#I mean I know he's technically howling here

[azurelightsmith09]

That feeling when...

you've been catching up on that project at your job that you've been behind on for months, and you spent all day today working on that final stretch, all the while you've been listening to your custom sonic music playlist to keep you motivated, until you finally finish the project and send it off, and the last song you listened to while doing it was the 30th anniversary version of Live and Learn!

[gav-san]

Soul Shanked 2/4

Main Masterlist Here

One Piece Masterlist

Soul Shanked Masterlist

Chapter Title: Screaming, Glowing, and Other Signs of Affection Length: 7.5 K+

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Taglist: @wontknowbetter, @sleepydang @flav1a0 @pleasantkittenpersona @heartsforseo

The call was arranged through a cautious web of intermediaries.

Neutral waters.

Strict conditions.

No ships within ten miles.

No weapons drawn.

Just a snail line.

Shanks.

Boa Hancock.

Simple. Respectful. Diplomatic.

It went to hell in less than a minute.

The snail’s eyes narrowed.

It began with Shanks, trying his best not to set fire to anything.

Shanks, leaning casually over the transponder snail. “First of all, thank you for not killing the messenger. Or the snail. Probably not in that order.��

Boa Hancock’s voice came in sharp, cold, and bore no idiots.

“You have sixty seconds.”

A nod. A title. A silence thick enough to choke a Sea King. He cleared his throat.

“I have… a respectful-”

Then Hancock tilted her head, cut him off and said, “So. You’re the reason.”

Shanks raised a brow. “Reason for what?”

“For her disgrace. For her distraction. For her embarrassment before the Rayleigh man-creature, who no women with honor should have to endure.”

He blinked. “…What?”

“You don’t deserve to know.”

“I—look, I’m not here to start a fight-.”

“She’s sighing,” Hancock snapped, voice curling with venom. “Do you know what that means?”

Shanks hesitated. “That she’s, uh… tired?”

“It means you live on borrowed time.”

Shanks fumbled. “Look, I just wanted to suggest—ask, really—if we might arrange a brief, nonviolent, non-magical meeting to discuss the soulmark situation and maybe the implications of a shared destiny and whether—”

“So you can hex her again?”

“Uh. No?” He said hopefully.

She hissed.

He pulled at his collar. “I wasn’t even trying to seduce her. I would just like to introduce myself-.”

“That’s seduction.”

“It was an observation!”

“Your mere existence cursed her.”

“I prefer the term fate-adjacent inconvenience—”

A chair was thrown. A snail near-departed the world.

Somewhere, someone screamed and dropped a fruit basket.

“If you come within five miles of Amazon Lily,” Boa Hancok threatened, voice suddenly calm in that terrifying way, “I will consider it an act of war.”

Benn Beckman lit a cigarette with the air of a man who’d seen this coming from miles away. “Well,” he muttered, “there it is.”

Shanks blinked. “Wait, really?”

“You’ll be turned to stone. Your ship will be turned to stone. Your entire crew’s bad decisions will be turned to stone.”

Benn sipped his coffee. “She’s not bluffing.”

Shanks whispered, “Yeah, but she’s kinda poetic about it, right?”

He raised his hand, forgetting no one could see him.

“Okay, okay. No visits. No Red Force docking. What about just sending her my letters—?”

“That’s what the last snail tried. I drowned it.”

“…Right.”

He inhaled slowly, then tried one last card—his most sincere, tragic, lovesick voice.

“I just want to see her. Can’t you respect that I’m actually asking? Not just taking? It’s a real show of my goodwill to not do what I want.”

Silence.

Boa Hancock’s voice came low, cold, and deeply done with this entire reality.

“You will stay far, far away.”

Another chair flew. Another snail screamed. The line cut.

The Red Force snail sagged like it had aged ten years. So did Shanks.

Benn didn’t look up. “Forty-two seconds.”

A new record.

Diplomacy, Red-Haired style. Cutting edge.

The snail shuddered. 

Benn gave it rum.

“Ya know,” Yasopp popped his head in. “She didn’t technically say no.”

Lucky Roux strolled in with snacks. “That’s a maybe.”

Benn groaned. “That’s what threats indicate!”

Yasopp clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Captain. You’ve had worse odds.”

“How romantic!” someone yelled from the hallway.

“Raise a toast!” another called. “To cursed proximity and mutual scarring!”

“Send her flowers!” Howling Gab shouted. “Or a fruit basket! No—send a plague fruit. That’s more personal.”

“Write her a poem!” Rockstar added. “A sexy one! About tattoos and destiny and… ships!”

Maybe I should write a poem,” Shanks muttered. “A love poem-”

“Then let us ghostwrite it,” Yasopp offered solemnly. “With our hearts. And zero grammar.”

Benn slumped lower in his chair.

“We could just-” Shanks mused thoughtfully. “Casually pass by. Just to say hi. Not to start a national disaster, but just-”

The crew erupted into cheers again, banging mugs on walls, stomping boots, one of them breaking out a lute.

Benn groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do none of you know what implied means?”

The snail slowly slid off the table in despair.

Hancock stood at the lookout tower, eyes locked on the distant red speck bobbing on the sea.

The Red Force.

Six miles out.

Exactly.

He was flaunting it.

That red-haired menace with the audacity—the gall—to romance her envoy. Her sweet, rational, paperwork-loving envoy. The only one she trusted not to fall for pirates, buy cursed trinkets, or accidentally spark soul bonds in foreign ports.

And now he was hovering like a lovesick plague just out of cannon range.

Her fingers curled around her glaive.

“He’s lingering like a disease.”

Behind her, Sandersonia peered through a spyglass. “He brought snacks. And a banner.”

“A banner?”

“It says, ‘Just Talk?’ There’s a heart. And glitter.”

“How-“ Hancock’s grip tightened. “He dares.”

“Also, I think the rotund one is waving at us. Politely, with meat.”

Hancock’s eye twitched.

Sandersonia cleared her throat. “The mutual subject of this siege still doesn’t know, Empress. But she’s going to see the ship at one point. And the banners.”

“Then keep her away,” Hancock snapped. “Distract her with scrolls. Put her in the archive pit. Chain her to a filing cabinet.”

“She likes the archive pit.”

“Then put snacks in there. Seal the doors.”

“She’s going to realize at some point there’s a blockade forming around her.”

Hancock’s jaw clenched. “She is too gentle. Too trusting. She doesn’t understand what it means when an Emperor starts loitering.”

Sandersonia squinted again. “He’s sending up flares now. They spell out: ‘Soulmarks Are Valid.’”

Hancock roared and kicked the spyglass off the tower.

Exactly Six Miles Offshore, The Red Force bobbed gently on the sea, anchored just beyond the invisible line of death Boa Hancock had carved into the ocean with pure reputation.

Shanks stood at the prow, wind in his hair, cloak fluttering like a dashing hero awaiting his damsel. He may have also said this thought aloud.

Eyes on the mist-veiled cliffs of Amazon Lily.

He wasn’t smiling. Not right now.

“She’s there,” he said softly. “I can feel her. The mark… It’s warmer.”

Benn Beckman didn’t even look up from his book. “You know she probably thinks that’s an allergic reaction.”

“Then I’ll bring the itch cream.”

“If you set one foot closer, the Empress will personally drop-kick you into the Calm Belt.” Benn drawled, probably wishing he had opted to stay with Rayleigh to shit-talk his captain.

Shanks grinned faintly. “She said five miles. I gave her six.”

“Magnanimous,” Benn muttered.

“Suicidal,” Lucky Roux agreed, polishing his gun.

Yasopp leaned over the rail with a spyglass. “Oho. Someone’s on the eastern ridge.”

Shanks perked up. “Is it her?”

“No. Big hair. Might be the angry one. She’s holding a cannon.”

“Ah.” He clasped his hands over his heart. “She watches over her. Fierce loyalty. Beautiful.”

“She’s aiming,” Yasopp added.

Benn flipped a page. “You should move.”

“I brought flowers this time,” Shanks said, proudly gesturing to a sad bouquet taped to a barrel. “Symbolic. Elegant.”

“It’s duct-taped. Fancy.” Yassop chimed in.

“They’re handpicked,” Shanks said proudly.

“It’s seaweed.” Benn took a long sip of rum.

“They floated toward me, Benn. That’s fate.” A warning shot blasted past the mast, shearing off a flag. “That was a love tap.” He continued to explain. “Very in line with Amazon Lily customs.”

Benn didn’t look up. “She’s angry. Which means she’s feeling cornered.”

“Howling Gab is writing your will,” Lucky Roux said.

“He left a blank space for ‘Cause of Death,’” Limejuice chimed in, “So far we’ve got: ‘shot,’ ‘stoned,’ ‘emotionally vaporized,’ and ‘hugged too hard by an oversized snake.’”

“She won’t let them kill me,” Shanks said firmly. “Boa’s got too much sense to try.”

Pause.

“…Right?” he asked, suddenly unsure.

No one answered. Even the snail turned away.

Shanks, undeterred, stood with windswept nobility and a death wish.

Somewhere behind him, someone was playing a sad violin. Possibly ironically.

“My soulmate is thinking about me,” he whispered, slightly in denial. “Probably.”

“She’s thinking about vaporizing you,” Benn corrected. “Which happens to also be my train of thought.”

Yasopp lowered his spyglass. “She’s probably looking at you. That’s half the battle.”

Lucky Roux nodded. “Eyeballs mean emotional investment.”

“Exactly,” Shanks said, emboldened. “We’ve moved from apathy to murderous intent. That’s progress.”

“Truly the language of love,” Benn muttered.

Rockstar came charging up the steps, carrying what looked like a flaming bottle. “Captain! I made you a message bottle full of poetry and highly flammable hope.”

Shanks took it with reverence. “You’re a true romantic.”

Benn blinked. “That’s lamp oil.”

“Her love will light the way,” Shanks said solemnly, shaking it slightly. It sloshed with danger.

Howling Gab raised a flag they’d painted that morning: a stick-figure drawing of a heart, a sword, and a very buff woman holding hands with a pirate.

“We’re ready to deliver your declaration of affection via cannon,” He said proudly. “Non-lethal. Probably.”

“Or a glider,” Yasopp suggested. “We could strap him to a glider. Drop him right in her courtyard like a flaming love letter.”

Benn lowered his book. “Do any of you want to survive this?”

“We believe in love, Benn,” Lucky Roux said with the serene righteousness of a man who once wooed someone with pickled fish and a smile.

Shanks turned to face his men, eyes shining. “Thank you for standing with me. For understanding that soulmarks are not a joke—they’re destiny. They’re poetry written on the body by fate itself.”

“You’re gonna die,” Benn said flatly.

Shanks nodded. “But romantically.”

The crew roared in approval.

You sat on your bed, staring at your palm, which had once again started to glow—just faintly—through wraps, salves, and what you were pretty sure had been mayonnaise at one point.

It wasn’t just heat anymore.

It was pulling.

A strange sort of tug in your chest. Longing. Recognition. Like someone had whispered your name from across the sea with pirate breath and questionable intentions.

You pressed your fingers to your chest, unsettled.

The name hadn’t faded.

Not with the cleansing herbs.

Not with the tea rituals.

Not even with the salt baths, venom rubs, or Boa’s “spiritual aura suppression treatments,” which had escalated from polite chants to full-body scroll assaults.

And now?

Now it wasn’t just glowing. It was like a living, breathing curse.. The name, the one you refused to say aloud, was blooming like a smug little sun tattooed into your soul.

And at this point, it was easier to lie and say you were “healing.” The venom baths were liable to dissolve your hand off, but you doubted they would fundamentally turn off the soul-bonding shenanigans. You’d rather not lose a hand to test it.

A bird cawed next to your window, startling you.

Then another.

Then a whole flock took off at once, wheeling into the sky like something had spooked them. The breeze shifted and carried a strange scent.

Rum.

The kind aged in oak and poor decisions.

Below, you could hear the quiet metallic shhhhink of whetstones dragging across blades. The warriors were sharpening their spears again, murmuring under their breath:

“It’s happening again.”

That was concerning.

What was more concerning was the click of your bedroom door locking.

From the outside.

You stared at it for a long moment. Then slowly turned toward the window.

“Suspicious,” you muttered.

Ten minutes later, you’d scaled the palace wall, bypassed two guards, and climbed barefoot to the cliffside above the cove—heart racing, trying to clear your head.

That was when you saw it.

The ship.

Massive. Gaudy. Flying a black flag stamped with a skull slashed three times, mounted on crossed swords.

Anchored.

Waiting.

You blinked. Rubbed your eyes.

Still there.

Lurking off the coast like a very patient, very stupidly romantic predator.

Like a lovesick shark.

“Oh no,” you whispered.

It all clicked—the breakfast tray. The oddly compelling stack of logistics reports. The suspicious silence from Hancock all morning. The sudden interest in locking you in closets.

They were distracting you.

She was stalling.

Because Hancock knew something you refused to admit. She knew the second you saw that flag, you’d start spiraling into self-sacrificing, chaotic decision-making.

Which was precisely what you did.

You bolted.

Straight down the cliffside, crashing through underbrush and startled birds, mud on your shins and panic in your throat. You burst out of the trees, barefoot and wild-eyed—

And skidded to a halt directly in front of a fully armed war council.

Dozens of warriors stood on the beach, spears ready, faces grim.

Boa Hancock didn’t look at you.

She just said, coolly, “She escaped the closet.”

One of the generals muttered, “I told you we needed two locks.”

Another sighed. “Too late now.”

Then the lookout shouted, “They’re lowering a rowboat!”

And you could already hear male laughter. Familiar. Infuriating.

The war council turned in eerie unison.

Every general, elder, and captain was already in formation, weapons gleaming and eyes narrowed—except for one warrior, who had her hands on her hips and was giving you the flat look of someone who definitely tried to lock you in that damn closet.

Boa Hancock stood in the center, resplendent and furious. Her arms were crossed, her foot tapping. “I told you to stay inside.”

“I thought there was a bird emergency!” you blurted. “And then someone lured me with spreadsheets! I thought it was a fiscal summit!”

There was a long pause. Someone coughed. Another warrior muttered, “She did look excited about the logistics…”

Behind you, the wind shifted.

The scent of salt and citrus hit first. Then the rum. Then the distant sound of a man laughing; loud, warm, and terribly familiar, like you had heard it in a dream.

Your heart stuttered. Then bloomed with an involuntary rush of warmth.

So did your hand.

You looked down. Glowing. Again.

“No,” You muttered, rubbing at it like that would help. “No, no, no—don’t you dare start glowing right now.”

It only pulsed brighter.

Across the beach, the warriors bristled. Spears lifted. Murmurs rippled through the ranks.

And at the center of it all stood Boa Hancock.

Unmoving. Immaculate. Glaive sunk into the sand like a declaration of war. Or a promise.

She didn’t look at you at first. Just stared out at the distant ship, jaw tight.

You stared too.

At the ship.

At your hand.

Back at Hancock.

She closed her eyes for one long, brittle second and exhaled through her nose like someone forcibly swallowing rage.

“…Damn it,” she said, quiet and sharp.

You stomped up beside her, heart doing awful things inside your chest.

“So that’s absolutely his ship.”

“Yes.”

You blinked furiously. “But it can’t be.”

“It is,” Hancock said flatly.

“But the reports said he was headed toward Elbaph—”

“He redirected.”

You bit your lip, hands clenched at your sides, your glowing palm betraying you like a snitch with a crush.

“So, an Emperor of the Seas is just sitting offshore and lets the pressure of a diplomatic crisis reel me in?!” You cried out. “And you didn’t tell me?”

There was a long pause.

Then Marigold, gently, “To be fair… that’s very respectful. For an Emperor of the Sea.”

“Very romantic,” Sandersonia added dreamily. “He hasn’t even fired a single cannon today.”

You whipped around to stare at them, scandalized.

“How long has he been here??? He shouldn’t be firing cannons! We’re not at war!”

Hancock didn’t move. “We will be if he sets one foot on this island.”

Nyoka chimed in, “He sent snacks. They floated over in a barrel. There was a note. It was spelled wrong but… earnest.”

You swore, pacing a trench into the sand.

“You couldn’t have told me?!”

“I’m not about to let any man, especially a Red-Haired Emperor, march in and lay claim to one of mine,” Hancock snapped, rounding on you like thunder in heels. “Least of all you.”

Another warrior jogged up, scroll in hand.

“He’s six miles offshore. Exactly. Won’t move. He’s built a fruit altar on the deck. Burned incense. Possibly praying.”

“To me?!” you croaked.

“He’s courting you via ship blockade,” Sandersonia declared proudly, as if you’d won a festival prize.

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. 

I asked you to tell me if something happened!”

“I did tell you,” Hancock said dryly. “I told you it was nonsense. Then he arrives, and that damn mark started glowing. Then you started glowing. And now he’s glowing. With emotional instability and extremely questionable poetry.”

You froze. “Oh god. He wrote poetry?”

“We intercepted a bottle,” Nyoka said with all the gravity of a funeral dirge. “It was labeled ‘Private: Feelings Inside.’”

“You read it?!”

“Of course. We’re not savages. It was terrible. But intense. He rhymed ‘eternal’ with ‘infernal.’”

You staggered. “I am being emotionally besieged by a Yonko.”

The mark on your palm flared.

Hancock’s eyes sharpened. “He’s thinking about you again.”

You spun. “How can you possibly tell?!”

“Because I want to punch a palm tree,” She hissed. “And that usually means a man is somehow involved.”

A low horn echoed across the water.

“They’re cat-calling via Den Den speaker,” someone shouted.

You turned to your Empress in horror.

“Empress Boa. Please. I cannot let him harass the whole island just because-”

“I will die on this beach before that ginger demon sets foot near you,” Hancock vowed, tightening her grip on her glaive. “And if he tries to wave another treaty shaped like a love letter, I’m setting it—and him—on fire.”

“Boa-”

“I am warning you,” she snapped. “Go. Inside. Before that sea rodent gets dramatic and sends a singing snail. ”

You blinked, breath catching. “He wouldn’t.”

A scout came sprinting up, pale and trembling. “He did. It’s rehearsing.”

You nearly sobbed.

Hancock’s expression softened. Just a hair. “I care about you. I’m protecting you. Clearly, fate wants to feed you to that man like bait. But I won’t let it.”

You stood frozen, a tragic statue of disbelief and humiliation.

“And if you don’t go inside this second,” she added, raising her voice, “I will personally drag you by your glowing hand and lock you in the archives.”

That was enough.

You nodded, half-choking on a laugh that felt far too close to a breakdown, and turned for the temple.

Behind you, someone activated the anti-longboat net launcher.

And another Kuja warrior lovingly etched the words “For Love Prevention Only” into the side of her spear.

“Scope.”

Shanks held out his hand without so much as a glance.

Lucky Roux passed the spyglass with the reverence of someone performing a sacred rite. There were no words, just understanding.

Benn Beckman stood behind them, taking a long, unimpressed sip of rum. It was his second bottle of the day.

“You sure this is a good idea?” he asked.

“She’s my soulmate,” Shanks murmured. “I haven’t even seen her up close. She ran before I set foot on shore. That’s not rejection. That’s heartbreak.”

“That’s a restraining order waiting to happen,” Benn muttered.

Shanks lifted the spyglass, scanning the shoreline with a romantic intensity that made everyone nearby deeply uncomfortable.

Sand.

Warriors.

Tall woman in purple. Boa Hancock, looking like she was about to end civilization with a swing of her glaive.

And then—

There.

Middle of the beach.

Hair wild. Pacing fast, sharp little loops in the sand like she was preparing to cast a curse. Hands flailing. Voice raised. Possibly yelling at the ocean. Possibly yelling at fate.

She screamed.

A seagull screamed too.

Both of them sounded equally offended.

She threw a hand at the sky like she was trying to banish destiny.

And somehow, across miles of sea and layers of denial, he felt it.

That tug.

That sudden, painful warmth.

The unmistakable pull of the red thread—buzzing with Haki and something worse. Something terrifying.

Hope.

Ah, so it was you.

Finally.

You rubbed your palm like it stung, oblivious to how much he could see. You were glowing.

Not just literally.

Emotionally.

Also, yes—literally.

Shanks lowered the scope slowly, like he’d just witnessed a divine moment.

“…She’s beautiful.”

“She’s actively threatening our ship,” Benn said, not looking up from his book.

Shanks smiled, soft-eyed and helpless. “She’s everything.”

“God help me,” Benn muttered, turning the page.

Lucky Roux leaned in. “She looks like she eats pirates for breakfast.”

“She does,” Yasopp chimed in, chewing dried squid. “I read about it. Headlines don’t lie.”

“I love that,” Shanks sighed, clasping the spyglass like it was a holy relic.

Benn finally looked up. “And what, exactly, is the plan?”

Shanks straightened, noble and unhinged. “I give her a token of my love. A rose. A letter. A seashell with a poorly carved limerick.”

“Then what?”

“She sees it. She reads it. She understands.”

“Understands what?”

“That we’re destiny,” Shanks said, already drifting into a sea-shanty cadence like he was narrating a tragic opera.

“You’re going to die,” Benn said flatly.

“Hopefully,” Shanks confirmed with pride. “Between her thighs.”

Roux leaned toward Yasopp. “He’s got that tone again.”

“Yup,” Yasopp nodded. “Dinghy time.”

Later that evening, Shanks stood beside what could only be described as the world’s most suspicious dinghy—small, creaky, and held together with optimism and bad decisions. He slung a rope over his shoulder like he’d done this sort of thing a hundred times.

He had not.

Benn didn’t even glance up from the flask he now drank from, like it was morphine. “You’re going to get turned to stone.”

“If I don’t fall off a cliff first,” Shanks said brightly, adjusting a rose no one told him to bring and definitely didn’t need.

Yasopp leaned over the side of the Red Force, squinting. “Or eaten by a snake. Or stabbed by a spear. Or exploded by feelings. Pretty sure she had at least three knives when she started yelling at the moon.”

“I’m begging you to stop,” Benn muttered. “You’re trespassing. Spiritually, emotionally, and frankly? Offensively.”

“I’m visiting,” Shanks replied, tucking a rose behind his ear with the self-assurance of a man who believed florals had diplomatic immunity. “Respectfully. Romantically.”

“You’re an Emperor of the Sea. That’s not visiting. That’s looming.”

“It’s not like I’m invading,” Shanks offered, shrugging one arm like that helped.

“You are. You literally count as a natural disaster on most naval charts.”

“A one-armed natural disaster,” Shanks corrected cheerfully.

“Semantics,” Benn growled. “You saw this woman for eight seconds and she screamed at the sky like God owed her rent.”

“Best eight seconds of my life,” Shanks said dreamily.

Lucky Roux gave him a thumbs-up. “If she turns you to stone, we’ll sell tickets.”

“We already printed merch,” Yasopp added. “We got merch. First batch says ‘Love Ruined My Life and All I Got Was This Shirt.”

Shanks saluted, pushing off with dramatic flair. “Tell the boys that Benn warned me, and I didn’t listen. Again.”

The dinghy groaned like it wanted no part of this.

But still, he rowed.

One glowing hand on the oar.

Flower behind his ear.

Prepared to scale cliffs, dodge spears, get hit with righteous feminine fury, and maybe—just maybe—win the heart of a woman who’d already started sharpening something in his general direction.

You couldn’t sleep.

Your hair was still damp from a bath that did nothing to soothe the burn in your palm. You sat on the balcony, brushing it out, watching the moonlight spill over the thick, lush gardens below—gardens that ended in a sheer drop into the sea.

The comb offered some comfort. Familiar. Ritual. Something drilled into you as a child.

The mark on your hand pulsed again—not painful, but alive. Buzzing faintly, like something across the sea was thinking too loudly about you.

You were just about to head back inside when you heard it.

A soft crunch in the garden below.

Your comb froze in place.

Then… a sneeze.

You crept to the edge of the balcony and looked down.

A man stood in your courtyard.

An actual man.

Shirt open, one hand resting lazily on his hip, the other raised in a casual wave. The moon hit his hair just right—brilliant red, windblown, absurd. And he was smiling. Like this was a social call.

That was red hair. His hair.

You had assumed Shanks—the Red-Haired Shanks—would be some grotesque brute. Bald. Scarred. Unpleasant.

Instead, a sun-browned pirate in a long black cloak stood in your moonlit garden like he’d stepped straight out of a bard’s fever dream. And worse—he was in sandals.

Scandalous.

You gaped.

You stared at the cliffs behind him, heart pounding.

Because there were only two ways into this garden: through the palace tunnels… or by scaling the cliff face of Amazon Lily—jagged, vertical, and lined with blades.

He had done the latter. In the dark. With one arm.

And sandals.

You nearly screamed. If you weren’t already frozen in rage and secondhand embarrassment, you would have.

He beamed up at you. “Hi.”

His voice echoed up, low and warm. The kind of deep that didn’t belong in your garden.

You flailed, dropping your comb. “This is sacred land! Men die here! Like, professionally! Do you want to die?”

“Not really,” he said, unbothered. “Just wanted to meet you. Properly.”

You ducked behind the balcony wall, hyperventilating.

Of course. 

Of course, fate gave you a soulmate who scaled cliffs like a goat, smiled like a myth, and showed up personally to ruin your peace.

“You okay up there?”

You popped back up, scowling. “Go away!”

“No.”

“I’m not emotionally stable enough for this today.”

Shanks scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly sheepish for someone who regularly punches sea gods.

“Your name showed up on me. Felt rude not to meet the person it belonged to.”

You stared at him like he’d confessed to eating cursed fruit on a dare.

“That’s not romantic. That’s a curse.”

He grinned—of course he did.

“I like curses. Especially the ones with attitude problems and dangerously pretty eyes.”

You pointed at him with the force of a divine warning.

“Back. Up. I bite when overwhelmed.”

“So do I,” he said brightly. “Should we match?”

You shrieked and hurled a potted orchid at his head.

He dodged with far too much grace for a man who’d just scaled a death cliff and trespassed into your solitude. Worse, he looked pleased about it, like he enjoyed being violently welcomed.

“How the hell did you climb that cliff? With one arm?”

He flashed a grin. The kind that made knees wobble and reputations suffer.

“Want a demonstration?”

Your jaw dropped. “You look like someone who causes problems professionally.”

He actually laughed. Loud, unbothered, sinful.

You turned on your heel, grabbed your sword—mostly for comfort—and then peeked back over your shoulder.

He was still smiling. Leaning casually on a boulder like he hadn’t just crawled up from certain death to flirt with you.

Uninvited.

Unbothered.

Unreasonably attractive.

You stared at him, sword half-raised. He winked.

“Let me get this straight,” you said, slow and flat. “You’re an Emperor of the Sea. One of the most dangerous men alive. You command a legendary crew. Your bounty is over five billion—”

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. 

 “It’s a little… performative. Marine dramatics. You know how they are.”

You stared. “Not as dramatic as scaling a cliff just to watch a woman brush her hair.”

He grinned like you'd paid him a compliment.

“I have priorities.”

“You have issues.”

He stepped forward slightly, cocking his head. “Says the woman who threw an orchid at me.”

“It was ceremonial.”

“It missed.”

“Unfortunately.”

His grin widened like you’d just given him permission to keep being a menace. The breeze caught his cloak, and his hair shimmered in the sun like firelight—because of course it did. Nature was clearly conspiring with his ego.

“Just for a minute,” he said, voice low and maddeningly sincere. “You were glowing. Felt rude not to admire the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You squinted at him, deeply unimpressed. “They said you were charming.”

He tilted his head, eyes sparkling. “Was that a compliment or a warning?”

“Warning.”

He pressed a hand to his chest like you’d wounded him. “Ouch.”

“Good.”

He smiled wider.

You hated how good it looked on him.

He stepped forward slowly, like a man approaching something wild—something that might bolt or bite.

You growled low in your throat and leveled your sword at his chest.

“I’m harmless,” he said gently, voice velvet-soft and far too dangerous. “Unless you’re paper. Or a treaty.”

“You’re trespassing.”

He raised his single hand, palm open in mock surrender. "For a good cause. I did try diplomacy first.”

You frowned. He didn’t feel like a threat.

He felt strange, like the ghost of music you hadn’t heard in years. Familiar in a way that made your grip tighten instead of ease.

“I just wanted to see you.”

You didn’t lower your sword.

But you didn’t strike, either.

And his eyes said he noticed.

He looked at you like you weren’t a prize or a trophy.

Just something rare.

Something real.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be so…” His voice trailed off, softer now. Then a quiet smile. “So beautiful.”

You blinked.

Your hand pulsed—warm where the mark sat like a secret.

And you hated that your first thought was: He sounds sincere.

“Stop talking,” you snapped, too fast.

“Why?” he asked, brows lifting.

“Because you’re charming.”

He winced like you’d accused him of a crime. “I’m trying really hard not to be.” “Try harder.”

A beat of silence. Then, with that unmistakable glint—

“You’re staring at my hair.”

“I’m not.”

“You were.”

“It’s unnatural.”

“Most people say it’s striking.”

“Most people aren’t trained to spot pirate illusions.”

His grin widened. “Then why stare?”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“You look like someone who fell into a fire at birth.”

He laughed—loud, shameless, real. The sound hit you like a warm wave. Unfair. Unwelcome. Comforting in a way it shouldn’t be.

He took another step forward.

“Want to touch it?” he asked, far too casual for someone actively being threatened with steel.

“Excuse me?”

“My hair,” he said smoothly. “Go on. Satisfy your curiosity.”

“I’m not curious.”

“You sure? Could be your only chance to ruffle an Emperor’s hair.”

You blinked. Just once. He caught it, of course he did.

“You like the color.”

“I do not.”

(You did. Obviously. You hated that you did.)

“You stared at it.”

“I stare at all dangerous things. Fires. Shipwrecks. Rabid dogs.”

He chuckled. “You’ve got excellent taste in disasters.”

Then he stepped closer—too close. Cloak rippling. Hair catching the wind like it had a flair for theater. It fell over one eye, casually criminal.

You tried not to look. You failed.

“…How is it that red?”

He smiled—slow, knowing, just short of obscene.

“Want to find out?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No.”

“Sure you don’t want to touch it?” he coaxed, voice dropping to just above a whisper. “I’ll even stand on my tippy-toes for you.”

“No.”

“You looked at it like it owed you money.”

“That’s not how debt works—”

“Here. One touch.” He leaned in just enough, resting his elbow against the edge of the balcony, hair temptingly within reach. “Just to say you did. Brave warrior and all that.”

It wasn’t fair.

His hair looked… expensive. Like it had never known hardship. Like it was washed in melted sunsets and smugness. The kind of red silk nobles begged pirates not to steal.

It was shockingly clean for a male creature.

And worse—it looked soft.

Too soft.

Your fingers twitched.

You hated yourself a little.

One touch. Just to disprove the rumors.

You leaned in—just a little—fingers outstretched.

You brushed the tips of his hair—

Warm. Silken. Alive.

And then—

Your palm burned.

His chest lit up in response, symbols flaring like ink set aflame. You jerked back, gasping, but too late.

The marks on your skin spiraled outward, curling and fusing, mirrored between you.

Chains. Rings.

A single word, seared in fire across both your bodies:

BOUND.

.

.

.

Silence.

You stared.

He stared.

“…Well,” Shanks said softly, still breathless, eyes locked on yours. “That escalated beautifully.”

You yanked your hand back so fast you nearly toppled over the balcony.

Below, Shanks staggered a half-step, his hand pressed flat over the glowing mark on his chest. His expression wasn’t afraid. Just stunned. Like something sacred had touched him.

Like you had.

You were already gasping, heart hammering, voice rising with panic.

“What—what was that?! What did you do?! What did I do?!”

He looked up at you with a grin, but not his usual grin. This one was softer. Slower. Unarmed.

Not cocky. Not smug. Warm.

It sat wrong on his pirate face. Too sincere. Too open.

Like he’d waited years just to see if you felt exactly like this.

Wonderstruck.

You backed up a step.

Your voice cracked.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

He had the nerve to look pleased.

“It’s a harmless little side effect. Of, you know—full contact,” he said cheerfully, like you hadn’t caught fire together. “Didn’t realize it was a real thing myself. But I’m not disappointed.”

“What side effect?” you growled.

He held up two fingers, casual as ever. “One: we now match. Fashionable, right?”

You drew your sword.

He gave you a sheepish little shrug. The kind that screamed, ‘please don’t stab me, I’m cute.’

Then you took a single step back—

And a sharp tug snapped through your chest, like someone had lassoed your ribcage and yanked hard.

You gasped, hand flying to your sternum. “Ow—what the hell—?!”

“Yeah,” he winced sympathetically. “That’s the part I maybe forgot to mention.”

You stared at him. Horrified. Betrayed. Mildly nauseated.

And just as you opened your mouth to yell again—

He crouched.

And sprang.

He landed gracefully on your balcony like some unholy cross between a pirate, a cat, and a romantic liability. No rope. No warning.

This man had no respect for doors, boundaries, or your rapidly unraveling sense of reality.

“We can’t be more than ten feet apart now,” he said brightly, still holding his chest like he’d just won a prize at a festival. “Think of it as… spatially enforced bonding.”

You blinked.

Then screamed.

Not a gasp. Not a squeak. A full-body, soul-shaking scream that echoed through the trees, reverberated off the cliffs, and probably startled Neptune himself.

Birds scattered. A baby wailed. Somewhere in the distance, a goat keeled over.

Shanks flinched—not from fear. Just from sheer decibel shock.

Later, he’d describe it as “kind of adorable… in a deeply traumatized way.”

You backed away, waving your glowing hand like you could physically fling the situation off your body. “NOPE. No. No, no. Undo it. Take it back. Rewind the curse!”

“It’s not a curse,” Shanks said gently.

You jabbed a finger at the burning sigil on your palm. “THIS SAYS OTHERWISE.”

“…Okay, fair.”

Then you ran.

You bolted like the forest owed you sanctuary.

Slammed through your room, flung open the inner doors, and sprinted straight for the far wall like you could physically outrun a magical contract.

You made it twelve feet.

Then—snap.

A vicious pull ripped through your chest like a tether gone taut. You were yanked clean off your feet, flung backward like a ragdoll of denial, and hit the floor in a heap of limbs, curses, and existential despair.

You lay there, gasping. Dazed. Emotionally concussed.

And of course—of course—Shanks was already there, crouched beside you like this was just another Tuesday.

“Hey—hey, easy now. You can’t pull that hard,” he said gently, like you hadn’t just been magically body-slammed. “Ten feet. That’s the limit. Think of it like… a soul bungee cord.”

You blinked up at him, flat on your back, eyes wide with horror.

“You’re a magical anchor,” you wheezed.

He laughed—hard. Couldn’t help it. You could see it in the way his shoulders shook.

“That’s… not how most people introduce themselves to their soulmates,” he said between wheezes. “But I respect the poetry.”

You glared.

He offered a hand.

You slapped it away.

So, naturally, the idiot pivoted to drama.

He placed a hand over his chest, straightened, and gave you a half-bow so theatrical it could’ve summoned fog.

“I’m Shanks. Captain of the Red Force. Emperor of the Sea.”

He winked.

“And, apparently… yours.”

You stared at him.

Still on the floor. Still glowing. Still cursed.

“Hancock is going to kill you,” you whispered.

Shanks smiled like a man halfway through composing the sea shanty about his own death. “That’s fair.”

The doors slammed open like the wrath of heaven descending.

“WHERE IS HE?!”

There she was.

Boa Hancock. Empress. Warlord. Fury in heels.

Glaive in hand. Hair swirling despite the absolute absence of wind. Eyes locked on Shanks with the focused intent of a woman ready to obliterate his entire bloodline from existence.

She lunged.

You didn’t even have time to blink.

She was on him in a flash, striking like vengeance forged into flesh.

Shanks didn’t move.

His Haki surged—quiet, ancient, coiling. It cracked the stone beneath his feet, winding around him like a leviathan that didn’t need to scream to remind the world it ruled.

Hancock froze mid-swing.

Her glaive trembled in her grip. Her fury did not.

“You dare trespass. Touch her. Curse her with your filth?” Her voice was low. Lethal. “I will turn you to stone.”

She unleashed her power like a tidal wave.

And…

Nothing.

Hancock faltered. Just slightly.

You stared. Hancock stared. Shanks raised an eyebrow, like someone had just complimented his shoes.

“…Huh,” he muttered, glancing at his very much still-flesh hands. “Still flesh.”

“You—” Her expression twisted, fury barely contained. “You should have crumbled.”

“Sorry,” he said, scratching his head. “Guess you’re just not my type.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“You—she—you resisted her?!”

“I didn’t resist anything,” he said simply. Then looked at you. “I’m just already cursed.”

Your soulmark flared—bright and traitorous.

Hancock’s eyes narrowed. She looked between you, then back again, lip curling. “So. That’s what it is.”

“Apparently,” you muttered, utterly humiliated.

“I hate it,” she snapped. “You can’t even be turned to stone like a normal intruder.”

Shanks shrugged. “That’s the price of loyalty, I guess.”

“Loyalty?!” you barked. “You broke into my room!”

“True,” he said, with a sage nod. “But I didn’t touch anything. Not even the pillow I caught. I’m house-trained. Rayleigh made sure.”

Silence.

Complete, nuclear silence.

Even the torches dimmed, like they no longer wished to witness this plane of existence.

You slapped a hand over your face. “Oh gods…”

Hancock’s eye twitched. She looked dangerously close to achieving spiritual enlightenment through pure, concentrated fury.

Then—with the elegance of a queen and the rage of a continent—she inhaled deeply through her nose.

“I will have you physically removed,” she said coldly. “I will punt you back to your ship myself.”

Shanks gave her the most maddeningly polite smile ever committed to sin.

“I wouldn’t recommend that.”

“Why not?!” Hancock hissed.

He looked at her.

Then at you.

Then back again, resting his arm on his hip.

“Because for the first two weeks, if soulmates are forced more than ten feet apart…” He raised his brows. “We snap back together.”

A stunned beat.

Then—he added, almost delicately:

“And if one of us dies…” A faint smile curved his mouth. “We both do.”

Chaos. Utter, spiraling, gods-abandon-us chaos.

Hancock shrieked.

You screamed—again—because clearly once wasn’t enough.

Marigold hit the floor like a sack of emotional potatoes.

Sandersonia shouted, “He’s bluffing!”

But the royal scrollkeeper, pale and trembling, whispered, “Actually… that is in the old texts…”

What followed was an operatic mix of shouting, cursing, veiled threats, open threats, and Hancock attempting to vaporize Shanks with nothing but the fury in her pupils.

Eventually, after what might generously be called negotiations, a compromise was reached:

The rules:

Shanks was not to leave Amazon Lily.

You were not to be closer than nine feet to him.

The two of you would be:  • Chaperoned by the most humorless guards Hancock could assign  • Forbidden from sharing rooms, blankets, baths, or “soul-binding gazes”  • Monitored for “suspicious behavior,” especially hand-holding, hair-touching, or prolonged smiling, and definitely no shared pillows.

No soulmark glowing in front of palace staff, because it was “sending the wrong message.”

And under no circumstances was Shanks to call you “his.” Not “his soulmate,” not “his problem,” not “his little sunbeam.” Ever again.

He immediately broke that last one. Twice. With flourish.

Marigold, still woozy, swore the snake hissed in Morse code for “kill him anyway.”

Hancock paced like a war god forced to sit through a dinner party.

“I want it annulled,” she snapped. “Broken. Banished. I don’t care if we have to summon an elder sea witch—I want this bond severed.”

“Respectfully,” said the royal scrollkeeper, who had not blinked in twenty minutes, “doing so within the first cycle would, ah… implode her soul.”

“She’ll regenerate,” Hancock growled.

“I won’t,” you whispered.

Hancock narrowed her eyes at you. “You should’ve stabbed him on sight.”

“I tried!” you cried, gesturing wildly. 

The next morning, you sat in the garden, hand still glowing faintly.

Shanks sat beside you.

Nine feet away.

Hands folded politely.

He glanced at you and said, voice soft, almost reverent:

“So… this is a very romantic start, don’t you think?”

You threw a fruit at his face.

He caught it.

Still smiling.

The Den Den Mushi aboard the Red Force clicked to life, glowing softly in the moonlight as the ship bobbed six miles off the coast of Amazon Lily.

Benn Beckman answered with the sigh of a man far too old to be cleaning up another diplomatic incident. Pipe lit. Rum nearby. Resigned dread in his bones.

“Red-Hair?”

Static.

“Hey, good news. I’m not dead.”

Around the deck, the crew froze mid-motion.

The card game stopped. One of the dice rolled off the table and hit the deck with an ominous clack.

Yasopp muttered, “Oh no.”

Lucky Roux sat up slowly, eyes wide. “Oh oh hoooo!”

Benn rubbed his face with one hand. “Define ‘not dead.’”

“I’m technically alive. Emotionally? Unclear. Spiritually? Debatable.”

“Where are you?”

A pause.

“…Inside the palace.”

Benn stared at the snail. “Inside the palace. Of Amazon Lily. The one guarded by an Empress who turns men to stone.”

“Right, her,” Shanks chirped. “Funny story—”

“Shanks.”

“Yeah?”

“What did you do?”

Another pause. Then:

“…Got cursed. Bonded. Technically trespassed. Accidentally soulmated the Empress’s favorite.”

Silence.

Then—

“GOT WHAT?!” came the collective scream from the rest of the crew, echoing across the deck.

Yasopp buried his face in his hands. “This is going to be worse than the time with the nuns, isn’t it?”

“Worse than the treasure priestess,” Limejuice leaned in to say, all smiles.

Lucky Roo froze mid-bite, a meat skewer dangling from his mouth.

Benn exhaled slowly. “Okay. That’s… not bad.”

“Also,” Shanks continued, voice drifting in with just the slightest edge of guilt, “I’ll be staying here for about two weeks.”

Silence.

“YOU WHAT?”

“Are you kidnapped?!”

“Do we need to launch a rescue?!”

“Wait—are you finally getting married?!”

“Don’t tell me she actually touched you—”

“She did,” Shanks said, pure smug. “My hair. We immediately bound.”

The crew lost it.

Yasopp howled. “HE WEAPONIZED THE HAIR!”

Lucky Roux spun in a slow, delighted circle, humming something dangerously close to a wedding chant. Someone near the helm shouted, “Call the tailor!”

“Of course she likes my hair!” Shanks called over the rising din, beaming like a man personally blessed by the gods of delusion. “Who doesn’t?!”

Benn groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was physically restraining a migraine. “You soul-bonded with a woman who ran from your name, weaponized your ego, and now you’re stranded on an island full of elite warrior women who all have kill orders with your face on them. For two weeks.”

There was a heavy pause.

Then Shanks, utterly unbothered and clearly thriving, shrugged and said, “Best vacation I’ve ever had.”

Benn didn’t look up. Just took a slow drag from his pipe and asked flatly, “So how’d you convince Hancock not to split you in half and roast you over ceremonial fire?”

“Ten feet apart or we die,” Shanks chirped, like he was announcing the weather.

Benn slowly lowered his head to the table and let it rest there. “Gods save me from romantics.”

“Technically,” Yasopp added from the side, “that makes him the most successful trespasser in Amazon Lily history.”

“I’m not trespassing,” Shanks called helpfully. “I’m emotionally docked.”

Benn groaned louder.

On deck, pirates placed bets and hollered like it was festival night. Bets hit the floor. Someone pointed at the stars and swore they saw a constellation shaped like a wedding bouquet. At least three were already arguing odds on whether Hancock would personally chuck Shanks into the ocean before sunrise, or delegate it to one of her taller sisters.

Through it all, Shanks just waited.

Calm. Quiet. Still smiling like a man who’d accidentally touched a stove and decided it was fate.

Finally, Benn spoke again, lower now. Serious.

“…You good with this?”

Shanks leaned against the receiver, voice dropping into something softer. Less pirate. More man.

“You should see her, mate,” he murmured. “She’s everything.”

Benn didn’t answer right away.

He just lit another pipe, slow and heavy, like a man preparing to witness the most romantic shipwreck in history.

“…We’ll hold position. Two weeks. Maybe sail to port. Drink your funeral early.”

“Thanks, Benn.”

“Try not to die, Captain.”

“No promises.”

[loveinhawkins]

ao3

It’s the last day of school before Christmas, and the first thing Eddie hears when he enters Family Video is Steve Harrington saying, “Fuck this,” which seems kinda unreasonable; he’s not even done anything yet.

But then Steve continues, his voice turning distant as he heads to the back of the store—“I don’t care what the goddamn handbook says, the radiator’s goin’ on full blast,”—and Eddie realises he hasn’t actually been noticed at all.

Not by Steve, at least. 

Robin Buckley is standing by the computer. She’s checking her watch; Eddie can see the thought cross her mind, that he should’ve been out of class over an hour ago, like she was.

All of a sudden, he feels uncomfortably aware of what he must look like: drenched from the rain, dripping water onto the carpet. 

“Hey, Munson. O’Donnell got you working overtime, huh?”

Eddie fakes a laugh. He doesn’t know Robin that much—but still just well enough to know she doesn’t mean anything by it.

So he nods and rolls his eyes, concocts a story about an unjust detention; he even embellishes it with a pinch of truth as he brings the video tapes out from the shelter of his jacket. Says that his last-ditch attempt at improving his grade before the holidays was offering to return the videos O’Donnell rented for her classes.

He doesn’t mention the fact that he stayed behind voluntarily. That he spent all that time staring down at a perpetually unfinished essay, gripping his pen with an all too familiar desperation. That kind of honesty somehow feels more embarrassing than lying; it always has.

Robin takes the videos from him. “Okay, tell me if that works,” she says, with a hint of sarcasm; she’s joking, Eddie reminds himself, but not in a mean way. “Because I’d be returning, like, so many library books if…”

She trails off with a frown, eyes on the computer screen. Glances to the stack of video tapes before punching in something.

Eddie doesn’t mind the wait; it’s only now that he’s really appreciating just how cold he is. He shakes some water off his jacket sleeve, fingers numb, and realises too late that he’s creating a puddle on the floor. 

“Uh, sorry for, um. Dripping,” he says awkwardly, but Robin doesn’t seem to hear him; she just keeps frantically tapping on the keyboard.

Outside, the wind picks up even more, throwing rain against the windows. 

There’s the creak of a door swinging open somewhere in the back, followed by a voice calling, “What’s up?”

Eddie startles—he almost forgot that it wasn’t just him and Robin in here. He watches Steve sidle up to the register.

“It’s this stupid—“ Robin gestures to the computer with frustration. “It keeps going all, you know, aaaah.” She draws out the sound, wiggling her fingers.

Surprisingly, Steve catches Eddie’s eye with a wry look. “Technical term,” he says, deadpan.

If Eddie didn’t know that he was the only other person in the room, he’d think that surely he’d been mistaken for someone else.

Not that he thinks Steve would ignore him outright; it’s just that they’ve not got much history—no fleeting camaraderie forged from sitting next to one another in class. Sure, they crossed paths as much as anyone did in Hawkins, Steve a recurring figure in Eddie’s peripheral; he knew of his existence, obviously, it’s Steve Harrington, but nothing more than…

A collage of all the times Steve’s picture has appeared in the school newspaper flickers through Eddie’s mind. Okay, but that was because of The Tigers, and the swimming team, and—anyone would’ve noticed that—

His justification is brought to a halt at a particularly fierce howl of wind; Robin flinches so badly that she knocks the video tapes onto the floor. 

“Just the wind,” Steve says quietly.

As he speaks, he gently nudges Robin out of the way with his hip. Picks up the fallen tapes.

And to anyone else, it might seem kind—and nothing more. 

But there’s something almost imperceptible in the way Steve does it, Eddie can’t get away from that fact: a meaning behind the words that he can’t grasp.

Then he hears Wayne’s voice in his head—son, you know fine well when something’s none of your damn business—and tells his curiosity to quit it.

“Sorry, it’s still not working,” Robin says, giving the computer one last thump. “I can, um, write you a receipt? To prove you returned them? So O’Donnell doesn’t get all…”

Eddie nods. “Sure.”

Robin gets a pen out of her shirt pocket and writes a receipt, triple-checking the movie titles as she does so.

Eddie thanks her as she hands over the paper. Catches himself hesitating. 

There it is: the familiar prickle of discomfort, not knowing what else to say. Jesus Christ, isn’t that a failure on its own? Another year at school, and you’d think he’d be somewhat closer to other students, just from the sheer amount of time they’ve spent together in the same four walls. And yet, he’s starting to feel more distant than ever.

Granted, there’s Hellfire, but on bad days even that chafes, not that he’d ever admit it. Like he’s playing a part far bigger than who he actually is.

Eddie expects to just walk out without another word being said. In fact, he’s bracing himself for the cold again, almost at the door, when Steve inexplicably speaks up.

“Are you actually leaving?”

Eddie turns around. Steve’s leaning by the desk with his arms folded, looking at him expectantly.

Eddie’s half-convinced there’s a joke he’s not getting.

“Uh, yeah?” he says. He tries to ensure that ‘what the fuck else am I supposed to do?’ goes unheard, but from the way Steve’s eyebrows rise, he doesn’t think he succeeds. 

Steve gives a pointed, dubious look outside. “Dude, you wanna drown out there?”

Eddie rocks back on his heels. There’d be a time where he would really snap back at that (the first time he flunked out, maybe), but now he’s more caught off-guard. 

So he just glances outside and says, “Ideally, no.”

Steve gives a slight huff of laughter at that, shaking his head.

“Look, I’m just saying, man, I’m not gonna be driving till it clears up. Thought I was gonna need a canoe just to get into the parking lot.” He turns to Robin as if looking for agreement, stacking the tapes Eddie returned as he adds, “I said that when I drove you in, right?”

“I dunno, I’ve had crazier journeys,” Robin says.

Steve rolls his eyes like she’s made a corny joke—but he’s grinning like he just can’t help himself.

Eddie watches with a flicker of amusement rather than irritation, which catches him unawares. If he was honest, he’d felt drained not even a few seconds ago. But seeing Steve and Robin’s back-and-forth sparks an unexpected urge to respond in kind.

“Since when were you the spokesperson for road safety, Harrington?”

Robin snorts.

Steve shrugs. “At least wait until it’s not so brutal out there.”

And what brings Eddie up short is that, despite the dry tone, Steve sounds sincere. It leaves him struggling for an acceptable reply.

Before he can work one out, Steve steps to the side and pushes a swivel chair with his foot, right into Eddie’s path.

Eddie sits down in silent bewilderment.

He braces instinctively for an unbearable awkwardness, but it’s not so bad: Steve and Robin just continue working. It gives him time to try and dry his jacket off, at least, and when that ends up a lost cause, he turns to noticing the background noise in the store.

There’s a TV overhead playing It’s a Wonderful Life; George Bailey and Mary Hatch are about to Charleston right into the swimming pool.

Steve wanders into his eye line, scanning the aisles with a clipboard. Eddie doesn’t actually know how long he’s been there. He’d kinda got caught up in watching the movie. Steve seems to notice that; it’s gone too quick for Eddie to be sure, but his lips might’ve quirked, as if in approval.

“Hey, d’you want me to take your jacket? I’ve got mine and Robin’s on the radiator in the back.”

Eddie does his best not to stare. It’s a habit he’s still not shaken off: waiting for the other shoe to drop when anyone apart from Wayne is so… so…

“Didn’t realise this place was a hotel, Harrington.”

Despite his misgivings, he shrugs off the still damp jacket; Steve’s already stuck his hand out for it.

“Not everyone gets this treatment, Munson. You just haven’t annoyed me yet.”

“Then what am I doing wrong?” Eddie returns flatly. 

This time Steve’s smile is obvious.

“Don’t move my scarf off the radiator!” Robin calls as she wheels a trolley of tapes.

“What do you take me for?” Steve says.

He disappears into the back again, returning empty-handed when the phone rings. He mutters at it before he picks it up, “Yeah, of course you still work,” and it’s not endearing, Eddie tells himself. It’s not.

And no, he isn’t listening in to the phone call. That’d be… that’d be stupid. It’s just that the movie isn’t all that loud, so he can’t help but…

“Hello, Family Video? Oh, hi, Mrs Wilcox, how are… Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.” Steve listens to whatever’s being said on the other end. His eyes find the TV, and then he’s silently mouthing along to George and Mary singing, ‘Buffalo Gals.’ “Oh, are you kidding? No, no, stay inside. It’s not a problem, I can just—yeah, of course. I’ll push it back to after the holidays. Yeah. Yeah, you too. Thanks for calling. Enjoy the movie!”

He hangs up, absentmindedly humming. Eddie quickly looks away.

He notices then that he’s sitting right on the edge of his seat like an idiot. He makes an attempt to sit back—be normal, just be fucking normal—but there’s a rigidity he can’t quite shift, that’s been stuck there probably since middle school, when the cafeteria was full of whispers, did you see the new kid? There, the one with the buzz cut.

“Steve, you off the phone?”

“Yeah. Hey, Rob, if I forget, could you make a note to extend Donna Wilcox’s rental? I’ll do it when we’re back, if the computer’s—”

“Sure, sure. Um, so—”

“Oh, God, what?”

Robin grins, a mixture of sheepish and teasing. Eddie stays put. Has she forgotten he’s here? Should he move? Leave? Yeah, he should leave, they’re not gonna notice… He’ll grab his jacket, slip away; the weather’s not that bad—

“I’ve got something for you to—”

Steve waves his hands in disagreement. “Nope, we said we weren’t doing presents!”

“It’s not really a—my grandma wouldn’t listen, Steve, it’s, like, more of a punishment, honestly, just—just wait there.”

There’s a clatter as Robin rushes off, scattering some more tapes off the trolley. The employee door slams shut behind her.

Steve tsks to himself, but picks up the tapes again. As he bends down, he glances over his shoulder with a brief ‘what can you do?’ sort of expression—which forces Eddie to consider the fact that he hasn’t been forgotten.

He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

He settles for an attempt at nonchalance: sticks a foot out to spin the chair ever so slightly, just side to side, and says, “So, uh, is this job just throwing tapes on the floor?”

“Yeah, we take turns,” Steve says without missing a beat.

He scoops up a tape, twirls it deftly before slotting it into place on the shelf. Eddie should probably find it annoying.

He doesn’t.

In the silence, he tries to lose himself in the movie again, at least a little bit, but he can’t manage it—feels too aware of himself, the creak of the seat as he moves even the tiniest amount, the restless fidgeting that he doesn’t even want to be doing, but knowing that never helps him stop—

“Ta-da!”

Eddie turns in time to see a blur of red; Robin’s just thrown something at Steve, who catches it easily—of course he does, Eddie thinks, but he can’t pretend that the thought comes from a place of resentment, not even inside his own head.

It’s a sweater. Steve unfolds it with a cackling laugh; there’s not a trace of the artificial veneer of high school in the sound.

Unlike you, whispers a nasty inner voice.

Steve’s still laughing. “Robin, this is the best—”

“Shut up, no, it’s so bad.” Robin hoists herself up to sit on the desk. “Grandma did the actual work, all the bits that are messed up are from me—”

“You knitted this?”

Steve beams. Eddie notices that there’s an endearingly crooked tilt to one of his incisors.

And then Steve’s glancing around like he’s checking no-one else has come into the store. He ducks out of view of the windows, but is still very much in Eddie’s view as he throws off his work vest, yanks his shirt up over his head, and…

Eddie suddenly feels like he’s been flung back into the claustrophobic space of the school locker rooms, the dread of changing for phys ed. The voice in his head gets louder: don’t look, don’t look; they’ll know. 

But Steve doesn’t seem to care. He just leaves his shirt in a heap on the floor, wincing overexaggeratedly at the cold, and practically dives into the sweater with a boyish glee.

He laughs again; the sleeves are far too long. “I love it.”

“You do?” Robin says, and while she’s playing up her dubiousness, Eddie can hear how she’s pleased underneath it all.

“Uh, yeah!”

The back of Steve’s hair is ruffled from how eagerly he put the sweater on—but instead of fixing it, he focuses on artfully rolling up his sleeves.

Eddie should look away. Should, at the very least, attempt to appear like he’s zoned out, in a world of his own.

And yet…

Despite everything, he watches Steve Harrington with all the silent, rapt attention he usually reserves for movies.

Moth to a fucking flame, Eddie thinks, resigned.

“Suits me, huh?” Steve says to Robin; he does a stupid little move, one hand on his hip, like he’s on the front cover of a magazine.

“And you’re modest, too.”

“You just don’t know style when you see it.”

Steve’s at the desk now, nudging one of Robin’s feet playfully, before turning round to lean against the corner again. “Hey, Munson, what do you think?”

Eddie finds himself fighting the instinct to reply with something undeservedly cutting. He’d just be trying to cover, anyway, using barbs to conceal what the question makes him feel: something akin to the franticness when confronted in class with a test he hasn’t studied for.

And he looks. Really looks—his heart slowing, the initial panic from the flash of bare skin fading away.

Steve’s right; the sweater does suit him, in all its homemade charm. The shade of red is flattering, brings out his eyes: maroon, if Eddie had to put a name to it, although he suspects that the colour’s actually got nothing to do with it, more the way Steve holds himself—a quiet, certain confidence that’s always been out of Eddie’s reach.

He inwardly gives himself a shake as Steve and Robin keep waiting on his response.

This isn’t school, idiot; they’re not trying to catch you out.

“I’m hardly an expert on high fashion, Harrington,” Eddie says—thinks he just manages to pull off the lazy, unbothered drawl.

“Well, you have a look,” Steve says faux delicately, like he’s being incredibly generous.

Eddie cracks a genuine smile; it sort of weakens the whole aloof thing he’d settled on, but he surprisingly doesn’t care all that much.

“Damned with faint praise.”

Steve scoffs as if to say touché. His gaze catches on something outside, and Eddie wonders if it’s an actual customer, if it’s time for whatever all of this is to stop.

But all Steve does is poke Robin’s foot and add, pointedly singsong, “Rain’s stopped.”

“So?” Robin asks.

“I think it’s in between storms,” Steve says sagely. “Like, we’ve got a little window before more rain hits.”

“Great, Steve, I’ll love waving that opportunity bye.”

Steve tuts. “Rob, I’m saying we should ditch. Come on, it’s been dead all day. We can be home early and warm, it’s, like, single-handedly the best plan I’ve ever had.”

Better than when you won the championship game? Eddie thinks—wisely keeps that strictly to himself, because he’ll admit following Hawkins High’s basketball results on pain of death.

Robin looks torn. “I don’t know, Steve, what if—”

“Who’s gonna tell?” Steve says, gesturing around at the empty store. He nods at Eddie, says sarcastically, “Oh yeah, Eddie Munson, known snitch.”

“You flatter me,” Eddie says. He surprises himself at how easily it slips out, like for once, there was no need to overthink it.

“See? Rob-in,” Steve wheedles, “come on, I’ll cash out. You and your grandma could knit for hours.”

“Shut up,” Robin says fondly. “Fine! Quick, quick, I’ll flip the sign.”

The whole thing resembles a military operation, with how speedily Steve and Robin manage to close the store. Eddie stands up and moves the swivel chair out of the way, but feels almost exposed without it.

Steve’s just finished at the register when he catches Eddie’s eye. He snaps his fingers, “Oh, shit, yeah,” and yells over his shoulder to Robin in the back room, “Hey, pick up Munson’s jacket, too!” Then he’s stuffing a couple of tapes into a backpack. “Want one?”

Eddie blinks, confused. “What?”

Steve wiggles one of the movies in demonstration before zipping up his bag. “I always take some home. As long as you have it back by, uh,” he waves a hand vaguely, “some time in the New Year, whatever.” He clicks his tongue. “Damn it, forgot to turn this off…”

It’s a Wonderful Life falls silent.

Through the whir of it rewinding, Eddie speaks almost without meaning to. “Can I have that one?”

Steve looks up at him in faint surprise. “Sure. Hang on, I’ll just find…”

He ejects the tape and passes it to Eddie. It’s still warm from being played.

And then the case is being handed over, too—there’s scraps of paper folded in the corners, rolls of receipt in Steve and Robin’s handwriting: games of tic-tac-toe and movie recommendations.

As Eddie puts the tape inside, a thought occurs to him. “Wait, uh. Were you gonna take this one home, too?”

Steve’s folding up his discarded shirt and vest. He smiles, and if Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d think there was something shy in it.

“Oh, nope. I—” He laughs under his breath. “I have it already.”

The back door bursts open to reveal Robin all wrapped up in a scarf. She throws Eddie his jacket, jangles some keys and imitates Steve’s half-singing when she announces, “I’ll lock up.”

The wind’s thankfully died down so the contrast from inside to the parking lot isn’t terrible—though that’s probably helped by the fact that Eddie’s jacket is warmed right through from the radiator.

As he gets to the van, he expects that Robin and Steve will already be out of the parking lot. But when he slides into the driver’s seat, he sees Robin’s the only one actually inside Steve’s car; Steve’s half-in, half out, one hand on the roof. 

“Safe journey, Munson!”

And maybe it’s just how Steve’s voice is anyway, but it sounds like it’s more than just a platitude. Like it means something.

Eddie honks his horn in reply. He lets Steve drive out first—his car’s parked closer to the road—and absentmindedly drums his fingers on the VHS case in the passenger seat.

This was a fluke, he tells himself. Like a movie being played in last period, the curtains drawn—how it always feels kind of like a dream.

Still, he drives home warm. Thinks in a gentler voice, one that sounds like Wayne—a reminder that not everything is a trap waiting to spring shut on him.

[httpvomitello]

Could you do a George x Reader where he gets jealous over her spending time with someone else and he gets over protective? I would love that!!

Helloooooo! We love a over protective boyfriend, don't we? Hope you like it ~ ♡

Mr. Jealous *⁠.⁠✧

Summary: George Weasley has never been the jealous type—until he sees you laughing a little too much with Dean Thomas. Convinced that he’s losing his chance with you, George goes full overprotective boyfriend (despite not technically being your boyfriend… yet).

george weasley x f!reader

George Weasley was not jealous.

At least, that’s what he kept been telling himself as he sat in the corner of the Three Broomsticks, arms crossed, jaw clenched, watching you laugh at something Dean Thomas had just said.

Dean bloody Thomas.

And you—his best friend, the girl he’d been half in love with since fourth year—were sitting there, giggling, twirling your hair around your finger, looking at Dean like he was the most interesting person in the world.

George was about to combust.

"Alright, mate, you’re staring," Fred muttered beside him, amusement clear in his voice. "You look like you’re two seconds away from cursing Dean into next week."

"I’m not staring," George grumbled, still watching you. "I’m observing."

Fred snorted. "Right. Observing. Because glaring at him like you’re about to duel for her honor is completely rational."

George ignored him. He was too busy watching Dean lean in way too close, whisper something to you that made you throw your head back in laughter.

That was it. He’d had enough.

Slamming his drink down, George shot up from his seat.

Fred sighed dramatically. "Oh, this should be good."

George marched across the pub, weaving through the crowd until he reached your table. He didn’t even hesitate before dropping into the seat next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that was not subtle.

Dean blinked. "Uh—hey, George?"

"Hey, Dean," George said, voice a little too bright, a little too sharp. He turned to you with a grin, squeezing your shoulder. "Fancy seeing you here, love."

You frowned at him. "You knew I was here."

"Did I?" he mused. "Must’ve slipped my mind. So, what are we talking about?"

Dean hesitated, looking between you and George, clearly sensing the tension. "Uh… just telling Y/N about this guy I’m seeing."

George faltered. "Wait. What?"

Dean looked at him, unimpressed. "Yeah... Like, my boyfriend?"

George blinked. "What?"

You smacked a hand against your forehead. "Oh my God, George. He’s literally been dating Seamus for months."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I thought everyone knew."

Fred, who had somehow appeared out of nowhere, clapped a hand on George’s shoulder, howling with laughter. "Merlin’s beard, mate. You got jealous over Dean?!"

George’s ears burned red. "I—I didn’t know!"

You sighed, shaking your head. "George Weasley, you absolute idiot."

Dean snorted. "You’re so in love with her, it’s embarrassing."

"Shut up, Dean," George muttered.

You turned to George, a smirk playing on your lips. "So… jealous, were you?"

George groaned. "Can we not talk about this?"

"Absolutely not," Fred said gleefully. "This is the best thing that’s happened all week."

"Alright, alright, laugh it up," George grumbled. Then, clearing his throat, he turned back to you, rubbing the back of his neck. "Er—so, since I made an absolute fool of myself just now… any chance you’d be willing to, uh, go on a date with me?"

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Hmm… let me check my schedule."

"Y/N," George whined.

You laughed before leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Of course, you idiot. Took you long enough."

Fred groaned. "You mean we could’ve avoided all of this if he’d just asked sooner?"

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Heterosexuals, man. So dramatic."

[estellan0vella]

Han Jisung’s Panty Protection Program: H.JS Han Jisung x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 13.4K

CW: Themes of Invasion of Privacy (stolen underwear), Mentions of masturbation, sexual fluids, and references to a character using stolen underwear for sexual gratification, Jisung being dramatic, Light Violence, Discussions and depictions of crystals, tarot readings, and sage-burning rituals, Minho and reader shenanigans

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist Part I Part II

Jisung’s room in the Alpha Phi frat house is a cosy mix of chaos and comfort. His bed, large enough to hold his perpetually sprawled form, sits in the corner with tangled navy sheets and a pile of mismatched pillows. Strawberry-scented incense wafts lazily from the nightstand, curling smoke weaving through the dim light of the room. Crystals are scattered everywhere, on his desk, his bookshelf, and the windowsill, casting faint glimmers when they catch the faint glow of the TV screen.

“Jagiya,” Jisung drawls, shifting so his bare chest brushes against your arm, his voice syrupy in that way it always is when he’s trying to get your attention. “You’re not even watching.”

The screen plays Howl’s Moving Castle, Jisung’s favourite movie, but it’s more background noise than entertainment for you. You’ve seen it around forty times now. Yet somehow, the plot remains a mystery because you always end up distracted. Like right now, as you shuffle your tarot cards, your grey lounge pants soft against Jisung’s thigh and your white bralette letting the cool air kiss your shoulders. Your hair’s in a messy bun, strands escaping to frame your face, and Jisung can’t stop staring at you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the room.

“Shh, I’m doing my reading,” you murmur, eyes focused on the cards. 

Zak, your two-year-old brindle Staffordshire Bull Terrier, gnaws happily on a bone in his dog bed near Jisung’s desk. His ears flick every so often, alert to the sound of your voice, but he’s content to leave you be. He loves it here as much as you do; the space is as much yours as it is Jisung’s, even if you don’t technically live here.

Jisung leans his chin on your shoulder, his dark blue hair tickling your neck. “You’ve seen this one card a million times. What’s it mean this time?”

You flip the final card, a slight shiver crawling up your spine. “The Seven of Swords,” you say, holding it up. The illustration glares at you, sharp and accusing.

“And?” Jisung prompts, though his tone is playful, his attention still half on you and half on the screen. “Good news or bad news?”

You hesitate. “It’s not great.”

That gets his attention. He turns fully toward you, propping himself up on his elbow. His sweatpants ride low on his hips, and his tone softens. “You worried about it, jagiya?”

“No,” you reply quickly, though the card sits heavy in your mind. “It’s just... It’s a warning. Dishonesty, deceit, manipulation, cheating, theft. But it doesn’t mean that something bad is happening right now. It just means to be cautious, you know? I think I just need to pick up more crystals.”

Jisung snorts, ruffling your hair affectionately. “More crystals? Jagiya, my room already sparkles enough to blind someone.”

“There’s no such thing as too much sparkle,” you quip, giving him a pointed look as you start gathering your deck back into a neat pile. The strawberry incense has burned low now, but the sweet scent lingers.

Jisung’s lips twitch into a lopsided grin. “Your eyes sparkle enough to light up the whole fucking world.”

You pause, your hand hovering over the tarot deck. “That’s actually really sweet, Sungie.”

“Sweet enough for you to give me head?”

Your hand smacks his arm before he can even finish the sentence. “You just fucking ruined it.”

“Ow!” he complains, though he’s laughing as he rubs the spot you hit. “What? I’m being honest! You said you appreciate honesty!”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Honesty and your horny ass aren’t the same thing.”

He pulls you closer, his chest warm against your back. “You love me anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that.” You lean into his touch despite the words, letting him press a kiss to your temple.

The movie continues to play in the background, a faint crescendo of orchestral music filling the room. Jisung’s hand finds its way to your waist, resting there idly as his other hand traces nonsensical patterns on the back of yours.

“So, for real,” he says after a beat of silence, “this card thing doesn’t freak you out?”

You shake your head. “Not really. It’s just a reminder to be careful. The universe has a way of sending signals, you know?”

He hums, though his tone is sceptical. “I still don’t get the whole crystal-tarot-astrology thing. But if it makes you feel grounded, I’m all in. My wallet, though, isn’t gonna love you buying out the crystal shop again.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” you tease, tilting your head to catch his gaze. “You get a kick out of hearing me rant about this stuff.”

Jisung grins, that familiar, boyish charm lighting up his face. “Maybe I just like hearing your voice.”

“Maybe you just like kissing my ass.”

“Only when it’s bare.”

“Jisung!”

He dissolves into laughter, the kind that shakes the bed and makes Zak lift his head in confusion. You roll your eyes playfully as Jisung’s laughter starts to die down, though the grin on his face lingers. His arm drapes around your shoulders as he pulls you closer, still absently tracing patterns on your skin. 

“You know,” you say, tilting your head to look at him, “you look different lately.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow, a teasing smirk already forming. “Different? Like how? Handsomer? Sexier? More fuckable?”

You snort, shoving at his chest, which is frustratingly solid beneath your hand. “I’m serious, Sungie. You cut your hair, switched the silver out for blue, you’ve been hitting the gym more with Changbin, and your arms are like double the size they were before. And your chest...” You trail off, gesturing vaguely at his torso. “I mean, I think your chest is bigger than mine now. You’re making my boobs look tragic.”

Jisung’s jaw drops, feigning absolute horror. “Do not,” he sits up, one hand clutching his chest dramatically, “and I mean do not diss my favourite titties.”

You blink, confused. “Wait, your- oh my god, you mean mine?” You burst out laughing, and he grins like he’s won the lottery. “Jisung, you’re fucking impossible.”

“I’m dead serious,” he says, sitting cross-legged now and leaning toward you with mock solemnity. He pokes your chest lightly, his finger pressing against the fabric of your bralette. “These are works of art, jagiya. They’re perfection. Fuck the gym, Changbin can’t give me what these do.”

You giggle, batting his hand away, but he’s relentless. “No, no, let me finish! These are my favourite titties in the world. The Mona Lisa of boobs. Michelangelo himself couldn’t sculpt anything better.”

“You’re insane,” you manage through your laughter, trying to shove his face away as he leans closer.

“And you’re blessed,” he says, completely unfazed, his grin wide and shameless. “Seriously, I should write a fucking sonnet about them. Ode to the Greatest Pair of Tits That Ever Graced This Earth. Shakespeare would cry.”

“Jisung, shut up,” you giggle, doubling over as he pokes your chest again, his touch playful and light. “You’re so stupid.”

From the room next door, Minho’s voice booms through the thin walls. “JISUNG, SHUT UP ABOUT YOUR GIRLFRIEND’S FUCKING TITS!”

You’re gasping for air as Jisung groans and flops back dramatically, flinging an arm over his eyes. “Why does he always ruin my fun?” he whines before sitting up suddenly and grabbing your chest with both hands. He gives them a quick squeeze. “Honk.”

The noise that comes out of you is somewhere between a laugh and a snort, and it sends Jisung into another fit of giggles. “You’re such a child,” you say, slapping his hands away again, though there’s no real force behind it. “What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” he repeats, looking offended before lunging forward and burying his face between your boobs. “What’s wrong with me is that these exist, and I’m a simple man.”

“Jisung!” you shriek, laughing as he starts shaking his head dramatically, his hair tickling your skin. He lets out a loud, exaggerated “brrrrrr” sound, the vibrations making you dissolve into giggles.

“Stop motorboating me!” you gasp, trying to push his head away, but he’s stronger now, Changbin’s workouts clearly paying off, and he just stays there, muffling a defiant “Never!”

“You’re fucking ridiculous!” you cry, laughing so hard your stomach aches.

“Ridiculous or romantic?”

“Neither,” you say, still breathless. “You’re just an idiot.”

“An idiot who loves his jagiya’s tits. Let me suffocate here! I’ll die happy.”

The door creaks open, and Minho pokes his head into the room, eyebrows raised in mock judgment. “Jisung, stop being a fucking freak.”

Jisung doesn’t even lift his face from your chest. He’s still making that obnoxious “brrrr” noise, his head moving side to side. You’re half laughing, half mortified, trying to push him away, but his grip around your waist is unyielding.

“Minho, help me!” you plead, waving a hand toward the door.

Minho crosses his arms and leans casually against the doorframe. “Poor Zak shouldn’t have to see this shit.” He strides into the room, bending down to scoop up your dog. Zak wags his tail, happy for the attention, and Minho cradles him like a baby. “You deserve better, little man. You don’t need to witness whatever the fuck this is.”

“Minho, I’m serious!” you laugh as Jisung lets out another exaggerated “brrrrrr,” his blue hair tickling your skin.

“Jisung,” Minho says, deadpan. “Go sit in the fucking corner and think about what you’ve done.”

Jisung groans dramatically but finally rolls off the bed, landing on the floor with a soft thud. He drags himself to the corner like a petulant child, flopping down cross-legged. But instead of sitting quietly, he presses his hands to his cheeks, squeezing them together. He starts mimicking the same motion he was doing on you, complete with another obnoxious “brrrrrr” noise.

“I have an active imagination!” Jisung declares, grinning mischievously as he shakes his head between his hands. “I’m imagining my hands are your tits, jagiya! It’s like I never left!”

You bury your face in your hands, mortified, while Minho snorts so hard Zak wiggles in his arms. “You’re fucking hopeless,” Minho says, shooting Jisung a look of pure disbelief.

“Hopelessly in love with my girlfriend’s boobs!” Jisung shoots back, unbothered. “And proud of it!”

Minho shakes his head, turning to you. “Come on, Y/N. You don’t need this shit. Seek refuge with your favourite Alpha Phi member.”

Jisung gasps from his corner, clutching his hands to his chest as if he’s been physically wounded. “Traitor!” he cries, pointing an accusatory finger at Minho.

“Shut up,” Minho says firmly, pointing back. “You’re in time-out.”

Jisung starts making the “brrrrrr” noise again, but this time he muffles it with his hands, wiggling his eyebrows at you as if to say, Look how creative I am.

“You poor thing,” Minho says to you, ignoring Jisung completely. “What were you thinking dating him?”

“I declare temporary insanity,” you reply, laughing. “All his 90s dream girl talk got to me.”

“You’re still my 90s dream girl!” Jisung exclaims from his corner, his hands still pressed to his cheeks as he wiggles his head dramatically.

Minho rolls his eyes. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s watch something that’s not fucking Howl’s Moving Castle for the 900th time.”

“Sold,” you say immediately, sliding off the bed.

“Wait, what?” Jisung says, his voice rising an octave. “You’re just gonna leave me?”

Minho smirks, adjusting Zak in his arms. “Jisung, sit there for twenty minutes and repent or something.”

“You’re stealing my girlfriend and our fur child!” Jisung protests, scrambling to his feet.

“I’ll make it permanent if you don’t shut up and accept your time-out,” Minho threatens, raising an eyebrow.

Jisung throws his arms in the air, his frustration exaggerated. “I’m a titty fiend! I shouldn’t be punished for that!”

“Well, you fucking are,” Minho deadpans, stepping toward the door with Zak and gesturing for you to follow. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s leave the fiend to his pity party.”

“I have rights!” Jisung shouts after you as you step into the hallway, Minho chuckling under his breath. “You can’t just take my girlfriend and the dog! This is an act of war!”

Minho closes the door behind you, muffling Jisung’s continued protests. He glances at you with a smirk. “You really put up with that every day?”

You laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “He’s ridiculous, but he’s my ridiculous.”

“Temporary insanity,” Minho teases as he starts walking toward the stairs. “Let’s see if I can knock some sense into you with a decent movie.”

Behind the closed door, you can still faintly hear Jisung shouting, “I HAVE RIGHTS!” and you can’t help but laugh.

The living room of the Alpha Phi frat house is comfortably chaotic, the kind of space that reflects the personalities of everyone who lives there. A massive sectional dominates the room, piled with mismatched pillows and throw blankets that no one remembers buying. The faint scent of popcorn lingers from the kitchen, and the hum of an indie playlist plays softly in the background. It’s a rare moment of peace, all the chaos of frat life distilled into a lazy afternoon.

You’re sprawled on the couch with Felix, both of you hunched over his phone, scrolling through a crystal shop’s online catalogue. Felix’s brown mullet bobs as he shifts closer, pointing at a thumbnail of a smoky quartz tower. His glasses slide down his nose, and he pushes them up absentmindedly.

“This one,” Felix says, his tone decisive. “Smoky quartz for grounding. We need that shit in the kitchen after Chan melted the spatula last week.”

“I didn’t melt it,” Chan argues from across the room. He’s sitting on the floor, tossing Zak’s favourite squeaky toy toward Minho, who catches it and tosses it back like they’re playing some weird version of fetch themselves. Zak bounces between them, his brindle fur gleaming under the sunlight streaming through the windows, his tail wagging like it might fly off.

“You fucking did,” Minho says with a snort. “You left it on the stove, genius.”

Zak drops the toy at Chan’s feet, barking once, his tongue lolling happily. Chan throws it again. “It was an accident!”

You and Felix exchange a glance, both rolling your eyes in unison before turning back to the phone. “We definitely need smoky quartz,” you agree. “Also, look at this selenite wand. Cleansing energy for the entryway.”

Felix nods enthusiastically. “Yes! It’ll clear out all the shitty energy people bring in. Like when Jisung tracks mud inside after practice.”

“I don’t track mud-” Jisung starts, but you cut him off with a look. He’s draped over the armrest of the couch, his hair messy and damp from a shower, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants that make him look impossibly soft. "So have you found any good ones?”

“Plenty,” you reply, tilting the phone to show him. “We’re purifying your mud tracks as we speak.”

“I don’t track mud!” he protests again, sitting up and glaring at you. His tone is more indignant than angry, and it makes Felix snicker.

Minho quirks an eyebrow. “Jisung, you actually believe in this crystal shit?”

Jisung shrugs, unbothered, and stretches his arms over his head. “I think Y/N can believe in what she wants if it helps her. I support her.”

Minho’s eyebrow goes higher. “Support her how?”

“Like I support you and Bloody Mary,” Jisung says, smirking.

The toy slips from Minho’s hand, and he shudders so hard Zak stops mid-bounce to tilt his head at him. “Fuck no. Don’t even say that bitch’s name. No bathrooms in the dark for me. Ever.”

Jisung grins, leaning back with his hands behind his head. “That’s why at clubs, I always go to the bathroom with you.”

“Too fucking right,” Minho says, tossing the toy again for Zak. “True bros keep their bros safe from Bloody Mary.”

“I got you, man.” Jisung lifts a fist, and Minho meets it with a loud smack.

Chan, who’s been watching this exchange with growing amusement, shakes his head. “Wait, you actually believe in the Bloody Mary thing?”

“Fuck yes, I do,” Minho says, straightening up. His voice takes on a conspiratorial edge, and you know you’re about to get a classic Minho tangent.

“Listen,” Minho starts, leaning forward like he’s about to deliver the gospel. “Bloody Mary isn’t just some random ghost bullshit. She’s Mary Tudor, as in Mary the First, as in fucking Bloody Mary, queen of England. The bitch burned, like, 300 people at the stake. Protestants, mostly. She was Catholic, right? And her dad, Henry VIII, was all about breaking away from the Catholic Church because he wanted to marry Anne Boleyn, fucking messy family drama, by the way, so Mary basically spends her whole reign trying to reverse all of his Protestant reforms.”

Hyunjin snorts. “Nerd.”

“Shut up,” Minho snaps without heat, continuing his tirade. “So anyway, people start calling her Bloody Mary because of all the executions. And then somehow she gets turned into this creepy bathroom ghost? I don’t know who came up with that shit, but it’s disrespectful as hell.”

Jisung, sprawled like a cat on the couch, grins. “So you believe the ghost part?”

Minho’s expression turns grim. “I don’t fuck with mirrors. Or bathrooms in the dark. No fucking way. You say her name three times, you’re asking for it.”

Chan chuckles, tossing Zak’s toy again. “That’s a stretch, dude.”

“It’s not!” Minho insists, his voice rising. “Mirrors are a gateway. Everyone fucking knows that. And if you say her name, it’s like inviting her in. Like... like a mirror demon or some shit. It’s common fucking sense.”

Zak barks once, as if agreeing, and Felix bursts into laughter. “Oh my god, you’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” Minho replies, crossing his arms. “Call me crazy, but I’m not risking my life over a bathroom dare.”

“Bloody Mary’s not gonna come for you,” Chan says, shaking his head with a grin.

“You don’t know that,” Minho fires back. “What if she’s pissed off that I insulted her? You don’t fucking tempt fate.”

Hyunjin, sprawled across the armchair like it’s a throne, finally chimes in with a shudder. “I don’t fuck with those Virgin Ghosts.”

Everyone pauses, turning toward him, and he sits up straighter, waving his hands for emphasis. “You know the ones, white dresses, long dark hair, looking like they crawled straight out of The Ring. Fuck that.”

Chan laughs, but it’s a little nervous. “Mine’s the eyeless woman. You know, the one people see in their sleep paralysis? Fuck that bitch. Or toilet ghosts.”

Minho points at him. “Fuck toilet ghosts. They’re the worst.”

Hyunjin snorts. “Why are toilets such a common fucking haunting spot?”

“Because they’re vulnerable as fuck!” Minho exclaims, sitting up, his voice full of righteous indignation. “You’re literally pants-down, defenceless. A ghost shows up, what the fuck are you gonna do? Waddle away?”

Everyone bursts into laughter, Felix smacking his knee as he doubles over. “Waddle away,” he repeats through his laughter, and you can’t help giggling, too, shaking your head.

Felix sits up, wiping at his eyes. “Y/N and I don’t worry about that shit. You know why? Immaculate vibes, sage, and crystals.”

“Exactly,” you say, holding up a fist toward Felix. He meets it with his own, both of you nodding like you’ve just solved world peace.

Minho scoffs. “I’d like to see sage hold off Bloody Mary.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, his expression calm and confident. “It would.”

“Bullshit,” Minho mutters, leaning back against the couch, arms crossed. Zak, as if sensing the tension, trots over and drops his squeaky toy in Minho’s lap. Minho sighs, picking it up absentmindedly. “Fucking sage isn’t doing shit against a pissed-off ghost.”

Felix grins, his faith unshakable. “Your negativity is why you’re a target.”

Minho throws the toy for Zak, muttering under his breath, “Fucking target.”

Just then, the door to the living room creaks open, and one of the new freshman pledges steps in hesitantly, holding a stack of papers. He’s wide-eyed, clearly intimidated, and freezes when he sees the group sprawled around like the house royalty they are.

“Uh, hi,” he starts, his voice shaky. “I was told to bring-”

“Pleb three!” Minho declares loudly, cutting him off and pointing. “Get in here.”

The poor kid shuffles in, clearly trying not to trip over his own feet. You glance at Minho, frowning slightly. “Minho, don’t call him that. You’re so mean.”

Minho shrugs, unapologetic. “What? We have six new pledges. Pleb one through six. He’s three.”

The pledge looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up, and you sigh, shooting him a reassuring smile. “Don’t mind him. He’s just... like that.”

Minho ignores you completely, turning back to the pledge. “Pleb, go make cocktails for all of us. And remember, no fucking cheap-ass shit. I want something classy.”

The pledge nods quickly, backing toward the door, but Minho holds up a hand, stopping him mid-step. “Oh, and one more thing,” he adds, his tone sharp. “You can’t look at members’ girlfriends either.” He flicks a dismissive hand. “Eyes off. Got it?”

The pledge stares at him for a second before covering his eyes with one hand, holding the papers with the other. “Got it,” he says weakly, stumbling out of the room.

Jisung, who’s been quietly observing from his spot on the couch, lets out a loud snicker. “Minho, you’re fucking insane.”

“What?” Minho says, feigning innocence. “I’m protecting your jagiya, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” you mutter, shaking your head. “You’re scaring him half to death.”

“Good,” Minho says, leaning back with a smirk. “Keeps them on their toes.”

Chan shakes his head, throwing Zak’s toy again. “One of these days, Minho, you’re gonna scare a pledge so bad they’ll quit.”

“Good,” Minho repeats. “If they can’t handle me, they can’t handle this house.” He gestures dramatically at the room as if it’s a fortress rather than a mildly chaotic frat space.

Jisung leans over, resting his head on your shoulder. “You’re too nice to hang out with him, jagiya.”

You smile, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Maybe I just balance him out.”

Felix hums thoughtfully. “Y/N does have impeccable vibes. Minho, you could probably use some of her sage.”

“Fuck off, Felix,”

The sound of the dryer hums faintly in the background as you sit cross-legged on Jisung’s bed, folding the week’s laundry into neat piles. Your white blouse is tied casually above your navel, and the light acid-wash mom jeans you’re wearing feel comfortably snug. A citrine necklace rests against your collarbone, glinting softly in the afternoon light as you work, occasionally brushing back stray strands of hair that escape your seashell claw clip. Jisung sits at the foot of the bed, surrounded by a sea of mismatched socks, diligently trying to pair them up.

“This one?” he asks, holding up a lonely grey sock, squinting at it as if it might magically reveal its partner.

You glance at it and shake your head. “Nope, that’s from the gym set. The other one is probably hiding under your desk.”

“Fucking socks,” he mutters, tossing it into a growing pile of misfits. “It’s like they have a secret society or something. They plan their disappearances.”

You laugh softly, smoothing out one of his hoodies before folding it neatly. “Secret sock society?”

“Don’t act like it’s not real, jagiya,” he says, waving a pair of black socks in the air triumphantly. “These two almost escaped, but I got ‘em.”

“Hero of the day,” you tease, shooting him a smile as you stack another pile of folded clothes.

The two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, his occasional grumbles about sock conspiracies mixing with the soft rustle of clothes being folded. It’s peaceful, the kind of mundane intimacy that feels almost sacred.

But then your brow furrows, your hands pausing as you sift through your stack of folded laundry. Something is missing. Two somethings, to be exact.

“Ji,” you say, voice suspicious.

“Yeah, jagiya?” He doesn’t look up, too focused on wrestling with a stubborn sock.

“My thongs are missing.”

That gets his attention. His head snaps up, and he blinks at you, confused. “Wait, what?”

You hold up your fingers for emphasis. “Two. My red lace and my black lace. Gone.”

Jisung lets out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like you’ve just told him the worst news of his life. “Not the red lace! Lord, say it isn’t so!”

“And the black lace,” you add grimly.

“No!” he cries, dropping the socks in his hands and crawling closer to you on the bed. “This is a tragedy.”

“I’m not joking, Ji,” you say, though you can’t help the small laugh that escapes as you watch his theatrics. “I swear if I find one of your idiot frat brothers wearing them on their head again-”

“Minho did that one time.”

“One time too many.”

“Fair,” he concedes, flopping back onto the bed dramatically. “But might I remind you that my idiot frat brothers are also your friends?”

“Only during the hours they don’t have my panties on their heads,” you shoot back, smirking.

Jisung sits up, grinning as he reaches out to grab your hand. “Don’t worry, jagiya. If I see one of those assholes wearing your thongs, I’ll wrestle it off their head myself.”

You shake your head, biting back a laugh. “How noble of you.”

“What can I say? I’m a man of principle,” he replies, kissing your cheek quickly before going back to his pile of socks. “But seriously, we should check the laundry room. Maybe they’re still in the dryer or something.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you agree, though you’re still suspicious. You eye Jisung as he focuses on his socks again, wondering if he’s hiding something.

“Stop staring at me like I did it,” he says without looking up.

“I’m not staring!” you protest, laughing.

“You so fucking are,” he says, grinning as he finally looks up. “If I had your thongs, jagiya, trust me. You’d know. Wait a fucking second.” He slaps the wall that separates his room from Minho’s. The thud reverberates loudly, and you flinch slightly at the sound.

“Minho!” Jisung shouts, smacking the wall again for good measure.

“What?!” Minho’s muffled voice comes from the other side, annoyed and sharp.

“Have you got Y/N’s panties on your head again?!” Jisung yells back, his tone accusatory but dripping with humour.

There’s a beat of silence before Minho replies, incredulous, “I wear your girlfriend’s panties on my head one time when I’m drunk, and suddenly I’m always the fucking suspect?! Might I remind you that you double dared me to do that!”

You can’t hold back your laugh, shaking your head as you fold another one of Jisung’s hoodies. “Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, biting your lip to keep from laughing louder.

“That is true,” Jisung concedes, nodding solemnly. “I did double dare you.”

“And I am no bitch when it comes to a double dare!” Minho fires back, his tone haughty and self-righteous.

“Also true,” Jisung agrees, shrugging.

But Minho isn’t done. “Might I also remind you that you were the one who grabbed her black and green bra, held it up to your fucking eyes, and told everyone you were a fly?”

Jisung pauses, his lips twitching. “I did do that.”

“Damn right, you did,” Minho snaps. “So don’t start throwing accusations at me, you little shit.”

“Okay, okay,” Jisung says, holding up his hands as if Minho could see him through the wall. “Do you have her thongs, though?”

“No!” Minho shouts, clearly exasperated. “Why the fuck would I want her thongs? Jesus Christ, Jisung!”

“Just checking!” Jisung calls back before flopping back down on the bed beside you, grinning.

You give him a flat look, raising an eyebrow. “Are you done harassing Minho?”

“Not yet.” Jisung suddenly gasps, sitting up straight again. “Wait! The card you pulled! Theft! Deception! Someone being sneaky!”

“See? It’s real!”

Jisung blinks, nodding slowly as if connecting all the dots. “Holy shit. You might convert me to a tarot believer yet, jagiya.”

“Finally!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in victory. “No more calling it woo-woo shit!”

“When have I ever called it woo-woo shit?”

You arch an eyebrow at him, folding your arms across your chest. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

His mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again. “Okay,” he admits sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I may have said it... once or twice.”

“Try ten times,” 

Jisung winces. “Alright, fine. But look, I’m seeing the light now, jagiya. The cards knew. They knew! Your missing panties are proof.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling at his sudden enthusiasm. “Better late than never, I guess.”

“Exactly,” he says, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek. “So what does the card say we do about the thief? Do we stage a fucking heist to get them back? Interrogate Minho with a spotlight?”

You laugh, pushing his face away lightly. “It’s a warning card, Ji. It doesn’t give step-by-step instructions.”

“Well, it should,” he mutters, leaning back. “Fucking useless card.”

You shake your head, but you’re grinning as you go back to folding the laundry. “Maybe if you fully believed in the cards, you’d get more out of them.”

“Oh, I’m a believer now,” Jisung says, nodding sagely. “The cards have spoken, and I will honour their wisdom.”

You snort, glancing at him fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it,” 

The living room is buzzing with curiosity and chaos as the main crew gathers. Jisung sits in the oversized armchair, you perched comfortably on his lap. His hand is lazily stroking your head like you’re a cat, and he’s some villainous mastermind plotting world domination. Zak darts around the room, wagging his tail like he’s chasing invisible ghosts, occasionally bumping into people as they stand in a loose semicircle around you.

Jisung clears his throat dramatically, his free hand gesturing with flair. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his tone theatrical, “a grave crime has been committed under our roof.”

Everyone straightens up slightly, looking at each other in confusion.

Jisung points at the group, his eyes narrowing. “Someone has stolen Y/N’s lacy thongs.”

Felix’s gasp is immediate and horrified. “No!”

“Yes,” Jisung says, his expression dark and sombre. “I am heartbroken, devastated even. My jagiya’s precious thongs have been taken, and this mystery must be solved.”

Felix clutches his chest like he’s about to faint. “This is a tragedy.”

Chan sits back on the couch, crossing his arms and eyeing the room warily. “Alright, who’s the thief?”

The room goes silent for a moment before, almost instinctively, all eyes land on Minho. He sighs heavily, dragging a hand down his face. “I fucking knew I should never have accepted that stupid dare to wear her panties on my head. Now you all think I’m some panty-stealing deviant.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, his voice sharp with sarcasm. “Are you?”

“Of course fucking not!” Minho snaps, glaring at him.

“Well,” Chan interjects, trying to steer the conversation, “when was the last time you saw them?”

You sit up slightly, your brow furrowing in thought. “When I put them in the laundry basket. They were definitely there.”

Everyone once again turns to Minho, who throws his hands up in frustration. “Oh, come on! It wasn’t me!”

Changbin, who’s leaning casually against the arm of the couch, tilts his head thoughtfully. “Can we just take a moment to process the fact that someone stole Y/N’s used panties?”

You shudder at the thought, hugging yourself as a wave of discomfort rolls through you. Jisung immediately rubs your back, his touch soothing. “It’s okay, jagiya,” he murmurs. “We’ll figure it out.”

But then, as if struck by a bolt of lightning, Jisung sits up straight, his eyes wide with horror. “Oh my fucking god,” he exclaims, his voice loud and panicked. “Someone is sniffing my girlfriend’s used panties!”

Changbin snorts so hard he has to hide his laugh behind his hand, his shoulders shaking. Chan bites his lip, failing miserably to suppress a giggle, while Felix pulls his hoodie strings so tight his face disappears as he dissolves into laughter. Seungmin and Hyunjin exchange looks before breaking into outright snickers.

Jisung is relentless. “They’re smelling my girlfriend’s vagina smell! What kind of sick-”

“Ji!” you interrupt, mortified, pressing your hand firmly against his mouth. Your cheeks are burning as you hide your face in his shoulder, your voice muffled as you whine, “Oh my god, stop!”

The guys lose it. Changbin’s laughter is loud and unapologetic now, his hand slapping against the couch. Felix has nearly folded himself in half, muffled giggles escaping from the depths of his hoodie. Chan shakes his head, laughing so hard his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Jeongin, the youngest but clearly as chaotic as the rest, raises a hand like he’s in class. “What if they’re licking the panties, too?”

Jisung pulls your hand away, ready to reply. “Only I lick-”

You cut him off with a quick, desperate press of your hand back against his mouth. “Jisung, stop!” you cry, burying your face deeper into his shoulder as the group erupts into another wave of uncontrollable laughter.

Hyunjin, wiping tears from his eyes, finally manages to speak. “You know,” he says, catching his breath, “someone probably sold them. You can make bank off used panties.”

You let out a loud whine, muffled into Jisung’s hoodie, while he strokes your back soothingly. “Don’t worry, jagiya,” he says, his tone serious but with a mischievous glint in his eye. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. And if someone is making money off your panties, we’re demanding fucking royalties.”

The week passes without incident. Until it doesn’t. You’re folding laundry on Jisung’s bed, sitting cross-legged in your usual spot while he lounges nearby in nothing but his boxers, scrolling on his phone. Your blue cotton lounge pants and bralette feel soft and familiar, your makeup-free face showing off the faint freckles dusted across your cheeks. The peaceful rhythm of folding clothes is abruptly shattered when you let out a horrified gasp.

Jisung looks up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “What? What happened?”

“My lacy boyshorts! My favourite pair of underwear! Gone!”

Jisung freezes, his phone slipping from his hands. Then he leaps to his feet with a theatrical flourish. “No. No!” he shouts. “House meeting! Everyone, to my room immediately!”

The sound of heavy footsteps fills the hallway as the guys shuffle in, groaning and confused. Chan’s hair is slightly damp, probably from a quick shower, while Minho and Hyunjin look like they were in the middle of a heated FIFA match. Felix clutches a snack, shoving chips into his mouth as he walks, and Jeongin and Seungmin appear with their usual air of “why are we even fucking here?”

Jisung stands dramatically in the middle of the room, pointing at the group as they gather. “Once again,” he declares, his voice booming, “the panty thief strikes!”

Felix, who’s perched on the edge of the bed, widens his eyes. “Dude, someone is seriously stealing your panties.” 

“They stole my favourite pair, Lix!” you say, your voice a mix of despair and disbelief.

Felix gasps, his chips forgotten as he pats your head gently, then pulls you into a comforting cuddle. You lean into him, grateful for his warmth, as he says solemnly, “Don’t worry. We’ll hold a funeral service. They deserve a proper send-off.”

You laugh softly despite the situation, shaking your head against his shoulder.

Minho, leaning casually against the desk, crosses his arms and tilts his head. “You know,” he says, his tone disturbingly calm, “if they haven’t sold them, they’re probably jerking their dick with your panties.”

Jisung stiffens, spinning around to glare at him. “That is a sin! Dishonor on my good name!”

Chan raises an eyebrow, barely able to contain a grin. “Dishonor on you?”

“Yes, on me!” Jisung exclaims, pointing at himself indignantly. “Someone is probably wanking with my girlfriend’s used panties. They dishonour her, so they dishonour me! When I find this hooligan, I’m going to stick them in the washing machine and put it on a hot wash!”

The room erupts into laughter at Jisung’s outburst. Changbin doubles over, clutching his stomach, while Felix hides his face in his hands, shaking with silent giggles. You’re biting your lip, trying not to laugh, but Jisung’s dramatics make it nearly impossible.

Jeongin, ever the voice of practicality, raises his hand. “Okay, but, like, just buy new panties?”

Jisung whirls on him, his eyes wide with disbelief. “That is not the point! This isn’t about new panties! It’s about justice! Someone has stolen her used panties! A crime! A threat to my manhood! I must duel this thief to the death! With a stick! Like they did on the horses back in the day.”

Seungmin, leaning against the wall, rolls his eyes. “That’s jousting, you idiot. And it wasn’t a death match.”

“It might as well have been!” Jisung shoots back, throwing his hands in the air. “The point is, I have to defend my jagiya’s honour!”

Hyunjin lazily flips his hair out of his eyes. “Can we all just take a moment to remember that Minho is the only person in this room, besides Jisung, to have ever touched her panties?”

The room falls silent as everyone turns to Minho again. He groans loudly, swatting at Hyunjin. “It is not me, you unfairly beautiful bastard!”

Hyunjin smirks, dodging the swat with ease. “Defensiveness sounds like guilt to me.”

“Fuck off,” Minho grumbles, shaking his head. “I don’t even want your damn panties. I just wanted to win a dare. This is all Jisung’s fault anyway for making me do it.”

Jisung glares at Minho but says nothing, instead wrapping his arms around you. “Don’t worry, jagiya,” he murmurs softly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “We’re going to solve this if it’s the last thing I do. No one gets away with disrespecting you like this.”

The guys groan, already bracing themselves for whatever chaos Jisung’s plan might bring. But as ridiculous as the situation is, there’s an unspoken agreement among them: this mystery will be solved.

The Times Square shopping centre in Seoul is buzzing with life, a vibrant mix of chatter, footsteps, and the occasional burst of laughter echoing through the spacious halls. You’re walking hand in hand with Jisung, his grip firm and warm. 

Your black turtleneck is tucked neatly into your black shorts, sheer tights peeking out from underneath, and the thigh-high boots you’re wearing click softly against the polished floor. The golden chain belt around your waist glimmers faintly under the overhead lights. Jisung, next to you, looks effortlessly striking in black cargos and boots, his blue and black compression top hugging his broad chest and muscular arms in a way that makes him stand out in the crowd. His messy blue hair adds a carefree charm to his sharp appearance.

The two of you turn into the Victoria’s Secret store, the soft pink glow of its signage welcoming you inside. The scent of vanilla and floral perfumes greets you, mingling with the faint rustle of fabric as customers browse the racks.

“Spend as much as you want, jagiya,” Jisung says immediately, his voice warm and encouraging. “Replace your stolen panties, get some new ones, retail therapy. My treat.” He grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Because, you know, I get to see you in them.”

You giggle, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet you love me,” he replies smoothly, reaching out to pluck a lacy black bralette from a nearby rack. He holds it up, inspecting it with an exaggeratedly critical eye before tossing it into the basket on his arm. “This one’s sexy as fuck. It’s a must.”

The store is lined with rows of lingerie in every imaginable style and colour. You wander slowly, taking in the intricate lace details and delicate embroidery. Jisung stays close, clearly invested in the selection process. He pauses by a display of pastel-coloured sets, picking up a soft lavender bra with matching panties. “This would look amazing on you,” he says, adding it to the growing collection in the basket.

“Most guys would be standing outside right now, you know,” you tease, watching as he browses like he owns the place.

“And miss this?” He gestures around the store dramatically, then points to you. “Miss being in heaven, getting to pick out my girlfriend’s lingerie? Fuck that.”

You laugh, shaking your head as he continues to browse, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re ridiculous.”

He smirks, picking up a red lace set and holding it up for you to see. “Ridiculously lucky. You should try this one on. Actually-” He tosses it into the basket before you can respond. “No need. I already know it’ll look amazing.”

You snort, glancing at the basket on his arm, which is quickly filling up. “Are you trying to buy out the whole store?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “You deserve the best. Should we grab boba after this? You’ve got that I need sugar look.”

“Yeah, boba sounds good,” you say, smiling. “My treat, though, because you’re about to break your bank in here.”

“Fair trade,” he says, nodding as he picks up a lacy blue set, admiring the delicate straps before tossing it into the basket with a grin. “But let’s make it a large. I’ll need it after carrying this financial burden.”

You laugh, leaning into his side as the two of you make your way toward another section of the store. He pauses by a rack of silk robes, running his fingers over the fabric. “What about this?” he asks, holding up a short, champagne-colored robe.

“For lounging around the house?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Or for seducing your boyfriend,” he replies smoothly, his tone teasing. “Dual purpose.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile on your face as he adds it to the basket. “You’re seriously too much.”

“Too much? Or just enough?” He leans down, his face close to yours, his grin playful.

You shake your head, pushing him lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you love me,” he says again, his confidence unwavering as he grabs another set off a nearby rack. The basket on his arm is practically overflowing now, but he doesn’t seem to care.

When you finally make it to the register, the cashier raises an eyebrow at the sheer volume of items. Jisung doesn’t bat an eye, pulling out his card like a man on a mission. 

As the cashier rings up the items, you glance at the total and let out a soft whistle. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Absolutely,” Jisung says, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Retail therapy works wonders, and seeing you happy? Worth every won.”

You smile, leaning into him as the cashier finishes bagging the items. As the two of you leave the store, Jisung carrying the bags like they’re trophies, he turns to you with a grin. “Boba now?”

“Boba now,” you agree, laughing as he leads you toward the food court.

Jisung swings the bags lightly, his grin ever-present. “Best shopping trip ever.”

Laundry day comes again, and you and Jisung are back in his room, sorting through freshly cleaned clothes. The atmosphere is relaxed as you fold shirts into neat piles and Jisung matches up socks. You’re wearing white lounge pants and a black bralette, your hair messily tied up in a bun with strands framing your face. Your socks are mismatched and fluffy, a detail Jisung keeps teasing you about.

“Do you do this on purpose?” he asks, holding up your feet for inspection. “Like, is it a vibe or-”

“It’s laundry day, Ji,” you reply with a smirk. “All my matching ones are in the basket. Besides, they’re comfy.”

Before he can retort, your hands pause mid-fold. You sift through the pile of freshly laundered clothes, brow furrowing. “Wait a second...”

Jisung notices immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“My new panties... they’re gone.” Then realization dawns, and your eyes widen. “No. No, no, no. My bra is gone too! They’ve evolved! They’re taking my bras!”

Jisung stares at you in horror, his mouth falling open. “The titty support?” he exclaims. “How fucking dare they!”

You laugh despite your frustration, but Jisung’s dramatics continue. He gestures wildly to the room as if addressing the universe. “Do they not understand the sanctity of a bra? The pain of unsupported boobs? Your poor back, jagiya.”

You snort. “My back is fine”

“No, it’s not!” he interrupts, suddenly moving behind you and cupping your boobs with both hands. “Your back is crying out for help. Don’t worry. I’ll hold them up with my own two hands. Problem solved.”

“Jisung!” you squeal, laughing as you try to wriggle out of his grip, but he just adjusts his hold, resting his chin on your shoulder with a smug grin.

“Perfect,” he says as if he’s genuinely proud of himself. “See? No bra needed. I’ll do this all day.”

You roll your eyes, still laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously devoted,” he corrects, giving your boobs a playful bounce for emphasis. But before he can call for a house meeting, there’s a knock at the door, and then it swings open as the rest of the guys shuffle in uninvited.

Seungmin is the first to speak, his voice dripping with exasperation. “Again?”

Jisung spins around, still holding your boobs protectively. “This creep has evolved,” he announces, his tone dark. “He’s stealing matching sets now! Bra and panties!”

Felix’s eyes immediately lock on Jisung’s hands. “Uh, why are you holding her boobs?”

Jisung doesn’t miss a beat. “Because the perv is stealing her bras, Felix! I’m protecting her spine.”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Seems legit,” he mutters, but his lips twitch like he’s fighting a laugh.

Changbin crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Minho, didn’t you once say you like blue underwear?”

Minho freezes mid-step, his expression scandalized. “Oh, come on! This has been going on for three weeks. If I were the panty thief, which, let me remind you, I am not, it would’ve been one and done! Why the fuck does this guy need so many pairs?”

Seungmin tilts his head thoughtfully, but his face twists in mild disgust as he continues. “Well, if we’re going with the theory that he’s keeping them, then it probably means they’re all, uh, crusted with old jizz.”

The room erupts.

“What the fuck, Seungmin?!” Jisung shouts, gagging dramatically as he finally lets go of your boobs to clutch his stomach.

Felix covers his mouth with both hands, his eyes wide in horror. “Ew! Ew, ew, ew!”

Hyunjin clutches his chest like he’s about to faint. “Why the fuck would you say that out loud?”

Even Changbin, who rarely shies away from crude humour, looks appalled. “Dude, what the fuck?!”

Chan, who had been leaning silently against the desk, grimaces. “I’m gonna need brain bleach after this conversation.”

You stand there, stunned and horrified, before you let out a loud groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god, can we not?”

Jisung, ever your champion, regains his composure first. He places a hand on your shoulder, his expression serious. “Don’t worry, jagiya,” he says solemnly. “We’ll catch this fucker. And when we do, I’m putting his ass through the washing machine on the spin cycle.”

Hyunjin clears his throat, still looking mildly traumatized. “Seungmin, you’re banned from speculating about the thief’s habits. Forever.”

“Seconded,” Minho says quickly, shoving Seungmin lightly as if to physically push the thought away. “And for the last time, it’s not me. I’m offended you guys keep looking at me like I’m the panty goblin.”

“You are still the only one in this room, besides Jisung, to have touched her underwear,” Hyunjin points out, smirking as Minho groans.

“It’s not fucking me, you unfairly beautiful bastard!” Minho snaps, swatting at Hyunjin, who easily dodges with a laugh. "Stop pointing fingers at me just because I dared to be a team player once!”

“Sounds like something a panty thief would say.”

As the room devolves into bickering, Jisung sighs, shaking his head. “This is getting us nowhere,” he mutters. Then, louder, he adds, “But mark my fucking words. We’re catching this asshole. And when we do, they’re done.”

The week has been a tense one, with every passing day filled with speculation, jokes, and frustration. But tonight, Jisung is determined to end it. He sets his trap with meticulous care, placing mousetraps inside the laundry basket in the laundry room. The basket is filled with unwashed clothes, including a decoy pair of your panties, a plain, older pair he sacrificially snuck into the mix. It’s all bait, and the trap is set.

You’re lounging on the couch in the living room with the rest of the Alpha Phi crew, dressed in sage green lounge pants and a matching bralette. Your hair is messily tied up in a bun, and your mismatched fluffy socks peek out as you curl your legs beneath you. The group is scattered across the room, chatting idly, the usual chaos subdued by the lazy hum of the evening.

Jisung sits beside you, bouncing his leg nervously, his attention divided between your conversation and his ears straining for any sound from the laundry room. The tension is palpable.

Then it happens, a sharp snap echoes through the house, followed by a loud, panicked yelp.

Jisung jumps to his feet, his eyes wide with excitement. “The panty thief!” he shouts, already darting toward the hallway. The rest of you scramble after him, the energy in the room going from zero to chaotic in seconds.

The group floods into the laundry room, and there, standing frozen with a mousetrap clamped firmly onto his hand, is Pledge Five. His face is a mixture of pain, panic, and guilt, his free hand flailing helplessly as he tries to pry the trap loose.

“Pleb Five!” Minho exclaims, his voice dripping with disdain. He crosses his arms, glaring at the red-faced freshman. “No. You’re not Pleb Five anymore. From now on, you’re Pleb Perv.”

Jisung steps forward, his expression livid as he points an accusatory finger at the pledge. “You! What did you do to my girlfriend’s panties?!”

“Please don’t answer that,” you mutter, your voice weary as you press a hand to your forehead.

The pledge stammers, his mouth opening and closing uselessly, but Minho’s not about to let him off the hook. “Look at his fucking face!” Minho says, pointing for emphasis. “He jerked it with her underwear. I fucking knew it.”

The pledge’s face flushes a deep, incriminating red, and the room collectively groans.

“I’ve been fighting accusations for weeks, you dirty little bastard!” Minho yells, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Weeks! And it was you the whole fucking time!”

Jisung’s fury flares even brighter. “Get in the washing machine!” he demands, pointing to the industrial-sized appliance in the corner.

The pledge blinks, his panic momentarily replaced by confusion. “What?”

Chan steps forward, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “Jisung, we can’t put him in the washing machine.”

“Why not?” Jisung snaps. “He put his dirty, nasty, little dick on my girlfriend’s fucking panties! He deserves it!”

Hyunjin, who’s been watching the scene unfold with wide-eyed amusement, chimes in. “Let’s just get this straight.” He looks at the pledge, tilting his head. “Did you jerk it with Y/N’s panties?”

The pledge hesitates, his gaze darting around the room before he finally nods, his head dropping in shame.

“Fucking hell,” Felix mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is so fucked.”

Minho throws his hands up again, clearly exasperated. “I told you all it wasn’t me, but nooooo, everyone blamed Minho! And it was this little shit the whole time!”

Felix steps forward, his expression serious now. “Where is her underwear?”

The pledge gulps audibly, avoiding eye contact as he mumbles, “Under my mattress.”

Another collective groan ripples through the group, louder this time. Hyunjin gags dramatically, covering his mouth with his hand.

“That’s fucking disgusting,” Changbin says, his voice filled with disbelief.

“Burn the whole house down,” Seungmin mutters, shaking his head.

Chan steps forward, his authoritative presence silencing the chaos momentarily. “Alright, listen. Get the fuck out. Pack your shit. We’ll ship it to your new address. You’re done here.”

The pledge’s mouth opens like he’s about to argue, but one look from Chan shuts him up. He nods weakly, wincing as he tries to remove the mousetrap from his hand.

Minho claps his hands together, his tone suddenly chipper. “Great! I’ll grab supplies for recovery and disposal.” Without another word, he disappears down the hallway, leaving everyone else staring at the humiliated pledge.

Jisung takes a deep breath, his hand sliding into yours as he looks at you with a mix of anger and protectiveness. “Don’t worry, jagiya,” he says softly. “This shit’s over. No one disrespects you like that and gets away with it.”

You nod, squeezing his hand. “Let’s just hope Minho doesn’t come back with a flamethrower.”

Hyunjin laughs softly, shaking his head. “Would anyone even blame him if he did?”

The group trudges upstairs, a tense, horrified energy hanging over everyone as they make their way to the pledge’s room. Minho leads the charge, armed with a trash bag, rubber gloves, and a pair of tongs that look like they were stolen from the kitchen. You stay close to Jisung, who’s muttering under his breath about unwashed pledges and crimes against humanity.

Chan is the first to reach the bed, and he grabs the edge of the mattress with a sigh. “Alright, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

As he lifts the mattress, everyone leans in—and collective groans of disgust ripple through the group. Beneath the mattress is a stash of your missing panties and bras, folded haphazardly but undeniably there. 

Jisung recoils instantly, gagging. “Oh my fucking god. Ew! There’s- That’s- That’s on my girlfriend’s panties!”

“Jizz,” Minho declares flatly, leaning in with his tongs like a forensic investigator at a crime scene. “It’s old, crusty jizz. This is a biohazard.”

The whole room groans again, and Jisung looks like he’s going to throw up. Minho, completely unfazed, crouches down and starts picking up the offending items one by one with the tongs. “Alright,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact, “trash bag open. Gloves on. Let’s get this shit cleaned up.”

Jisung points accusingly at him, his disgust temporarily overridden by a smirk. “I dare you to put these ones on your head.”

Minho snorts, holding up a particularly stiff-looking pair of panties with the tongs. “And get pink eye from old jizz? Fuck no.”

Felix, who’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, grins. “But you put Y/N’s clean panties on your head, though.”

Minho shrugs, unfazed. “Get me drunk enough, and I’d wear fucking panties. Hell, I’d rock them.”

“Good to know,” Seungmin mutters, looking like he’s trying not to vomit.

Minho waves the stiff panties around like a flag. “Look at this shit! They’re fucking stiff. This isn’t fabric anymore, it’s a weapon.”

You’re the first to crack, a loud laugh bursting out of you as you lean against Jisung for support. “Oh my god, Minho, stop!”

“I’m serious!” Minho says, grinning as he waves the panties again. “Feel this. It’s like cardboard. How many times did this dude nut in your panties?!”

The room descends into chaos. Felix doubles over, laughter muffled against his hoodie sleeve. Hyunjin is next, his laughter loud and unrestrained as he clutches the doorframe for support. Changbin starts laughing so hard he has to sit on the floor, while Seungmin and Jeongin exchange horrified glances before breaking into fits of giggles.

Jisung, however, remains rooted to the spot, his expression one of pure horror. “This isn’t funny,” he says, but his voice wavers as if he’s fighting the urge to laugh. Beside him, Chan pinches the bridge of his nose, his face twitching as he tries to keep a straight face.

Minho, meanwhile, is fully committed to his role as narrator. He picks up another pair of panties, holding it delicately with the tongs as he examines it. “Here we have Exhibit B,” he says in a faux-serious tone. “Notice the uneven crust patterns. This suggests a man who lacks precision, perhaps caught up in the throes of self fulfillment”

“Minho, stop!” you cry, tears streaming down your face as you laugh uncontrollably.

“Can’t stop,” Minho replies, deadpan. “Won’t stop. The people deserve to know the truth.”

He moves on to the matching blue bra, lifting it carefully. His face twists in exaggerated disgust. “And here we have the pièce de résistance,” he says, gesturing to the inside of the cups. “The bra. Notice the texture.”

“Don’t,” Jisung warns, his voice low and dangerous.

Minho doesn’t listen. “It looks like spoiled breast milk in the cups,” he says, shaking the bra for emphasis. “That’s how much he spaffed in this thing. His jizz looks like spoiled fucking breast milk.”

The room explodes again. Felix collapses onto the floor, wheezing as Hyunjin clings to him for support. Seungmin and Jeongin are doubled over, tears streaming down their faces, while Changbin has to lie back against the wall to catch his breath.

You’re gasping for air, clutching Jisung’s arm as you laugh so hard your stomach aches. “Minho, you’re going to kill us!”

“Hey, I’m just reporting the facts,” Minho replies, tossing the bra into the trash bag with a flourish. “And the facts are fucking disgusting.”

Jisung, still horrified, shakes his head. “I’m going to burn this room to the ground.”

“Let me grab the bleach first,” Minho says cheerfully, sealing the trash bag. “We’re going to need it.”

As the laughter dies down, Chan steps forward, his face now calm but stern. “Alright, let’s finish this and make sure this perv is out of the house by tonight.”

Everyone nods, though the occasional giggle still bubbles up as Minho lugs the bag toward the door, narrating under his breath about “the tragic tale of crusty lingerie.” You can’t help but laugh again, even as Jisung pulls you close, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and exhaustion.

“This fucking house,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The entire group makes their way outside to the frat house’s backyard, where the fire pit stands as the centrepiece of many questionable decisions. The cool night air carries the faint scent of grass, and the fire pit glows dimly as Seungmin crouches to light it. The flames lick to life, crackling and snapping as everyone gathers around.

Minho, with the trash bag of “evidence” slung over his shoulder like some deranged Santa Claus, steps forward dramatically. “Alright,” he announces, “time to cleanse this house of its filth.”

“Cleanse the house?” Hyunjin echoes, smirking. “You’re literally about to burn jizz-crusted underwear. That’s not cleansing. That’s fumigating.”

Minho ignores him, holding the bag out over the flames. “Farewell to these cursed artefacts,” he intones. “May their spirit haunt no one.”

With that, he dumps the entire bag into the fire. The flames roar higher for a moment as the bag’s contents catch, and a faintly acrid smell fills the air. Everyone groans and steps back, waving their hands.

“Fuck,” Changbin mutters, covering his nose. “That smells worse than Jisung’s gym socks.”

“Hey!” Jisung snaps, glaring at him. “Unnecessary.”

As the flames die back down, you cross your arms, staring at the fire with a frown. “You know,” you say, your tone dry, “that’s like 750,000 won worth of underwear.”

Minho, still holding the tongs like some bizarre ceremonial tool, whirls around to face you. “Why the fuck is your underwear so expensive?!”

“Because I’m classy,” you reply, lifting your chin with mock indignation.

“Fuck yeah, she is,” Jisung cuts in proudly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Classiest jagiya on the planet.”

Felix snickers, nudging Jeongin. “She’s got champagne taste in panties, clearly.”

“Alright, alright,” Minho interrupts, raising a hand like a preacher about to deliver a sermon. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right. Everyone, gather ‘round. It’s time for... a prayer.”

“A prayer?” Seungmin deadpans, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Minho says seriously. “We must honour the departed and also beg the universe to never let this shit happen again.”

Everyone exchanges amused glances, but they shuffle closer to the fire, forming a loose circle.

Minho clears his throat, holding the tongs reverently over the flames like a sceptre. “Dear holy powers of expensive-ass lingerie,” he begins, his voice deep and dramatic, “we gather here tonight to mourn the loss of Y/N’s panties and bras, taken too soon, sullied by the hands and jizz of a perv.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, hiding your face in Jisung’s shoulder as the group dissolves into muffled laughter.

Minho soldiers on. “We ask for forgiveness for burning these sacred garments, but we do so in the name of cleansing. May their spirit ascend to the great lingerie drawer in the sky, where no man shall ever nut on them again.”

Felix loses it first, doubling over with laughter. Hyunjin follows, leaning against Changbin for support as tears stream down his face.

“And,” Minho continues, ignoring the chaos, “we pray for Y/N’s future panties. May they be free of creeps and crust, and may they rest safely in their rightful place, her drawer. Amen.”

“Amen!” Jeongin shouts through his laughter, throwing his hands in the air like he’s at a revival.

Jisung shakes his head, muttering, “This fucking house,” but he’s grinning as he holds you close. You’re laughing so hard you’re shaking, and Jisung kisses the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

Minho bows deeply, tossing the tongs and gloves into the fire. “Lady and gentlemen,” he says, straightening up, “the perv has been purged.”

“About fucking time,” Chan mutters, shaking his head as the flames crackle behind him.

“Now,” Minho says, clapping his hands, “who wants s’mores? The fire’s already going.”

The living room buzzes with its usual chaos. Felix is sprawled across the couch, scrolling through his phone and occasionally showing you something funny while Hyunjin lounges on the floor, doodling absentmindedly in his sketchbook. Jeongin is perched on the armrest of the couch, flipping through a fashion magazine, tossing in sarcastic comments every few pages. Meanwhile, Minho and Changbin are in the corner, tossing Zak’s ball back and forth as your dog bounds between them, tail wagging so hard it looks like it might fly off.

You’re curled up on the other end of the couch, dressed in a black leather miniskirt and a white blouse, layered with a black leather corset cinching your waist. Your black fluffy socks provide the only hint of comfort in the otherwise polished outfit, and Felix keeps glancing at them with a mix of amusement and approval.

“I like the socks,” Felix says, finally breaking the silence. “It’s like badass on top, cosy on the bottom. Duality.”

You snort, nudging his leg with your foot. “Fashion’s about balance, Lix. You wouldn’t get it.”

He gasps mockingly. “Excuse me? I’m the most fashionable person in this room.”

Hyunjin looks up from his sketchbook, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t you wear socks with sandals last week?”

“That was ironic,” Felix defends immediately, sitting up straighter. “I was making a statement.”

Jeongin smirks, flipping a page in his magazine. “The statement was you have no taste.”

Before Felix can argue, the door swings open, and Jisung enters, his arms full as he carries a huge cardboard box. His face is determined, his blue hair slightly messy from the wind outside. “Make way,” he announces dramatically, setting the box down in the centre of the room with a loud thud.

Everyone pauses, watching as he carefully opens the flaps and pulls out a laundry basket. But this isn’t just any laundry basket. It’s metal, reinforced, and clearly equipped with a padlock.

“What the fuck is that?” Minho asks, holding Zak’s ball mid-throw.

“This,” Jisung says, holding up the basket proudly, “is the future of laundry security. I do not care if the panty thief has been ousted; I will protect my girlfriend’s panties forever now. Look!” He lifts a small key on a chain around his neck. “Only I have the key, which I will wear at all times. Just in case Minho decides to play panty hats again.”

Minho, without missing a beat, chucks Zak’s ball directly at Jisung’s head. It bounces off harmlessly as Jisung glares at him. “Hey!”

“It was one time!” Minho exclaims, exasperated. “And you dared me to do it!”

Jisung points an accusing finger at him. “You may not have been the panty thief, but you were way too comfortable putting her panties on your head!”

“They were clean panties!” Minho shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “I did not touch her used panties. That was Pledge Perv!”

“I know,” Jisung says, crossing his arms. “But this is preventative. I study criminal psych. It starts with small fires, then bam! Arson. In your case, clean panties on your head for a dare, and then bam, you’re sniffing my girlfriend’s used panties.”

Everyone groans at the sheer absurdity of his logic, except Minho, who looks utterly betrayed. “Y/N,” Minho says, turning to you with wide eyes, “I swear I will never sniff your used panties.”

You blink at him, then burst into laughter. “Thank you for that confirmation, Minho. That was actually oddly comforting.”

Felix wheezes from the couch, holding his stomach. “This fucking house,” he mutters, wiping at his eyes.

Jisung steps forward, holding up the laundry basket like a prize. “And it gets better. This thing is multipurpose! Someone starts being annoying, and we can lock them in it. Like the chokey from Matilda!”

“Jesus Christ,” Hyunjin mutters, shaking his head as he goes back to his sketchbook.

Jeongin leans forward, inspecting the basket with a smirk. “I mean... it’s not a bad idea. Can we test it on Minho?”

“Fuck you,” Minho shoots back, glaring at him. “I’ve suffered enough in this house.”

“You brought that on yourself,” Changbin points out, tossing Zak’s ball back at Minho with a grin.

Jisung grins, placing the basket down with a flourish. “Mark my words, jagiya. Your panties are safe now. No one’s getting through this bad boy.”

Minho’s eyes narrow as he steps closer to the newly unveiled laundry basket. “We can lock annoying people in there, you say?”

Jisung, completely oblivious to the brewing chaos, nods proudly. “Exactly. Multifunctional, genius, and- Hey, what are you doing?”

Minho doesn’t answer. Instead, he exchanges a quick glance with you, and before Jisung can process what’s happening, Minho lunges at him, tackling him to the couch. You’re quick to follow, snatching the key from around Jisung’s neck as he flails dramatically.

“Traitor!” Jisung yells, looking up at you with mock betrayal. “Jagiya, how could you-”

“Oh, shut up,” you say, laughing as Minho pins him down. “You’re the one who said it was multifunctional.”

Jeongin and Changbin jump into action, grabbing Jisung’s arms and legs as Minho lifts him off the couch. Jisung is shouting the whole time, a mix of curses and sputtered protests. “Put me down, you bastards! This is abuse! Y/N!”

You ignore him, grinning as you open the laundry basket. “In you go, Ji.”

The guys shove him inside with surprising efficiency, slamming the lid down before he can escape. Jisung’s voice muffles immediately as he thrashes inside the basket. “This is not how this thing was supposed to be used!”

You sit on the lid, crossing your arms smugly as you press your weight down. Jisung stills almost instantly. “Jagiya, I swear, you’re making a huge mistake.”

“Am I?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, your voice dripping with amusement. “Because it feels like I’m making the perfect choice.”

Minho leans over, snapping the padlock into place with a flourish. “Alright,” he says, brushing off his hands. “That’s done. I’m starving. Let’s go grab some lunch.”

“Wait, what?” Jisung shouts from inside the basket, his tone shifting from incredulous to panicked. “No! You can’t just leave me in here! Jagiya, don’t let them do this!”

You hop off the basket, slipping into your shoes as Jisung’s muffled protests grow louder. “Sorry, Ji,” you say with a grin, grabbing your bag. “You’re in timeout now.”

“Timeout? This is false imprisonment!” he yells. “Felix, back me up here! Someone, please!”

Felix, ever the chaos enabler, grabs his jacket and waves cheerfully toward the basket. “Bye, Jisung! Don’t worry, we’ll bring you back a doggy bag.”

“Felix!” Jisung screeches, but Felix just snickers, nudging Hyunjin as they head toward the door.

Jeongin grabs the key, holding it up like a trophy. “Think we should keep this as a souvenir?” he asks with a mischievous grin.

Minho snatches it from him. “Nah, let’s leave it here. Adds to the suspense.” He drops it back on the coffee table with a clink, turning to you. “Ready, Y/N?”

“Let’s go,” you reply, slinging your bag over your shoulder as Jisung’s voice continues to echo from the basket.

“Don’t leave me here!” he shouts, his tone shifting to his most pitiful. “Jagiya, please! I’ll do all the laundry for a week! No, a month! Just let me out!”

Hyunjin chuckles, holding the door open as the group files out. “You’ll be fine, Ji. Enjoy your new home.”

“I hate all of you!” Jisung yells as the door clicks shut behind you.

The last thing you hear before you’re out of earshot is Jisung’s dramatic, muffled voice: “This is fucking betrayal! You’ll regret this! JAGIYA!” You laugh, shaking your head as you follow your friends toward lunch, already planning how to tease him about this later.

The house is quiet, the kind of peaceful lull that settles in when everyone’s off doing their own thing. Chan stumbles downstairs after an afternoon nap, his hair sticking up in every direction and his hoodie slightly askew. He rubs the sleep from his eyes as he pads toward the kitchen, yawning loudly.

But before he can make it there, faint singing drifts from the living room. It’s woeful and slightly off-key, the kind of exaggerated misery that can only mean one thing. Jisung.

“All by myseeeelf,” Jisung wails, his voice cracking as he drags out the note. “Don’t wanna be... all by myseeeelf anymoreee!”

Chan stops mid-step, his curiosity piqued. He follows the sound and steps into the living room, only to freeze at the sight in front of him.

There’s Jisung, sitting curled up inside the locked laundry basket in the middle of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest as he continues his impassioned rendition of the ballad. Zak runs around the room, occasionally bumping into the basket with his nose, clearly entertained by Jisung’s predicament.

Chan blinks once, then twice, before bursting into laughter. “What the fuck?”

Jisung stops singing immediately, his head snapping up to see Chan standing in the doorway. “Oh, great. You’re awake,” he says, slumping back against the basket’s walls. “The key’s on the table.”

Chan snorts, shaking his head as he steps toward the coffee table to grab the key. “What the fuck happened, man?”

Jisung’s voice is full of betrayal as he explains, “I bought this thing to protect Y/N’s panties, right? And then those bastards, all of them, locked me in it and then, get this, they all went out for food. And! And! Y/N fucking helped them, Chan. My own fucking girlfriend helped them!”

Chan is already laughing so hard he has to lean on the table for support, but Jisung isn’t done. “Seungmin came downstairs half an hour ago, stood right there, laughed in my face, and then he went back to bed! He left me in here! Like this!”

Chan’s laughter crescendos into a full-on howl as he struggles to unlock the padlock. His hands are shaking so much from laughing that it takes him two tries to fit the key in. “Holy shit, Ji,” he wheezes, doubling over. “This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I might actually piss my pants.”

Jisung pouts, crossing his arms over his chest as Zak paws at the side of the basket, barking softly. “This isn’t funny, Chan! This is fucking trauma! I’ve been sitting here singing sad songs to myself for the last hour! I require intense therapy now!"

“Clearly,” Chan chokes out between laughs, finally managing to unlock the padlock and lift the lid. “Man, this is golden. You’ve outdone yourself this time.”

Jisung clambers out of the basket with as much dignity as he can muster, which isn’t much. He straightens his clothes, glaring at Chan, who’s still doubled over and gasping for air.

“You’re the worst,” Jisung mutters, brushing himself off. “And you’re all dead when they get back. Dead. Especially Y/N. My own girlfriend betrayed me.”

Chan shakes his head, still giggling as he collapses onto the couch. “Ji, I’m gonna be laughing about this for weeks.” He wipes at his eyes, his voice still shaking with mirth. “All by myself. Fucking hell, man. I can’t.”

Zak barks again, wagging his tail as he jumps up on Jisung, who sighs and scratches behind the dog’s ears. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” Jisung says to Zak, his voice resigned.

Chan lets out another burst of laughter, leaning back on the couch. “Jisung, I’m begging you, never change.”

Jisung glares at him but can’t hold back the small smirk that tugs at his lips. “I hate this house,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat behind his words.

The front door swings open, and you, Minho, Jeongin, Changbin, Felix, and Hyunjin pile back into the Alpha Phi house, laughing and chatting after a long lunch. The smell of fried food still lingers on your clothes, and you kick off your boots near the door, wiggling your toes in your mismatched socks. Minho grumbles as his sneakers get caught on the laces, nearly tripping himself, while Jeongin tosses his shoes haphazardly into the corner.

“Dude, how are you this bad at taking off shoes?” Hyunjin teases, neatly placing his own beside the wall.

“Shut the fuck up,” Minho mutters, finally yanking his sneaker off with a grunt. “At least I don’t look like I’m about to model for a sock commercial.”

Changbin stretches dramatically, his voice booming. “That lunch hit the spot. I could sleep for three hours now.”

“You mean your usual nap,” Jeongin quips, dodging a swat from Changbin as the group makes their way toward the living room.

But the moment you all step inside, the laughter dies. Chan is sitting on the couch, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, while Jisung is standing in front of the coffee table, glaring at the doorway like a man possessed.

“Oh fuck,” Minho mutters under his breath.

Jisung’s expression darkens further when he sees the six you. “Well, well, well,” he says, his tone low and dangerous. “Look who decided to show up.”

Before anyone can respond, Jisung takes a single step forward, and the group instantly scatters like cockroaches under a light. “Run!” Felix yells, grabbing your wrist as he bolts toward the stairs.

You barely have time to pull away before Minho lets out a loud, panicked shriek and scrambles toward the kitchen, with Jeongin and Changbin hot on his heels. Hyunjin stumbles over his own feet, laughing hysterically as he runs toward the back door, shouting, “Every man for himself!”

Felix drags you upstairs, both of you taking the steps two at a time until you reach the second floor. You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting Jisung to be right behind you, but the stairwell is empty.

“Do you think he’s chasing them?” you whisper, crouching down against the hallway wall to catch your breath.

Felix nods, his own breathing ragged as he leans back against the wall beside you. “Oh, 100 percent. Did you hear Minho scream? He’s got to be Jisung’s main target.”

You stifle a laugh, pressing a hand to your mouth as you hear faint shouting from downstairs. Minho’s voice rings out, high-pitched and panicked. “Don’t touch me, you psycho!”

Felix snorts, shaking his head. “Poor Minho. He’s definitely regretting his life choices right now.”

Another round of shouting echoes from the first floor, and you catch snippets of Changbin’s booming laugh and Jeongin’s frantic “He’s gaining on us!” You exchange a look with Felix, and both of you dissolve into quiet giggles, trying to muffle the sound with your sleeves.

“Think he’ll come up here?” Felix whispers, glancing nervously toward the staircase.

“Doubt it,” you reply, adjusting your position to peek around the corner. “I think he’s too focused on Minho.”

“Smart choice,” Felix says, grinning. “Minho’s the worst at running. He’s fucked.”

As if on cue, another shriek from Minho echoes through the house, followed by Jisung’s triumphant yell. “Got you, asshole!”

Felix leans closer, whispering urgently, “We need to move. If he catches Minho, we’re next. And I’m not about to be victim number two.”

You nod, already rising to your feet. The chaos downstairs seems to have quieted for a moment, which only makes you more anxious. “He’s probably planning something,” you whisper back, glancing nervously toward the staircase.

“Exactly,” Felix says, tugging at your sleeve. “Let’s go before he decides to head up here.”

The two of you dart down the hallway, your footsteps soft against the hardwood floors. Felix glances over his shoulder every few seconds, his paranoia palpable as you reach the other flight of stairs that leads to the opposite side of the house. “Quietly,” he mutters, raising a finger to his lips as he starts down the steps.

But as soon as you reach the bottom, your stomach drops. Standing there, looking far too pleased with himself, is Jisung. His blue hair is slightly dishevelled from the earlier chaos, and his grin is both smug and dangerous.

“Going somewhere, jagiya?” he asks, tilting his head.

You barely have time to yelp before he lunges forward, grabbing you by the waist and effortlessly tossing you over his shoulder. “Jisung!” you squeal, your hands scrambling for purchase as the world tilts upside down.

He holds you securely, one arm wrapped around your legs while his free hand presses down on the back of your skirt. “Relax, I’ve got you,” he says, his tone playful. “Can’t have you flashing everyone, can I?”

From your awkward upside-down position, you can see Felix staring wide-eyed from the top of the stairs. “You’re on your own!” he shouts, bolting in the opposite direction.

“Felix, you asshole!” you yell, laughing despite yourself as Jisung starts walking back toward the living room, his steps steady and confident.

You shift slightly, trying to wiggle free, but his grip tightens. “Don’t even try it, jagiya,” he warns, giving your thigh a light pat. “You’re not going anywhere.”

With a mischievous grin, you reach down and give his ass a firm squeeze. Jisung freezes for a split second before letting out an exaggerated groan. “Oh, no,” he says, shaking his head. “No ass for you. You’re in trouble, remember?”

“What kind of trouble?” you tease, grinning against his shoulder.

“The kind where you’re in air jail for the rest of the day,” he replies, his voice mock-serious. “I try to protect your panties, and what do I get? Locked in a fucking laundry basket like I’m the bad guy. No, jagiya, you’ve brought this on yourself.”

“Air jail?” you ask, laughing as he gives your thigh another pat.

“Air jail,” he confirms, starting to bounce you lightly on his shoulder. “And I’ve got muscles now, so I can do that shit. Naughty girlfriend air jail, all day long.”

You shriek with laughter as he jerks his shoulder, jostling you like you’re nothing more than a sack of flour. “Jisung, put me down!” you protest, though you’re laughing too hard to sound convincing.

“Nope,” he says, popping the “p” with a grin. “Not until you’ve learned your lesson. You locked me up, jagiya. Me! Your sweet, innocent boyfriend who just wanted to protect your underwear.”

“Innocent, my ass,” you mutter, giggling.

He smirks, adjusting his grip on you as he steps into the living room. “Speaking of your ass, keep your hands to yourself. That’s part of your punishment.”

“You’re impossible,” you say, shaking your head against his back.

“And you love me,” he replies confidently, plopping down onto the couch with you still slung over his shoulder. “Welcome to air jail. Population: you.”

Ten minutes pass, and the living room has mostly settled back into its usual chaos. Jisung is perched on the couch, still smugly holding you draped over his shoulder like a prize he refuses to relinquish. You’ve mostly given up struggling, half-laughing and half-groaning as he adjusts his position, jostling you slightly every now and then just to remind you who’s in charge of “air jail.”

Suddenly, Minho shuffles into the room, his trousers bunched around his ankles, one hand tugging at the back of his underwear. His face is red with equal parts rage and humiliation as he glares at Jisung. “You wedgied me so fucking hard, man! I can taste my underwear! My asshole might actually be bleeding!”

Jisung shrugs nonchalantly, which jostles you again. You yelp, slapping his back lightly. “Ji! Careful!”

“Sorry, jagiya,” he says, grinning before turning his attention back to Minho. “You started it, man. You were the first to lunge, which led to me being imprisoned in a laundry basket until the only decent soul in this house let me out.”

“That doesn’t mean you pull my underwear up so high you split my fucking balls!” Minho snaps, waddling over to the armchair. He places a cold bag of peas on the cushion before lowering himself gingerly onto it with a groan. “Jesus Christ. I might never walk the same again.”

Jisung smirks, leaning back on the couch. “That’s what you get.”

Minho points at you, still draped over Jisung’s shoulder. “You might wanna let your girlfriend up before her brain pops from all the blood rushing to her head.”

Jisung sighs dramatically, patting your back. “Alright, alright. You’ve served your time in air jail.”

Finally, he shifts, carefully helping you down from his shoulder. Your hair is slightly mussed, and you give him a playful glare as you straighten your skirt.

“You’re impossible,” you say, but the grin tugging at your lips betrays your words.

“And you love me,” Jisung replies, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you trapped. “But don’t get too comfortable. You’ve gotta earn your freedom.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow.

“Yup,” he says, his grin widening. “You’re helping me plan my revenge on Changbin, Hyunjin, Felix, and Jeongin. They all left me to rot, and now it’s their turn.”

You laugh, leaning back against his chest. “Done. What’s the plan?”

From the armchair, Minho groans. “If there’s another trap, I’m sitting this one out. My balls can’t handle it.”

You, Jisung, and Minho exchange a glance before bursting into laughter, the kind of uncontrollable, ridiculous laughter that only comes from living in a house as chaotic as this one. Jisung’s arms tighten around you, and you can’t help but think, despite the madness, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx

Proofread by the lovely @eastjonowhere

[harrywavycurly]

I still think about how soft Harry turned for his sunshine girl and I imagine all the random voice notes he’d send her during the day when he can’t call her or maybe the voicemails he’d leave and how sweet his little rants would be😩🥹

Hiii babes!! I miss my little lovey dovey HWC Harry so I’m gonna give you some examples of his rant-ish voicemails and voice notes to his sunshine girl! I hope you enjoy!!💖

Find all things Handle With Care here✨

Tag List: @gmikaelson @ell0ra-br3kk3r @tulips4harry @mellamolayla @mads3502 @empathyroad @idk199o @sassamanda77 @maudie-duan @macy-tpwk @namoreno @coralferrio1 @stylesftcher @mema10 @cherryloveshs @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @triski73

Summary: These are some voice notes and voicemails your lovely ex frat daddy boyfriend Harry sends you during the week✨

Monday’s Voice Note: “Good morning sunshine it’s…uhh shit…oh sorry don’t be mad…ah okay it’s seven fifteen in the morning and I’m about to go for a run and then come see you before you go to work. I hope you slept good? How did that weird sleepy tea taste? Did it work?…m’not totally sure all those things are actually good for you but if they help then I’m all for it because my sunshine girl needs her full eight hours or she’s a bit prickly…but I don’t mind when you’re a little grumpy..makes you more cuddly and we both know how I feel about cuddling so-oh bloody hell why is all my coffee gone? m’gonna kill that Irish fuck-I mean I love you baby I’ll see you in a bit…I wonder if you’re dreaming about me right now? Hmmm…you’ll have to tell me what you dreamt about when I see you. Love you!”

Tuesday’s voicemail: “Hey baby I’m just seeing if you’re free for dinner tonight? I forgot you had a meeting during lunch today so just call me back whenever you can…I miss you…oh and I love you…yeah okay that’s it. Love you…I already said that didn’t I? Oh well you can hear it again…I love you…bye sunshine.”

Wednesday’s voicemail: “I am so sorry I couldn’t walk you to work this morning I forgot to set an alarm and when I woke up I saw all your missed calls and…god I’m-shit I’m so late…I’m sorry sweetheart but I hope you have a good day and I’m going to come see you for lunch! I’ll bring your favorite…I love you! I’ll see you soon! Make sure to save a few smiles for me okay? Don’t give them all away…love you.”

Thursday’s Voice Note: “Goodnight my sunshine girl…thank you for letting me pick the movie tonight even though it’s technically your night…I love you and I can’t wait until you finally stop telling me no when I ask you to move in because we both know you want to live with me…or maybe it’s that we both know I really really hate not being able to wake up next to you everyday..two floors of separation is killing me baby and I know one day soon…you’ll just stop fighting it and just accept the fact we are going to be together forever so might as well start forever as soon as we can…and before you say anything yes I stole parts of that from when Harry met Sally but it’s the truth…remember when you said you’d be okay with the wife thing after our first kiss? Well that was almost a year ago…but anyway…I love you…a lot…actually it’s more than just a lot but there’s not a word to describe the amount so…a lot will just have to do for now…I know you’re just now getting out of your bath and putting on all your lotions and potions that make you all soft and uhg…I miss you…fuck this…ohh sorry baby…let me just grab my sweatshirt and—where are my socks? Oh okay here they are…I’ll be there in three minutes and forty five seconds…prepare for a sleepover because I miss you too much. I love you! Don’t fall asleep before I get there!”

Friday’s Voice Note: “Hey sweetheart did you know Niall has a key to your apartment? I didn’t until he walked in while I was in the living room and he scared the shi-crap out of me…when did he get a key? Did he steal it from you?…oh and I’m making pizza for dinner does that sound good? I hope you’re having a good day at work…Miss you and love you like crazy.”

Saturday’s Voicemail: “Hey baby…m’a little drunk but s’all Niall’s fault and god I love you. I’m gonna marry you when you finally let me. But you know that yeah? Yeah…yeah you know that…god hallways are so long and…and ugly? Why are the hallways so hideous? M’gonna come cuddle you is that okay? If it’s not just…kick me off the bed okay? Yeah..yeah I’ll see you soon sunshine…my sunshine..you smell like flowers and sunshine because you’re my sunshine girl…that I love so…so much a lot…m’gonna go now okay? M’at the door! Love you!”

Sunday’s Voice Note: “Baby where are you? You just left me in bed with a bottle of water and some aspirin with a note on my forehead saying…br…feast? That’s…that’s not a real word?…wait oh it says…breakfast…did you go get breakfast? God I’m so lucky that you’re my…my everything…you’re too good to me. I’m gonna go shower because I smell like the floor of a shitty bar…but I love you and miss your cute face so hurry back? Please?”

[tonyboneysblog]

MOTHER HEN: PART SEVEN

parings: hawks x mother!reader

wordcount: 3.2k

warnings: none

notes: daddy’s…home? genuinely so excited to write the next chapter cause if you notice the timeline, something big is coming😈😈

summary: you, the mother of Fumikage Tokoyami, are just a simple nurse! Who caught the eye of a certain pro.

You haven’t gotten a text from hawks in the past four days, which puts you in a sour mood.

technically it’s a little bit of your fault for kissing his forehead- but if the little shit would have just let you explain…

what’s even worse is that your unable to watch the sports festival- fucking hospital job.

And when you finally get home from that hellhole, Fumikage will be sassy cause you weren’t able to watch him.

He wouldn’t be angry just..slightly disappointed?

Then when you cuddled up in your nest yesterday you see that damned hawks plush you spent 30 dollars on…

So here you are at this amazing place of work! against your will of course.

Currently you’re at the water station- until you were rudely pulled away due to a pro hero getting hurt…as usual.

You open the door to see a younger, dark skinned woman with white hair and the cutest bunny ears on her head.

She looks at you and starts waving happily…your heart would feel warm if it weren’t for the blood on her face.

“Names Mirko!” Oh, you know her! Your sister used to be obsessed with her…well for a short period of time but still obsessed no the less.

“Mirko, how you feeling today?”

She sends you a thumbs up, “terrible!”

You chuckle softly and walk over towards her, accompanying another one of the doctors.

“What’s her condition?”

The doctor sighs, “nothing too serious, we ought to check her for a concussion though..and she’ll have to at least spend one night here.”

“With those injuries it should be longer no?”

The doctor shakes his head, “can’t keep Mirko tied down for too long.” Then proceeds to just…walk out.

But Mirko doesn’t let it stay too quiet.

“So, your name is?”

You smile softly, “ Y/N Tokoyami.”

Mirko looks like she’s pondering for a moment..looks as if she knows you from somewhere.

“I swear I’ve heard that name before..” she says quietly.

You smile again, “you probably have, so is there anything you need?”

Mirko puts her attention back onto you, “nah, I’ll be alright.”

“Really, Why’d the doctor call me in then?”

“Because I complained my ass hurt, I’ve been laying in bed all day.”

You chuckle, “that all?”

She nods her head quickly.

“Well, let’s hope you don’t get a bed sore kay?” You shoot a thumbs up towards her, same she did to you earlier.

Then you walk out, wondering why she even needed you…

But Mirko knew why, hawks told her you were nurse and she wanted to she what all the fuss was about.

Truthfully, he’d been talking about you every time she saw him while on patrol.

She supposes his ramblings are correct, you’re cute.

Then again Mirko has never really pinned hawks as the mamas boy type, and you echo the motherly type.

But you’re sweet, maybe that’s why he’s so attracted to you?

So, Mirko pulls out her phone to bother hawks about his little high school boy crush.

she took it the the group chat though, little asshole.

BEST PROS.

carrot foot

Found ur gf hawks

caw caw bitch

what

caw caw bitch

where

jorts

who?

carrot foot

Hospital

INCOMING FACETIME CALL

Mirko sighs and answers it.

“Where is she, she look cute?” Hawks says frantically.

Mirko shakes her head, “again hawks, get a grip.”

Mirko can hear the wind howling into the phone, of course hawks is flying while on the phone.

“Answer me.” Hawks says sternly.

Mirko immediately starts rambling about the very small amount of information she has on you, “Damn you got a mommy kink or something, cause that woman is a MILF. I mean M.I.L.F.”

“What- what the hell does…no?” Mirko can pick on hawks confusion through the phone.

“Hawks, man, that woman echos mother. Here she is mothering throughout the halls of a hospital!”

“Mirko, what’s your point here.”

“I mean she’s hot dude, get your head in the game…or in her i don’t-“

Mirko can then her hawks yelling loudly out of shock, “GROSS MIRKO, DONT MAKE JOKES LIKE-“

If he yelled any louder you could probably hear him in the halls.

Mirko laughs loudly, “Don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m joking.”

Then there’s an uncomfortable silence on the phone, a little too long for comfort.

but then of course hawks breaks it- as him usually does.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind…”

Mirko starts laughing again, “aha! Damn dirty bird- go get your wings ruffled elsewhere man!”

Hawks responds quickly, ignoring Mirko comment.

“I gotta go- I see a best jeanist and I’d like to go pull his ear.”

Mirko huffs, “fine, but he isn’t your wingman-I am.”

Hawks laughs softly and hangs up, leaving Mirko in silence.

Until you walk in.

“Oh, there’s my favorite nurse!” She beams.

“Do you mind if I watch the sports festival in here? My kids in it..”

Mirko nods her head, “I don’t mind- need to look for recruits anyways.”

So, there you and Mirko sit watching the sports festival together.

Many times throughout it you had to put a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from screaming and alerting the others your not technically working at the moment.

but during every break in the sports festival, you rushed and did your actual duties as quickly as you could.

Then when you came back, and the 1V1 battles have already started.

And of course your gorgeous boy conquers and destroys the competition.

One after another, what was most surprising to you was seeing todorokis and midoriyas fight, aggressive and raw.

made you vividly remember that was the boy who tripped on his own ice..

You were a little scared that’d he have to face your Fumikage.

Instead it was Katsuki Bakugo who faced him, and after that fight he’ll be the only kid who doesn’t get your end-of-semester cookies.

I mean cmon! Grabbing your son by the beak?! Unbelievable…angers you to your core because who does he think he is?!

But it’s fine.

Fumikage would’ve won if it were anyone else.

But Fumikage still got third, and you can shove it in all your friend’s faces that your son is awesome and that they could never.

Because Fumikage is one of a kind.

You look over to Mirko after jumping for joy for your son’s new shiny medal.

“He’s a good fighter, y’know I know someone all birdy like that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yea, hawks.” She says bluntly.

You can feel the color drain from your face, hawks low key, high key broke your heart after your last interaction.

“Oh… well I’m sure Fumikage will consider an invitation from him.- if he wanted to work with him.” You say while tapping your fingers together.

Mirko pulls out her phone, typing something, you don’t know exactly what but…it’s whatever.

carrot foot

yea your cooked bud

caw caw bitch

what

Mirko seats down her phone next to the table, where you can hear it buzzing loudly…

“Uhm are you gonna check that?” You say nervously.

“Nah, he’s fine.” She says as she finally relaxes into the bed she had been complaining about all day apparently.

“Ah…okay?” You then hop out of the seat, making your way back to your work.

You should get him an apple pie to celebrate, or maybe just straight apples cause Fumikage will go crazy either way.

Hawks briefly crossed your mind again, what was his favorite again? Wasn’t apples you know what…it was probably something dumb- just like him…

dumb, dumb, dumb man.

enough of him, you have work to do…

right after you call Fumikage!

It rings, but he doesn’t answer? Which is weird because Fumikage always answers his phone unless it’s dead.

Yes that’s probably why, he’ll call you right back when it charges.

But Fumikages phone was in-fact not dead, he was just…distracted?

Fumikages eyes squint slightly, “What could you possibly want.”

It’s hawks he’s being so standoffish with, but hawks just sends him a soft smile.

“It’s the sports festival, of course I’d be here.”

“You decide to stalk me instead of my mother?”

Hawks goes quiet, his carefree smile faltering.

“Not exactly..we got in a small spat.”

“If you’re trying to get me to talk to her for you, it’s not gonna work.” Fumikage starts to walk away before hawks grabs his shoulder.

Then dark shadow comes out.

Hawks steps off slightly, “that’s kinda freaky…”

“Kinda like your face.”

Dark shadow looks over to Fumikage, “that wasn’t even a good comeback.”

“Shut up dark shadow.”

Dark shadow scoffs and folds his cute little shadow arms with what looks to be a pout on his face.

Hawks face completely loses the carefree smile, “I’m serious when I say I’m not here for you…well not technically.”

“What do you mean by that.”

“Yea, what do you-“

“Dark shadow…”

Hawks lets out a small breath, “I was interested in you being my sidekick due to the skills you showed off on the fie-“

“Not interested” Fumikage says curtly.

Dark shadow whips his head over to look at Fumikage with surprise, whispering something in his ear.

“He’s number three- you can’t just reject an offer from him!”

“I can, and I just did.”

Then it’s silent, Fumikage doesn’t mind though.

Hawks sighs softly, putting back on the smile Fumikage hates so much.

“Well if you ever rethink it, my agency will always be open.”

“I hope retribution comes for you in the darkness of your home.”

Hawks stays quiet but then his face twists into confusion, “what does that even mean..?”

Fumikage huffs and if he had hair he would most likely flip it whilst walking away.

Fumikage leaves hawks standing outside, utterly confused in what Fumikage was even talking about.

Maybe that’s what you meant when you said Fumikage was unique…

speaking of you, you were still at that darn hospital.

Fumikage was aware of that, you always worked a lot but the times that you weren’t working you tried your best to spend them with him.

Until Mr. Pro-Hero decided to come into your life..

The first time Fumikage really noticed your relationship with hawks was when you had the talk on the balcony.

He knew he wasn’t going crazy when he thought someone was under a blanket, a blanket you don’t even use may he add.

Then the next day when he went up to your balcony, the blanket was in-fact no where to found.

Then he caught him in your kicthen, Fumikage debated on even eating the cookies because maybe hawks terrible aura rubbed off on them.

They were delicious but that’s not the point!

Then hawks wanders into Fumikages home, which was locked, uninvited looking for you.

Only time Fumikage could tolerate hawks was when he had to save you from the bar.

But then his tolerance shot down when he walked in on the two of you coddling each other.

Then he heard the “little spat” you and hawks had which is why he rushed into your room so fast.

Honestly, who does that damn fowl think he is?!

Fumikage explains all of this to poor dark shadow, who truly just wanted to watch a movie with him.

“Sounds rough.” Dark shadow says quietly.

Fumikage huffs, “It’s worse than rough dark shadow, it’s appalling.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so…extreme with hawks- Momma seems to like him.”

“Correction, liked, my mother will never participate in any romances with that man again.”

Fumikage ends the conversation there, but dark shadow would like to expand on the topic.

“It was nice of hawks to offer you that side kick position.”

“well being nice doesn’t cut it.”

Finally, the conversation about hawks is finished, Fumikage only ranted for 4 hours this time!

And he’d finished 3 movies in that time as well…maybe the hospital will let you off early.

So Fumikage and dark shadow fight the urge to rest, which they both utterly fail and fall asleep on the couch.

You come in around 5:30 so they never stood a chance, not after the day Fumikage had.

You walk into the door, spotting only Fumikage.

You stumble over towards him, sitting on the floor and brushing your hand through his feathers.

Fumikage is knocked out, so he won’t wake up if you pick him up.

You use all your remaining strength to pick Fumikage up, making your way towards your bedroom.

It’s been a minute since Fumikage got cuddles from his mama.

And also you seriously doubt you could carry Fumikage back to his room, then walk back to yours without passing out onto the floor.

You place Fumikage under the warm covers, then yourself.

You then wrap your hands around Fumikage as tightly as you possible could, as if someone would take him away if you didn’t.

Then you rest, same as Fumikage.

Same as hawks.

And hawks truly needs to thank you for whatever you did to make him stop having those nightmares.

barely dreams now, and if he does it’s always weird shit.

usually has you in it too.

nevermind, you probably cursed him and overrode whatever put that nightmare spell on him.

a curse that just makes him dream about you.

Now he really wishes he talked Mirko into getting a picture of you, he misses you bad.

Maybe a text wouldn’t hurt? No, too risky- you’re probably still mad at him.

Maybe he could worm his way back into your life with that weighted blanket, if his plan worked he could probably steal it back anyways.

It still smells like you, which is weird because he’s had it for awhile.

That’s probably his favorite part of the day now, getting home, taking a shower, cuddling into his mostly bare bed and just sniffing that shit like it’s coke.

Kinda like how some people spray lavender onto their beds to get sleepy, he just smells the hell out of that blanket.

He wishes he was able to snatch another item from your house that smelled like you.

Fumikage doesn’t really smell like you, he noticed.

He smells kinda like wood? And also a little fruity too.

You wouldn’t really guess fruits and flowers from looking at him but maybe your scent rubbed off on him too.

Honestly, hawks kinda feels like Edward when Bella first walked into that classroom though- hawks wouldn’t be covering his mouth to avoid the smell, he would be INHALING that smell.

He would never admit that the night that he comforted you out on that balcony he didn’t even go home and change, he kept that uniform on.

The coat didn’t truly smell like you, but the under shirt did.

Maybe he’s going a little crazy, sure he’s real kept together most the time but- the things you do to that poor man.

And Mirko- peacefully sleeping in the hospital, she may be hawks wingman but she needs her rest too!

And when you wake, you’ll have to go right back to the hospital.

doesn’t men’s you can’t talk to your son before you leave though.

“Mama.” Fumikage says sleepily, awoken from you moving all around the room.

You perk up now your son’s awake, “Fumikage?”

Fumikages eyes a still closed, fighting to go back to sleep.

“Did you see me, in the sports festival?”

You run your hands through Fumikages feathers, “Course’ I did.”

Fumikage smiles softly, “guess who talked to me after..?”

“All might? I saw it on-“

“No it was hawks, invited me for an internship.”

You jaw slacks slightly, “did you accept?”

“No, not after what he’s done.” Fumikage says with a little rasp in his own voice.

“You should’ve.”

“What?”

You sigh, “hawks is number three- doesn’t matter what he did to me Fumikage.

Fumikage stays silent, suddenly now regretting telling you.

“But…”

You kiss his temple, “thank you for thinking about how I’d feel though. Don’t let my emotions or relationships get in the way of your future.”

Fumikage nods, understanding your point of view.

“Are you leaving for work?”

“Yep, it’s not a long shift though.”

You open your bedroom door, “I’ll see you later, Fumi.”

Then walking out of your own house, making your way to the hospital.

Once you walk in, your infact greeted with Mirko!

and hawks.

“Ah, my favorite nurse!” Mirko cheers excitedly.

“Mirko! Shouldn’t you still be on bed rest?”

Mirko chuckles, “glad you’re worried about me toots.”

You gasp a small bit at the nickname, “Oh!”

Mirko places her hand onto her hip, “Hey, didn’t I see you hear like 7 hours ago, why you already back?”

“Duty calls?”

Hawks chuckles at that, wasn’t even funny.

Mirko throws an arm around hawks, “this was the birdy boy I was talking about!”

“We’ve met.”

suddenly there was an awkward silence.

Hawks wanted to throw himself out a window, you wouldn’t even look at him.

Mirko taps her foot nervously.

“Hawks…” you say his name softly.

His head perks up form Mirko hold, “yeah?”

“Sorry that Fumikage rejected you…I know how he is.”

Hawks can feel his heart beating in his ears, “it’s all good- doors always open.”

You nod softly, looking away.

The three of you just stand there in silence, Mirko foot tapping repeats.

Then she breaks, “Mrs Tokoyami, sorry for holding you up-You got a job to do!”

You jump in surprise, “ah- your right, it was nice talking to you both!”

You quickly walk away to clock in, Mirko and hawks make there way outside.

She scoffs, “had the perfect opportunity.”

Hawks rolls his eyes, “I wasn’t gonna apologize to her in a hospital.

“I’m going to put you in the hospital/ what the hell even was that back there?!” Mirko exclaims.

Hawks pushes her arm away, “I was nervous.”

“Doors always open!” Mirko mocks him.

“Oh quiet down.”

“I’m your wingwoman- giving you a perfect chance and you fuck it all up.”

“It wasn’t that bad-“

Mirko smacks the back of his head, “Hawks, shut your trap.”

Hawks doesn’t reply, walking next to Mirko throughout the less populated areas of town.

Mirko snaps her fingers, “You know what, I can fix this.”

“You can?”

“Of course I can, I’m Mirko.”

Hawks groans softly, already annoyed by the days events.

Mirko starts her plan, “clearly she cares a good bit about her son-but there feeling are mostly separated for different things.”

Hawks nods along.

“So instead of getting all cushy with her son again, you need to fix it with her- clearly your not gonna getting through with her son based on what you told me earlier.-“

Hawks interrupts, “her son is always home though.”

“Don’t interrupt me, he goes to U.A. I bet they have some trip for passing the exam.”

“How are we supposed to find that out?”

Mirko groans, “let me talk, I’m always going to that hospital for some reason- I’ll find something out…she likes me unlike you.”

Hawks looks away with a pout, “Don’t say that…”

“I’ll say whatever I want, I’m your wingwoman.”

Hawks and Mirko continue their walk up until they get to his agency, since Mirko doesn’t have one.

Though Mirko continues walking, “See ya later, Hawkey.”

“Where are you going?”

“To my house?- don’t fuck up anything else while I’m gone.”

Hawks huffs lightly, walking into his own office.

He has so much paper work to do, then the commission will be badgering him later for “doing it wrong” according to them.

He can’t wait to just be home.

Be home next to you.

or…your blanket at the very least?

…he really needs to fix this.

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[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞-𝐭𝐨-𝐎𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑)

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Not proofread.

Emma: "It's so warm in here."

Matias: "Buildings in Acroite are designed to keep the cold out."

Matias: "Plus, inns like this, with multiple rooms, usually have several fireplaces. The more heat sources there are, the warmer it gets."

Emma: "I see. No wonder it feels so cozy."

(We came to this inn to act out a 'stranded in the snow' scenario, but it's so warm and comfortable that it's kind of hard to set the mood.)

(Not to mention, I even brought that with me.)

Matias: "By the way, would you like something warm to drink?"

Emma: "Huh?"

I turned to look at him, only to find him averting his gaze awkwardly.

Matias: "The truth is, I brought some coffee along with everything needed to brew it."

Matias: "If you'd like—"

He cut himself off, placing a hand over his mouth.

Matias: "Sorry. I know you're trying to recreate my ideal scenario. But I couldn't bear the thought of you actually suffering for it."

Matias: "I couldn't stand seeing you shivering in the cold just for my sake."

Matias: "Sorry, I know this isn't how you planned it."

(I didn't expect him to be taking it this seriously.)

A gentle warmth spread in my chest at his sincerity and kindness.

At the same time, I couldn't help but find it a little funny—because I was thinking the exact same thing.

Emma: "Hehe, actually… me too."

Matias: "What do you mean?"

Emma: "I brought some sweets for us to share."

Matias: "..........."

Emma: "The thought of us rationing our last scraps of food was just too heartbreaking."

Emma: "Even if this is just a reenactment, I couldn't stand the idea of letting you go hungry."

Matias: "Hm."

A gentle smile spread across Matias' face.

Matias: "Looks like we both introduced an unexpected flaw into this."

Matias: "But I'd say it's a welcome one."

Still smiling softly, his fingers brush lightly against my cheek.

Matias: "I guess it's okay to have some of those sweets? We're stuck in a raging snowstorm, so technically, we're still stranded."

Emma: "Yeah, you're right. Then can I have some of your coffee?"

Matias: "Yeah. I'll get it ready now."

We enjoyed the delicious coffee and pastries.

Neither of us noticed that the fire in the hearth had weakened considerably.

Emma: "So then, at that moment, Prince Jin— Achoo!"

Matias: "Are you okay? Come closer if you're cold."

He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into his warmth.

(Ah…)

I leaned my head on his shoulder and suddenly remembered something.

(This situation is just like the 'ideal' scene he once described.)

Outside the window, the blizzard howled while the logs in the fireplace crackled softly, sending embers drifting into the air.

Emma: "Um, Prince Matias…"

We watched the flickering flames and were now quite literally sharing our body heat.

Emma: "This situation is just like the 'ideal' scene you described."

Matias: "........."

Matias: "Yeah, you're right."

(What should I do? My heart is pounding. But if we're really recreating Matias' ideal scenario—)

Emma: "If we turn off the lights, it might feel even closer to the atmosphere you imagined."

Emma: "Shall we try?"

His arm around my shoulder tightened slightly.

Matias: "Are you sure you're okay with that?"

Emma: "Yes."

Matias: "Alright, then, let's do it."

With the room now enveloped in darkness, we settled in front of the fireplace, with him holding me from behind.

(My heart is beating so fast.)

With my back pressed against his chest, our heartbeats blend in a steady, rhythmic thrum.

Matias: "Are you warm enough?"

Emma: "Yes. Being held like this keeps me very warm."

Emma: "But, um, my heartbeat is really loud, isn't it?"

I intended to recreate his ideal moment, but at this point, my words were coming from my own heart.

Matias: "That's true."

Matias: "But honestly, mine is far louder than yours."

Matias: "In my imagination, I thought I'd be able to stay much calmer, but I never expected it to be this intense."

He tightened his embrace from behind, making our heartbeats blend even more.

(If we were to fully recreate the moment, we'd have to take off our clothes, right?)

(But if I did that in this situation, I might actually lose my mind.)

(Besides, back then, I cut him off before he could finish talking about what would happen after that. If I think about it now—no, I can't. Just imagining it is making my heart race even more.)

I don't usually get this flustered just from being in his arms. But the moment I start wondering what'll happen next, my whole body becomes impossibly warm.

(I wonder what Matias is feeling. Is he as aware of this as I am?)

I shifted slightly in his embrace, just enough to glance back at him.

Emma: "!"

Suddenly, a searing heat flooded my mind, overwhelming everything else.

The sheer pull of him consumed my thoughts, dissolving all sense of reason.

(I can't look away.)

(What do I do? I want to touch him, but if he touches me now, I might completely lose myself.)

(I want to touch him.)

Matias: "Emma."

His eyes locked onto mine, glowing with an intoxicating warmth.

His thumb traced lightly over my lips, and before I realized it, our faces drew closer and closer.

Matias: "No."

Just as our lips were about to meet, he stopped.

Matias: "Let's end the reenactment here."

Emma: "Huh…?"

Part 1 ╎ Part 2 ╎ Part 3 ╎ Part 4

[starry-bi-sky]

more clone^2

snippet 21: Danny is Bruce Wayne's Clone and--

Star, with the rest of the A-List girls: alright ladies! it's time for our quarterly 'cutest boys' list! Now I'll get straight to the point, in our number one spot is--

All girls, in unison: Danny Fenton

Star, writing it down on a whiteboard: and for our number two spot--

---------- Snippet 22: clone meet clone

Ellie, dramatically: Danny!

Danny, equally dramatic: Ellie!

Ellie, pushing past him and looking around: where is he! i wanna see the little guy!

Damian, with a sword, brandishing it dangerously: *in arabic* don't come any closer, stay back!

Danny, wrapping an arm around Ellie's waist and pulling her back: woah, woah - he's still adjusting to everything

Danny, turning towards Damian with his google translate open: [please don't stab her. this is Ellie my clone.]

Damian, lowering his sword in disbelief: 'there's MORE of you?

-------------- Snippet 23: Ellie has the same epiphany as Danny

Ellie:...hey Danny

Danny, pouring over his arabic book: hm

Ellie: since I'm your clone, and you're a clone of Bruce Wayne, and Damian is a clone of Damian Wayne, does that technically mean I'm his mom - uh. dad-mom?

Danny:

Ellie:...its a fair question

Danny: .....*deep sigh* you're his cousin until further notice.

------------ Snippet 24: wait for me ii (hadestown, live vers.)

(i'm not sure of the context, but i've been thinking of Danny saying this to Damian during a serious moment for days. the snippet title is the song that the dialogue below is from)

Danny, fixing up Damian's wraith suit: the meanest dog you'll ever meet

Danny, zipping up damian's jacket: it ain't the hound dog in the street. he bares some teeth and tears some skin, but brother,

Danny, adjusting Damian's gloves, pausing to look him in the eye: that's the worst of him.

Danny, he holds a finger up to Damian's eyes and points it at him: the dog you really got to dread, is the one that howls inside your head

Danny, grabbing damian's mask and smoothing it over his eyes: it's him whose howling drives men mad, and a mind to its undoing

------------ Snippet 25: Danny is Bruce Wayne's clone-- (Battinson Vers*)

Ember, in the middle of a fight with Phantom + Wraith:

Ember, knocks off Phantom's mask for the first time: lets see what ugly mug you're really hiding under there, Phantom--

Phantom: *the wettest, most pathetic looking pretty boy on the planet*

Ember:

Phantom, dryly: what, did your mic die out or something? all that caterwauling finally make you lose your voice

Wraith, unsheathing his sword: *vibrating with baby brother rage bc he knows EXACTLy why Ember is silent*

----------- Snippet 26: Damian is finally starting to play nice :)

Dany: hey... guys.... whatcha doing

Damian, hanging out with Sam: Me and Manson are plotting ways to crush the Mayor's plan to cut budget funding for the city parks and cut down the native trees

Danny: oh, i see.... is this safe?

Sam: probably

Danny: hm.

------------- Snippet 27: digging up cold case

Danny: ....if Damian is out with Sam tonight with their plot against the mayor....

Danny, turning towards his desk: then that means I can work some more on Mrs. Witherbury's murder case that she asked me to solve without Dames guilt-tripping me into bed :)

Danny, settling down at his desk with a thermos full of coffee: i'm glad sam and damian are finally getting along

--------- Snippet 28: sparring

Damian, frowning: your reflexes are incredible but your combat is downright awful, brother. it's truly a miracle i didn't skewer you upon our first meeting

Danny, got his ass kicked by his 7yo brother: *groaning in pain* not everyone has super secret assassin training, Damian. And I don't really have time to actually practice anything.

Damian: Mrs. Fenton knows martial arts and her form is proficient enough, I'm sure she would be delighted to teach you if you asked. I will join since I need to keep my skills sharp and my training was unfinished when I arrived here.

-------- Snippet 29: daytime surprise

Phantom, fighting Skulker in broad daylight: *under his breath* at least Lancer's english test will get canceled for this...

Phantom, dodging a blast from Skulker: *in ASL, furious* don't you have anything better to do, you fuck!?

Skulker: foolish ghost child, speak! I know you're capable of it - speak before you lose the ability to

Phantom: *flips him off instead*

Wraith, sending back a ecto-blast with his sword: please pay attention, phantom

Phantom, doubletaking: *in a hissed whisper* what are you doing here!? it's a school day, you should be at school!

Wraith: Tt. If the boot fits.

------------ Snippet 30: guilt

Danny with his head on his desk, his elbows propped up as he massages his hands: hn

Damian, lurking to the side with a guilty look on his face:

Damian: can i....

Danny, silently holding his hand out to Damian: hrm

Damian, immediately taking it and doing the massages + finger exercises: ...im sorry

Danny: hm... I forgive you

[izzabela]

Ok, here me out! We both love Tomas (sweet cinnamon roll) I was thinking about what would happen if Tomas and the female reader get into an argument and it caused them to distance each other for a bit and it causing the reader to go on a mission for Liu Kang and while the reader is gone longer than planned Tomas starts to worry and lose his patience and decides to go after her?

I'm Sorry - Tomas x fem!reader

in which you and Tomas get into an argument before your mission, and Tomas is a bit antsy to apologize

a/n: Tomas would def be the little brother who always apologizes, whether his fault or not

ship[s]: tomas x fem!reader

warning(s): little angst? pre-kanon story (see what i did there)

get yo ass up, white boy

=====================

The air between you and Tomas could light an explosion if one was not careful.

Though you were not present, away on another mission by Liu Kang, it was clear that the remnants of that strife still followed the European assassin.

He gave harsher punishments to the initiates under his care, prolonged training hours, and he even punished his own losses with starvation and excessive workouts.

It worried his brothers, though it was not evident on their faces. Watching their youngest do this to himself was something that... terrified them to say the least. Ironic, since they were formidable ninjas.

It would all resolve itself, though, since you would be coming back today. Though, the memory of that fight laid in everyone's head.

*********

"Do you not realize how insane you're being right now?" Tomas howled at you as you sat on your shared bed, head turned and arms crossed.

Tomas roughly shut the door of your guys' bedroom, but his brothers were in hot pursuit to make sure nothing would go wrong once you had woken up from the healers.

Their mistake.

"Insane is not finishing the job," you spat back, turning your head. "Was I to come back empty-handed? Disappoint my grandmaster, our lord, our mission?!"

It was a rough mission, but you got some valuable info on a threat against Earthrealm thanks to your superior skills. Though, those very same skills did not protect you from the serious bodily harm you endured. Cut up and battered, you returned home like an abused animal.

"Not when you return home looking as you are now," Tomas pointed out, "You've been blinded to finishing the job, to the point of neglecting your own health!"

You scoffed, "Says you! You can go get healed without a word from me. But when I have to go get it done, it's like I've committed treason!"

From the outside, Kuai Liang and Bi Han gave a point to you for that one. However, Tomas was more experienced, and you had only recently been getting sent on more dangerous and high-stakes missions. Tomas had been doing this for years.

"If you had trained more, you would not be in this position," Tomas sighed. "Perhaps it was my fault for putting your name in too early."

You jaw dropped at this.

"Don't you dare pull this on me, Tomas," you said low as you get out of bed. Sure, your legs and wounds ached, but the adrenaline of your anger was fueling you to heights unknown.

"I'll have you know-"

"Mind your place," Tomas commanded, voice dripping with authority.

Tomas may be a brother to Kuai Liang and Bi Han, a technical inheritor to his clan, but he never felt like it. He often humbled himself by refraining from using any sort of authoritative tone, especially since he began dating you. Yes, he may be kind to his friends, his brothers, you, but he was still second-in-command along side Kuai Liang.

Of course there were times he needed to use his voice- but now wasn't the smartest time.

When Tomas realized what he had done, it was within a blink of an eye that a mean left-hook took him in, and a deadly powerful palm push sent him flying through the door. Tank the elder gods Kuai Liang and Bi Han remained on the side.

"Do not even bother coming back in here," you hissed, water swirling in your eyes as you turned around to go to sleep.

*********

That was but a week ago, now Liu Kang, Kuai Liang, Bi Han, and Tomas wait at the fire temple for you to come through the portal after your mission.

While his brother's remained calm and still-faced, Tomas was a little more antsy and nervous. You had left during your fight, and without proper apologies being made (not saying you did anything wrong). Tomas wanted to fix it immediately, and that would begin as soon as you came through the portal.

Right... now!

As the fires that lit the portal up continued to crackle and burn, any sign of your presence was not found. Liu Kang, focusing all his energy into finding you, could not sense you either.

Strange, since you were very punctual for any of your missions. It was a trademark that earned you the nickname "Dead-line" from the other ninjas.

"She is late," Kuai Liang points the obvious out.

"She must have had a run-in with something, perhaps we should-" Tomas is cut off by Bi Han.

"Under no circumstances will you do such a thing, Tomas. She is capable of this, so she is capable of coming home."

Liu Kang agrees, "I will keep the portal open and watch for her. While punctual is a great aspect, not everyone is immune to a little tardiness."

The brothers bow before heading out, Bi Han and Kuai Liang walking a little behind to watch Tomas. How did they know he was nervous? Well, he walked right in front of them, forgetting the order in which they travelled. And his eyes were also downcast, like clouds blocking the sun.

As well-trained as he is, emotions were naturally human. So, naturally, Tomas couldn't hide these feelings no matter his skills and experience.

"Tomas, all will be well," Kuai Liang tries to soothe his anxiety. He turns around, nodding to his words, but his face looks as if he is not accepting it.

"You will see to it you keep yourself in check," Bi Han scolds, "All will be well, carry on as per usual."

Tomas rolls his eyes as Bi Han strides forward. Kuai Liang just puts a hand on his shoulder and offers a kind smile.

"He means well, let us carry on for her," Kuai says, patting his shoulder before walking to follow his elder brother.

Perhaps tomorrow Tomas thinks.

~~~~~~~~~~

Except tomorrow you don't come, nor the day next, nor the day after.

You were tardy by three days, and as much as Tomas buried himself in training, missions, and some paperwork, he couldn't shake the feeling off that something was wrong- horribly wrong.

So, after dinner with his brothers, he waited until everyone was asleep before sneaking out of the palace to the Fire Temple. Mask and attire on, he calls on a portal to be opened to the temple.

Walking through, he is greeted by Liu Kang and some monks on guard. He bows, and Liu Kang does so to reciprocate, though is skeptical on the smoke ninja's unprecedented appearance.

"Tomas, this is unexpected," Liu Kang notes as he sizes him up.

"Lord Liu Kang, please permit me to go (y/n)," he says, bowing again to further his desperation in finding you. Liu Kang chuckles, telling him to raise his head.

"You love her very deeply, that much is evident," Liu Kang said, pulling out a chi-director from his pocket.

Tomas stares at the device, back at Lord Liu Kang, and then back at the device. He takes the glowing blue compass and bows deeply, revering him in respect before fire pops and cracks, and the portal opens. Tomas runs through the portal and allows the compass to guide him.

As he takes his surroundings in, Tomas realizes he's in the hinterlands of Outworld, and a cold part of Outworld at that. Of course, he was trained to deal with such weather, but being out for this far for this long, you may be on the brink of your doom.

The compass glows in Tomas's hands, and the hand inside spins like a twister gone rogue. Finally, it focuses on a direction southeast, and Tomas trudges in the growing snow of the region.

After following the compass, he was led to a cave in the side of a mountain. Inside, he saw the faint glow of a fire and heard low breathing from within.

As he rounds the inside, he finds you tending to a gash on your shoulder. You have plants with healing qualities by your side and a cloth loosely pulled over the bleeding. Plus your magic was working over the open wound.

"Who goes- Tomas?" your hands were in defensive positions, but they went back to your wound at him in your sight.

"My darling," he sighs, running to your side as he tries to stop the bleeding.

You wince at the force in which he pressed a ripped cloth into your shoulder, but welcome it as your magic was dulling the pain.

"Fancy seeing you here," you say with a sarcastic tone.

"Dear, please," Tomas lightly scolds you, in which you silently allow him to treat you.

It's quiet between both of you, and the only thing to fill the void of quiet was howling of the wind outside.

Tomas begins to stretch the cloth out in little strings, to make a makeshift bandage for your wound. He's staring at your back, and your head is turned to the side as he tends to the horrid wound.

"Usually you aren't this late," he tries to lighten the mood, but it's clear you're not up to the jokes.

Once Tomas wraps your wound perfectly, he moves around to face you, but your head remains away.

Instead of speaking, Tomas wraps you in the warmest, gentlest hug, and your eyes are shining with tears are you inhale his natural musk.

"Thank the elder gods you're alright."

Your shoulders rack in his chest as you cry and wrap a singular arm around him.

"I'm so sorry," you sob as tears begin flow, "I'm so sorry for being so mean, sorry for being so brash, you're rig-."

Tomas shushes you, one hand rubbing your head and the other your back in up and down motions. You cry harder at his tenderness- why wasn't he angry? Why was he so nice?

You literally chucked him out of the bedroom, and he remains kind to you?

"I don't care about that anymore," he whispers. "The minute you didn't come through the portal that day, everything else fell away."

Oh, that's right.

If it weren't for a rogue blade from the enemy, you'd have gotten home earlier.

You wince as the adrenaline begins to wear off, and the pain in your shoulder finally begins to settle in.

Tomas notices, and he chuckles as he sets you down against the wall softly.

"At least you won't be chucking me through doors anytime soon," he laughs as he begins to clean the wound up a bit.

You flinch at the pain, but push through so Tomas can make sure it doesn't get infected.

"I'm sorry, dear," you begin again. "Truly, I'm so sorry for doing that to you all those weeks ago."

Tomas shakes his head as he rubs some healing plants on the wound, "I want to apologize. Using my tone against you like that, especially after such an experience. It was uncalled for, dishonorable for a man."

He wraps the wound up again, holds a hand out to you, and picks you up after you take it.

"Let's get you home, dear," Tomas says as he sweeps you off your feet.

In his arms, you finally collapse and give your eyes a rest from the crying.

The real talk can happen later, you just need Tomas for now.

=====================

no yap notes

see y'all in the next fic!

[sashaisready]

This Must Be The Place: Chapter 7 - Make it up as we go along

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Bit of assault towards Bucky (but not enough to hurt him), a just a note that this probably isn't the healthiest dynamic...

Ah surprise chapter drop! Hope you enjoy. I probably won't be able to post again until monday now. As always, I appreciate your lovely reblogs and comments. I'm so glad people are engaging with this series and I hope you continue to enjoy it!! I’m afraid I don’t have a taglist for this series, I don’t use them as I’ve had technical issues with them in the past. Sorry!

(gif not reflective of how reader looks)

You knew he was right – you needed to clear the air, and fix whatever the hell was going on between you both (if anything). But you couldn’t resist being petty, lashing out after his poor treatment of you earlier. Granny always said be the bigger person…but she was a far better than woman than you.

“Sorry. Can’t. Not on the clock,” you shot back at him as you unlocked the car.

You opened the car door and his arm moved to your shoulder, holding you firmly to stop you from getting in. You held strong, not letting his touch melt you.

“Fine. I deserve that,” he said gruffly, “but I really do want to talk to you. Please”.

The softness in his voice caught you off guard and you found you were annoyed by the sudden wobble of weakness you felt. No! STRENGTH!

You sighed heavily. “Alright. Step into my office,” you gestured to the car.

You slipped into the driver’s seat as he dropped his hold from your arm, then he followed suit by getting into the passenger seat alongside you. The Mustang’s passenger seat looked almost comically small with his big bulk spread across it.

He turned to look at you, face perfectly illuminated by the parking lot lamps. It wasn’t fair that anyone could possibly look so hot in fluorescent lighting.

“This is a nice car,” he said admiringly as he looked around the interior.

“I know” you replied curtly. “She’s my girl”.

“What’s her name?”

“Sally”.

He blinked at you.

“Mustang…Sally? Really?”

You folded your arms defiantly. “Is that a problem?”

“No…no…it’s not…” but you could see in his face he was trying to hold back one of those stupid smirks.

“If you’ve come here to make fun of me you can get the hell out…”

“No! I haven’t. Christ. It’s just funny…that’s all. It’s…cute”.

“Shut up, James”.

“Ohhh…you found that out, huh?” he grinned wickedly. “Well joke’s on you, cos I like you saying it…”

You took a second to scowl and him, then stared ahead out of the windshield with your arms crossed, hoping you looked more mysterious stranger than you did tantruming toddler. The two of you sat uncomfortably in the resulting silence.

“I’ve been an ass,” he told you, his eyes intense.

“Yes, you fucking have” you growled back at him.

“I’m sorry…really-”

“Look…Bucky,” you interrupted him aggressively. “I get it, we kissed. It didn’t mean anything to you. Fine. Whatever. But you didn’t have to ignore me…you didn’t have to parade Amber around in front of me like-”

“Sugar…”

“No! I mean how hard would it have been to drop me a text? Or tell me you made a mistake? Literally anything…”

“Sug…can I speak-”

“I’m not some random girl in a bar, Bucky! You can’t just ignore me. We work together. You’re my boss. You can’t just lay one on me and act like I don’t exist and-”

“Sugar! I’m trying to explain myself here!!” he barked, but you seemed to be on a roll…the floodgates were open.

“And another thing! Why are you getting aggressive about me meeting guys?? I can date who I like! You don’t get to be angry, especially when-MMPH!”

Bucky had clamped his large metal hand over your mouth, quite literally silencing you. Your eyes widened in shock; his tactic must’ve worked because you were briefly stunned into submission.

“I’m sorry…that was rash of me, but I literally can’t get a word in edgewise…” he told you gently, his voice quiet as if trying to talk down a spooked horse. “If you’d just let me-”

You yelped and shrieked as you wrenched his hand from your mouth in disbelief.

“What the FUCK was that?” you squawked as you struck him on the shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt, if you even could hurt him, but hard enough for him to curse and utter your name in incredulity.

Suddenly you were climbing over the seat and swatting at him, your anger boiling over. The inevitable purge after holding everything in all night. You knew it must’ve looked funny as he was so much larger than you, but your anger outweighed any self-consciousness.

“What. The. Fuck” you cried out, punctuating each word with a thwack to Bucky’s torso as he swore and tried to shuffle back, but the lack of space in the car meant he had nowhere to go. He just bumped into the passenger window as he exclaimed at you.

He quickly became tired of your attempted assault and wrapped his arms around yours, trapping them at your sides and effortlessly pulled you over the seats. “Alright,” he said tiredly. “Enough of that!”

Suddenly you were incapacitated in his hold, essentially straddling his lap as you voiced your outrage and tried to wriggle out of his hold.

“Bucky! What the-”

“You wouldn’t stop hitting me and shouting in my face! Jesus! Do you have any idea what a menace you are?”

The two of you squabbled for a little longer, faces inches apart.

“If you would just listen…”

“You can’t just DO stuff like that!”

“Why do you have to fight me on every, single, thing?”

“Why can’t you just be upfront and direct with me for once?”

A sudden silence enveloped you both as if someone had flicked an off switch, the bickering now replaced with a shared penetrating stare between you the two of you. Almost nose to nose. It was as if you both realised your close proximity in the same moment.

You weren’t sure who went in first. But it didn’t matter. He freed your hands and they flew up into his hair as he kissed you roughly, and you kissed him back just as hard. It was heated, passionate but there was anger in there too. Pent up desire and rage, a deadly combination. You nipped roughly at his bottom lip with your teeth, and he hissed and retaliated by forcefully pulling you closer into him as the kisses became deeper and sloppier and your tongue was no longer yours but a separate force you couldn’t control. His hands made their way up your back, then moved back down across your waist, then he pulled you forwards and lifted your ass up and he squeezed fistfuls of it as he moaned into your mouth. Part of you wanted to slap him and call him a pervert but you were simply too caught up to do so. It was wrong but so right. You wanted to shun him and punish him, but you also couldn’t stay away from him. Damn him.

“You’re so annoying…” he murmured softly as he dotted kisses across your jawline.

“So are you…” you retorted as you rocked your hips against his lap and stretched to get more comfortable in the cramped car.

“I should’ve implemented a skirts-only uniform policy,” he growled as his hands explored the back of your jean-clad thighs.

“Stop talking,” you managed breathily before silencing him with another kiss.

He moved you further onto his lap again and you allowed him to. He was firm in his hold but never too rough. You leaned across him to pull the lever to recline the seat but in your urgency and ungainliness you managed to hit the horn with your backside, sending a loud tone that made both of you jump.

It seemed to snap you out of your stupor as you flung yourself back against the driver’s seat, your hands recoiling away from him like your fingers had been burnt.

“No…we gotta stop this,” you panted out as you regained your composure and smoothed down your mussed hair. The silence lay thick and heavy.

He sat back against his own seat looking a little bewildered. “Yeah…sorry. You’re right. I just…lost myself a little there,” he cleared his throat.

“You hurt me,” you told him meekly and unable to meet his gaze. “I feel really embarrassed. After we kissed…you didn’t get in touch. Then tonight you almost seemed annoyed I was there when you came in. And you spent the whole time with Amber, apart from when you got pissed at me for talking to another guy”.

You chewed your lip, mortified by your own vulnerability. But you were glad you finally said it out loud. It was the most honest thing you’d ever said to him.

You could see him nodding in your periphery. “I’m sorry, Sug,” he said quietly.

He took a deep breath. “That kiss…it did mean something to me you know”.

You finally turned to look at him, surprised by his admission. “What?”

He looked back at you. He seemed…smaller, somehow. “Of course it did,” he continued. “We both felt it, didn’t we? This thing between us. I feel a little crazy around you. You’re like this…brilliant woman. Smart and funny…makes the meanest spicy ‘marg for hundreds of miles,” he grinned.

Even you couldn’t stifle a chuckle at that.

“You also get under my skin in a way nobody else does. You make me so mad. But I can’t help being near you. And when you got hurt that night…I was so angry. Angry at myself for not protecting you. Angry at you for mouthing off and not getting help. I guess…I guess it sorta pushed me to finally make a move…and then Sam interrupted and…” he sighed “Fuck. I don’t know. I suddenly felt bad. I shouldn’t be hitting on my staff. Especially injured staff…”

“Yeah…but I wanted it too, Bucky. You know I did…”

“I know…But…I dunno, I wouldn’t want you to ever think I was taking advantage”.

You swallowed, absorbing everything he’d just told you. Yeah…that was reasonable. He was your boss after all and there was always going to be a weird power dynamic there, but you still had more questions than answers.

“Bucky…” you started quietly. “If you wanted the kiss…Why did you disappear? I didn’t hear from you…and then tonight…”

He interrupted you with a noise of frustration, but seemingly towards himself rather than you.

“Alright…look. This…well, there’s no way of spinning any of this that makes me look good here, alright? But I want to be honest with you…I’m not going to lie to you”.

You nodded, grateful for his candour but uneasy about what he might say. You stiffened but still turned to him and gave him your full attention.

“Okay…so. Like I said, I wanted the kiss. And I’m glad it happened. And I was gonna text…call…and I almost did so many times, I had your contact open on my phone and everything…but I guess…I panicked a little”.

“Panicked?”

“Yeah…I mean,” he sighed. “Because I really like you. And I’m not used to that. And on top of that, I’m your boss. And…you’re leaving town soon anyway. And…our relationship is sorta, volatile? I guess? I admit this is fucked up and chicken shit of me, but I kinda freaked out. I suppose I worried that if I jumped headfirst into something with you, it might be a mess. Or worse, I might fall hard, and it would be that much harder to see you go when the time came. I know you might think this is me taking the easy way out to give you the brush off…but it’s the truth”.

You sat in silence at his admission, eyes wide and lips parted. You were surprised at how open he was. The two of you had never really done ‘direct communication’ before…and it was eye opening to say the least. You knew deep down you agreed, you already knew that finally saying goodbye to him would be tough…you didn’t want to make it any tougher.

“I still shouldn’t have left you hanging like that. I’m sorry,” he told you with sincerity. “I’m not…good at this stuff”.

“And what about you and Amber? I mean the two of you…”

He sighed heavily, shaking his head. “Look…there is no me and Amber…”

“But-” you interrupted harshly. “I’ve seen you..”

“No. Seriously, it’s the truth,” he explained as he ran a hand through his hair. “Amber is cute. She’s fun. Again, I won’t lie to you – we’ve fooled around in the past. But I’m not interested in pursuing anything with her. She knows that, I’ve never lied to her about that. But she tries. And I do care for her. But it’s just messing around. We flirt and it’s fun, and I know it might look I lead her on, but I consistently remind her where I stand. I guess maybe she’s hoping I’ll change my mind? I don’t want to outright ban her from the bar…but she turns up…and some of the guys are involved with her friends…and I guess I’m too clumsy to give the situation the care it deserves because I don’t want to give her false hope, but I don’t want to be outright mean to her either. I know you probably think I’m just some meathead biker juggling girls, but I don’t like hurting people who don’t deserve it”.

You noted the concern in his voice. He really did seem to care about handling it right, even if he wasn’t very good at it. But you remembered the extent of tonight and rolled your eyes.

“C’mon Bucky…that’s all very well and good…but she was sitting in your damn lap this evening. So you’re not exactly taking a hard line with her….” You scowled.

“Yeah…and did you see the part where I rolled my eyes and moved her away?”

“Oh, come on…”

“It’s true! I told her to back off, but you’d disappeared…”

“Don’t insult me…”

“I’m not, it’s the truth!” He frowned. “Okay, fine, maybe I need to be stricter with her. We’ve just been doing this back and forth for so long I sometimes forget how it must look…”

“Poor little you…”

“Oh, don’t give me that. What about you, huh? Flirting and giving out your number in front of me?”

“That’s different! You were ignoring me…I thought you’d knocked me back!”

“I saw that message was from Wanda but you made out it wasn’t…I know what you were doing. You were enjoying me being jealous…And yes, obviously I was jealous, so don’t think make a whole thing of it”.

You stopped suddenly, your cheeks feeling hot as he’d caught you out in your game. “Oops. Um…okay. Fine…”

You both sat quietly until he spoke again.

“I guess both of us have played a part in this, not being upfront with the other about how we feel”.

“Yeah…” you sighed. “That’s true enough…I’m still mad, though”.

“That’s okay. I deserve it”.

He nudged you playfully and you couldn’t help but crack a smile. Damn him.

“Look…given how much drama there’s been already between us…Maybe we should just call it, put a stop to this thing and stay just friends and colleagues. Have quieter lives as a result,” you offered, unable to mask the melancholy in your voice.

He nodded. “Yeah…that probably is for the best”.

You felt sad…but you knew it was the right move. All this drama and angst and you’d only shared a few kisses. Imagine how much worse it would get? What if you’d slept together?? And he was right earlier, this whole thing did have an expiration date. You didn’t want to have to quit your job even if it was temporary. You didn’t want to leave on bad terms because you were banging your boss, or because you were insecure about who else he was banging. It all came back to the same bottom line…you didn’t need this in your life. Not now. Not with Granny’s house.

This was for the best. This was a mature decision. This was growth.

Wait.

Wait.

Why is he looking at you like that…?

What is he….oh.

Uh oh.

“Bucky…” you pleaded softly, but his mouth was already on yours.

“Just friends,” he mumbled into your mouth.

“Just friends,” you whispered against his.

Shit.

[sunriseverse]

I keep meaning to look this up, but could you please help in pointing me somewhere to start? I'm learning Chinese (on a hobby level, at a snail's pace) and every class, on- or offline I tried so far expects me to just bruteforce learning hanzi one by one. I think you've mentioned it before (or I read it somewhere, can't remember) that there's a logic to how they are built and by knowing the building blocks you can even guess how a new-to-you character might be pronounced. Could you point me somewhere reliable I could learn more about this? Thank you :)

hi fixa! my apologies in advance if this reply is a little disordered, i personally learnt chinese as a child/growing up in china so my experience with learning chinese is very different from those wanting to learn as adults. but hopefully the resources i've provided will at least give you a starting point!

in terms of texts:

for character dictionaries that allow you to look things up via radicals and/or allow you to practice writing, there is adrian van amstel's text "simplified chinese character dictionary", cheng & tsui's "chinese character dictionary", and muhammad wolfgang g. a. schmidt's "the big chinese character dictionary" which all look fairly promising. cheng & tsui and schmidt's texts both have built-in writing portions, where you can practice the characters, while amstel's text is more of a classic dictionary in that you can only look characters up. (there's another text that i would recommend here, but i can't for the life of me remember the title and i don't have the text on hand—it's probably from the 80s, but it also teaches characters through radicals and has some explanation on the history of the evolution of the characters? will add this if/when i remember the title (providing i didn't list it already, but i don't think i have).)

the main drawback to these is that i haven't actually been able to find a copy of the cheng & tsui text online anywhere :/ it is possible to find the schmidt one, though (probably because it was published in '65—which is a drawback because i'm not sure where it would be in terms of simplified characters vs traditional), as well as the amstel text (though the copy i managed to find lists both the traditional and simplified character versions, which might be a bit confusing).

for actually learning how to write chinese characters, without having to pay anything: i cannot recommend TOFU Learn enough. when i was trying to regain competency in writing, this was the app/website i used the most. it's technically a general flashcard resource, but it's designed for learning chinese first—there are specific decks for all the hsk levels, and for radicals (usually the kangxi radicals list, but there are also 100 most common lists, etc).

in terms of other resources:

— the pleco dictionary is invaluable for looking characters up—it also breaks down characters by components, and you can, if you have it downloaded on your phone, draw characters to look them up rather than having to remember the pinyin. it also includes alternate pronunciations of characters when they exist (saved my life in a classical chinese translation project where i was ripping my hair out trying to figure out who the fuck was being talked about because the common pronunciation wasn't yielding shit).

— haven't used it myself, but my good friend @commandersya claims the mandarin blueprint system is incredibly helpful (despite looking scammy as hell); they have a free 30 day trial, as well. they put a lot of emphasis on radicals/character components, though the system they use to memorise characters feels a little baffling and roundabout to me (but howl says it works great, and i trust her because she's actually the one learning it from scratch).

most other resources i can think of off the top of my head are geared more towards getting you ready to speak, so i hope at least some of these are useful!

( @mejomonster might have some further resources as well; i know he's been studying chinese for a while, and would probably be a better source for that sort of thing than i am, since my experience is not really anything like your average foreign chinese language student.)

[agentrouka-blog]

Favourite sassy Sansa moments ??

This one is still my favourite:

“When Lady Anya first told me of this match, I was afraid that you might look like your father."

"Little pointy beard and all?" Alayne laughed.

“I never meant..."

"I hope you joust better than you talk."

I know she’s technically playing a role here but SANSA STARK’S SASS IS UNDERRATED!!!! she’s so unintentionally funny

Anon, I am pretty sure it's intentional. ^_^

Sansa is dang charming and funny when she's allowed to be.

The older man in white spoke to Sansa gently. "Ofttimes Ser Ilyn frightens me as well, sweet lady. He has a fearsome aspect." "As well he should." The queen had descended from the wheelhouse. The spectators parted to make way for her. "If the wicked do not fear the King's Justice, you have put the wrong man in the office." Sansa finally found her words. "Then surely you have chosen the right one, Your Grace," she said, and a gale of laughter erupted all around her. "Well spoken, child," said the old man in white. "As befits the daughter of Eddard Stark. I am honored to know you, however irregular the manner of our meeting. I am Ser Barristan Selmy, of the Kingsguard." He bowed. (AGOT, Sansa I)

This isn't quite as hilarious at first glance, but she's very much working her audience here, to great effect.

Of course, she rarely has the opportunity to openly speak at all, let alone with sass, so a lot of her snark happens internally.

One of my favorite unspoken lines is this:

The king leafed through it with no interest. "And what is this, Uncle?" A book. Sansa wondered if Joffrey moved those fat wormy lips of his when he read. (ASOS, Sansa IV)

The classic:

"They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest," she said recklessly. "Though he's older than Your Grace, to be sure. A man grown." (ACOK, Sansa V)

I'm sure there are many that escape me right now.

But yeah, the TWOW sample chapter is pure gold in terms of watching Sansa be closer to her carefree self. Excitedly overseeing preparations, running and gossiping with a friend, free to bite back for once, free to let her thoughts indulge silly details or observations that don't specifically serve to protect her from harm.

Alayne loved it here. She felt alive again, for the first since her father… since Lord Eddard Stark had died. [...]

Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, "Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms." It might have been a sweeter courtesy had he not addressed it to her chest. "And have you seen all those maids yourself, ser?" Alayne asked him. "You are young to be so widely travelled." [...]

Myranda rolled her eyes. "They're from the Sisters. Did you ever know a Sisterman who could joust? They clean their swords with codfish oil and wash in tubs of cold seawater." "Well," Alayne said, "at least they're clean." "Some of them have webs between their toes. I'd sooner marry Lord Petyr.  [...] She danced with all three Sunderlands, none of whom had webs between their fingers, though she could not vouch for their toes. [...]

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. [....]

"And is Ser Harrold with them?" Horrible Ser Harrold. "He is." [...]

Ser Harrold had the grace to blush. "Her father says she is more precious to him than gold. He's rich, the richest man in Gulltown. A fortune in spices." "What will you name the babe?" she asked. "Cinnamon if she's a girl? Cloves if he's a boy?" That almost made him stumble. "My lady japes." "Oh, no." Petyr will howl when I tell him what I said.

Alayne is the Sansa that she could have been all this time, the girl who liked to giggle and be silly with Jeyne Poole, had no great issue holding her own in conversation, who drew pleasure and energy from the world around her.

I mean, we know she is playing a role and based Alayne partially on Jon Snow... but that girl there is not a terse and moody grump. She's not even a lean shadow laughingly racing to the bridge with his brother. She is a highborn lord's daughter, inhabiting the center of attention with confidence like she was born to it. Like Sansa.

[popcornforone]

Saftey

A Din Djarin Fic

Day 23 of Pedrotober

Masterlist

So yesterday was quiet a lot wasn’t it. Marcus being Naughty in my fic, then the Gladiator drop & that photo shoot. We were fed. It had always been my intention after that story to do a small soft one, but this one is now even more needed.

Synopsis:- You try to reassure Grogu in moments of desperation.

Word Count:- 750

Warnings over & above:- trauma, life & death situation, survival, but it is mainly soft & sweet this.

Thanks for the read peoples. I am overwhelmed with love when you share these & like them it means the world. It’s giving me confidence to write the book. So thanks & thanks to @norththelemon & @alyssamariag for creating the prompt list.

You hold onto Grogu for your life & his. He’s petrified. This Tatooine sand storm is the worst for 300 years. You’re only supposed to be here for 3 days on a reconnaissance mission to monitor a few weird activities, while the Razor Crest is repaired. Din has gone to go & claim a bounty while you do some work for the locals. He asked you to look after Grogu, Grogu was hesitant at first clinging to his dad but then he saw you pack some biscuits & dried frogs & suddenly he was your new best friend, eager to come with you. You set up camp for what you thought was just going to be short over night.

But then the stand storm came in & youve Been out in the desert for 5 days now. You have enough food but supplies to last about 2 more days as you always over pack but after that you are in trouble. You’re not even sure you can venture outside afraid opening the tent door might cause sand to flood it & suffocate you both. The last thing you want Grogu to see is you struggling.

Grogu hasn’t slept at all in those 5 days & you cling to him, trying to rock him to sleep as the wind howls outside & the tent is battered by sand. A noise you will never forget. The smell inside the tent now fowl.

“It’s okay kid, I got you, Din is coming to find us I promise” he coes. At least one of you believed the lie you’d just made up. Grogu gargles & you keep him tight & whisper to him. “I’ll never let you go kid, it’s going to be okay”.

Has it been a week, day or hour? You are not sure. But the second you hear a swosh noise, you know what it is. An ominous black glow you can half see. Swipe swipe. You clutch to Grogu to keep him safe. You hiss after seeing light as the tent is sliced open. There in the blistering heat & light shines a man of silver (technically beskar) wielding his dark saber.

“Peli, I found them” you smile & feel Grogu wiggle for freedom but you keep him close, not sure if you are both dreaming this or not. As your eyes close & you feel yourself fading you hear Din say. “Don’t go now, stay awake, I thought I’d lost you both once already”.

Eventually you come around & slowly return to normal. You sit in Pelis work shop for a few hours after you’ve showered & cleaned up & Din & Peli have looked after Grogu. He didn’t want to let go of you for a good hour. He saw you as safety now. This upset Din a lot. Grogu was his ward, but the connection youd created soothing him to tell him you’d be safe, had lasting input. Din looks at you with affection, not that you can see it the helmet is staying on but you can also feel it, you protected his world. He has bathed Grogu & wrapped him in a fluffy towel. He walks across as you sip your hot drink & he sighs.

“Here” he says & outstretched his arms & you take the swaddled creature & rub him. He starts gargling & coeing, touching you as you hold him. “Thank you” Din says.

“You shouldn’t thank me Din, I should have seen the storm coming” you shake your head & rock grogu. “& I will always be eternally greatful & thankful that you came to save us”

“Couldn’t leave my clan behind could I” his gloved finger traces across your chin. You sigh. His touch even when he’s covered sends chills down your spine.

“Din”

“Shhh” he rests his helmet against your forehead. The cold beskar making you shiver but also is a comfort. “I want to make this all up to you.” He whispers through his modulator”

“How?”

“Well how about when we get back to the ship & Grogu is asleep, I remind you exactly what you mean to me”

“Oooh” you sound a little disappointed. As much as you will get kisses from Din it will

Be in complete darkness or you will be blindfolded as he makes love to you.

“Don’t look sad baby” he says & lifts the bottom of his helmet to kiss your cheek. “I think you’ve earnt a night with the lights on…”

[you-wanna-save-the-corn-nuts]

guys im still thinking about my yj fantasy au….it wasn’t MEANT to be an au it was meant to be a one off joke….but i have ideassss

this does deviate from my usual content!! and i probably wont keep it up here unless you want me to? feel free to send asks with ideas/writing requests (?) but otherwise no this wont overtake my whole blog, this is just me being silly for a bit!

Ideas under the read more…

what if they don’t gain their “mythological” powers until they’re in the wilderness. what if we just start seeing things happen….

MISTY:

Misty goes to the water at the lake to get water to (very awkwardly) spray on coach, and she just wants to swim. weird, she’s not really the swimming type. but okay? its not until later when she’s…..singing to coach to get him to pee….that weird shit starts happening. Coach would be immune to her because he’s gay, but one of the other girls (because these bitches are ALL gay) walks up and starts being weirdly flirty. and from there, misty sneaks out to the lake at night, confused from what just happened. they dont normally like her? decides fuck it, i need a swim to calm down and boom. thats the first transformation. Misty siren time. (bonus for crystal also being a siren and thats why everyone hates their singing is because they know its sirens and dont want to be drawn to them)

VAN:

Van’s turn comes after the wolf attack. Tai (who now has a much more tragic part in this) goes to cremate Van. But instead of Van waking up like in the original plot and them putting the fire out, the girls all sit by her pyre until morning, too scared to sleep. Van burns away into nothing but ash….the girls try their best not to sleep, but they all eventually do, and when they wake, Van is asleep on the pyre, still burning softly, wings coiled around her. Reborn as a pheonix. (Bonus points if this also started from the crash and Van found herself weirdly drawn to fire after it, and even had an incident where it didnt burn her and it should have…but she thought she made it up, so ignored the signs. ALSO THIS ADDS THE POTENTIAL FOR WINTER TAIVAN CUDDLES THANKYOU FOR COMING TO MY TEDTALK-)

TAI:

Tai would technically be the first to turn, but not the first that the girls noticed. In this AU, instead of Lottie seeing Tai eat dirt, she swears she saw Tai howling at the moon. “I don't have time for crazy right now Lottie!!” but much like in the original, Lottie wasn’t crazy. I’m pretty sure when they went out that first night where Van got attacked, it was already a full moon. But if not. Full disclaimer. It is now!! Instead of Tai finding herself in a tree, she finds herself on a cliff, howling. She’s not far from camp and one thing is very clear. She lead the wolves right to them. (Which now means Tai gets to blame herself for Van getting mauled 💕💕)

NAT:

Nat I have slightly less ideas for WHEN she turns, and more just the concept of the torment it gives her. Javi’s death at the lake would be a huge moment, Natalie turned at this point, biting her lip and scratching her arms incessantly because she cannot scream. If she screams, he’s dead. So she sits there in quiet terror, whispering to herself as Misty holds her back from trying to save him. Nat would ask why the hell Misty isn’t diving in to save him, she’s the best swimmer they have, and Misty says something about the cold. (Mistynat moment) So we see Natalie, every time something goes wrong, being filled with silent terror, knowing that whatever happens, she cannot scream.

LOTTIE:

Fallen angel Lottie…honestly haven’t thought about this one as much. I think her turning point would have to be the seance, Lottie getting possessed and speaking french, everyone freaking out, Lottie banging her head into the window and suddenly the lights all cut out….one of them grabs a candle to relight it, and as they strike the match, they see Lottie laying on the floor, unconscious, bleeding from her head. She’s laying in the middle of the summoning circle, one of them leans forward to check if shes okay, but the second they touch her, the wound on her head opens into a third eye. Lottie slowly sits up, everyone around her looking shocked. “What?” she asks, and as she sits up, wings follow behind her. By the time she’s fully stood up, she’s changed entirely, a halo above her head and her ears into little wings. (Cool idea that usually the third eye is closed and the only wings she have are the ear ones, but whenever she connects to the wilderness she opens her third eye and her much scarier biblically accurate type form appears.)

SHAUNA:

Honestly I think it would be poetic for Shauna to not turn until s2. And by that I mean, not turn until after Jackie’s death. Shauna spending hours in the meat shed with Jackie, and after a while, the girls start noticing her hair starting to move on its own. Now between all the others from s1, this isn’t out of the ordinary at this point. Clearly, weird shit is happening. The day Shauna fully turns Gorgon is when Nat brings her a small hare, still squirming in her grasp. Shauna wouldn’t meet Nat’s eye as she couldn’t bare the questions of why she’d been sitting out there with Jackie’s corpse, but she takes the hare, holds it down, and briefly looks it in the eye before she goes to swiftly cut off its head. And it immediately turns to stone. Natalie would turn around quickly, realising what was going on with Shauna, who would be horrified as she pieces together what happened. And to this day, Jackie would be the last living person she ever made eye contact with, in the cabin, just before she sent her out. Now she wears a veil to avoid direct eye contact with anyone, just in case.

[hillyroberts]

Pete Wentz and Mikey Way Shared A New Mexico Sunset 20 Years Ago. Why Are We Still Talking About It?

Disclaimer: I do not ship them nor do I claim to know what happened. This is just a compilation of everything that happened between Pete and Mikey (all information that is accessible to the public) and everyone can draw their own conclusions.

This isn't even a completely comprehensive dive into Petekey. This is mostly a written analysis of Pete's blog posts and lyrics and how they can be interpreted in a way that may pertain to Mikey.

Link to Part 1:

https://www.tumblr.com/hillyroberts/787601810692177920/pete-wentz-and-mikey-way-shared-a-new-mexico?source=share

PART 2

Petekey in 2006

A hotel in New York City

“I am in the lobby of a hotel in New York City waiting for something that isn’t ever going to happen. I am calculating all of the legs and drunken stutters. I am precise. I am a machine. I am a hot mess. - petey” February 19, 2006

Later that same day Pete uploads these pictures of him and Mikey. Does that mean he got what he was waiting and hoping for? In this post (which is long) he also compares himself to Howl from Howl's Moving Castle.

Remember the hotel in NYC!

“Saved Latin” Concert

On March 4th, 2006, FOB played a private show under a fake band name - “Saved Latin”. Mikey was in attendance, and Pete invited him up to play with FOB.

He introduced Mikey by saying “I’ve read a lot of internet erotica about this guy before” - really, Pete?

This is also the night of the infamous “boyfriend picture” where Mikey is wearing Pete’s Clandestine Industries” gloves.

Hey Chris

We have to take a slight detour here…

Chris was a mutual friend of both bands - FOB even has a song Grenade Jumper for him: “Hey, Chris, you were our only friend, and I know this is belated, but we love you back” because he was their first fan.

They said “So glad it seems like these times will never fade”... Well, they did.

In March 2006, Chris and Pete have a public falling out online. All of this is available, but some of the posts are very long and since this is a very confusing detour, I will sum it up:

Chris posts an open letter to Pete, attacking his character and saying he is not who he says he is

Pete responds to Chris publicly, blaming Chris for their falling out

Chris writes: “Heterolifemates. I won’t lie. I hate being this dude. I wish it wouldn’t have come to this but goddamn, he’s right. No one knows how to break a heart like he does.”

Chris then says that he went to LA and fell for a boy with a girlfriend

After saying that he went to LA and fell in love with a boy with a girlfriend, Chris posts these odd pictures of him and Mikey (who lived in LA and had a girlfriend, fiancee technically)... Chris posts this series of odd pictures with Mikey. This was at a party at Jeffree Star’s apartment.

These pictures look staged - people wonder if Chris had Mikey take these pictures with him to make Pete jealous, since Pete and Chris were feuding.

If that was his intention, it apparently worked, because Pete posted:

“Fuck everything. And by everything I mean everyone.”

One last thing regarding the “Hey Chris” drama. On March 8th in the middle of Pete and Chris’ online feud, Pete’s nudes were leaked. He claims that what must’ve happened was that his PDA Sidekick (like a pager of sorts) was stolen, and someone must’ve guessed the password.

If you've seen the pictures... I'm sorry.

However, due to the timing of his feud and the bizarre “love triangle” between Pete, Chris, and Mikey, many people have speculated that Chris was behind the leak.

Pete was extremely upset and embarrassed by the leak. He is open about the fact that he sought a lot of therapy because of it. Mikey posted this in support of him:

"Fucking savages... don't sweat it kiddo... just look on the bright side... you helped usher a lot of young ladies into womanhood tonight Secondly, would everyone leave the poor guy along already? Everyone wonders what drives people in bands "over the edge" or into a "meltdown"... it's shit like this. How would you like it if someone posted "risque" pics of you online. Have some tact people. Fucking weak. PS: Los Angeles will bury you alive”

That first part was a bit weird, Mikey. Anyway.

But the last part and his “PS” seems to suggest he knows who is behind the leak - someone who recently came to LA.

If Pete knew that Chris was behind the leak, it makes sense he would cover it up by saying the pictures were stolen from his device because he did not want people knowing he was in a relationship with a man.

Moving on from that detour and back to Pete's posts. He starts putting headers on them at this point, fun!

27

“Stick around long enough and everyone becomes parody of themselves” “You don’t hate me, you hate the part of you that is like me. I can’t sit here and ride my flaws until the end because the truth is I live the charmed life because of you and them. We are a gang. Maybe it's time to disband. I'm not sure I am thinking clearly but I just want you to know that I waited on your calls all night- they never came. I just wanted to say I miss you or I’m sorry or, you know, something that would have meant something to you. I would have made it poetic and memorable or at least something you could laugh at while drifting off to sleep. Always trying to relive the glory days. I don’t care how poorly these sentences were constructed or how in the light of day I will wish I had not written them- right now I can only curse the fucking light off of this stupid western city because it wont ever get dark enough for sleep but otherwise how could you guide your way back here?" June 5, 2006

It’s Pete’s birthday - his 27th birthday - and he is feeling very down because he did not receive a call from “you”. He misses this person and wants to express his feelings to this person even though he thinks they will only laugh about him.

“We are a gang. Maybe it's time to disband. I'm not sure I am thinking clearly but I just want you to know that I waited on your calls all night- they never came."

He says “We are a gang. Maybe it’s time to disband.” We know that he and Mikey were “not in just one gang together, we are in two: the Sweet Little Dudes and the Fraternal Order of the Handsome Boy.”

Could this be what he means when he says it’s time to disband the gang?

Do I have you hooked yet?

Warped Tour. Sun drenched days. Bestfriends.

“I’m so sorry, but not really. ('straighten up and die right’)” “Show me what you are made of. Your eyes were always rolling but you’d tilt your head so they were somehow always still stuck on me (have your cake and eat it too).” “When I met you I gave you a name- not your own- but in my head so I wouldn’t ever mix you up with anyone so ordinary- I can’t tell you- but to me it meant salvation. You only wanted reaction. But I can't be bothered. Not anymore. I’ll see you in the spring. First pew on the left. Wear your white veil and don't forget the words. Warped Tour. Sun drenched days. Bestfriends. New roads. So long salvation. Don't worry your pretty little heads. I am sleeping safe tonight.” July 7, 2006

Here, Pete makes one last desperate attempt to express his feelings for the person he has lost. He pleads with this person, who is getting married in the spring, to remember the Warped Tour from last summer, before they commit to getting married.

Mikey and Alicia got married in March 2007. This blog entry is significant because it connects Warped Tour and Pete’s relationship with a friend during that summer to Mikey’s upcoming wedding.

This shows that a year later, his blog posts still relate back to that Warped Tour relationship. This post, as well as the post he makes the very next day, are the most significant in typing all of Pete’s blog posts back to Mikey Way.

Here we go...

I cast a spell

“The Fraternal Order of the Handsome Boy” “I’ve been watching you from afar. My breath on the inside window as you walk in from the car. ‘You’re the stranger I’ve been dreaming of’, stranger than any I’ve ever known. Love through a telescopic lens. When the air is clear I can see how perfect you are for me. Late at night when the city sleeps I cast a spell on you to make you think of me the very same way I think of you. I only love how the words feel in my head when I write them. Fireworks over the valley. How can I tell you I gut people for a living. How I get paid to be humble and arrogant at the same time, to be chased and never caught. That I just want to stay up late and wake up early to talk to you. That I want to show you all of my jealousy and insecurity and have you not care. You’re like a light switch and I just want to turn you on and watch them all shrink away. The words come out of my fingertips on impulse. It is instinct. My head can't keep up. I envy the comatose. I admire the bedridden. I am addicted to the way I feel when i think of you. I wish I was the exact opposite of how the world knows me.” July 8, 2006

This is the post. This is where it all comes together.

“I cast a spell over the west to make you think of me the same way I think of you” is the pinnacle line in Bang The Doldrums. Therefore, this whole post is linked to the July 19th 2005 post, which became the rest of the lyrics to Bang The Doldrums - he is still talking about the same person from the Warped Tour 2005.

Who is that person? The Fraternal Order of the Handsome Boy - THE TITLE OF THIS POST. Who is that? PETE AND MIKEY. 

And just the day before this post, he was talking about a wedding that would be happening in the spring - Mikey’s wedding.

This is why Bang The Doldrums is the Petekey anthem. This is why people believe Pete Wentz and Mikey Way had a relationship.

Bang The Doldrums (2007)

Fourth Of July (2015)

We will talk more about the song Fourth Of July soon, as it is seen as the second most iconic Petekey song after Bang The Doldrums. But remember one of the earliest LiveJournal posts from July 4, 2005 about being “hot and miserable but totally in love”. This line about remembering “fireworks over the valley” could be a reference to the Fourth of July.

But it just keeps going, doesn't it?

Summer sheets

“What is the opposite of amnesia? Because that is what I have. Sometimes I can’t find my way around my memories. I have to take detours. I think you were the best one. I have affection imprinted deep inside my head. It’s why i am always on the verge of love or giving up. Or that's what I am convinced of today- tomorrow it will be something new. Dear drugstore cowboy, the chemical balance is a bit off. It’s 7am in California, 11pm in Japan. But my head is always on central standard. How are you gonna get your way out of this one, Pete? Baby you are a canary and I am a coalmine. The moon is out and it’s convincing me, it has me all kinds of crazy. Maybe we’ll just go to sleep and wake up on the summer sheets I grew up on. Because how could any of this be real.” August 11, 2006

Pete finds himself battling with being plagued by the memories of this person. This parallels what he said on December 22, 2005: “I have to face the same two months replayed for the rest of my life”.

This is not the first time Pete mentions “summer sheets”. In the “Me and you underneath the honeymoon” post, he writes: “Hearts between our knees sticking to the summer sheets.”

It always come's back to summer for Pete.

“X” on the calendar

“Plain Jane and the Boy Next Door” “There is one single pair of eyes that could ever decode any of this. Put another “x” on the calendar. Summer is on its deathbed. There is simply nothing worse than knowing the ending - that no matter what curve balls or uphill come your way - it still turns out the same. This year it’s stripes and pumps, last year it was dancefloors and you. Everything is always either digging a hole or digging yourself out of one. And just when you have it all figured out you should just sift through your pile of “never again”s. Quite a collection. Blow off the dust. I’m sure they will be worth something to someone sometime. It’s buzzing in the back of your head and out of your fingertips. Pull back the shade - the road outside of my house is paved with good intentions. But it is hell on the undercarriage of the car so we’re gonna have to hire a construction crew. I wonder if anyone else thinks of you as much as I do, even you. A mutual misunderstanding. Kaleidoscope eyes sparkle on pillows in the dark. And I don’t care what anyone thinks of that except me. Put the love on hold, anticipation is on the other line and excitement called while you were out.Imagine me and you…- pete wentz”August 27, 2006

We are not the singlepair of eyes that is supposed to be able to decode this, but we will try anyway! Here Pete is, talking about summer again. It is the end of the summer of 2006, but he does mention "last year". He is still reminiscing about something, someone. Additionally, he ends this post with "imagine me and you..." - he's always repeating that phrase "me and you" just like in the song I'm Like A Lawyer...

Parts of this post become the lyrics to The Calendar - a song that Pete helped write for Panic! at the Disco.

The Calendar (2011)

And lastly...

“I was designed to break your heart. My only real crime is my obsession with documenting it. And maybe the way I still love you after the flash on the camera cools off.” October 2nd, 2006

So… Gay?

Where do both of them both publicly stand on their sexuality? Sort of in the gray zone.

Around this time in 2005/2006, Mikey posted an FAQ section about him on his MySpace. The 5th entry on this FAQ sheet was:

“Me and Pete Wentz aren’t dating. We are both heterosexual males….sort of…maybe…umm…next!”

That’s something he typed out and posted… and he really thought that would convince people there was nothing going on between them? Sure.

In an AP interview, Pete was quoted saying:

“A lot of people say that I’m gay in general. I’m an above-the-waist gay kind of guy. Anything above the waist is fair game.”

So he is pretty openly bicurious to some degree. Interesting that he says he is only gay above the waist, because Bang The Doldrums says “happily ever after below the waist”.

In 2023, Mikey performed on stage with FOB!

To Conclude

To conclude, could Pete’s ill fated Warped Tour lover be someone else? Yes, but who? The only person he was rumored to be with at the time was Mikey. Additionally, the blog post about the wedding next spring implies he is talking about either Mikey or Alicia - his Warped Tour lover has to be someone who got married the next spring. There were rumors that Pete and Alicia were friends during Warped Tour, where she worked as a guitar tech, however the rumors of them being very close and hooking up are few and far between, especially compared to rumors about Pete and Mikey.

Furthermore, if Pete had been in a relationship with Alicia during the summer of 2005, we would expect to see a change in Pete’s dynamic with Mikey when they got engaged. We would see him posting about being betrayed by a friend who stole his girl… But he never references any feelings like this.

In the post titled “The Fraternal Order Of The Handsome Boy” he is not calling out the intended reader for stealing his girl and marrying her. Instead he is saying he is casting a spell to make him think about him, he is reminiscing about the fireworks over the valley, he is addicted to the way he feels when he thinks of him. Because of the title of this post, it is clear he is talking about Mikey, not Alicia, and not anyone else.

We still have song lyric analysis to get to in part 3, but...

What does all of this mean?

Many FOB songs that have lyrics from Pete's blog posts tend to have similar themes. When put all together, they paint a picture of a relationship with a “friend” that ended poorly, and Pete blames himself for that. He is haunted by memories of summer, and he wonders how things could have been different. But this person pops back into his life periodically, to ask how he’s doing, and to pick him up and use him - an on again, off again situationship that Pete is happy to have, even though he knows it is not healthy for him.

Many fans take it at face value - sure, maybe Pete and Mikey were more than friends during Warped Tour 2005 and Pete wrote several songs about this, namely Bang The Doldrums, and Fourth Of July. It's basically become a meme at this point, that Pete is in love with Mikey and can't stop writing songs about him, even 20 years later. But is there any truth to this? Why are so many of us here, celebrating 20 years of Petekey today?

When taking a close look at all of Pete’s blog posts and lyrics, it is bizarre how strongly they all tie in o the same story. The July 19, 2005 post (“best friends, ex-friends”) is connected to the Fraternal Order of the Handsome Boy post (“I cast a spell”) because they come together to become the lyrics of Bang The Doldrums. This song connects everything - summer, Warped Tour, heartbreak, Mikey.

It can be fun to have this kind of lore, to have stories and emotions behind the lyrics as you listen to Fall Out Boy. Clearly the rumors have not affected Pete and Mikey’s friendship, and they have never denied it, so in my opinion it is harmless to speculate about what may have happened.

At this point 20 years later, it is ancient history. Ancient history that is somehow still relevant. I hope you found this bit of lore as fascinating as I clearly did! Thanks for reading!

Link to Part 1 - Warped Tour 2005 and the Fallout:

https://www.tumblr.com/hillyroberts/787601810692177920/pete-wentz-and-mikey-way-shared-a-new-mexico?source=share

Link to Part 3 - Song Analysis:

https://www.tumblr.com/hillyroberts/787601879691591680/pete-wentz-and-mikey-way-shared-a-new-mexico?source=share