehow over the following months, every time Adam suggested they go househunting or visit a surrogacy clinic or talk to an adoption lawyer, Kurt mentioned something else pressing that needed their attention or, if all else failed, distracted Adam with sex.

Now, in yet another three-star Michelin restaurant—this one specializing in molecular gastronomy and serving its exquisitely crafted works of art in tiny portions that left Kurt famished—he found himself unable to accede to Adam’s logic.

“I can't leave here,” Kurt had said.

“Of course you can, Kurt. You'll have no problem getting work on the West End. Actually, I already spoke to …”

Adam had connections. When those connections contacted Kurt, it was easier to send out his portfolio than not. He got lots of meetings out of it. A contract for a London production sat on his desk for weeks, even as Kurt made an impromptu weekend trip to Ohio for Father’s Day.

“You need to get that settled,” Adam scolded before Kurt left. “If there's a clause you don't like, get it fixed. But if you leave them dangling, you'll lose the job. I don't know why you're procrastinating.”

Kurt didn't know why he was procrastinating, either. Or rather, he did know, but not in any way he could explain to Adam. It was just that, every time Kurt thought about relocating to a place where everyone talked like Adam, his skin crawled. My skin is crawling, however, was not the kind of explanation Adam could understand. Adam understood things like pay rate and opportunity and weighing the pros and cons. He did not understand making life-altering decisions based on I just feel uneasy and I've developed a sudden revulsion for English accents.

In Ohio, talking with his father on a perfect June evening with, perhaps, one too many Yuenglings under his belt and the setting sun lighting up the backyard in vivid yellows and oranges and pinks as the first fireflies signaled from the grass, Kurt let it all out: how frustrated he was with himself, how terrible he was as a partner, how he knew he should be supportive and it was a great opportunity for them both, but still—he didn’t want to upend his whole life. Not for this.

“Not for what, Kurt?” his dad had asked.

“For any of it. It’s not worth it.”

“It’s not worth a future with Adam?”

The puzzle Kurt had been trying to solve for the last few years suddenly clicked into place. The reason he clammed up whenever Adam talked about the future, the reason he couldn't talk about kids or moving away from New York—it wasn't because Kurt was impetuous and impulsive and couldn’t deal with the choices one had to make as an adult.

It was because he didn't want to make those choices with Adam.

And it was bewildering. There was nothing wrong with Adam. He had come along at just the right time, right in Kurt’s mid-twenties as he was tiring of casual dating and fooling around. Adam wasn’t like the other guys. He believed in commitment. He’d swept Kurt off his feet, won Kurt over with flattery and genuine admiration, and Kurt had been so high from it all that he hadn't realized—he'd never fallen in love with Adam. He'd only fallen in love with security and the feeling of being loved.

Back in New York, Kurt looked up from the contract and said, with a decided calm and finality that surprised even him, “I've decided not to sign it because … I'm not going to England with you. I’m sorry, Adam. But I’ll never be what you want.”

It seemed gentler than saying I'll never feel what you want me to feel.

Adam hadn't left immediately. He tried to speak sense into Kurt. But Kurt held fast. Adam wasn’t used to that. I don't even know who you are, Kurt! he’d shout, and Kurt would just look at him sadly and say, I know.

Once or twice, after Adam left, Kurt had been tempted to google “Adam Crawford” in hopes of finding news of his success. Despite a resentment of Adam that had built throughout their breakup and sometimes flared up again out of nowhere, he wanted Adam to be happy. Kurt knew what it was like to have your heart broken, and he hated that he’d been the one to break Adam’s. But Kurt never followed through on the search. Adam wanted nothing to do with him.

Well, Kurt didn’t need to worry about googling or not googling now. Because here was Adam with a full media crew in the middle of a Russian airport. He must be doing okay in television, at least.

The line moved forward. Adam was out of sight now along with the rest of his crew, dissipating into the faceless masses on the other side of customs, becoming tiny contributions to the hundreds of thousands in Sochi. Kurt likely wouldn’t see him again. And if he did—well, certainly they’d be in a crowd. It would be easy to disappear.

“Thank goodness,” muttered Kurt, and the eight-year-old stared at him again. Huh. Maybe the kid didn’t understand a word Kurt said but just liked staring or, perhaps, was fascinated by Kurt’s stunning couture. Kurt smiled. The kid smiled back.

Kurt’s phone buzzed. It was Blaine. Good morning to you, too. I can’t wait to see you either.

Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.

No. Woke up because jet lag. Good dreams though.

Oh?

We were standing in the Garden of the Gods and I wanted to kiss you.

Heat rose to Kurt’s face. He forgot all about Adam. It wasn't possible to hold all those complicated memories in the same space as this bliss. Are you sure that was a dream? he texted back.

A memory, maybe. I always want to kiss you.

Kurt stared at his phone. Damn pragmatism. Damn Sue Sylvester. I always want to kiss you too.

[peaches2217]

if you're interested in talking more about it, I'd love to hear more headcannons/musings about mareach expecting/being parents!! everything you've posted has been extremely precious and adorable

I’m in the midst of formulating some second-time parent scenarios, so do look forward to that! But until I’m ready to bite the bullet, fight past my shame, and post those, have some more first-time parent floof: The Big Day edition~

✨ The closer and closer Peach gets to her due date, the less and less Mario sleeps, to the point where in the final week or two before their baby arrives he’s getting maybe thirty minutes to an hour of rest each night, and rarely all at once. Eventually Peach gives up on trying to talk him down herself and gets a bunch of their friends involved in an elaborate plot just so he can get some sleep (which I’ve discussed here 😌). The plot works, and he sleeps for like a solid twenty-six hours! And it ends up being very good timing, because she goes into labor the following day.

✨ Mario’s overseeing preparations for some upcoming festivity (Toads have at least one major holiday each month — party people, they are) when he catches sight of Toadette approaching him. And his stomach lurches into his throat before he can even see her face or she can even get close enough to say anything, because he knows. As her lady-in-waiting and one of her closest friends, Toadette hasn’t left Peach’s side in the past few weeks unless Mario’s been there, and why else would she do so now unless something major was happening? What ensues is exactly the sort of spectacle Toadette had been hoping to avoid: Mario barreling through the crowd, sending Toads flying like bowling pins, abandoning all decency and rationale in a bid to get to Peach as quickly as possible.

✨ As soon as he reaches her, he’s showering her in kisses and inquiring about her mental state and her pain levels and telling her that he loves her so much and he’s going to be right here with her no matter what. Considering she’s been in labor for an hour tops, Peach isn’t even too uncomfortable yet; honestly she’s a lot more collected than her husband at that moment. So she giggles and lets him get it out of his system because she’ll never turn down an opportunity to be lavished in love. Stars know she’ll need that support soon enough.

✨ “Your hero just about caused a national panic,” Toadette snarls twenty minutes later, returning to Peach’s room after joining forces with Toadsworth to calm the understandably alarmed crowds. Peach finds it significantly more amusing than she does.

✨ Daisy’s already there because she was part of Operation: Go the Fuck to Sleep, Mario (“We’re not calling it that,” Peach said. “I’m calling it that,” Daisy said back.), so she insists she may as well make herself useful — Peach could benefit from having a backup buddy in the room in the off-chance Mario completely flips out. And also she wants the bragging rights of being the first of this baby’s many aunts and uncles to meet them, because that’s something she can hold over everyone’s heads for like, ever.

✨ Little-known fact about Peach: she’s got a low pain threshold, and the longer it’s crossed, the more rapidly she loses any semblance of composure. She goes from chatting normally with everyone in the room to seeking out Mario's hand with every contraction to clinging to him like a koala and shaking and moaning in agony, all in the span of like thirty minutes. I can't over-emphasize how dramatic she gets. Which, yes, it's justified, because childbirth's near-universally considered the most painful mammalian experience, but dear God, it's almost comical how quickly she loses her cool.

✨ Mario, of course, doesn't find it comical in the slightest. Seeing her like this is heartbreaking and mentally exhausting. There's not really anything he can do to ease her suffering, and that kills him, but he can't let himself dwell on it because she needs him, and he's gotta be strong for her. So he holds her close and does his best to make her laugh or at least take her mind off of it.

✨ Once that stops working, he starts singing to her, quietly, stroking her hair and pressing little kisses to her cheeks. And that works wonders! Until he starts humming one song in particular. Peach recognizes it as a favorite of his; he sang it to her while she was curled up on the bathroom floor months ago, unknowingly suffering her first bout of morning sickness. It seems like so long ago, and they've come so far, and now here they are — the sentimentality paired with an intense contraction makes her burst into tears. Mario may as well have just been shot. Actually that would probably hurt less.

✨ Daisy tries getting him to take a break, maybe step outside and get some fresh air, because she's never seen him look so distressed and it's honestly starting to worry her. So she makes the suggestion, and she hasn’t seen him look so offended since she desecrated his mother’s sacred Pizza Margherita recipe with thick slices of pineapple. Being at Peach's side is about the only thing he can do for her right now. Leaving her, even for a fraction of a second, would be unforgivable. “Okay,” Daisy relents, “just keep torturing yourself, dude.” He's keeping Peach calm for now, but if that changes, she figures she can just drag him outside herself.

✨ Luckily it never comes to that. As Peach becomes less and less consolable, Mario gets more and more focused... to the point where he gets outright bossy for her sake. He pretty much takes over half of the nurses' jobs, ordering anyone and everyone to get her a glass of water, get him a cold rag so he can wipe away her sweat and cool her off, get her some more pillows so there's less pressure on her back and the base of her spine. Hey, makes their jobs easier.

✨ "You're a badass, Peach Pit!" Daisy says at one point very near the end of the ordeal. "She's right you know," Mario tells Peach. It gets a laugh out of her for the first time in several hours. They absolutely high-five in victory.

✨ Peach immediately goes from inconsolable to overjoyed once their baby's in her arms. "It's okay," she shushes, kissing her still-crying daughter's dark hair, "it's okay, mommy's here. I love you so much." In contrast, Mario completely freezes up. It still hasn't processed yet, the fact that this is their little girl, the same one he's talked and sang and read to for the past several months. In his mind, she's still just a faceless entity, an almost metaphorical representation of his and Peach's love and their hopes for the future, except she's real, and she's always been real, and now she's here, and — and that's a lot to process when you've had one solid night's sleep in the past month.

✨ It doesn't really sink in until a bit later, when Daisy's helping Peach shower and get into fresh clothes and Mario's holding the baby, all swaddled in blankets after passing her health check with flying colors. She looks a lot like him, from her dark hair to the shape of her jaw — she may as well be Mario with a smaller nose — but it's not until she blinks sleepily up at him that it finally hits him. Those are Peach's eyes looking back at him. "Oh," he says, calmly, and then he's crying so hard he can hardly breathe.

✨ That's how Peach finds him when Daisy helps her back into the room: kissing and snuggling their daughter with a big smile and fat tears rolling down his face, babbling "Ti voglio bene! Papà ti vuole tanto bene!" to her softly. She thought she already loved him as much as one person can love another, yet here she is, falling even harder.

✨ As soon as Peach is settled in bed, Daisy rushes to find all of their loved ones so she can gather them up and give them the big news: "I'm already her favorite aunt! So suck it!" (That is, in fact, how everyone finds out it's a girl.)

✨ Peach and Mario are given some privacy to bond with their baby girl and decide whether they want any visitors or whether it would be best to let Peach rest; she holds her new daughter close, and he in turn holds her, full of reverence and praises. Peach has never been so sore and exhausted, yet she's never felt so peaceful. Everything is perfect in her world.

✨ Well, almost everything. "I want to see Toadsworth," she requests, her voice so hoarse from all the bawling and screaming that even those few words make her throat burn. But Mario kisses her gently, lingering for a moment before calling a nurse over to pass on her request, and she relaxes further into his hold with a dreamy sigh. Her husband is with her, their daughter is asleep in her arms, and her father will be here any moment to meet his granddaughter. Now everything is perfect.

[engie-ivy]

(Last day of August, just in time for a @wolfstarmicrofic August prompt!)

Bonus: S'mores

917 words

Happy Camper

“I’m sorry,” Dora says for about the hundredth time.

Remus just glares at her.

Dora tries to look guilty, but she has to bite her lip not to laugh.

Around them, hyperactive and overly excited children are running around, while a surprisingly cheery bus driver is trying to get a whole pile of backpacks into the bus’s luggage compartment.

Remus himself is carrying a bag of his own, rethinking the events that got him in this situation.

Dora and he were attending a meeting hosted by the Parents’ Committee at Teddy’s school, and Molly Weasley had been assigning tasks to all reluctantly volunteering parents. They had both managed not to get any tasks assigned to them, and Remus had been hopeful he was going to dodge the bullet, when they arrived at the last item.

The yearly camping trip.

They needed one more parent to supervise the children while out camping in the woods by the lake for a week. While everyone in the room was hoping that not making eye contact with Molly might prevent her from seeing you, Dora had loudly exclaimed “Remus, didn’t you tell me you used to be in the boy scouts?”

Remus did in fact tell her this, because he was telling her how he quit after two meetings because he had hated it so much, and how he detested the concept of ‘going back to basic’. But before he got a chance to say any of this, Molly had already smiled and said “Excellent”, while noting Remus’ name down on her clipboard. And everyone knows, once you’re on the clipboard, there’s no getting off anymore.

Some boys run past them, one carrying a pocket knife and one somehow already having lost his shoes.

“I can’t believe you did this to me,” Remus says.

Dora grimaces watching the boy run away with the knife. “I truly didn’t mean to,” she says. “I genuinely just remembered you once having said something about the boy scouts, and I spoke before I could think.”

Remus scoffs. “I’m not letting you off the hook that easy! Forcing me into this nightmare. It’ll take more than sorry for me to forgive you.”

Remus hasn’t decided yet how long he’ll wait before forgiving Dora. It’ll probably depend on how disastrous this week is going to be.

Dora is his... Well, she started out as his one night stand, then she got pregnant, and became the mother of his son. Gradually, she also became one of his closest friends. Neither of them ever had feelings for the other beyond friendship, though, save for that one night of blatant sexual attraction.

Dora rolls her eyes. “You’re being awfully dramatic, Remus. But alright. I guess I do owe you a bottle of wine, the good stuff, alright?”

Remus is about to reply, when a voice interrupts.

“Excuse me, are you Teddy’s dad?”

Remus looks up and his jaw drops. A man comes walking towards them.

And what a man.

He’s tall and lean. He has long, dark hair falling elegantly over his piercing silver-grey eyes and a bright smile on his handsome face. He has a duffle bag thrown over one, remarkably broad, shoulder.

“Uh..” Remus says eloquently.

Dora, who was also eyeing the man appreciatively, turns to look at Remus with a knowing smirk.

The man just smiles at Remus. “I believe we’ll be camp counsellors together!”

Remus blinks. “I thought I was paired with Harry’s dad?”

“Ah, yes.” The man runs a hand through his hair. “James has fallen ill, I’m afraid. He asked me to cover for him. I’m Harry’s godfather!” He holds out his hand. “I’m Sirius. The star.” He pauses for a moment, before quickly adding “I mean written as the star! God, can you imagine?” He chuckles. “One Calvin Klein photoshoot and I’d go around introducing myself as ‘the star’. No, I promise it hasn’t inflated my ego that much!”

“I’m Remus,” Remus replies, making a mental note to do a Google search for the most recent Calvin Klein add the moment he gets home.

“Nice to meet you, Remus!” Sirius replies. “James told me you were supposed to share a tent? I hope you won’t mind sharing with me?”

Remus swallows, his throat suddenly a little dry. “No, I don’t mind. Not at all.”

“Great!” Sirius beams at him. “Then we’ll be getting go know each other pretty well the coming week.” He gives Remus a wink, and it should probably be cheesy, but when Sirius does it, it’s just damn attractive.

“Oh!” Sirius exclaims. “And I hope you like S’mores!” He pats his bag. “This is almost completely filled with just chocolate and marshmallows. I hardly brought any clothes,” he admits. “So it’s a good thing I’m probably going to be walking around in my swimming trunks all week anyway!”

“Yeah,” Remus manages to say. “Good thing indeed.”

“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Sirius says. “I promised James I’d embarrass Harry by loudly telling him his father sends him lots of love and kisses in front of all his friends. See you in the bus?”

“Uh-huh,” Remus says. He watches Sirius walk away, trying to wrap his head around the sudden appearance of a gorgeous Calvin Klein model who will be around him in only his swimming trunks all week and also share a tent with him, while bringing loads of chocolate.

“Well,” Dora says, pulling him from his thoughts. “On second thought, I’d say you owe me that bottle of wine!”

[chrisevansonly]

Just To See You Smile (harry’s angel au)

pairing: harry styles x female reader (angel)

summary: harry’s only been gone a few hours and it’s proving to take a bigger toll on you than you thought

warnings: slight angst, some tears, harry being the fluffiest and sweetest<3

a/n: my life is literally so frustrating right now; i feel lost, alone and lately trying to throw myself into writing because it feels like the only thing i’m good at: even tho most of the time i h8 my writing lol this was written in my phone and not edited yet<3

The soft fabric of the cashmere duvet was your biggest comfort as you lay in bed, unmoving from the spot you usually shared with Harry. He’d left a few hours ago to continue his tour in Belgium and yes I suppose you could call yourself dramatic, but being as pregnant as you were, the sudden disruption to your routine was throwing you off kilter more than it usually would. Despite your pleas and begging, your doctor and midwives told you travelling for the next week and a bit was not recommended, they’d noticed some concerns at your last scan which had instilled panic between both you and Harry at the time.

It hadn’t been an easy pregnancy once you’d hit 5 months along, and now you were even more on edge and anxious, your brain spinning through every possibility and every scenario that could happen to you or your daughter. In a way having Harry with you and touring with him had grounded you and allowed you time to escape the nagging your brain had been doing to you. Of course Gemma and Anne were set to arrive in a few hours to spend the next week and a bit with you, that would help, but nothing could fill that spot Harry did when he was gone.

Your eyes were tired and bloodshot, nose stuffed from the tears you’d been shedding on and off all morning, baby bee not making life any easier with her sharp kicks and rolling around she was doing. It wasn’t until your phone went off that your eyes moved from the laundry basket in the corner of the room to the screen that lit up; a photo of you and Harry at your still secret maternity shoot your newest background. Swiping to answer the facetime call, your heart clenched seeing Harry’s face, a sad smile on his face when he saw you

“My angel…”

“H-Hi”

He frowned, tears slowly lining your eyes yet again, almost in an annoying way at this point

“I’m sorry this is so hard on you baby, breaks my heart to see you so sad…how are you feeling? She not causing you too much trouble I hope?”

“I just m-miss you…don’t like being a-away from you, even if it’s only b-been a few hours…”

Sniffling you paused to wipe your eyes

“Still not feeling very well, she’s been kicking and moving a lot, i’m too tired to move though…s’like she’s sucking the energy right out of me”

It wasn’t as if you were trying to make Harry feel guilty for needing to work but you knew he’d find out how you were really feeling eventually if you lied to him, so there was no point in beating around the bush

“I wish I could snap m’fingers and make you feel better, I know this is getting harder on you, fucking sucks I can’t still be home with you right now..”

“I know…but you’re working hard and so many people are so excited to see you, guess i’m just used to touring with you that I don’t k-know what to do when I’m not”

He nodded, listening to everything you had to say, little noises of agreements or soft praises escaping every so often, anything to try and see his angel smile, that was the goal of any facetime call the two of you shared

“Mum and Gem are coming over soon right? What are you ladies gonna get up too?”

Shrugging you thought about it

“I think we’re gonna plan the nursery together, look at furniture and paint colours and work on some wedding things which I think will be a good distraction”

“That sounds fun baby, I know whatever you come up with will be amazing, you’ve got a good eye for that stuff”

“Not as good as you”

“I beg to differ”

A small smile pulled at the edge of your lips, Harry’s eyes lighting up at the sight of that

“There’s my favourite smile, love seeing you smile darling, my favourite thing in the world”

“Hard when you’re not here sometimes”

He nodded

“I know but even if i’m a country or a timezone away I’ll always make sure to see that smile, even if I have to dance around ridiculously, making you happen is my goal you know that”

Allowing another smile to appear on your face, this time bigger than the last, was enough to have Harry cheering, loudly at that

“You’re so silly…s’just a smile H”

“Yes, but it’s my favourite smile…besides I was hoping to take you on a tour around Belgium with me…maybe that will keep that pretty smile on that beautiful face of yours”

“It might…”

Harry laughed shaking his head while he brought you with him as he changed, showing you the hotel room and the view from the balcony, your eyes catching the bright colours of the city below him. He kept notice of your mood shifting, your eyes brightening the more he showed you, honestly when Jeff asked why he wanted to wait to rehearse until later, he should have known it would have something to do with you.

“Want to go see the city a bit? I’ll show you some of the cute little tea and coffee shops we spotted earlier?”

“Yes please H…love you so much you know that?”

He nodded, bringing the phone to his lips so he could press a kiss to the camera, albeit very dramatically which earned a laugh from you

“I love you more m’angel, i’d do anything for you, always”

You may not have been able to attend the next few love on tour shows, but that wouldn’t stop Harry from calling tou in every city he visited until you’d be reunited, just so he could show you the sights, the sounds and make you feel like you were with him every step of the way, even if you were stuck in London, counting down the days until you’d be back together. One day at a time, he’d tell you, and you couldn’t wait until that day you were able to rejoin him and experience the world with your own eyes again…