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n3on-graveston3s-calling · 1 year ago

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The Hat Rule.

Characters: Portgas D. Ace, Buggy the Clown, Dracule Mihawk, Trafalgar Law [ uses they/them ], X-Drake / Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 2,422

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None

Author's Notes: I'm a sucker for the Hat Rule, sue me. Nothing but some subtle spice. Enjoy!

You would be lying if you said it hadn’t been thrilling to sneak up behind them and pluck the hat off their head. They were so attached to it, it was funny! Of course, sentimentality was one thing- but really, the way they had paused, reaching up to touch their head as if confused at the sudden loss had been far too comical for you to even consider not laughing at. But the moment they had turned, had called out your name-

You ran.

You had sprinted across the dock back towards safety, hat clutched in your hand as they followed after you. But you were faster- always had been quicker on your feet. You scurried up the gangplank, avoiding collisions with your fellow shipmates as you made your way below deck to your quarters. You thought you were safe, you really had! Taking a minute to catch your breath, you settled the hat atop your own head with a grin.

Success!

That is, until the door opened. You turned, eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the owner of said hat, leaning against the door with an expression that lingered between amused and… Something else. Something darker. You suddenly realized you had cornered yourself in your haste to escape- and now, you had nowhere to run.

──Portgas D. Ace [ 353 ]

Your heart hammered in your chest as Ace chuckled, arms crossed over his chest as you leaned back against the opposite wall. “You had your fun,” he spoke softly, holding a hand out to you. “Now gimme my hat back.”

“No.” You replied defiantly, instead putting the hat on your own head. You turned, studying your reflection in the mirror on the wall, tilting your head to and fro as a smile curved your lips. “I think it looks better on me, really,” you couldn’t help but tease.

“There’s a rule ‘bout wearin’ someone else’s hat, y/n.” Ace sighed, stepping in, closing the door behind himself- and locking it, something that had your breath faltering. A rule? What was he talking about? It was just a hat! Even so, he crossed the room with a few strides, settling behind you. His hands smoothed across your hips, his head dipping down to press chaste kisses along your throat. “You wear the hat, you ride the sailor,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, his gaze finding your own in the reflection.

Hunger. That’s what that expression was; his beautiful brown eyes dark in the soft light of the room. Your heart stuttered in its beat as he kept your gaze locked with his own, lips pressing over where your carotid artery lay in your throat. “Oh,” you whispered back, blinking slowly as his hands wandered. Fingers plucked at the edge of your shirt, dragging it up slowly with his fingers as they trailed heated paths across your skin. His Devil Fruit ability- oh, how you loved that.

“Whattya say, y/n?” He asked, biting at your shoulder gently, not enough to cause pain but certainly enough to draw a gasp out of your lips. You nodded mutely, transfixed by your reflections as he grinned wolfishly over your shoulder. “That’s my baby.” A damn near growl as he tugged your back against his front, subtle grinds of his hips giving you a clear image of just how much he wanted you.

You were suddenly glad you decided to steal his silly little hat.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

──Buggy the Clown [ 464 ]

It had been a celebration. Another successful show, another successful tithe paid from the townsfolk. One of those rare times where your Captain was genuinely happy, laughing with his crew as the bonfire burned brightly on the beach. But you weren’t there- no, you were sitting on the throne in the center ring of the Big Top, orange tricorn settled atop your head as you waited.

You didn’t have to wait for long.

“Y/n,” Buggy called out as he sauntered in, his gaze settling on your form sitting in his chair, wearing his hat. The sight had his breath faltering, had his mouth suddenly dry. You looked damn good sitting there, almost as good as he did. Your legs kicked up over the arm, your lips curved into a cheeky grin. His hat… His hat on your head.

He approached slowly, the sounds of the celebration fading behind him as he reached the throne. “Look at you! All comfortable in my chair, wearing my hat.” He muttered, one hand grabbing your chin, forcing your head up and back to meet his gaze. The other settled on the top of the throne as he leaned his weight against it, hovering over you.

“Your hat?” You countered with faux confusion. You reached up, touching the tricorn. “I could’ve sworn this was my hat.”

“Brat.” Buggy hissed as you grinned.

You leaned up, sitting upright as your legs shifted down from the arm of the couch. “Yeah? Am I?” You continued to taunt, watching as your lover’s gaze brightened with the game you had decided to play.

“Yaknow, there’s this funny little rule that comes with wearing someone else’s hat.” His thumb brushed against your lower lip. You leaned into the touch, gaze flickering down to his painted smile.

“What is it?” You breathed as he shifted closer. When you’d stolen his hat, you’d let his hair down. Aquamarine tresses spilled over his shoulders, falling forward to cloak you, giving an odd form of privacy as his lips ghosted against your own.

“Wear the hat, ride the Captain.” Buggy murmured as he captured your lips in a kiss. Paint smeared against your skin as you reached up, tangling your fingers in his hair, drawing out a pleased hum from him as he pressed closer.

You pulled back with a nip to his lip, watching the way he crumbled beneath you so easily. “Ride the Captain, eh?” The thought set a fire in you. You rose to your feet, swapping places with a hand against his chest, shoving him down into his throne. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fuck you here.”

“Shit,” he chuckled, hands settling on your waist as you took your place on his lap. “Keep the hat on.”

“Yes, Captain.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

──Dracule Mihawk [ 516 ]

You felt like royalty as you ran through the halls of the castle. Perhaps it was the romance novels you’d read over the years, but there was something particularly thrilling about running through corridor after corridor with the tricorn clutched to your chest. You found yourself in the library, chest rising and falling with deep breaths as you turned to face the doors. Any moment now, Dracule would walk in.

It was worth it. Grabbing his tricorn the moment he’d docked at the island, running as fast as your legs could carry you back to the castle. You worried your lip as you looked down at the black leather, fingers brushing against the stitching. After a moment’s hesitation, you raised the hat- and settled it atop your head.

The doors swung open.

“Darling,” Mihawk drawled. Yoru wasn’t on his back; his coat had been discarded, no doubt left by the front entryway. He sighed, taking in the sight of you in the moment. Cheeks flushed, hat perched atop your head; you were bathed in the orange glow of the fireplace. The sun had already set behind you; no light spilled through the large windows.

A piece of art, you were.

“I believe you have something that belongs to me.” Slow steps drew him closer, even as you took shorter steps backwards- until you stumbled, ending up on your rear on the rug before the fireplace. Mihawk chuckled as he stood over you, arms crossed over his chest.

You found your words at last, grinning up at your lover. “I dunno what you’re talking about.” Cheekily, you leaned back on your elbows as Dracule knelt, reaching out to cup your cheek gently. “All I have is this shirt… And this hat.”

“... That’s all?” His gaze flickered down to your legs- bare, he realized. When had you stripped your trousers? He was certain you had been wearing them when you met him at the dock. “There’s a certain tradition when you wear another’s hat.”

“Tell me about it.” You sighed as his hand smoothed along your calf, gently massaging the muscle. He moved slowly, crawling over your form as his hands left your leg and cheek, balancing his weight over you. He dipped his head, stealing a kiss from you that had your head swimming by the end of it. The ghost of a brush of his tongue against your lip before he parted; you leaned forward, chasing him.

“Wear the hat,” he murmured as he shifted, arm curling around your waist. In a movement too quick to track, he’d rolled you both, settling you on his lap as he settled on the rug. His fingers gripped your thighs, dangerously high to rucking up your- no, that was certainly his- shirt. “Ride the pirate.”

“Oh,” you breathed, mind growing fuzzy with the lust that was beginning to course through your veins. You shift your hips slowly, feeling your lover respond in kind. A groan pulled free of you as your hands settle on his chest, fingers gripping at his shirt. “Oh, I think I like that one.”

“Good.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

──Trafalgar Law [ 450 ]

It was hard to hide in a submarine. This was your first- no, second- mistake. Taking your Captain’s hat was the first mistake. Hiding in the submarine was the second. And the third? Deciding to add insult to injury by hiding in their own quarters. Was it the brightest of ideas? No. But Shachi wasn’t going to let you get out of the bet without consequences, and like hell you were going to cough up five hundred berries.

So, you stole Law’s hat. And then had run for your damn life.

You could hear the heavy footsteps of their boots as they approached. You panicked- and tugged the white hat on as the door opened, revealing the frustrated face of Law. They paused, brow furrowing at the sight of you standing in the middle of their quarters. “The boiler room would have been a better hiding place,” they taunted sarcastically, closing the door behind themself before leaning back against it.

“I uh, I panicked?” You shrugged, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. You reached up, patting the hat on your head. “I get why you wear it. ‘S comfy.”

“It looks good on you.” They admitted softly, pushing off the door to cross the room, settling before you. Their hand raised, brushing a strand of hair back behind your ear. “Almost as good as it looks on me,” they finished, lips curving into that signature cocky grin that had you stomach twisting.

You reached out, settling your hands on their chest, “There’s this lil’ thing,” words barely above a whisper; they had to focus on you to really hear. “This lil’ rule I remember learnin’ about.”

“And what would that be?” They asked just as softly, hands settling on your hips, drawing you closer, pressing your form against their own. Their hands squeezed slowly, the pressure enough to draw a pleased sigh from you.

You leaned in, lips brushing against their ear. “If I wear my Captain’s hat- I have to ride them.” A nip against the shell of their ear had a shudder dancing across them. You could have sworn a soft ‘fuck’ had slipped free from them. “Is that right?”

They pulled back, hand coming up to grip your jaw. A mischievous light had settled in their gaze as they studied you. You weren’t sorry; not a single speck of sympathy lingered in your expression, in your words, in your teasing. “You are, y/n-ya.” They rasped as they leaned in, stealing a kiss. Their teeth grazed your lip as they guided you backwards, until the back of your knees hit the bed. You sank slowly, but they didn’t part- not until you pulled back, panting.

“Captain-”

“Keep it on.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

──X Drake [ 399 ]

You had managed to stumble into your quarters on the Liberal Hind, only to realize that oh- well, shit. That’s a mistake. You curse yourself softly as you try to figure out how to get out of this mess. It had been a silly idea. You hadn’t seen your Captain laugh in a while- and thought that hey, stealing the hat would be funny!

Apparently not, given the yell that had come from him as you sprinted away.

Your heart skipped more than one beat as the door to your quarters swung open, revealing the tall form of your Captain, X-Drake. You swallowed roughly around nothing as he studied you, brow furrowed. He ran a hand through his hair with a huff, stepping in and closing the door behind himself.

Slowly, you raised the hat- and placed it on your own head.

Worth it, you thought to yourself as your lover’s eyes widened in shock as he turned around once more. “Missing something?” You teased, arms crossing over your chest as he studied you.

“That’s my hat.” He stated simply, taking a step forward. “Why did you take it?”

“Maybe I want it.” You shrugged, watching the way his eye twitched at the blatant insubordination you showed. Former Marines, always so strict. You worried your cheek as you glanced away. “I think it looks good, don’t you?”

“It…” He faltered, drawing in a slow breath. “It does look good, yes.” He crossed over to you, reaching out a hand to grasp the hat- only to pause. You were at port. The crew was working on supply runs. Alone on the ship. His hand lowered to tilt your chin up gently, his demeanor shifting as he tilted your head to the left- and then the right. “It suits you well,” he murmured, voice damn near molten gold with the way it poured over you.

You shuddered, gaze rising to meet his own. “What’s that old saying… Wear the hat, ride the Captain?”

His jaw clenched; the hand on your chin flexed. Got him. “You’re nothing but trouble,” he groaned as his hands smoothed down your sides, hooking in the waistband of your trousers, tugging you closer to himself. “You need to be disciplined. Stealing from your captain…”

“Then do it,” you whispered, leaning in to ghost a kiss along his jaw. “After all, I did steal.”

“Turn around.”

“Yes, sir.”

#portgas d ace #buggy the clown #dracule mihawk #trafalgar d water law #x drake #Trafalgar law #one piece x gn reader #portgas d ace x reader #buggy the clown x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #x drake x reader #one piece smut #maybe if y'all like this enough they'll get their own full smuts who knows.......#unholy scripture [ n s f w ]#x reader

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agaypanic · 1 year ago

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hi omg i got so excited when i saw you were doing egon spengler x reader aaaa! could you do egon and an personality opposite reader? he's all serious and deadpan while she's happy and upbeat (it'd be cool if she was the new girl in the team and had a crush on him). sort of like a "she fell first, he fell harder" situation?

The Sunlight On My Spores (Egon Spengler X Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: The new addition to the ghostbuster’s team is a ray of sunshine, and she has her sights on a scientist with an interest in fungi and the supernatural.

A/N: AHHHHH ive been waiting for an egon/ghostbuster request!!! since i havent written for egon before, i hope i get his character right lol also idk shit about science/paranormal jargon. and idk if eegs is spelled the way it should but it’s pronounced ee-gs, like egon but s instead of on

***

Joining the Ghostbusters definitely brought amusement and hecticness to your daily life. Although you handled more of the office work, you had seen your fair share of the paranormal action. Namely Slimer, who would get ahold of your lunch every now and then.

Ray was the first on the team that you had met, being the one to interview you. You liked to call him ‘Sun-Ray’ for his bright and positive personality.

You were pretty much hired on the spot, mainly because Janine had been complaining about the lack of extra help. But as long as you had a steady paycheck, you didn’t mind. Ray had immediately showed you around the firehouse. You met Peter and Winston on the main floor, the former being flirtatious and the latter being more polite in his welcoming.

Then Ray took you up to the second floor, where the dining area, sleeping quarters, and lab were.

That’s where you met Egon Spengler. His tall frame was hunched over one of the lab’s many workbenches, doing some soldering work on a proton pack.

“Spengs!” Ray said with a wide grin, bringing you over to the scientist. The man in question set down the soldering iron and straightened up, adjusting his glasses as he turned around.

“What is it, Ray?” He asked in a somewhat monotone voice. He glanced at you, furrowing his brows slightly before looking back at his friend. “Who’s this?”

“This is Y/n, our new recruit!” Ray replied enthusiastically, patting you on the shoulder.

“Ah, so you’ve filled the new receptionist position.” He said, giving you a once-over. “Janine will be happy to hear that.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Spengler.” You greeted with a smile. He outreached his hand, which you grasped firmly and gave a few shakes. His hand was slightly calloused, probably from his work, but still felt nice.

“Egon’s fine.”

“I’ve read a few of your papers on paranormal studies; I think the whole thing’s fascinating.”

Some of his research papers weren’t the only thing of Egon’s you’ve seen. Ever since the Ghostbusters had gained some popularity, you couldn’t help but find him quite cute, spending an extra few seconds looking at him whenever a picture of the group was in your newspaper or on your television screen.

And he was definitely even more handsome in person.

“Well then, you’ve definitely come to the right place.” Ray grinned, but your focus was still on the spectacled man before you.

“Thank you, that’s very flattering.” Although his voice was a bit monotonous, the response was genuine. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to check on my spore samples.”

“Spore samples?” You asked with curiosity.

“Yes. I collect spores, molds, and fungus.”

“That sounds like fun!” Egon was a bit taken aback by your response. That wasn’t a reply he was used to hearing. And the fact that you sounded genuine and peppy was even more confusing to him.

Ray, wanting to show you the rest of the firehouse, started to pull you away. You gave a quick goodbye to Egon before bounding down the stairs after Ray. Meanwhile, Egon needed to take a second to get his befuddled thoughts straight before he could tend to his samples.

***

You fell into a routine pretty quickly. The job was mainly making appointments and ensuring the boys were ready for a call, scheduled or unexpected. Occasionally, you filed paperwork or got coffee for everyone at odd hours in the day. But because the job was shared between you and Janine, you often had at least a little bit of free time.

“Got another one!” Peter announced as he stepped out of the Ecto-1 that had just rolled into the firehouse, holding up a slightly smoking trap. As Winston and Ray emerged from the car, you wondered if Peter had been wearing a poncho because he was the only one not covered at least halfway in goo. “He was a real slimy one, too.”

“I can tell.” You laughed as Ray and Winston peeled out of their uniforms with a grimace.

“You’re back.” Egon’s voice almost made you jump; you hadn’t realized he had come down from the lab. He walked until he was standing next to you, holding his hand out towards the ghost trap. “I’ll take that, Peter. Ray, come with me, I want to discuss the containment facility with you.”

“What about it?” Ray asked as he closed his locker. Egon brushed past you to walk down to the basement, Ray close behind.

Not wanting to be caught staring at Egon’s leaving form, you whipped back around to the car. It seemed that Winston and Ray weren’t the only ones who got slimed. Poor Ecto.

“I think I’m gonna clean the car.” You thought aloud. “You guys don’t have any more calls until tomorrow.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Y/n,” Winston said.

“Well, someone’s gotta do it,” Peter interjected. “We gotta ride in style, after all.”

“Really, Winston, I don’t mind.” You insisted. “I don’t have anything else to do.”

“Suit yourself.” He said with a shrug.

Patting you on the shoulder, Winston went upstairs to take a shower. While Peter hung up his jumpsuit, you looked around in a storage closet for car washing supplies.

“Y/n?” You looked towards the sound of the voice, seeing Egon peeking out of the basement entrance.

“Yeah, Eegs?”

“You, uh-” He cleared his throat, cheeks going slightly pink, and you wondered why. “You can wear my jumpsuit, if you want. So your clothes don’t get dirty.”

You grinned, straightening up from your slightly bent position. Peter raised a brow at Egon, although you couldn’t see that because you were also looking at the tall man.

“Thanks, Egon!”

He nodded once before going back downstairs, Peter hot on his tail.

“You sweet on her or something, Spengs?” He asked quietly, not wanting to gain your attention.

“Shut up, Venkman.”

***

Music blasted as you washed the soap suds of the Ecto-1. You were pretty sure everyone was out of the building, either getting lunch or just not wanting to be in the firehouse. You had taken Egon up on his offer, his jumpsuit fitting very baggy on you. You had to roll up the sleeves and pantlegs, but you didn’t mind. Especially when seeing the patch with his last name on your chest.

Over the music and your own voice singing along to Whitney Houston, you didn’t hear Egon walking down the stairs. When he reached the bottom step, he watched as you jumped around to the beat.

“I need a man who’ll take the chance, on a love that burns hot enough to last.” You sprayed the last of the soap off the front of the car before turning the hose off. “So when the night falls, my lonely heart calls. Ohh- Oh!” You yelped in surprise as you turned around, seeing Egon, who was still looking at you. His eyes trailed up and down your form, but it was so quick that you didn’t notice. “Hey, Eegs! I thought you’d gone out with the others.” Even after turning down the radio to hear his response, you still danced a bit. Although, your movements were a bit more subdued.

“I was up in the lab, checking on my fungi.”

“Oh! Was the music distracting you?” You asked, already sounding apologetic. “I can keep it down if you-”

“No!” Egon answered quickly, taking the both of you by surprise. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “No, the music’s fine. I wanted a snack and found that we were out of Twinkies, so I was going to get some.”

You nodded in understanding, moving to put away the car cleaning supplies that you were no longer using. And then you noticed that Egon hadn’t made any move to leave. You looked over your shoulder, seeing that he was standing in the same spot with eyes darting around the room, and turned back around to face him. You tilted your head with a questioning look.

“Would you, ahem, would you like to come with me?” He seemed a bit shy to ask, and it made you smile brightly. “Wouldn’t want to leave you here all alone and all.”

“Sure!” You answered enthusiastically. “Lemme just put all this away.”

Without asking, Egon helped you gather everything and put it in the storage closet. You unrolled the limbs of Egon’s uniform, and he couldn’t help but admire you in his attire, despite how much the fabric consumed you. It was hung back up in his locker with care before you grabbed your purse from your desk and skipped over to him.

“Ready?” You nodded, and the two of you walked out of the firehouse. Without thinking, you looped your arm through his. But before you could pull away and apologize for not asking, he was already pulling you along the sidewalk, the tiniest hint of a smile on his serious face.

#agaypanic #egon spengler #egon spengler x reader #ghostbusters x reader #ghostbusters

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heroesrest64 · 2 months ago

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Hellooooo!!

Curiosity has struck me

What would the Lu boys be like with a reader who has wings?

I personally love me some winged characters but I fan never get enough if them

Have a good day Mx Hero!! :DDD (if it's alright to call you that)

(Ahh, my first ask! Hopefully I wrote it well :)

Sky

oh he would be absolutely obsessed. Birds are like half of his personality (the other half is being a sleepy boy), so of course he’s asking all of the right questions. Can you fly? Is it hard to keep them clean? What type of bird are they based on, if any? He definitely helps you take care of your wings- he’s adept after taking care of his own bird for years and years. Preening, protecting them from becoming damaged, all that fun stuff. He’s definitely the guy to go to if you need any help in the wind department!

Four

I feel like he would be mesmerized. They’re just- so pretty! And the way they work, it’s curious to him. If the two of you are close, he definitely asks to study your wings, and might collect a couple feathers either to just have them, or maybe to offer as gifts to his minish friends. Dunno if it would ever go this far, but I feel like Four could probably create a working set of wings if given enough time and interest on his end.

Time

He’s interested in them, to say the least. He wonders if they’re hard to handle, or if you ever struggle getting through doorways. He keeps an eye on you for any discomforts. If there are none, he’s pleased, but if you struggle, he does everything in his power to make your problems less of a hassle. (My favorite visual: him helping you fold back your wings while you try to get through a doorway- or, better yet, gently helping you fit your wings through your shirt). He’s especially wary of them when it comes to battles. They definitely help you move faster, but in close quarters, they can be cumbersome. Not to worry though- he’s got your back.

Legend

Wonders if they’re a curse, similar to the mermaid suit from OoA. When it’s revealed they’re not, he still puzzles over the logistics of them, but doesn’t pry too much. He prefers to leave you be about them for the most part, so it would come as a surprise if you ever approached with concerns for your wings. Rest assured, he’ll use every ounce of care when checking over your wings. He may be a little huffy about it, especially if the others make fun, but he knows how uncomfortable it can be to be something Other. If you ever need assurances, he might not be the best to go to, but he’ll tell you what you need to hear.

Hyrule

Amazed by their beauty and elegance. He absolutely gushes over them, petting your wings at every chance he gets. They’re silky and he just can’t seem to get over that fact. I feel like he’d be horrified if anything happened to damage your wings, and is constantly fretting and asking about them even after they’ve been patched up. He may be a little too much at times, but he’s got the spirit!

Wind

Probably the only one you could actually fly with, other than Four (although I feel like Four wouldn’t want to fly). So. He’s your passenger princess. Conjures up clear weather so you can go flying in peace, probably sings obnoxiously while you fly, gives directions on where you need to go.

Twilight

He’s so careful with them. He’s familiar with the difficulties of his own transformation, and although you may be different, he still wants to be sure that you’re cared for. He always has the right tools to help you care for your wings, and asks about them whenever you seem uncomfortable.

Warriors

I think he’s reminded of Medli honestly. Definitely thinks about how crucial to the war she was, and feels fear absolutely flood him when your wings get hurt. Other than that, Warriors tries to stay out of your way. He knows it can be stressful with people constantly fawning over you, but he wouldn’t ignore you if you ever need help.

Wild

He’s fascinated by them. Wonders if you might be part Rito? Even if you aren’t, he enjoys brushing through your feathers and helping you fix them up in the mornings. He probably has a small collection of your feathers similar to Four. Oh and you guys are probably always playing pranks on the others. You might not be able to fly very far with him, but you can get high enough in the sky for him to get a pretty good vantage point.

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #headcanon

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thus-spoke-lo · 2 years ago

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Birthday Gift // Trafalgar Law x afab!reader // NSFW/18+ Kink: Cosplay/roleplay

A/N: It's Law's birthday--what better day to show him some love? Thank you to @thenotsofantasticlifestory for the concept! CW: afab!reader [no pronouns used]; reader wears a skirt; choking; vaginal fingering; unprotected vaginal intercourse; creampie WC: 2.7k // Fictober Masterlist

“What’s taking you so long in there?”

Law’s voice is muffled by the bathroom door, but you can still detect a hint of irritation threaded through it nonetheless.

“Don’t worry about it!” you shout back, carefully pulling fishnet thigh-highs up your legs, sweat beading at your temples as you concentrate on trying not to rip the delicate honeycombs upon first wear—that would be something you would leave to Law. “Just another minute!”

Law was typically a patient man, especially where you were concerned, but tonight he was slowly becoming unraveled. It was your doing, of course—once you had told him you had a surprise for him, standing on tiptoes before you left your shared quarters to whisper it in his ear as you pressed yourself against his back, hooking your fingers in his belt loops to pull him close, his steely resolve slowly began to melt. He had tried to mask his excitement as they day waned, now keeping his gaze fixed on the coins he was sorting into thick books, but you still caught the hint of a smile quirking up the corners of his mouth, spotted the slight crinkling around his eyes that gave away his barely-suppressed interest. He would deny it if asked, but the accumulation of tells was giving him away—he was eager to learn just what it was you had in store for him.

The swishy skirt that sits on your hips sways as the submarine shudders, and you adjust the pleats, hiking it up just a little higher, exposing the exact right amount of thigh that you intend. With a slow exhale, you add your final touch—a lightweight helmet that you carefully lower down onto your head before studying yourself in the mirror, frowning and pouting, trying to perfect the most stoic and brave look possible. You stifle a laugh at delightfully ridiculous you look, like a comic-book character come to life—precisely as you intended.

“Happy birthday, my love,” you announce as you open the bathroom door, placing your gloved hands on your hips and standing with your legs apart, looking off into corner of his room as though you were gazing into the misty horizon; all that’s missing is a strong breeze to rustle your flowing blue cape and swish the hem of your ridiculously short skirt.

“Oh thanks b—” Law’s jaw hangs open as he turns in his chair to address you, and the coins he holds in his hand drop and scatter on the floor. “You—you’re—”

“Sora, Warrior of the Sea,” you say proudly, puffing out your chest and adjusting your stance, beaming wildly at his reaction. “From the infamous issue where Sora is hit with a gender-swap ray.”

Law clucks his tongue. “Well, I mean technically it was more than one issue for it to be resolved, you know.”

“Law…”

“What?”

You huff a sigh and smile as you cross the room to him, his gaze never leaving you, eyes flitting over every heroically-decorated inch of you. Law stands and lets out a shivering exhale as he approaches you cautiously, almost reverently, long fingers reaching out and running over the smoothness of your helmet, tracing every curve and sharp angle. He delicately fondles the shimmering fabric of your cape, taking handfuls of it and rubbing it between his fingers, touching it to his face to feel the softness of the material, humming at the sensation. It was rare to see this particular look of awe on Law’s face, to see him wrapped up in something this intensely, his eyes taking in every single inch of your carefully crafted costume. His pupils dilate as his palms trail down the stiff material of your sleeves, until his hands reach yours and he grips them tightly, and even through your thick leather gloves you feel how he trembles just slightly, seeming to vibrate with excitement.

“You look—I mean, all of it—i-it’s perfect. And it’s…oh, fuck, you look so sexy.” His eyes glimmer in that way you love, when something catches his interest and holds it tightly and won’t let him go. “It’s exactly like the comic. Every detail.”

You swallow hard, biting your lip. “You really like it?”

“I love it.” He leans down and presses his lips to yours with an impulsive urgency, almost seeming as though he’s restraining himself from something more. “And I love you.”

“I love you too. And I’m glad you like it, it took me forever to make it.”

“Wait…you made this?” A soft dusting of blush begins to cover his cheeks. “You must really love me if you sewed something this complicated.”

“Well, I had a little help,” you demur, hoping the money you slipped to Penguin and Shachi would be enough to keep them quiet about your bespoke birthday gift, at least for a while.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” Law murmurs as he carefully removes your helmet and sets it on his desk, his hands returning to your face to cup your heated cheeks. “I didn’t expect anything.”

“I know.” You turn your head and kiss his palm, placing your gloved hands on top of his. “And that’s why I wanted to do it.”

“You’re too good to me.” He kisses you again, softly sighing against your lips, his thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks.

“Don’t say that just yet,” you chuckle as he breaks your kiss, “I’m not done.”

You bend over—slowly, deliberately, making sure the hem of your skirt lifts perfectly to expose the underside of your ass cheeks, until you hear Law hiss through his teeth at the sight—and grab a box from under the bed.

“Here.” Your drag your teeth along your lower lip as you watch him tear into the wrapping paper, fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “I didn’t have time to make more pieces but it’s—”

“A Stealth Black cape.” His look of shock turns to one of something close to delight as the box falls to the floor and he holds up the long, flowing cloak, his eyes fixed on it almost worshipfully. “Shit, this is so cool.”

“Well, put it on,” you finally blurt excitedly. “I have a criminal to capture.”

“Oh, you think you’ll capture me, do you?” he purrs, smooth and low, quickly adapting to his role as he dons his getup. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Then try I shall!” You grin and press your hand to his chest, the feeling of his racing heart under your palm catching you off guard. “S-stop, vile villain!”

“Honey.” A look of utter seriousness washes over his face. “He wouldn’t say that.”

“Law…” You flatten your lips and press them together, blinking at him questioningly.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” you shrug with a grin—this was his birthday after all, a little more accuracy to the source material won’t kill you. “What would he say then?”

“You know what?” he says after a beat, his tone softening for a moment. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Then prepare to be brought to justice!”

“You’re no match for the might of Germa 66, Sora—you will never be able to outwit our scientific might!”

You throw a soft punch at Law’s midsection, then a lazy kick at his thigh as he pretends to double-over in agony and stumble backwards towards his desk. But before you can land another hit, he lunges forward and wraps a strong hand around your wrist, twisting you around as he pulls your arm behind your back and yanks you against him. He wraps his other arm around your waist as you feign a struggle, throwing your head back onto his chest as you grunt and grumble.

“I have you now, Sora,” he growls, his tongue running along the shell of your ear. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“You’ll never be able to hold me, Stealth Black,” you mutter as you softly kick at his shins, your boots barely making contact with his body as you find yourself enjoying the fabricated scuffle more than you expected. A familiar heat begins to spread throughout your partially-restrained body, an ache beginning to build between your thighs as Law groans softly every time you writhe in his grasp. “No one can escape my justice, not even you.”

“Oh, is that so?” He tightens his grip on your waist for a moment, pulling you closer until your ass is flush with his groin; the swell of his arousal presses against you, and a moan creeps up your throat unexpectedly. “We’ll see about that.”

Law’s free hand runs up the front of your body, his pace achingly slow and deliberate, his fingers dancing over the smooth fabric of your costume, lingering on your breasts, circling over your clothed nipples until you squirm. His palm comes to rest on your neck and he keeps it there, stroking your jaw with his thumb as he groans low in your ear. Long, slender fingers wrap around your throat, and he begins to squeeze, applying a gentle, persistent pressure to the sides of your delicate neck, just below your jaw.

“Give in yet, Sora?” he asks as he releases his grip, a shivering breath leaving his lungs at the way you gasp for air, the way you quake so perfectly in his grasp.

“N-never,” you stammer—at least, not as long as it means he’ll be forced to keep tormenting you in the way you love.

He lets out a low chuckle and squeezes tighter this time, pressing at the sides of your neck, keeping his hand positioned just-so to force your head straight. Your free hand grasps at his forearm, digging your fingers into his tattooed flesh as your pulse starts to grow louder in your ears, darkness starting to form at the edges of your vision. But Law knows precisely where the edge is and how far he can let you peer over it before he needs to pull you back, and with a gasp of his own, he releases his hold on you, quickly moving his arm to wrap around your chest and keep you aloft.

“Hmm, you are a tough one, Sora,” he murmurs against your cheek, warm breath spreading across your skin as you pull in lungfuls of air. “I guess I’ll have to use stronger measures.”

With a few quick movements, Law maneuvers you onto the bed, your body landing with a soft thump; he nudges your legs apart and kneels between them, looking you over with a hunger in his eyes that makes your pulse race and your body flood with a needy heat. He trails his hands up the soft leather of your boots, up the plushness of your thighs, fingertips poking and prodding at the holes in your fishnets, snapping the elastic band at the top against your skin until you yelp from the sharp stings.

“You want something from me, don’t you?” he purrs as he undoes the fastens of his cape and lets it fall to the floor. You aren’t sure if he’s asking as the villain or as himself—and the growing need between your thighs doesn’t particularly care which. You chew your lower lip and watch as his tattooed hands push your skirt up over your thighs, up further and further until his lips part and his tongue pokes at the corner of his mouth. “My, my—no panties? You really did come looking for trouble.”

“I suppose I did,” you tease, parting your legs a little more, allowing him to take in the full extent of your arousal. “I really can’t help but be attracted to the bad guy.”

“The bad guy, huh?” Law groans softly under his breath at your glistening wetness and trails his fingers down the downy softness of your mound, down to the apex of your slit, pressing on your tender bundle of nerves, making subtle circles over it until your back arches and you whine with need. “Would the bad guy do this?”

“I-I guess not,” you stammer as he toys with your aching clit, moving his thumb over it with a fierce insistence. He deftly slides his middle and ring fingers into your dripping cunt, driving them into you again and again as you buck your hips against him, fucking yourself on his hand.

Tension coils inside you with every pump of his long fingers, every bit of pressure he applies to your clit, and you writhe with every burning caress. Law grins lasciviously and crooks his fingers upwards to massage that most sensitive spot inside you, forcing the breath from your lungs with every stroke of your walls. Your shaking hands grip the sheets, and that tautness in your core finally snaps; you convulse into a chain of spasms, your breath coming in short, harsh gasps with every throb and every pulse.

“What do you say now, Sora—do you surrender yet?” Law asks as he slows his movements, still relishing the way you flutter and clench around his fingers as your orgasm subsides.

“I-I surrender, Stealth Black,” you manage to utter between harsh, choppy breaths.

“Good.” Law stares down at you for a moment, head cocked, his pupils blown with lust, taking in the sight of your shivering body in the costume you made just for him. “It’s a lot more fun that way.”

He’s insatiable, his actions frantic and almost wild as he strips his shirt off and hastily unzips his jeans, pulling them just far enough down his hips to pull out his pulsing cock, the reddened head already shining and smeared with precum. He guides himself to your cunt, running the tip through your slick folds, before easing himself into you, inch by inch, until you groan at the feeling of fullness when his hips finally meet yours. His thrusts are frenzied, voracious, his every movement filled with pulsing, vibrating need—you’ve awoken something deep within him, an aching need that he needs to fulfill.

“You look so perfect, honey,” he moans into your mouth as he captures your lips in a long, drugging kiss, his tongue making sweeping, swirling motions inside your mouth. “You’re so good to me.”

You wrap your arms around his muscled shoulders and arch into him, tipping your hips to meet each powerful thrust, as his lean hips snap against your body, pushing you against the mattress. His low groans reverberate in your chest, every thrust even more desperate and demanding than the last, chasing after his own release.

“Fuck, fuck you feel so good,” he says in a low whine, nipping at your neck as he rocks into you with a steady, urgent rhythm. “Gonna cum, sweetheart. Gonna cum so hard for you.”

Law’s thrusts become more and more erratic, his hips stilling for only the briefest moment before he groans and shudders, spilling himself into you as he mutters your name again and again in blissful gratitude. He rests on top of you for a moment, kissing down your neck, flicking his tongue over your jaw and nuzzling against your cheek, before he flops down beside you with a contented huff. He pulls you into him, tucking you under his arm and kissing your forehead softly, humming under his breath.

“That was so much fun,” Law manages to utter between sharp inhales.

“Yeah? You liked your birthday gift?”

“I loved it, couldn’t you tell?”

“Oh I could,” you smirk, feeling his cum leaking out of you, stickiness spreading between your thighs. “I still like to hear it, though. Hell, you made it feel like my birthday, too.”

His elongated fingers flit over your upper arm, drawing little patterns in the now-rumpled fabric of your shirt as you lay in satisfied silence, only the sounds of your slowing breaths and the occasional rustle of the tangled sheets mingling in the air.

“You know,” Law utters after a moment, “we are gonna have to work on your dialogue though—I have some back issues of Sora that would probably be the most helpful. We can read them together if you want.”

“Law…”

“What?”

#lo writes #kinktober 2023 #lo's fictober 2023 #law x reader #law x you #law x y/n #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #law smut #trafalgar law smut #one piece smut #one piece x reader

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sonamytrash · 1 year ago

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Midnight

Underground Virgin!Levi x Virgin!Femreader

MDNI

Warnings: y/n used, Childhood friends to lovers, fluff, smut, puberty mentioned, masturbation mentioned, fingering, sex, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, mentions of prostitution, characters ages aren't mentioned, but it's suggested they're both in their late teens, of age when writing but could be interpreted as underage? Virgin levi, virgin reader.

Note: Kind of wanted to write something about Levi losing his virginity and give him the blessing of something in his life that wasn't all bad. Reader and Levi have grown up together. Feelings have blossomed, and desires have been ignited over the years. The underground is a tough place to live with sex and violence everywhere. There's no smut in the first chapter, but it is heavily suggestive. Let me know what you think. Enjoy!

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In a world where the sun never shines, where the only light comes from flickering Street lights, candles, and the occasional spark from a fire, three souls found solace together in front of a fire. The underground city was a maze of dimly lit tunnels, cramped living quarters, and a constant struggle for survival. You had grown up together, survived together, and lived together in this harsh, unforgiving environment.

Your landlord was a cruel and greedy man, having come to you the with news that he wanted his rent earlier than usual, probably because he owed someone else the money or had pissed his own money up the wall. You couldn't afford to be out on the streets again. It wasn't hard to find a crook to rent a small apartment to three teenagers. But his terms were unreasonable.

Desperation and stress hung heavy in the air. You were usually the type to try and remain cheery, strong, and resilient, but these sorts of situations made you anxious. Finding money down here was hard enough, but being given less time to find it was so much more stressful. "I-I don't know what we're going to do," you stammered. "There has to be some way to make the money quickly." Furlan said thoughtfully as he tried to reassure you, but even his words sounded hollow. It really wasn't much time to get the money together.

You were always aware of the easiest way for a girl to make money down here. Selling your body to some piece of shit man to use for pleasure. It was quick and easy cash that much was true. If you were lucky enough to get paid, that is. The attempt to make any money that way came with many risks. Most women down here lived in fear of getting raped, abused, and even killed before the added risk of being a working girl. Having grown up with Levi and Furlan, they had kept you safe. Currently, you worked a part-time job at the morgue, which didn't pay well but allowed you to learn and study to some extent. But in recent years, since hitting puberty and developing into a young woman, the pressure had been more intense, men often offering plenty of money for the opportunity to have their way with you. Although this sort of interaction would result in being beaten to a pulp by Levi, he would die before he allowed you to have to resort to sex work. And you were grateful for that. The thought of having to resort to prostitution, a common but desperate measure, filled you with dread.

Levi, said nothing. He just stared at the floor, his jaw tightening with anger. You glanced at him, concerned. "Levi, if we need the money I can-" You asked softly, stopping when you saw him look up at you, his eyes burning with a fierce protectiveness. "I'm not going to let you do that," he said, his voice steady and unyielding.

You frowned. "It will guarantee us the money."

"Y/N" He said sternly. "I won't let you go out there and sell yourself for us to survive. I'll find another way. I promise." You looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of uncertainty, but found none. There was only determination.

You nod in response, feeling reassured for now by his words. "I've got to go out. I'll be back around midnight, okay?" He states. Again, this wasn't uncommon. You worried about him and where he was going but even if you asked he wouldn't have told you. Criminal and immoral are the exact words that he himself would've used to describe his work, he was probably going to go and find some quick and easy job, guaranteed to pay but always carried so many risks. Furlan smiles gently at you as he follows Levi out of the door.

Having had a bath and tidied up a little. You toss and turn in bed for hours, lost in your own thoughts. You knew Levi would keep you safe to an extent, but nothing was guaranteed down here. Even if you didn't end up in a brothel, there was nothing stopping anyone from breaking into the apartment you shared now while the boys were gone, you could he kidnapped, raped and murdered any night, or day for that matter. You shudder at the thought. You wanted as much of your life to be in your own hands and control as possible. It wasn't like you wanted to stay a virgin forever, while still being young, you were old by the standards of the underground, which made you laugh. You wanted your first time to be something you choose, not something taken from you. You had desires and thoughts late at night like this when you were alone. Always of your stoic companion. You weren't sure when your feelings towards him became romantic, but it frightened you. He was difficult to read, but you were sure that there could be something there. And if there wasn't? Well, you were sure you could convince yourself that you would be satisfied to just be by his side in whatever capacity the universe will allow. Maybe you would be fortunate enough to be born as a princess in the next life, and he would be your Prince charming. You roll your eyes and laugh at the thought. A girl could dream, and your fantasy of prince's, pretty dresses and castles, however impossible it was did help you to fall asleep for a few hours before you were abruptly awoken by the sound of Levi and Furlan returning. You could recognise the sound of Furlans footsteps retiring to his small room at the end of the corridor. It sounded like Levi was still in the living room. You sit up in bed and light a candle.

Levi walks over to your door, having noticed the light emitting from beneath. A heavy sigh escapes him, his eyes carrying a look of exhaustion. As he knocks on your door just once, his voice is soft.

"Can I come in?"

You respond with a sleepy yes, and Levi pauses for a moment before he comes into the room. His eyes shift to your bed, and he realizes that you're only wearing a tank top and underwear. He doesn't let his eyes roam over you for more than a second, trying to focus on something else in the room before speaking up, sounding worried:

"Are you alright? Why aren't you sleeping?"

You smile. "I was, and I wasn't, I fell asleep not long ago, but I heard you come home. Is everything okay?" You ask him concerned.

Levi nods as he sits down on the edge of your bed.

"Yeah, everything is fine. Sorry if I woke you up. You should get back to sleep." He smiles softly, something only you and you alone are ever lucky enough to see. You gently tug his arm. "Stay, just for a little longer." A blush creeping across your cheeks. This was a bold move for you. Maybe you were still slightly delirious from having just woken up.

Levi looks down at your hand as it lays on his arm. A slight blush creeps up on his cheeks as he looks up at you again. Your messy hair, dreary eyes, and smile are just too cute. He doesn't know what he would do without you. He hates that he can't find a way to get you all out of this cesspit. You're like the moon that continues to shine on the darkest night. He's already resided himself to do anything to keep you safe and by his side. He feels guilty that this sight of you is making his cock twitch. The years have been kind to you and you're such a beautiful young woman now, each and every night his hand is tightly gripped around his cock at the thought of you. Seeing you like this, the covers barely covering your panties and your nipples visible through your tank top is all the more fuel for his desires. But he knows how it is for girls down here, he saw what life was like for his mother, he sees it daily in the streets. He would never dream of treating you with anything but the respect you deserve. Not only that, but the thought of jeopardising the relationship that you have now should he tell you how he feels, loosing you would really plummet his life into eternal darkness.

He reaches out and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "I guess I can stay for a little bit." He says softly. "Since you're such a brat if you don't get your own way." He teases.

You pout playfully at him, he chuckles as he shifts a bit closer to you, now sitting next to you with his arm around your shoulder, you nestle into his chest. A slight blush appears on his cheeks, which he immediately hides by turning his face away from you. "You're not still worrying about the money, are you? Is that why you're acting so needy?." He asks quietly

You shake your head. "Not anymore, I know it won't come to that." He nods, relieved that it isn't worrying you any longer. He's pulled from his thoughts when you speak up again. "I'm grateful. I know what I want for myself. And it's thanks to you that I'm able to make my own choices." You lift your head to meet his gaze, your face painted with a furious blush. "I'm ready to make my own choices."

Levi chuckles. "Well, you're spoilt for choice if that's the case." He says, trying to ignore the pang of jealously he can feel in the pit of his stomach.

You shake your head "That's not what I mean, Vi." You nervously bring your palm to his cheek. "I want to be with someone I trust, someone I love."

Levi stares at you. Blushing slightly at your words. You have grown into a young woman who's a lot braver than he gives you credit for. A small smile forms on his face, but he's still hesitant to say all the things he wants to.

Levi tries to keep his usual cool exterior "A-Are...Are you saying what I think you're saying right now?"

You nod nervously. Averting your gaze, you have said enough for someone as intuitive as Levi to piece together. The seconds seem to last forever, but he finally gives you his response with a soft and gentle tone:

"I... I want that, too."

#levi x reader #levi ackerman #underground levi #levi x y/n #levi smut #levi aot #minors do not interact #aot smut #build up #fluff #friends to lovers #levi ackerman x reader

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blanceyblance · 5 days ago

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A Study on Lance's underrated role on the team

Aka The Space Mom Lance Agenda

Pt 11

Miscellaneus

And for the ending, I decided to add a miscelaneus section of things I noticed but wasnt sure if they should be added to the other character sections.

The first thing I wanted to mention was the tendency Lance has to always be at the front.

Usually when they have to leave the lions and go on foot Lance is the one walking at the front with his bayard ready, it makes sense in a strategic way since he is the one with the longest range and is able to react quickly and precisely. Hunk also provides cover from the back but thats not always the case

He is also usually one of– if not the last, to lower or put his Bayard away, like when they encounter the Guns of Gamera, even when Sven was still pointing his gun to them the others lowered their weapons to talk to alternate Slav and Lance was the one still with his bayard ready.

Or when they met the druid in the Blade of Marmora’s quarters, Lance was still the only one with his bayard ready.

In general, Lance tends to put himself way to the front when they are in groups. (Like in Little Adventure, or with the alternate alteans)

He also has a tendency of rarely using his shield, even when they are under fire he prefers to stand on the front and shot back.

The Monters and Mana episode is mostly a fun filler episode but I wanted to talk a bit about Lance as Pike.

He says he wanted to be a ninja assassin working from the shadows, and that gives him he the unique ability to detect traps, as in, "detecting danger the rest of the party is not capable of seeing and protecting them from it" and he fails thanks to bad luck rather than lack of skill.

When they find the dragon's treasure he chooses an invisibility cloak, one would think that Lance would choose something to give the bad guy the final blow, but instead uses the cloak to, again, be in a supporting role.

Be it keeping Hunk out of danger so he instead can attack or being a used as a decoy so his teammates could execute their plan without being targeted.

He is not the hero giving the final blow to the villian, Pike doesnt even attack himself.

Another–quite cute, trait i have noticed is that he tends to explain things, not in a detailed way like Pidge but he is the one who explains Earth things to the alteans, going from what is rain, to how to milk Kaltenecker or teach them what an elephant is.

He also explains the plan to Hunk after he falls asleep and Keith looks at him for an explanation to Hunk and Pidge's conversation

When it comes to this I have noticed that he often does it like one would explain things to children.

He is very animated and expressive when explaining the plan to Hunk, is very patient when telling the Alteans that Kaltenecker is a girl and has to be milked if they want their sweet treat and even mimics a trunk when explaining what an elephant is.

For as moody as he can be, he is actually really fast into helping strangers

He runs to help Allura after she falls from the cryopod (even before he noticed she was a pretty girl) talks about knitting sweaters for the Arusians, is ready to defend the yupper after a few hours (or even less) of knowing them and publicly thanks Kolivan and the Blade for their help in front of the aliens that were being distrustful of them

We cant forget about him gushing about his team to the Yupper, since he thought that was Slav he may have wanted to give them the details of the team Slav was going to work with to ease their worries, while also looking really proud of every member, even Keith .

That also extends to the Voltron mission, after Keith is unable to help them because he was in a Blade Mission, the team scolds Keith with Lance being the first to point how, not only the team's life was in danger but the refugees they were helping aswell.

When Voltron starts working with Lotor, Lance also asks him to his face if he was going to start freeing planets. Notice how usually when Lance talks to Lotor he is using sarcasm or trying to mock him never really hiding his distate, but here his ask is genuine.

This part is a bit more disjointed but Lance's tendency of keeping the team safe from danger they may not see while also extending goodwill to strangers is still going strong and showing how important it is for his character even in more small or fillery moments

[MASTERPOST] [Part 1] [Part 10]

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #lance mcclain #keith kogane #pidge holt #takashi shirogane #hunk garrett #princess allura #vld meta #klance

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kissesandcigarettes · 23 days ago

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0:1 | air ball

LOVE ON COURT ╱ MINISERIES

↳ MASTERLIST

— pairing: basketball player!vinnie/tutor!reader; college!au

— word count: 5.9k+

— warnings: language, drinking, broken family dynamics, grief, mentions of past abusive relationships, terminal illness, character death, mentions of sports-related injuries, uni students doing nsfw things, character death, implied and explicit smut

summary: vincent hacker has the hearts and love of everyone in the 32,423 student body population of UCLA, on and off the court. everyone except for you, that is. you would chug down an entire bottle of ethylene glycol before you would think about placing your name in the same sentence as “love” and “vincent hacker.” it really is too bad that you didn’t think of this before you agreed upon tutoring him for an entire year.

a/n: longer author's note is at the end, i hope you enjoy the first part of this story🤍

the main floor of the tutoring center in the science and engineering library is uncharacteristically quiet, devoid of the constant, never-ending disorder that gives life to the machine-like organized chaos otherwise running this space.

your eyes flit back and forth between the clock on the wall and the blue piece of paper – a student pre-evaluation sheet – laid down in front of you on the table. your fingers are busy with spinning and flipping a stray pen you found lying on the table earlier, a poor attempt at trying to stop yourself from leaving if you keep track of time with each passing minute. you’re itching to go, sitting close enough on the edge of your seat to fall, one leg bouncing up and down as the heel of your foot keeps rhythm. your body is taut with unreleased tension, wound up so tight you’re scared that if you let it unravel its hold around your muscles, there will be nothing to stop you from bolting out the door.

you tell yourself that you will for sure leave this time if the student you are supposed to be meeting doesn’t come exactly in the next five minutes – but then again, you had said the same thing more than an hour and half an ago, so you doubt you’re going to stick to your word now.

you laugh a quiet laugh that tastes bitter on your tongue as your mind spins up some out of place joke about how you got stood up over a tutoring meeting before you have ever gone on a first date.

leaning your pounding forehead against your open palm as you shake your head in the tragically comical nature of your current reality, your eyes focus on a marker scratch on the table as you freefall into your thoughts. the dimly-lit room consoles your headache, your eyes falling shut against your will as exhaustion wraps around your resolve.

you have been a tutor for almost two years now, having started working as one when you were a first-year student. you had applied for the job on whim after seeing a flyer about it among the many others on the main bulletin board in the student union’s plaza and stuck with it ever since. at the time you were desperate for a job, having moved away from your home without the luxury of having someone to rely on for supporting your finances if you fell on hard times. after numerous applications and unanswered emails, the green and blue flyer appeared before you like a beacon of light. over the course of the following quarters you spent as a student at UCLA, you grew immensely attached to your position, the main reason being your deep passion for teaching and providing equal learning opportunities for all.

more than that, you liked the structured and steady routine the job had allowed you to get into amidst the chaos of your first year trying to figure out the workings of university. as your schedule was determined for that quarter, everything fell into place naturally – going to class during the day and tutoring at night, with your spare time mostly devoted to studying and/or getting involved in some student organizations, and of course looking for research opportunities, which you had done by floating through various labs in the chemistry department, with the help of professors who welcomed your eagerness and strong work ethic with open arms.

now that you think about it, your routine back then hadn’t changed all that much as a third-year student. your days still consisted of those dreadful 8am lectures and long study sessions in quiet reading rooms and devoting your spare hours to tutoring in the science center – only now, whatever little spare time you had were spent locked up in dr. ratanawa’s lab, whose cohort you had decided to join at the beginning of your second year, poring over samples and running batches of experiments and writing scrupulously detailed notes for the ever-growing-almost-final draft of your thesis stored in the depths of your laptop. you had claimed a lonely lab bench in the corner of the lab as your own, the top of which now was covered in colorful test tube racks, various pencil holders filled with bright neon highlighters, notebooks that contained all of your recordings and taped scraps of paper and post-it excerpts for your thesis that came about in your mind spontaneously, and other miscellaneous equipment you needed the most, such as pipette tips and clean test tubes.

sprinkled throughout all of this were brief coffee breaks in the trustee garden - a coveted square piece of lush, shaded greenery, dotted with wood-and-metal benches and cut through with large cobblestone pathways, hidden amidst the towering giant concrete buildings of the sciences - for cherished moments of sunlight, almost falling asleep in the shower when you were the last one to come home and your flatmates were asleep, the campus cafes’ baristas knowing your order by name too much for your liking, and if you needed to put the pent up stress in your body to good use, going to the campus gym. the last one didn’t happen as often as you wanted, but it was better than nothing.

long story short, you had managed to somehow elongate your 24-hour days into 25, sometimes 27 hours. if he could, einstein would rise up from his grave to give you a kiss on the forehead.

well, that was before the school’s athletics department decided to throw a fucking bulldozer of a wrench into all of it.

you don’t know who you should be more angry with: the head of athletics, who put pressure on the head of the science center to find a tutor in your group of already overworked and overstressed tutors, or yourself for being the one who readily accepted to take on the extra, un-paid hours in a brief moment of sheer, pure fucking stupidity that would make michael from the office break the fourth wall and reach through the screen to throttle you if he witnessed it.

bless your heart for your endless supply of senseless altruism.

as the clock ticks the minutes away, it being almost 7pm and the student already being two hours late to the meeting, your anger is shifting dangerously more in the latter direction.

after the initial wave of pure red you felt towards the balding and wire-glasses wearing man, steven or steve something, for not even bothering to learn if what he was asking was allowed or not - or not being considerate enough to wonder if you had a life of your own - dissipated, you felt much of that misplaced anger had been towards yourself from the start. anger for not being able to say no to authority figures when you needed to, anger for not being able to form firm boundaries between yourself and overcommitting, anger for your boss’ attempts to advocate for you going unheard. anger that an entitled and spoiled ball chaser’s needs are being prioritized over students who don’t have guarantees for a cushy future and have no choice but to succeed in the ruthless, cut-throat environment that is academia and beyond.

your thoughts come down crashing and burning, shattering throughout the scattered corners of your mind as your fingers stop mid spin to firmly slam the pen down on the table.

“fuck it.” you mutter behind gritted teeth. you have waited more than long enough for this entitled brat who can’t read a clock to take the courtesy to show up and you refuse to wait any longer. you move to gather your stuff, shove your laptop in your bag with more force than necessary and grab your water bottle—

—just as the door swings open so hard it creaks at its hinges, hitting the wall behind it with a loud bang that makes you bite your tongue in alarm as it rams through the absolute silence of the building. the water bottle in your hand drops first onto the table’s edge, then onto the floor, rolling away soundlessly.

a guy stumbles through the door, looking as if he ran all the way from the other end of the campus, quite literally breathless as his chest heaves, loud enough that you can hear the shudder of his breaths that struggle to fill his abused lungs. he looks like a racehorse trained to the brink of exhaustion, with his hair falling down to conceal his face as he bends over, hands clasped on his knees, back moving like a rising and falling mountain.

thank fucking god that you have grown to develop nerves of steel since childhood, because if you had been someone with less wits, you would’ve let out the most inappropriate shriek.

“h-hey, are you okay?” your first instinct is to say, your hand instinctively reaching out to hover in the air as you hesitate whether you should reach for the guy or let him recover on his own. you swallow with difficulty as you watch his back spasm in a way it definitely shouldn’t. your other hand reaches for your phone in the pocket of your coat, your mind working on figuring out what you would say to the operator in the likelihood of dialing 911.

“are-are you looking for someone–?” you try next, unsure of what to say when you don’t know if he can even hear you. you haven’t taken a single anatomy course outside of high school but have been around pre-meds too often to know that his ears must be ringing with the deafening beat of his pulse, loud enough to make your words go unheard, the thick rush of blood throbbing in his forehead.

“the tutoring center is closed for the night,” you say, your voice louder this time and steady despite the blood rushing past your own ears and your heart thundering a bruising beat against your ribs. you place a tentative palm over the left side of your chest, gently stroking over the spot as if you can calm it down.

you think that he may not have heard you once again when he doesn’t acknowledge you, but his breathing seems to be in better condition, so you repeat yourself after clearing your throat. you taste blood on your tongue when you speak. nerves of steel, indeed.

“the tutoring center is closed for the night. can i help you?”

the guy moves to stand upright, breathing more under control than when he first barged in, the only indication of his earlier exertion being the redness staining his cheeks and neck on his otherwise pale skin.

“i was–” he still sounds a bit winded, drawing in a deep breath that scrunches up his face before continuing, “–i was supposed to meet with a tutor named (y/n)? are–” another deep breath, a pant, “are you her?”

as your startle reflex diminishes, your heartbeat reverting back to its natural rhythm and your hands left feeling clammy, you realize this must be the student you were paired with. the ringing in your ears subsides as your initial shock quietly but swiftly gives way into your earlier anger. keeping your face neutral despite your mind trying to go against you, you decide to go along with where he is taking this conversation to.

“yes,” you speak more coolly now, no trace of your earlier worry for the guy’s wellbeing left in your tone. pulling up the zipper of your coat, you shove your hands into its pockets as your lips move around the metallic taste in your mouth. “do i know you?”

“i’m vinn–i mean, vincent hacker–” he stops abruptly when you don’t make any indications of showing that you know or at least are familiar with his name. you continue to stare at him blankly, cocking an eyebrow as if what he said explains everything. you hope that you are at least masking the anger you felt earlier as it kindles back to life, not wanting him to realize he’s gotten under your skin already.

the look on his face is that of confusion, his eyebrows pulling into a light frown. “uh, i’m…vincent hacker? i’m on the basketball team? i was told that you are the tutor assigned to me? for chem 30A? dr. orlov’s class..?”

you get the feeling that this situation is not common for him, and neither is the lack of confidence in his words. when you don’t make any attempts to reply to this either, he stops talking all together, an expression of unease and uncertainty beginning to rise rapidly over his face. his frown deepens into one that strains his forehead.

“am–am i in the right place? this is the science and engineering library, right?”

“right,” you say tightly, slinging the straps of your bag over your shoulders as you walk around the table to stand in front of him, yet maintain a good distance. “let me ask you this, then. do you realize what time it is, vincent?”

he blinks a few times as if it takes a moment too long for him to register your words. his eyes look around then for a clock in the room, even though you can see the lit-up screen of an apple watch peeking underneath the sleeve of his student athlete-issued hoodie.

“um–” he stammers while his eyes continue to dart around, and you can almost taste the panic on his face seeping into his voice.

“it’s quarter past seven, vincent.” your voice snaps his attention back to you, eyes still moving about everywhere except for your face like he is searching in his mind what the time means, and finally remembering it as his panic shifts into a sinking sense of realization across his features in one single sweep.

“we were supposed to have a meeting - this meeting to be specific - exactly two hours and fifteen minutes ago.” you say dryly, tilting your head slightly towards the side. “you know, to discuss how i can help you do better because you are struggling in the class? so that you can stay in the team for the rest of the season? or did your coach not tell you about this?”

you see the flush of red that had settled down crawl steadily up his neck and reach his face once again, no doubt his ears that are hidden underneath his hair, too. he shifts in place awkwardly, crossing then uncrossing his arms, then finally tucking his hands in his pockets and looking away from your accusing eyes when he meets your scalding gaze for a brief second. he doesn’t say anything, but the response is as clear as day on his face that you don’t need to waste your time with giving him the benefit of the doubt thinking it could be something else. the ticking of the clock on the wall accompanies your breathing, the slight shudder you feel as you draw air in through your nose. it’s so quiet that you would hear a pin drop on the carpeted floor.

“i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to be so late.” his voice is apologetic, colored with what you think is shame, which catches you off-guard. you had expected him to be defensive, not standing here with his head bowed and cheeks burning with embarrassment. you don’t know what to make of it and if you should believe him. is he being truthful? you want to believe he is. you think the downward curl of his lip and the way his eyebrows have scrunched up and his voice is so quiet and the flush on his skin has become deeper with each word isn’t an act. you notice the puffiness surrounding his eyes, most visible underneath where you also notice are prominent bags and darkness as if he hasn’t been sleeping. you almost feel sympathetic towards him, ready to ask –

is everything okay?

– but the small, cruel voice that hides in the back of your mind and rears its ugly head out only at times when you want to give in to your emotions pipes up. whispering cold, sharp words mockingly into your consciousness, it pulls you back from the edge you’re standing on of softening your gaze and dulling the bite of your words. you don’t even realize the shift within yourself until you start thinking again. you highly doubt his words. it’s just another way for people like him to charm others to gain undeserving sympathy and make the situation when they’re at fault work in their favor. the shame you saw in his face and heard in his voice suddenly makes red flash across your vision and burn your tongue as if you held it over an open fire. there is a bitter, all-consuming ache blooming in the middle of your chest that winds up your throat and settles in the back like an unmoving lump. you swallow with difficulty around that weight, your fingers catching on the material lining inside the pockets of your coat as your hands curl into fists.

he cracks his fingers one by one as his hands hang by his side, voice timid almost as if he wants to disappear the way the syllables disappear at the back of his throat. “the coach made us all stay back longer because we started late and there weren’t any shuttles running at night because it’s friday so i–”

something in you snaps. the small voice chuckles like nails scraping on ice. your throat aches in tandem with the ache inside your chest.

you stupid fuck. stupid, stupid girl.

“no. no–vincent–just stop.” you cut him off with a startle, shaking your head as his words die out underneath the force of yours. “are you really going to do this? i mean, isn’t this getting old for your crowd – blaming your coach every time? like, what are you trying to accomplish by giving me all these excuses to cover up the fact that you’re lying?

he almost does a double take at the way your tone shifts - not a slow build, but a snap that echoes like a crack in the air between you. the pressure of the weight behind your ribs finally bursts, the ache filling the space inside like steam rising from a fissure. you watch as his eyebrows rise - not too much but enough so that you see the movement on his forehead - his lips parting open. the flush of warmth on his face dissipates away like water going down the drain as your words hit him across the face like a bucket of cool water. this, you can tell, was not what he expected to hear from you.

you continue when he doesn’t speak, letting out a dry scoff that sticks behind your tiredly aching teeth, pushing loose tendrils of hair out of your face. the words seem to tumble out before you can reel them back in or find the reason in yourself to stop and address your logic. “i don’t have to do this, you know. i really don’t. i don’t know if you even thought about this, but do you realize i’m taking time that i don’t have out of my night to come here, only waste all these hours i could have used otherwise to instead wait on you?”

he looks at you with an expression you can’t pinpoint as to what exactly it is when it’s a combination of many things at once – shock, surprise, embarrassment, confusion. except for that moment just before a rising swell of anger, which you know all too well. you don’t like the way he’s suddenly scrutinizing you, as if he is looking at you underneath a microscope, as if he could see right through you if he wanted to with just a few turns of the focus knobs and tuning the sharpness, holding light to whatever you are keeping hidden inside you in dark corners.

“are you done so that i can get a word in too? or do you think everyone likes listening to you speak as much as yourself?” he says in a steady voice that betrays the ticking in his jaw, yet the words bite deeper than just at the surface level like you pretend they do.

“i’m just wondering, do you automatically accuse everyone you’ve known for less than five minutes of being a liar if you don’t like what they say? or am i the only exception?” he continues, his eyes narrowing slightly as he continues to scrutinize you with that searching gaze you think you don’t like at all.

you hold back a scoff that had been climbing its way out of your throat. “i would say the head of the athletic department coming to request private tutoring for you, plus the fact that your spot on the team hinges on your grades and gpa, should’ve been enough to ring some bells, don’t you think? or do you still think i’m automatically accusing you, just wondering?”

his frown deepens at your words, and you take that as a sign of his growing frustration as you confront him with the truths that brought you here into this moment.

“i know the logistics of what i need to do to stay on the team.” he deadpans, his movements stiff as he straightens his stance now that the initial surprise has worn off and he can match you head on. a simple straightening of his back fixes his posture, which makes you look him up and down when you realize how imposing his frame is when you see him this close in the flesh. “what i don’t get is how you made me out to be a liar when you don’t know anything about me besides the fact that i’m an athlete and doing poorly in a class.”

so, he’s not entirely as dense as you thought.

crossing your arms to meet his stance, “it’s simple, really, and it’s quite easy to understand. you just don’t want to.” you quip back. “this meeting was arranged almost a week ago, which means you should’ve been well aware of meeting me here today last friday. which means that there should be no excuse for you to be more than two hours late. you’re just arguing-”

“–i’m arguing? you’re the one who started going off on me the moment i walked in here-”

“–because you’re trying to cover up your own ass for being neglectful and not taking responsibility over your academics and you’re trying to make me look like the bad person here-”

“–trying to make you look like the bad person?” he tilts his head in confusion, eyes widening and face scrunching like he ate something sour. “what are you talking about? i was trying to apologize to you and you would’ve rightfully gotten it if you didn’t cut me off like that when you did. seriously, do they hand out attitude like it’s candy when you get hired? because i’m starting to think it’s part of the job.”

“on the contrary, vincent, does every single athlete i have the misfortune of working with have to read a manual on how to make entitlement and arrogance a part of your personality? because i’m starting to wonder if humility exists for you only when you’re speaking to the cameras for espn courtside.” your palms grip around your forearms so tight that the material of your coat wrinkles to stop your voice from wavering as your anger threatens to boil over. “why don’t you think about bringing your sense of responsibility off the court too, rather than blame the ones who are actually doing well and trying to help incompetents like you?”

yikes yikes yikes. that was a blow so low that it would have made your mom slap you across the face in retribution if she were in your life.

he barks out an incredulous laugh, like a hot knife poking at your nerves, but you don’t miss the expression of deep hurt flash across his face as quick as lightning or the way he flinches at the insult like you physically struck him. a deep, chasm-like silence stretches between your bodies before he breaks it.

“incompetent? no - now you’re just taking this way out of proportion and making it into something else entirely. who gave you the right to be this disrespectful, my god-”

you should stop. you really should.

but you don’t.

“-you’re the last person to be giving me a lecture on disrespect when you-” you point your finger towards him, “-don’t even have the decency to come up to me and ask me to give you tutoring yourself-” then point at yourself with the same threatening gesture “-or the courtesy to let me know that you will be late and make me waste my night by sitting here doing nothing.”

“i didn’t have any way to contact you.” he says as if that’s supposed to be the explanation for everything. “you didn’t leave any of your personal info with anyone from the team, so i couldn’t reach out you even if i wanted to.”

what? you’re absolutely sure you had your phone number and university email written on the form you gave to the athletics office – if anything it’s mandatory for you to provide that for the benefit of the student. how did they not give it to him all this time?

but still. you don’t think that’s valid enough to justify his negligence when you’re keeping up with the responsibilities on your end more than someone else in your position would have.

“that’s no excuse.” you almost seeth, the words coming out of your mouth rapidly as if they can hurt him with their speed. every new piece of information that leaves his mouth adds onto the notches that you’re collecting in giving rise to your fury. “you could’ve come here during our regular hours. there’s a secretary here that you can leave a message with, she could have saved it for me and let me know when i was here the next time.”

vincent lets out an exasperated sigh, rubbing a closed fist over his eyes which you notice look very red and irritated even from the distance. “i don’t have time during the day, do you not get why-”

“then you make the time for it!” you slap the back of your hand against your palm in frustration. you realize distinctly that you’re yelling, but you can’t seem to stop once you let it out. “just like i am trying to make the time for you when i don’t have to. you’re all so inconsiderate–you just–you just look out into the world from a tunnel and can’t see anything around you besides yourselves and that fucking court. do you think i want to be here at this time of the night? that i just have free time lying around to use up because i’m bored? no, i’m stretching myself thin to help you out, but you obviously don’t even care about any of this!”

a muscle tics in vincent’s jaw as he grits his teeth, staring at you behind narrowed, wet looking eyes and a sharp, dissecting gaze. you think it would indeed be intimidating to be on the receiving end of that stare if you weren’t the person you were.

when he talks, his voice is cold as ice and distant as the look in his eyes. there’s no sharpness, no emotion behind his words, which scares you more than if there was underlying anger in them. with the latter, you would know that he is matching you head on, that he feels the same as you do so that you are right in some way to be so harsh with him. but when he is completely numb like this, as if this brief argument just carved his insides and left him hallow, you feel as if you are yelling at a child who doesn’t know any better.

“where are you getting all of this from, huh?” his voice is rough, but there’s something else beneath it too - not just anger, but something close to exhaustion. “who made you believe you’re so special that you think anyone who’s not like you is stupid or not busy enough? do you know what i have to do to–”

he cuts himself off as if he realized he was about to give himself away, jaw clenching hard as he bites down on the words that almost escaped out, as he looks at you with an expression you can’t understand. his face slackens at his near mistake, but shutters back up just as quickly. a sharp inhale makes his chest shudder. shaking his head, he wipes a hand tiredly down his face. you shove down the urge to rub your eyes, moving past the stinging ache that’s consistently been there the entire day. you are once again thankful that the room is dimly lit and you don’t have to squint to see him like a newborn mole rat.

“nah,” he huffs out an empty sound that breaks into shards in the air. “nevermind. it doesn’t matter what i tell you. nothing i say would change your mind, would it?”

you scowl at his words, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “i don’t have a reason to when all you’re going tell me is how hard it is for you to practice every other day and just do the bare minimum to pass your classes-”

his eyes flash. “-here you go again with this crap, who gave you the right-”

“regardless of whatever else you have going on outside of your academics, the fact that i was asked to accommodate you, by someone that i wasn’t given much of a choice to say no to, for you to act like this, says a lot about how this will go.”

vincent looks at you in disbelief, as if he can’t comprehend how the conversation spiraled so out of control so quickly. you feel like you are stranded on a floating raft in the middle of the ocean, struggling to stand on it. you are trying to stay afloat, keeping the raft from tilting too far in one direction by constantly shuffling in place. but one movement too much, just one sudden disturbance, and you will both get swallowed in the salty depths of the waves. eventually, though, one of you will move too much, and you will both fall over into vast, unknown darkness. you just don’t know who it will be yet.

vincent looks at you in what you can only call puzzled, hurt disbelief. “i seriously don’t understand you. i told you i was sorry, i was trying to apologize until you decided to go off with that tirade.” he shakes his head, a hollow laugh escaping him. “forget it. i can’t– i can’t do this if you’re just gonna give me this-this attitude, whatever this is-” he gestures at you with his hands, “-every time you see me. i would rather fail that class and retake it than have to see your face every day.”

you laugh bitterly; you knew in your gut your argument would end in this way. the raft is slippery and unsteady underneath your feet as vincent inches away to the other edge, jaw tight and shoulders squared as if he’s bracing for the incoming fall, and you think you will need to push only a little more before you are both drowning. you’re not surprised, but disappointed in yourself for believing maybe this would have been different. you really should reduce your expectations if nothing else but for your own sanity.

“it pains me to say this, but i think we finally agree on something here.” your left eye pulses in a slow twitch from the exhaustion of the past couple days catching up with you. it’s crowding inside your brain, your thoughts and words going fuzzy as you grip onto your adrenaline to keep you awake until you can get home. “i don’t think that we’re a pair fit to be working together. i can’t tutor someone who won’t take responsibility for his own actions and don’t know what his priorities are when they’re so obvious.”

you walk up to him, closing the distance between you by reaching out to hand him the piece of paper you had been holding onto just in case. “here’s the form that you need to fill out to have someone else replace me. it might take a while since there’s only a few of us, and everyone is booked already for the year. thanks to you and your team for that architectural monstrosity you call an arena, we lost our previous budget and had to settle for a new one that cut down half of the staff here.”

his eyes are seething and red as he rips the form out of your hands - too fast, too rough - the sharp edge of the paper slicing clean through the underside of your finger as you move your hand back. the cut is clean and burning, but you don’t register the pain right away - you feel the breaking sensation through your skin before you feel the pain. it sends a small shock through your hand and you bite down on your stinging tongue to trap the small gasp that forms at the back of your throat. instead, you match his gaze with an equally furious one of your own - and you’re horrified to find that he’s not looking at your face, but at the hand you’re cradling in your palm. you don’t look down to see what damage lies there; instead, you close your fingers over it tightly and completely to hide it away, putting your arms down, which makes him look back up at you. underneath the redness and swelling in his eyes, you see something else flicker in his pupils - something like regret, but it’s gone before you can catalog it for processing later when your mind isn’t so consumed by anger.

you stare at him for one more second, then shoulder past him as roughly as you can and head out the door with big steps, shutting it behind you hard enough it slams close with a bang that echoes in the empty hallway. you don’t bother with calling the elevator, knowing it will take ages to get to the fourth floor, and make your way down the emergency stairs, taking them as fast as your feet will move.

you notice the sensation of something sticky and warm pooling inside your closed palm when you push open the door to step outside, the crisp, chilly night air hitting your coat-warmed body all at once. you open your trembling, tightly closed fist to see that the cut is bleeding, more than you thought it would. there is a thick rivulet of it running down that you look at with a dull gaze. you blink away the angry tears forming in your eyes as a shiver settles into your body, wiping them away harshly with the back of your hand as you let out a shaky breath. the pain of the cut is acute, but it’s real, grounding you when everything else feels like it’s spiraling. you walk to the bus stop with your free hand pressed around your bleeding finger, prying it away only when you can’t tolerate the cold wind chilling the warmth of the tears sliding down your cheeks.

you just want to get to your apartment and sleep this night off to forget about it, hoping that tomorrow morning you won’t remember any of it.

a/n: it's been such a long time since i've been active on here, let alone write anything, but this was a little something i had been working on while i was away. the university i went to was HUGE on their men's basketball team and i started to think about if vin was in an engineering major student athlete on the basketball basketball team with a fireball of a STEM tutor thrown into the mix and here we are.

i love my reader character already, she means so much to me you guys don't understand. right now it looks impossible for her and vin to be in a romantic relationship, let alone a friendly one, but doesn't the transformation make it all the more satisfying?

i want to hug vin in this chapter. i just know it that he was holding it together when the reader was there but the moment she left and he went home he had a good angry/hurt crying session lying down on his bed. he may or may not have listened to music, i'll leave that up to you to decide and pick the song.

i was debating whether to make it one-post long or divide it up into a multi-part series and considering this part is almost 6k words alone...i think it's the healthiest option to do a multi-part miniseries. i still feel rusty about writing and edited this so many times (and will undoubtedly come back to edit again after its posted) so i hope it's not boring or dull or a drag to get through. thank you thank you thank you if you finished this rambling all the way here. if you enjoyed, please leave down your thoughts about any part of it - your words mean the absolute world. until next time, sending much love to all of you🤍

#vhackerr #vinnie hacker #vinnie hacker imagines #vinnie hacker imagine #vinnie hacker x y/n #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie hacker fic #vinnie hacker x you #vincent hacker #vinnie hacker angst #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker smut #vinnie hacker fanfic #vinnie x reader

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kaiijo · 1 year ago

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LOVER — RORONOA ZORO

roronoa zoro + i take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover content: gn! reader

request a character and prompt for my spotify wrapped event here!

dinners between pirate crews don’t usually occur since your alliances are fragile and you’re all prepared to fight at a moment’s notice. but given the collaboration between the strawhats pirates, the heart pirates, and the kid pirates, it’s safe to say that you’re all a bit more reassured that no one’s about to slice someone’s head off.

you accept another glass of wine from robin as usopp rambles on about how he took out at least thirty marines in your latest high-sea tussle. across the table, zoro snorts and gives you a dead-eyed stare that has you giggling behind your cup.

you and zoro have been dating for quite some time, having begun only a few weeks after you joined luffy’s crew. neither of you have been inclined to tell the rest of your friends in order to avoid merciless teasing as well as mitigating the damage should your relationship go south. if it does, only the two of you will know about it and stew over it — the least amount of risk, you both agreed.

franky glugs down another stein of beer, laughing jovially, “alright, alright, i’ve got an idea!”

“oh? and what’s that?” robin asks, resting a hand on her chin.

“let’s play a game. gotta spice things up!”

“hey!” usopp protests. “my stories are super spicy!”

“yeah, right,” kid snickers, “they’re also lies.”

usopp glares and is about to retort but franky beats him to the punch, saying, “truth or dare!”

“really?” deadpans law. “isn’t that for kids?”

“aww, you need to loosen up, cap!” shachi says, nudging law. “i’m down.”

franky says, “i’m sure everyone knows the rules. only thing is if you refuse to answer a truth or do a dare, you drink!”

luffy perks up. “yeah, alright! that sounds like fun! zoro! zoro! truth or dare?”

your boyfriend smirks. “dare. do your worst.”

“i dare you to eat one of your swords.”

zoro’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “no way!”

“gotta drink then,” you say to him.

“not a problem.” zoro lifts his stein to his mouth and you watch with appreciation as his bicep flexes and bulges under the tight t-shirt he’s wearing. he easily chugs down his beer, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

zoro dares sanji to throw out his collection of dirty magazines that he found under sanji’s bed; sanji asks nami who she would date if she could date any crew member (“ew, none of you.”); nami gets bepo to perform one of uta’s songs and bepo asks franky what’s the best kept secret he’s held from you all.

franky smirks at law and says, “alright, law, truth or dare.”

“truth.”

“if you could hook up with anyone on the deck, who would it be?”

law frowns at the question and you’re sure he’s going to drink instead but when he says your name, the ship erupts into chaos. nami and ikkaku elbow you, their grins suggestive and encouraging; sanji glares at law; shachi, penguin, and bepo gape; and kid and luffy howl with laughter. you sit there in stunned silence, your face on fire, and you can’t look at law.

you chance a peek at zoro and find that, in all the ensuing chaos, he’s nowhere to be found. you catch the door to the belly of the thousand sunny swinging closed and you immediately stand, heading downstairs. you ignore everyone’s questioning shouts in favor of searching for your boyfriend.

“zoro?” you call. “zoro!”

you wander the halls for a few minutes, checking the kitchen, the men’s quarter, the gym. you find him quickly, though, inside the energy room. he’s sitting on a crate, expression sour, and you plop down next to him. “you okay?” you ask.

“i’m fine.”

you study him — his profile, the slope of his nose and the sharpness of his jaw, the way the low light of the room makes his tan skin look golden. you sit quietly with him for a few moments, listening to the engine of the ship run. zoro holds himself rigidly, unnervingly still, but you can feel the irritation rolling off of him, can still see the tension in his body.

you reach over, brushing your hand against his brow to smooth out the furrow. he looks over at you, still scowling but a little less intensely now. you say, “i’m guessing what law said bothered you.”

he shrugs. you sigh, “it’s just a game, zoro. i’m sure he didn’t even mean it, probably said the first name he thought of.”

zoro grunts derisively, “he definitely meant it. look at you.”

you can’t help the pleased feeling the rushes through you but you don’t let it show as you let your hand fall to his shoulder. “it’s just a game. doesn’t mean anything.”

“yeah,” zoro says. there’s a beat and then he says, “i hate hidin’ this.”

“really?” you can’t hide your surprise. zoro’s the one who initially brought up keeping this from everyone.

“i’m sick of it,” he says. “sick of the fuckin’ love cook always saying shit to you. i hate when guys flirt with you and i can’t fuckin’ do anything because the rest of the damn crew is there and luffy’s makin’ me watch his scarf down twenty plates of roast beef.”

you snicker at the memory, which pulls a small smile at of zoro. you rest your head against his shoulder and he mutters, “hate that the fuckin’ doctor said you.”

“we could tell them, you know. i think it’s okay now.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you say. “i’m, like, super in love with you so you’re stuck with me.”

zoro snorts, “yeah, yeah. love you too.”

“are you ready to endure all the teasing from franky, robin, and nami?”

“for you, yeah.”

you tilt your head up and kiss his jaw. zoro grins, leaning down to catch your mouth with his.

When you break apart, you ask him, “I would’ve placed money on you going to the gym. Why’d you come here?”

“Oh. I got lost.”

“You two okay?” asks robin as you and zoro resurface. the game seems to have finished and everyone’s back to drinking and chatting, though they all turn to you when they hear robin.

“yeah, we’re good,” you tell her. “we actually have something to tell you.”

“what is it?” nami asks.

“we’re together,” zoro says. “have been for a while.” and then, unexpectedly, zoro’s arm wraps around your hip and pulls you close.

the ship erupts into the chaos again with you and zoro in the middle. somewhere among all the yelling and gasping, law taps your shoulder and apologizes, which you wave off with an easy smile and zoro gives a firm nod.

nami shakes her head. “i can’t believe you two kept this from us!” and then, she turns to you. “zoro? really? you could do so much better.”

you wind yours arms around zoro’s waist, crushing him in a sideways hug. “nope, i don’t think so. he’s all mine!”

nami gags and robin smiles calmly. “i’ve always known.”

you and zoro stare at her. “what?”

#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ kaiijo writes #kaiijo's spotify wrapped event #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece x you #roronoa zoro x you #zoro x you #roronoa zoro imagine #roronoa zoro fic #zoro imagine #zoro scenario #zoro fic #one piece imagines #one piece scenario #one piece fic #op x reader #op x you #op zoro

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mc-cookies · 3 months ago

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Golems and Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

I did a writeup about how a character based on the Jewish folkloric golem might work in Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy! It includes a short essay about the thematic implications of the golem, and a set of custom rules for living dolls made of unfired clay.

If you don't know what Eureka is, it's the first tabletop RPG by @anim-ttrpgs, an up-and-coming indie studio making carefully designed and rigorously playtested tabletop games outside of the D&D 5e ecosystem. Eureka is a system for stories where amateur investigators look into intricate and (sometimes deadly) mysteries, trying to get to the bottom of whatever conspiracy is at hand. It also has robust rules for a variety of supernatural phenomena that may or may not exist, letting players explore the thematic and logistical implications of people who are vampires, man-eating alien shapeshifters, supernaturally animated dolls, or a variety of other strange creatures. It's one of the best RPGs I've ever played or read, so if you're interested in finely crafted tabletop games, mystery and detective stories, social commentary on the rights of "unsavory" marginalized people, or just supernatural creatures that eat people, I'd recommend checking it out.

My writing under the cut!

(I wouldn't normally post my own long-form writing here, but I felt good about this and also couldn't pass up an opportunity to talk about Eureka. This isn't very polished, so ignore any typos or awkward wording, but feel free to check it out and give your own thoughts. Enjoy!)

Thoughts on golems in Eureka (Essay – Rules below!)

Contrary to how the word is usually used in English-language fantasy media, a golem in its original context is not just a generic term for any supernaturally animated artificial creature. (If it were, then it would be more or less synonymous with Eureka’s use of the term “living doll” to begin with!) Rather, it refers to a specific creature in Jewish folklore: a facsimile of the human form made out of clay, animated by various words of power placed in or on its body, acting as a source of protection and power for the impoverished and oppressed communities which created it. It is a servant which exists to meet a need of its community, animated by the power of God as channeled through the expertise of a meticulous member of the Jewish community. (Arguably the most notable difference from the genre fiction definition is this inherently Jewish perspective. The creation of a golem is a closed-practice, specifically Jewish tradition, and also, the tradition of Jewish mysticism implies high degrees of specialized knowledge – some written down in studied texts, and others discovered by training under a mentor or interacting with other Jewish leaders. In this way, the golem implies a degree of studiousness and community engagement on the part of its creator, both of which are heavily emphasized values in Jewish spheres.)

My analysis of the thematic role played by the golem is probably best represented in the best-known folkloric golem, the golem of Prague. In this story, a 16th century rabbi of the Prague synagogue creates a humanoid form from clay with the purpose of protecting the ghetto (in this context, the dedicated Jewish quarter of the city) from pogroms and other antisemitic attacks, animating it into a golem by inscribing holy words on its head or placing a scroll of those words in its mouth. Things go wrong in ways which vary from telling to telling, with a common version of the story stating that the golem becomes too dangerous and destructive, and the rabbi removes the inscription of the holy name to render the golem dormant (although rather than destroying his creation, he preserves it in the synagogue’s attic to be reanimated if it’s ever needed). In a fun bit of wordplay, some tellings describe the holy inscription as being the Hebrew word “emet” (“truth”), which is only one letter away from the word “met” (“dead”), with the idea that the rabbi deactivates the golem by erasing a single letter. More traditional interpretations would describe a formula consisting of various divine epithets, either instead of or alongside the previous method. In the Jewish mystical tradition, names of God are thought to be emanations of God’s own glory, and invoking their power in specific ways is seen as a way of causing things beyond the bounds of normal reality.

A few thematic points jump out at me about the golem, both from the story of the Prague golem and from the broader characteristics of the golem. One is the fact that a golem is implicitly lacking in personal identity. Golems are almost never named, and they have very little agency in their own stories – in almost every version of the golem of Prague, for instance, it is deactivated because it has gained too much autonomy. It fights the wrong people, uses too much force defending its community, or even just falls in love, and so it is too dangerous to keep around. Even the terminology being used implies this lack of identity, as it etymologically derives from a Biblical Hebrew term, used only once in the Tanakh, which describes the unfinished form of a human before God breathes life into them. A golem is not perceived as a fully formed individual, but rather as an extension of its creator, built by someone else’s will and discarded whenever it isn’t needed. To me, this has a high degree of relevance to the themes associated with Eureka’s living dolls, who often also grapple with defining their own identity and purpose in the absence of their original context. Their unique struggles evoke concepts of alienation and depersonalization, and I think a golem without a master would have to deal with all of the same issues on that front as they navigate life as a newly independent person.

Golems as a whole, and especially the story of the Prague ghetto, also raise another problem that can create thematic conflict for a character: in their attempts to defend vulnerable people in their community, they can end up making situations more dangerous, rather than helping to defuse them. When the golem of Prague rampages, in many tellings, it doesn’t fully stem the tide of antisemitic antagonism. Instead, it destroys more of the ghetto and allows the gentile population to create a post-hoc justification for their hatred of the Jewish community. In the context of Eureka, I think that this can be a powerful metaphor for how the fear of oppression can lead people to become paranoid, closed off, and destructive to themselves and others. A golem whose purpose is to protect and serve the people around them might want to do just that, but if they find themselves in a situation where superhuman strength and stamina can’t solve a problem, they may be in way over their depth, and they might accidentally harm other people when they try to navigate that. (My use of the phrase “protect and serve” here is no accident – one of many inspirations for this thematic element is people who call for increased police presence in their neighborhoods, even when those communities are more harmed by over-policing than they are by crime. Being afraid and wanting to support their community spurs them to action, but it also blinds them to approaches that don’t use force.) For example, one golem character I’ve come up with has had to flee her home and change her name because she saw someone being harassed, didn’t know her own strength, and intervened in the first way she could think of: violently. She was lucky not to be arrested.

To get a little bit more specific, this theme is most specifically inspired by my own experiences in discussions among members of the Jewish community, as the scars from millennia of marginalization, expulsion, and murder don’t fade quickly. Paranoia is a veritable norm even within our households and places of worship. In our homes, many of us keep passports readily available if there’s a need to escape or show identification, and during any prayer service at a synagogue, there will likely be armed security guards standing at the door. Many of us laugh about it, but there’s a degree of genuine fear that we can’t shake. Often, that fear is harmless, but it can get exhausting to live with, to say little of how it affects other people or how it can be weaponized by bad actors. One look at how the Israeli government seeks to justify its violence in propaganda makes clear that the generational trauma of Jewish communities can be exploited and warped as a means to justify some pretty awful things. The figure of the golem is, in a sense our communal power fantasy – it’s comforting to think that with a bit of ingenuity and some elbow grease we can design our own hero to protect us and help us thrive – but even that fantasy is not free of the reality that, like a superhero, a golem’s innate abilities just aren’t always enough to save everyone. (Indeed, this tension is part of what inspired the Jewish creators of Superman: he has superhuman abilities that he uses to protect vulnerable people, but not every problem can be solved by punching it, and with all his strength he has to be very careful not to destroy everything he loves. This has been noticed by a lot of people, and I’m far from the first to bring it up, but in particular I’d say this observation is borrowed from the excellent video essay “The Golem and the Jewish Superhero” by Jacob Geller on YouTube.) A golem being fleshed out as a character can really lean into that tension.

One more theme I want to bring up is not something I’ve come to any particular conclusions about – it’s really just a few spare thoughts I’ve had rattling around, and an invitation to look into this concept more. It comes out of my research on the development of the word “golem” in Hebrew and Yiddish, as the term has developed beyond just the connotation of a humanoid clay form. It can be a pejorative term like “fool”, but more interesting to me is its use in reference to embryos and pupas. This made me consider the transitory nature of the golem as a representative of change, which I haven’t seen explored very much in any stories out there. Not only has the word gained those connotations, but also, looking at the characteristics of the golem as a creature gives some more fuel to that fire. The fact that it’s generally made out of specifically unfired clay gives it the sense of being unfinished. Its nature of being created in its adult form from the very beginning means that it can display a childish outlook as a seeming adult learning about the world outside of its creator’s life. The story of the golem of Prague even has an ending hook entirely centered around the idea of the golem being temporarily disabled but capable of being reanimated if need be. This idea of a golem as a character with a unique capacity to adapt and change hasn’t been explored very much, but I think it could be interesting to consider.

The last thing I’ll leave here is thoughts on character creation beyond themes. In this document, I’ve included a custom set of rules to play a living doll made of unfired clay, which is the traditional material for a golem. This isn’t playtested in any way, but since Eureka doesn’t try too hard to be balanced around physical attributes, I think it should probably work fine – it’s more thematic than anything. To make a golem, the doll’s purpose should be external in some way, pushing them to help and support other people in their community, especially the most disadvantaged of them. In terms of backstory, the details of a golem’s past can be left fairly foggy if you’d like, but the one thing that can’t be skipped is that they were intentionally created by a Jewish creator invoking Jewish traditions. It’s fine to make a living doll that was animated in some other way, but the character would not be a golem in that case. It’s similar to how Eureka vampires must have some association with Christianity, not because non-Christian undead monsters can’t exist, but because outside of that context, the specific vampire mythos lacks any meaning. (Honestly, also, if you don’t have background information about Jewish life and culture, I would recommend asking someone who does to help with your portrayal.) Finally, in terms of giving a golem a hook to investigate a mystery, it could of course be anything, but there’s one aspect in particular that I would consider: in some versions of the Prague golem’s story, it protected the ghetto by looking into cases where Jews were accused of murder and finding the true culprits, thus clearing the names of the accused. Which is to say, there’s genuine historical precedent for golems investigating mysteries, and it often happens as a means of helping people who are falsely accused of a crime. That’s not mandatory, but it could be fun to keep in mind. Have fun, and if anyone ends up playing a golem investigator using these guidelines, please let me know!

Wet Clay Living Doll – Rules

A living doll made from earthenware materials that have not been hardened by firing. This variant was originally designed to represent the golem of Jewish mythology, but it could also be used to portray, for example, an unfinished art project or a proof of concept for another piece. Depending on their construction and the flexibility of the clay they are made from, they may be treated as jointed or unjointed.

Wet clay living dolls weigh more than twice as much as an average person of their size would. They cannot swim or float, and will sink to the bottom of any body of water immediately.

These living dolls take half damage from all weapons while they have at least 1 point of Superficial HP remaining. Damage from falling is unaffected. Wet clay living dolls are immune to electrical damage.

When a wet clay living doll encounters fire or high heat (in excess of about 500 ºC), their outer layer of clay is fired and becomes hard and brittle. When this happens, this living doll should be mechanically treated as an unjointed living stone statue. If another character has access to tools to chip away the outer layer and a large supply of wet clay to replace it, they can reverse this process with a Full Success on a Technology roll. Regardless of the result, this process will take 1 Tick of time and cause 1 Superficial Damage to the living doll.

Wet clay living dolls are easier to repair. Do not apply the -3 Technology penalty when restoring Penetrative HP.

Wet clay living dolls generally possess superhuman strength, but when they are hurt, they may lose chunks of clay that would otherwise generate weight and power. They have a +5 Contextual Bonus to Athletics and Close Combat, but for each point of sustained Penetrative Damage, this bonus is reduced by 1 point.

Given 1 Tick of time, appropriate tools, and a supply of clay, a wet clay living doll can alter their physical appearance and proportions. They cannot precisely change specific details such as facial features, but can make themselves larger or smaller, change their perceived distribution of fat and muscle, and change the shape of their body enough to be recognizably different. When a wet clay living doll attempts to alter their body, roll Technology.

Full Success: The living doll successfully alters their body to exact specifications. They are able to completely alter their facial features and/or specify a new height and body type, and even on close scrutiny they will not appear out of the ordinary.

Partial Success: The living doll mostly succeeds in altering their body, but they get sloppy. They take 1 Superficial Damage, and close inspection reveals that parts of their skin have abnormal marks and blemishes, but they are still able to make the changes that they hoped for.

Failure: The living doll struggles with even the most basic alterations, doing a messy and imprecise job. They take 1 Superficial Damage, and cuts and blemishes are visible across their skin. They also don't convincingly make the correct changes to their bodies, doing either too much or too little to differentiate themselves from their previous form.

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pinkcreamypeach · 2 months ago

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Interactions (Story)

Characters- Wendy, Iggy, Ludwig, Kamek, Lemmy, Junior and Peach with mentions of Bowser. (Some of the koopalings basically)

(This is my first time writing the Koopalings, and wow, they’re incredibly tough to writel. Apologies for the abrupt ending. I didn't have a solid plan going in, but this was more of an experiment.I really wanted to explore Princess Peach building relationships with each of the Koopalings. It might be a little out of character, but I still thought it would be interesting to try! The others will get their turns with peach.)

(Look at this adorable GIF! 😭 Bowser and his children core)

“Oh, Mario..."

*Peach found herself in yet another lavishly furnished room within Bowser’s fortress. It was an improvement from past imprisonments, yet the familiarity of captivity left her feeling just as trapped. She never voiced her discomfort to the King and never spoke much to him at all. Silence had become her shield, a quiet defiance. Even as fear lingered, she had long since learned to suppress it.*

*Wandering the room, her eyes settled on a grand piano tucked into the corner. Drawn to it, she gracefully approached, adjusting her gown before lowering herself onto the bench. Her fingers hovered over the keys, tracing their familiar arrangement. She pressed B, then C. A simple observation B and C, like E and F, sat side by side with no black key between them, their notes naturally a half step apart.*

*She had been playing since childhood, and instinct took over as she began a simple warm-up. First, the treble clef medium to high pitch. Her fingers moved with careful precision, striking each note as quarter beats, never holding them too long. Eyes closed, she hummed softly in accompaniment, losing herself in the gentle melody.*

*Then, the door creaked open slowly, quietly. The absence of heavy footsteps confirmed it wasn’t Bowser. The mere presence of footsteps at all meant it wasn’t Kamek, either. That left only one real possibility.*

“You can play the piano?"

*The voice was smooth, refined. Ludwig von Koopa the eldest of the Koopalings, though not the largest. He stepped inside, studying her posture and technique with a discerning eye. A nod of approval followed, seemingly pleased with her form.*

"Since I was four," she replied, finishing her warm-up on a whole note before shifting slightly, patting the space beside her in invitation.

"Do you play, Cher?" she asked, tilting her head.

*Ludwig approached, his confidence evident as he took the offered seat beside her.*

"I am well-versed in the violin and various classical instruments," *He stated matter-of-factly.*

"The piano should be no great challenge."

*Peach merely smiled, sensing his pride. She gestured toward the keys.*

"Alright, Chérie. Play A, D, and F. Then G# and D#."

*Ludwig studied the keyboard, methodically counting the notes. His fingers pressed A and F correctly, but the other notesoff. The resulting discord made him wince.*

“What dreadful sounds," he muttered in clear distaste.*

"Ah, ah," *Peach chided gently, suppressing a laugh.* "It’s only a warm-up. You're just pressing random keys, it's not supposed to sound pleasant. It’s about understanding the layout, the feel of the instrument."

*Ludwig sighed, composing himself. If nothing else, he was not one to shy away from mastery.*

*For nearly an hour, Peach sat beside Ludwig, watching as he struggled with the piano. Every time he struck an off note, his nose would scrunch in irritation. Yet, rather than giving in to frustration, he would exhale sharply, compose himself, and try again. His determination was admirable, though Peach couldn’t help but notice his occasional glances at her hands how smoothly they danced across the keys. Was he trying to improve for his own sake… or perhaps to impress her? Maybe both.*

*Eventually, they moved on to a duet. She took the treble clef, playing the higher notes, while Ludwig handled the deeper ones. She placed a sheet of music in front of them, instructing him to follow the notes without looking at his claws only the sheet. It was a challenge, but he watched how effortlessly Peach played, her fingers gliding with precision. That, if nothing else, pushed him to try harder.*

*Their harmony, however, was abruptly shattered.*

"MY BOW! MY BOW, MY BOW!"

*A shrill wail pierced the air, causing both pianists to hit a cacophony of wrong notes. Ludwig snarled in irritation, while Peach winced at the sudden noise. They turned just in time to see Wendy O. Koopa storming into the room, her signature pink bow in ruins, tears streaking her heavily made-up face.*

"What on earth is the meaning of this?" Ludwig snapped, utterly affronted by the intrusion. Barging into the princess’s room unannounced how uncouth! Not that he had knocked either, but he was the eldest, which made it entirely different, of course.*

*Wendy, undeterred, marched up to Peach and grabbed at her dress, holding up the tattered remains of her ribbon.*

"P-Papa isn’t even here to help! Junior burned my ribbon bow while he was eating! UGH! Now it’s ruined! WAHHH!" *she wailed, sniffing between sobs.

*Ludwig sighed, rubbing his temples.* "And here I thought you had a shred of maturity."*

*Wendy shot him a venomous glare, her mascara running down her cheeks.* "Eat a bone, you pompous, upright blueberry!"

*Peach, meanwhile, simply smiled and knelt down, lifting Wendy into her arms with surprising ease. Over time, the princess had grown used to the bratty Koopaling, and despite Wendy’s usual attitude, she didn’t resist. Peach carried her to the bed, gently dabbing at her tear-streaked face with a napkin.*

"Hush, hush… We’ll fix everything," *She soothed.* "In fact, I’ll make you a new one better than the last."*

*Ludwig frowned slightly, watching the exchange. Wasn’t Wendy supposed to despise the princess? He distinctly remembered her ranting about Peach in the past. Yet, with each capture, Wendy had been spending more time around her… and now she was sitting there, still sniffling, but letting Peach comfort her.*

"Where is Junior?" *Ludwig asked, standing up to investigate.

*Wendy scoffed dramatically, flipping her claws in the air.* "Busy destroying more of my dreams!"*

*Ludwig rolled his eyes and left, leaving the two alone. Peach, ever patient, searched through some smooth pink fabrics, selecting a few shades fit for a replacement bow. Nearby sat Wendy’s makeup set a complete mess, with lipstick smeared and eyeshadow streaking down her face.*

*Peach sat beside her, carefully wiping away the last of her tears. Wendy, still pouting, crossed her arms but didn’t pull away.*

"Let’s turn that frown upside down," *Peach teased gently, dabbing at her cheeks with the napkin.

*Wendy’s eyes softened ever so slightly. She huffed, glancing away.* "Whatever makes you feel good…” *She muttered, then added,* "I’m still better than you."*

*Yet, despite her words, her tail wagged slightly behind her, something she didn’t seem to notice. Peach only chuckled, rolling her eyes but continuing to smile.*

—----------------------------—-------------------

*Kamek conjured multiple clones of himself, ensuring that young Prince Junior was well cared for. At this time, the little Koopa was merely an infant, crawling about with boundless curiosity. The duplicates engaged him in play, only to be scorched by his natural fire-breathing abilities that, unlike most young Koopas, he wielded effortlessly.*

*The Magikoopa let out a weary sigh. As the king’s most trusted advisor and the highest-ranking member of his army, he bore the immense burden of keeping order in the kingdom. The years weighed on him. While King Bowser remained in his prime, Kamek had lived for centuries, witnessing the rise and fall of many generations before him.*

*Deciding he had earned a moment of respite, he prepared to take a well-deserved nap. Meanwhile, Ludwig descended the grand staircase of the castle, his steps deliberate and composed. As he roamed the corridors, his path led him to the shared quarters of Iggy and Lemmy. Upon stepping inside, he was met with the expected chaos.*

*Iggy’s half of the room resembled a fully functioning laboratory, littered with mechanical components and half-finished inventions most of which were likely hazardous in the hands of the two mischievous siblings. Yet their father encouraged their curiosity, believing that learning through failure was an essential part of growth. Iggy and Lemmy, of course, had no qualms about surrounding themselves with volatile contraptions.*

*Lemmy, ever the acrobat, often swung from the various structures scattered about, his movements as fluid as a performer on a high-wire. Ludwig, though unimpressed outwardly, secretly admired his agility. Today, however, Lemmy was absent, leaving only Iggy, who was covered in soot and dust, hunched over a new project battle-grade turtle shell.*

*Ludwig rapped his knuckles against the doorframe, prompting Iggy to perk up and adjust his glasses before flashing a wide grin.*

“Oh! Big brother!” *He chirped.*

*Ludwig stepped inside, carefully navigating the maze of scattered tools, discarded blueprints, and failed experiments. His tail instinctively lifted to avoid any grime.*

“Hello, Iggy. And what peculiar contraption are you working on now?” *Ludwig inquired, arching a brow as he observed the mess.*

*Iggy’s eyes lit up with excitement. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he struck a proud stance.*

“Well!” *He lifted a claw, his tone taking on the cadence of a well-rehearsed lecture.* “A battle turtle shell would serve as an excellent defensive mechanism for several reasons. First, natural armor! Turtle shells are incredibly durable, composed of bone and keratin, offering remarkable protection against physical attacks. And then, of course, there’s the electrostatic—”

*Ludwig half-listened as Iggy launched into an enthusiastic, highly technical explanation. While his younger brother rattled on about modifications, defensive mechanisms, and scientific theories, Ludwig idly surveyed the room. He yawned discreetly, of course but he had to admit the concept was intriguing.*

“Furthermore,” Iggy continued, “versatility! The battle shell could be enhanced with modifications such as retractable spikes, concealed weaponry, or even a propulsion system for enhanced mobility!” *He concluded his monologue with a deep breath, beaming with satisfaction.*

“Well, have an—” *Iggy turned to acknowledge Ludwig, only to realize his brother was casually rifling through his blueprints instead. Papers were lifted, glanced at, and unceremoniously dropped back onto the cluttered workspace.*

“Were you even listening?!” *Iggy huffed, crossing his arms.*

*Ludwig looked up with a bemused expression.*

“Well, yes. The beginning, a portion of the middle, and the conclusion. However, considering it took you twenty minutes to explain, I believe I absorbed the most relevant points.”

*Iggy scoffed.* “Oh, sure! Yet I sit through you playing that boring violin all the time!”

*Ludwig recoiled as if he had been personally insulted.* “Boring!? Oh, please! Your lack of appreciation for refined music is nothing short of tragic.”

*The two descended into a heated argument, their bickering filling the room. Just then, Lemmy strolled in to retrieve his roller ball, only to pause, tilting his head at the sight of his quarreling brothers. It was just another typical day in the Koopa Kingdom.*

#Fun fact I actually learned to play the piano in high school! I still have the sheet music and notes from back then.#nintendo #princess peach #wendy koopa #koopalings #ludwig von koopa #lemmy koopa #super mario #iggy koopa #kamek magikoopa #boswer jr #mario #creamypeach writings #boswer

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