#i want to do the traveler next | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ragnarokhound · 8 months ago

Note

((you don’t have to do both if you don’t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞

From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa

anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)

Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence

15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed.

Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay?

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.

He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air.

Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.

So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.

With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.

"What's going on here?"

The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.

“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.

“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—�� he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive.

Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front.

Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.

It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.

Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—

And then Tim thinks about the call.

The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later.

He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.

“Today,” he repeats.

She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”

"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."

—

He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.

Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.

Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.

Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.

He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.

As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.

“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”

The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”

“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.

“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”

—

The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape.

He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.

He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.

By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this.

Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.

Fuck it.

He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.

Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’— which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.

Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.

He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.

Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—

And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.

“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”

He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.

—

Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down).

He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.

And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.

No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.

With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:

“Hand over your wallet!”

He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.

Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.

Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.

The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.

“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”

The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.

“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”

The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”

Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight.

His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.

“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.

“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.

Tim blinks. So do the muggers.

He knows that voice.

“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny’s face is all Red Hood.

Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes—

Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.

Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop.

So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.

Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.

“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”

Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.

Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”

Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.

Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.

“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.

Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Had.”

So much for the League, Tim muses.

Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror.

“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”

Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed.

God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way.

“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”

—

They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.

“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”

“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”

“Again. Fucking ew.”

“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.

Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.

“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”

Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.

Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.

“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”

Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.

“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”

The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.

Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.

“Jason—!”

“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.

“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”

The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.

Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.

“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.

“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.”

Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.

And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.

He knows, okay?

“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”

Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.

And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to.

But he still means it.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”

The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.

“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.

The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.

But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.

Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”

Jason’s grin is electric.

He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.

Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—

—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.

“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”

“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.

“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch.

The kiss is— bad. At first.

Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.

Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.

“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.

“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”

Tim is already asleep.

#one hundred thousand years have passed #i creak up out of the soil gasping and hacking and coughing #'i lived bitch'#'have some jaytim that grew legs on me'#my writing #asked and answered #jaytim #ladytauria #hurt/comfort #this one is sillier and more light-hearted than the other ones #the hurt is more like 'near tears travel exhaustion' than your typical aftermath of violence lol but it so definitely counts #i held a gun to the head of the muse that said 'this is way too short' and pulled the fucking trigger #i KNOW it's a very fast get together but i did Not want this to become my next 5 digit wordcount fic okay. okay. oka #the bones of a long 'tim and jason vs the league of assassins' fic is hiding here #and if i actually wrote that this would have ended much differently #but i am Not Writing That okay I am Writing Cowboys and also Werewolves Right Now. I Do Not Have Time For This!!!!!!#prompt fill

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cheswirls · 5 months ago

Text

set of drabbles i did for @februairy's cute badminton au :)

"what do you mean you have us in different rooms?!"

"exactly what i said." shanks raises his hands to rest on his hips as he puts his metaphorical foot down. "this is an important competition, and i need you both to be all-in, one hundred percent. that means no needless distractions."

he raises his index finger when sabo opens his mouth to argue. "none of that. i've given you my reason and your only choice. unless you'd rather find somewhere else to stay on your own dime?"

sabo's mouth snaps shut. this time, when shanks offers him the room key, sabo wordlessly swipes it from his hand. he picks his training bag back up off the floor and storms away further inside the gym, muttering over his shoulder about getting in more reps while everyone else goes out to eat.

it's to blow off steam, so shanks doesn't say anything against it. hopefully the extra exertion will clear sabo's head.

when sanji opens the door to his hotel room, he finds his doubles partner on the other side instead of his assigned roommate. he can't help the surprise that pulls across his face. "what about sabo?"

"he kicked me out!" usopp exclaims, going from looking bashful to suddenly being very indignant – literally kicking the air. "then he made me switch him room keys!" his hand falls away from his suitcase handle so it teeters on its own to stay upright on the plush hallway carpet. "do you see what the problem is with that? it wasn't even his room to dictate what happens in!"

his other hand slides away from the strap to his overnight bag, essentially leaving both arms free to cross over his chest. "but if anyone asks, ace told me to say it was actually him that did all this. like anyone would believe that, hm? ace wasn't the one who stormed off earlier when we all got room assignments."

no, but he did stay behind to deal with his petty princess, sanji drily thinks as he finally holds the door open wider. usopp slouches where he stands and moves inside with all his luggage.

"well, look on the bright side, hm? neither of us has to deal with having a roommate that wants to be with someone else."

usopp nods wordlessly, still feeling prickly and dejected both at once. "really i'm just glad there's no cover story i have to keep up with. at least we won't have to deal with the fallout."

neither of them mention that it probably won't be an issue at all, because when shanks is personally traveling and organizing his athletes, his oversight is notably lax most of the time. it's not like he'll come upstairs to personally check everyone is where they're supposed to be for the night. aside from the grief given at the beginning, it's over now, for all intents and purposes.

besides, he'd meant what he said. he'd much rather room with usopp than have to deal with the world's most pouty prima-donna for the next four days.

sabo puts his arms in the sleeves of his pullover and then stretches them above his head in a last attempt to pop his spine. he's not given a chance to lower them and shrug the rest of the pullover on because ace comes up behind him and sags into his still-arched back.

sabo carefully resists a forming shudder when he feels ace's arms worm around his middle, fingers immediately roving along his sides. "ace, we really should go down to eat breakfast," he tries.

"gimme one more minute," ace mumbles into the back of sabo's jersey. "i need more sabo time to myself before we have to go out in public."

sabo snorts, because it's not like they'll be coming right back up or anything. he's not stuffing his feet into anything but slide-ons before 10AM if he can help himself. and he doesn't want to deal with bringing any of their practice stuff downstairs if they're not immediately going to leave.

his attempt at thinking of a snappy reply fails when ace's lips start working up the back of his neck. sabo does shudder this time, back finally relaxing from the unnatural position, and his arms come down from overhead to land lightly on ace's own. "ace, c'mon. let's go get food."

ace releases him to finish getting dressed himself, leaving sabo alone to resume putting his light jacket on. his commentary still filters over to sabo, though, both unnecessary and unwarranted.

"we could just go out to eat. there's that bakery down the road along the way to the training facility, and the woman who owns it likes watching us compete."

"we're trying to save money," sabo reminds him lightly, then smirks as he recalls exactly what they're saving money for. "hotel breakfast is free. if you want something specific later, we can nag shanks into taking everyone to eat again."

he opens the door for ace and doesn't attempt to decipher ace's mumbling after being met with a dull look. it was probably about how they could've gone to eat last night (or at least ace could have, if he hadn't offered to stay late with sabo) and sabo's better off leaving the exact wording of such a mystery.

but he does tune back in once they're in the elevator, ace speaking a bit louder and from a bit closer when he wonders aloud if they'd get something for free from the bakery if they let it slip that they're engaged now.

sabo puts an elbow in his side before the elevator doors can slide shut.

"you're late" are the first words koala says to sabo that morning when he sets his food tray down in front of the modest table she's claimed. she's said it for the sole purpose of riling him up and it works. she looks on in amusement when he pulls his chair out more harshly than intended.

"there's no set meal schedule, dearest, but thanks for grinding my gears. i can always count on you for that."

koala puts a hand over her heart. "what are friends for?"

sabo sits down heavily and leans into the backrest of the chair with a long-drawn sigh. "yeah, well, if you want someone to blame, then it's totally ace's fault for not getting up."

koala raises a brow at the wording. come to think of it, she had watched the two of them walk into the dining hall together. "you stayed with him? how'd you manage that? didn't you send me a whole long angry text last night about shanks being a literal demon from hell?"

"i switched rooms," sabo bites, throwing his head back to say this as snootily as possible. (ugh. it's too early for her to deal with this attitude from him.) "it's fine. shanks obviously doesn't understand the needs of teammates who are together romantically, so i just corrected his mistake on my own."

"and does he know about this correction?"

sabo purses his lips and ducks into his small bowl of porridge. "no," he mumbles.

"your 'needs' huh?" koala prods, smirking when sabo glances back up at her. she raises a brow instead of verbally asking the question.

sabo rolls his eyes and stabs his spoon back into the pile of mush. "we didn't do anything like that."

"like what?" ace pipes up, finally within hearing distance. when sabo only shrugs his shoulders, he wordlessly looks past his head to koala, but she only seals her lips. "well, glad you two are having fun with your secrets," he mildly snarks.

he pulls out a chair next to sabo and slides into it. "i still think we should've hit the bakery instead, by the way. the sesame cookies are already out, and when i asked, a server told me they were done making them for the day!"

"could've woken up earlier," sabo mutters. then, louder, "and we're still trying to save money."

"hah!" ace leans back precariously in his seat, ignoring his plate of cannoli to be petulant. "so when you want something, it's suddenly a necessary expense, but when i do the same it's a waste of money to even consider?"

"yes, that's right!" sabo proclaims haughtily, stabbing his spoon back into his breakfast. across from them, koala can't help but laugh at their comedy performance.

"aren't you used to him being this way by now?" she asks ace when ace glares at her. she also reaches into her bag at the same time to pull out a collection of thumb-sized cookies she has wrapped in a napkin. "you're lucky i'm so thoughtful," she says to him before he can get out a retort, offering him the small handful of the same sweets he'd been complaining about not getting to eat. "and that i thought of you earlier when i saw these and realized how quickly they were going."

"you're right, i completely forgive you and love you," ace rushes to say as he accepts the gift. at his side, sabo purses his lips and huffs at the wording, but ace ignores him completely in favor of tossing a small cookie into his mouth. "you're literally the best."

koala inclines her chin, leering over at sabo when he happens to look up at her. "i'm the best," she gloats.

she should have expected sabo to snap at some point, yet the heel suddenly digging into her shin makes her realize she'd thought of this a tad too late.

"oh, that? i can tell you about that," robin says to sanji and usopp during lunch. she'd heard an abridged version from koala earlier of the conversation she'd had with sabo that morning. "shanks found out those two got engaged recently and thought rooming them together would be a needless distraction."

that's the short of it, but it sure does paint matching looks of surprise on both of the athletes sitting across from her. they've both paused with food halfway to their mouths. she chuckles at the sight, hiding her open lips behind one hand.

"oh," both of them say simultaneously. then, from just sanji, "ok, yeah, i'd be pissed too. what a dick move. that's a valid reason."

"how long have they been engaged?" usopp asks around a bite of his sandwich. "was that supposed to stay a secret?"

"i don't think so, it just hasn't been too long," robin assures him. "i actually don't know the specifics. you'll have to direct your inquiries to either of them."

"yeah, no thanks," usopp mutters. "if shanks nearly had his head bitten off, i'd hate to see what happens to me."

"well, he did incite them," sanji reminds him. "i'm sure ace wouldn't mind telling us."

he specifically says ace because they both know he's the more easy-going of the pair, and also when sabo is confronted with something he doesn't want to share, he immediately becomes the world's most frigid ice queen.

"sabo might be happy to spill details, if you catch him at the right time," robin mentions. "it's his engagement too. i wouldn't be surprised to learn he's more excited than ace."

alright, yeah, that's a good counter-point to consider. both sanji and usopp think that over.

"after dinner?" usopp suggests.

"no, neither of them drink during a competition." sanji shakes his head. "maybe after the plane ride back home? if he's too tired, he might reveal something without thinking on it."

"if he's too tired, he just won't give us the time of day," usopp counters.

"what about after they win this week?" robin suggests.

which. is a good idea, in theory. but they would have to win, which is not a one-hundred percent guarantee.

but it is something to think over.

koala bites on her lip and sags into sabo's side again to bemoan her fate. below them, the current women's singles match-up is their own teammate reiju versus an athlete from sweden. "how can someone look so hot while sweating so much?" she says, completely aghast.

she makes the mistake of glancing up at him after saying this, bearing witness to the large smirk taking up his face. he opens his big mouth and already she knows she wants no part in this. "well–"

"yeah, i don't need unnecessary commentary from the man with a boyfriend," she gripes, leaning off of him. thankfully, sabo shuts his mouth and only shrugs, still looking smug but at least remaining silent about it. "speaking of which, where did ace go? wasn't he just here?"

sabo looks to his other side to confirm ace has indeed disappear. he looks miffed at this but keeps his answer perfectly indifferent. "how should i know? i'm not his keeper."

"you're right, he's just yours," koala says before she can help himself. sabo gasps, completely and justly indignant, and the look on his face is the perfect reward for ruffling his feathers again.

koby notices ace and sabo from the distance, but it takes him getting closer and a moment of observation to realize they're monitoring their competition and not merely engaged in conversation.

because from further back, it does look like something different. he stops short to watch ace wrapping an arm around sabo's back, tugging him closer with a hold around his middle. from the angle koby is to them, he can see ace gesturing down to the court with his other hand. they're both talking quietly with their heads huddled close together.

casual intimacy between doubles partners is nothing new, but koby can't help but add another mental notch to the running total he has in his head telling him this is another moment between this specific pair that qualifies more as pda.

he's kept this count going since the olympics ended, when he'd first begun to notice the change in the pair's affection for each other. it's not relative or important, really, but sometimes he can't turn off his observant eye. not for the first time, he thinks about asking after it in an unofficial capacity. maybe if it's off-the-record, they'd tell him if something had changed.

before he can think more on this, someone is calling out to him. specifically, someone says "hey four-eyes!" and from experience and the cadence, koby knows it's luffy before he turns around to acknowledge the athlete.

"hi," he greets luffy a bit lamely, still caught up in his thoughts. "you have another match?"

"no, i'm done for the day," luffy reveals. "i'm just sticking around to watch ace and sabo." he pointedly looks over koby's shoulder to see the duo not far away, realizing koby had been facing that direction. "do i need to get them for you?"

"oh, no, that's fine," koby insists, raising both hands to wave luffy's suggestion off. he peers over his shoulder as well, noting that the pair are even closer together than they were before, and quickly turns back to face luffy. "they, uh, look preoccupied as-is. i'd hate to ruin their concentration."

luffy looks at the pair again and takes koby's words into account. "oh, they're always like that now."

now implies that something has changed recently, though koby's not hell-bent on knowing anymore. the distance between the four of them isn't large, and he'd hate to be overheard, even if he is still curious.

luffy steamrolls along, though, not realizing the gravity of the situation. "probably because they're getting married soon? they've been a lot more touchy-feely since getting engaged."

sirens blare in koby's head, and he has to resist the temptation to look back behind him again. "oh, ok," he says, suddenly overwhelmed. that does make sense. it is a good explanation. it's also probably something he should not be privy to, especially if it's a recent development.

luffy must realize this too, because he perks up and grabs koby by both his shoulders. "i'm saying this to you as my friend, koby, not as a journalist."

"yeah, i got it," koby wheezes. "you can trust me. i won't say a word."

"maybe we should come back to korea," ace says at the end of their stay. they're both outside on the veranda, some light alcohol still in either of their glasses though neither are keen on finishing it off. it had been a celebratory move that both are regretting, especially with the summer heat bearing down on them. even in the dark of night, the blush on sabo's fair-skinned cheeks is still evident.

"after the season is over," ace says aloud, though they both know the implication. after we get married, he means. "we can book a room at the shilla and sight-see for a few days. or just chill in there. not like there's a lack of things to do."

sabo had been about to reply, but at the mention of the luxury resort hotel, he chokes. gasping for breath, he swallows the rest of his champagne in an attempt to quickly recover. "isn't that just a tad too expensive??"

"eh, we can splurge a bit." ace shrugs, then grins over at sabo. "it'll be another thing to save up for. if you want to."

"well i don't not want to," sabo admits, which is progress. as long as he's considering the possibility, that's good enough for ace.

"they even have their own bakery inside," ace adds, which only makes sabo groan.

"will you let that go already?"

#op #writing #saboace #going thru the tag and using everything i know in an attempt to do this correctly heheeee #also koby being the sports reporter that ace has to shield sabo from def altered how i wrote his scene w luffy #i knew he was there but i forgot abt ace teasing him to accommodate sabo and its so good!!!#wanted that to show in how koby perceives ace and ace's interaction w sabo #(and that ace would bite his head off first in his eyes if he made a wrong assumption abt them or learned smth he shouldn't)#also lmaoooo its so much fun to write sabo like this i dont give myself the chance to do so very often #ik you were debating more nationals athletes but i saw reijus name again and blacked out and here we are #wanted to write zoro and perona into this but i ran outta ideas whoops #maybe next time ;)#(also i didn't know if hack or shanks or both are national team travel coach/chaperones #so i just chose the one more likely to be petty about not being in on the engagement as soon as it happened heh)

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