#like he’ll call to them and prance don’t get me wrong

[thecowboykatsuki-anon]

Work story of the day:

The baby stud (he’s 3 so he’s not really a baby baby but he’s not our breeding stud) at the ranch I work at has bronchitis so we have to give him 15 pills twice daily which used to be super super easy since we would just put it in his grain… until he started picking them out.

So now we have to put all the pills in a big ass syringe, fill it with water, shake it and then hold his big ass head up and slowly shoot the water into his cheek so he swallows it. Most horses would absolutely be a pain in the ass about this but he is so fucking sweet I just need to sing his praises.

9 times out of 10 we have to fill it with water twice cause the pill goop creates a block in the tube and he won’t fight us the second time either even though he knows it’s gonna be gross stuff going in his mouth. I even interrupted his dinner today to give it to him and he’s just. So sweet. So gentle. So polite. I adore him

[peninkwrites]

Karl and Quackity (don't) Date - Ch 9 of ?

Quackity gets to be a lawyer, Karl gets takeout, and Schlatt still doesn't realize he's getting cucked.

[CW: Schlatt being scummy and making gross comments! As well as some implied disordered eating habits.]

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 8

Ch 10

Mafia AU

~

Quackity has a plan.  He is going to take Karl and Tubbo and he’s going to run.  Running doesn’t come cheap.  Either Quackity is going to try to pay off Schlatt to give him less reason to follow, it feels almost like he’s trying to pay off a fucking indentured servitude, or he has to admit Schlatt won’t let him clean the slate, that he couldn’t pay off Schlatt’s entitlement to him no matter the price, in which case that money goes to making all three of them disappear.  He’ll end up in some other miserable city, probably working some shit job that keeps him out of the public eye.

At least he won’t be here.

He’s been saving up for a long time, but previously he had been saving pennies between couch cushions, sneaking away dollars from whatever money Schlatt threw his way.  He hadn’t been able to work while in school, and assisting on cases doesn’t pay as well as having his own.  He has a lot riding on Captain Puffy’s retirement.  Thankfully, Quackity is a very good lawyer.

“Chief– Can I call you Chief?” Quackity doesn’t wait for an answer.  “I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in here,” he laughs.  “Could you explain to me why you are rejecting Captain Puffy’s bid for an early retirement?”

The Chief of Police has a stick up his ass, looking as if he’s just bitten into a lemon.  “It’s about four years early for the earliest we consider early retirement.   She signed a contract when she took this post, and in it, there was a set expectation for how long she would work before her retirement.  We aren’t here to offer out special treatment, no matter how good her track record is with the department.”

“Okay, but don’t you, though?  Hand out special treatment?” Quackity can’t help but offer that little dig.  He hears Puffy snort in the chair next to him.  “But that’s besides the point, actually, Chief.  Because you’re running out of options, here.  Captain Puffy’s quiet, harmless retirement is the best bet for all parties, alright?” Quackity says very pointedly.

The man’s eyes narrow.  They’ve danced around the matter so far, but Quackity knows that he knows, Puffy knows that he knows, at this point Quackity doesn’t see a point in continuing to prance around it.

“Meaning what, exactly, Mr. HQ?” He says icily.

Quackity smiles.  “I don’t think I need to spell it out for you.  Your department’s reputation is very important, huh?” He scoffs.  “Especially in a city as crime-ridden as ours, right?  I mean,” Quackity leans in, as if to share a secret.  “Can you imagine the fucking embarrassment of the golden girl of the force, the only uncontroversial figure you all have got, turns out to…” Quackity exhales through his teeth, as if nervous on their behalf, “well, not really have her full support behind the Police?”  He gives the man a pitying look.

The Chief leans forward, coldness turned to anger.  “And I think you and the Captain could imagine the sort of trouble that lack of support could land her in.  Especially if it led to criminal activity undermining this institution.”

Quackity leans forward as well, unfazed, inches from the Chief’s stupid mustache.  “You’re not wrong, Chief, but you’re ignoring the fact that both fucking ways you lose, d’you get that?” Quackity grins, something almost sharklike there.  “The only difference is whether or not your loss makes the front fucking page.  Do you see that?  Huh?  The Captain here is offering you a way out, a goddamn life raft!” Quackity sits back with a laugh.  “And you’re not gonna take it?  She leaves, whatever… concerns you have about her performance are no longer an issue, and no one has to know how bad you fucked up,” Quackity points an accusing finger at the man’s chest.  “Yeah, it’s up to you, the final decision, and so forth, but there’s only one smart decision to make.”

“It’s odd, Mr. HQ, that you assume it will be embarrassing for our department to catch a rat and serve justice,” the Chief is still trying to dig his heels in.  Adorable, really.

“Hm,” Quackity pretends to consider this, sitting up.  “You know what, I’m a bit tired of playing along, so I’m gonna cut right to the chase.  The Badlands, d’you know what they’re known for?”

The Chief doesn’t seem to know what to do with his honesty, watching him like a snake in the water.  “They’re known for many things.  Largely being violent criminals.”

“Yeah, yeah sure, but so are half the folks in this city, hell, in this building,” Quackity gives a scathing glance to the back windows showing other pigs running about their duties.  “Badlands are known for something in particular.  See, until a few years ago, they bordered on myth, correct?”

“Arguably,” he says stiffly.

“And to this day, last I checked, you have never prosecuted someone with known associations with the Badlands.”

Silence, the Chief has no retort.

Quackity continues.  “I’ll help you out here– no, you have never fucking arrested someone associated with the Badlands.  Ever.  I guess I need to spell it out for you:  The Badlands don’t get caught.  Do you think there’s a reason for that?  That there might be certain insurances in place?” Quackity says sharply, daring the man to protest.  Puffy had explicitly told him, the rules are you go down with the ship.  If she were arrested, her duty would be to deny any and all affiliation with the Badlands.  Her son would be looked after, and the legacy of the Badlands would remain intact.  The Chief doesn’t know that.  Quackity had been bluffing his way to the top his whole life.  This one is easy.  “You can make accusations all day long, Officer, but you’re not gonna be able to pin them down, you could risk it, sure, assume you’ll somehow be more competent than every other attempt to prosecute the Badlands, but that’s a pretty big risk.  And… honestly, that sounds even more embarrassing than just admitting to your star Captain not being in your fucking pocket, right?  Not to say that’ll be a good look for you either.”

The Chief is calculating fast.  Quackity can already see he’s won.

“Now, what would be a good look, is the Captain retiring with grace, never bothering your poor little department again, and all of our reputations untouched, eh?” Quackity gestures grandly to the office.  “So, Chief,” Quackity offers the paperwork Puffy had brought him.  “How’s that early retirement sound right about now?”

“Hell yeah!” Puffy finally speaks up, delighted and shocked at Quackity’s daring as she too has realized how monumentally trapped her soon to be former Boss now is.

The Chief glares at both of them.  He slides the paperwork closer.  “You haven’t earned your full pension,” is his attempt to get the last word in.

Puffy laughs.  “Keep it!  Good riddance!”  She gives the man a sarcastic salute, snatches the now signed papers off his desk, and offers Quackity a high five.

Somewhat startled but very much on board, Quackity reciprocates.

“It’s been a pleasure, Chief,” Quackity grins, giving the man a sarcastic salute before following the Captain outside.

They keep a semblance of composure until they’re out of the building.

“Oh my god!  You can bluff like a… a freaking god!  You’ve got the composure of a… a marble statue!  You must be a nightmare at poker!” Puffy grins.  “You took those Badlands rumors and made him choke on ‘em!” Puffy claps him on the shoulder.  “You’re a damn good lawyer, Mr. HQ.”

Quackity feigns modesty.  “That wasn’t even legal work, really, I just had to talk some sense into the guy,” he shrugs her off.

“Well, you’re good at that too!” Puffy proceeds to her car.  “Hold on, just a sec,” she clambers over the driver’s seat to get into the glovebox, returning with a thick envelope.

“Cash?” Quackity stares at her, surprised.

“Yeah, cash, psh,” Puffy shrugs him off.  “Dude, did you think your pay was coming from their checks?” She gives a scathing nod back at the station.  “Nah, this is that sweet, sweet Badlands money,” she sighs contentedly, offering him the envelope.

Quackity can’t resist, opening it and thumbing through the stack of bills.  $500.  That’s enough to put down a deposit on a new apartment, a few months rent, or it could make a good dent in what he owes to Schlatt for his schooling.  This money, as well as the $400 or so he’s managed to scrape together over the past 2 years, are his ticket out.  Karl and Tubbo’s too, if he can convince them.

“Thank you,” Quackity knows he’s being paid for a service, but he’s just a little stunned, so he thanks her anyway.

“Thank you.  And if you need anything, you still have that card I gave you?” She asks.

Quackity thinks back.  He’s pretty sure it’s shoved in a drawer somewhere.  “Yes?”

“Good, my personal number I wrote on the back.  So, if you need anything,” Puffy says it with weight.  Quackity knows what she’s referring to.

He holds up the envelope.  “This… I think this is gonna help.”

She nods, as if she doesn’t quite believe him.  “I hope so.”

“Yeah, and, if they give you any more hassle, I mean, I could draft up a gag order so they can’t take this any further.  Like, retirement isn’t a get out of jail free card, y’know?”

She smiles. “No, I think you covered it pretty thoroughly, but if not, I’ll give you a call.”  She points a warning finger at him.  “And you’ll do the same, right?  If you need something?  I won’t lie and say I have a ton of power, but I could cash in a favor with the Badlands if you, uh, need something taken care of.”

Quackity gives her an exasperated, if not somewhat appreciative look.  “I know you mean it, but… I promise you, my situation is a special case.  But…” Quackity hesitates.  “If I ever need to disappear, I know Badlands are good at that.”

She eyes him carefully before nodding.  “Um, yeah.  That too.”

Quackity gives her a nod.  “Take care, Captain.”  He leaves before she can ask any more questions.

Quackity is almost disappointed by his first proper case, considering he never even had to go into a court room.  He knows he should be grateful for the easy cash, but still, it would’ve felt better to do something more impressive, especially if he ends up needing to run and go into hiding.  Unless he fully flees the country, it would be too much of a risk to continue practicing law.  Regardless, he’s going to take his five hundred bucks to Karl’s doorstep and ask him to run away with him.  It’ll be romantic, right?  And surely Karl won’t mind Quackity tacking on a fourteen year old to their party; never too early to become parents, right?

Yeah, because you do realize that if you take Tubbo and run, you’re gonna be his fucking parent, right?  Sure, the kid has survived fourteen years without any proper parents, but that’s different from it being on you.

He’s not planning on accosting Karl now about these plans.  Not because he’s scared of what Karl will say, but just because this sort of offer requires more planning.  Karl will probably have questions.  He doesn’t want to ask Tubbo first, mostly because he’s more scared Tubbo will say no than Karl.  Not that Quackity would blame him; telling a kid to abandon everything he’s ever known is a tall order.  The problem remains, if Tubbo does say no, how the fuck is Quackity supposed to leave him?

If that’s what it comes to, if Tubbo refuses, you know what you’ve gotta do.  Quackity’s ruminations briefly pause when he returns to his apartment, hiding the cash in a cut open seam in his mattress.  Quackity doesn’t take the rest of it out, but if he’s tallying right, he should have $900 in cash.  Another hundred is also in the mattress, another is underneath the lining of the bottom drawer of the dresser, the two hundred is in a locked box behind a vent, and the last fifty is cut into one of his old textbooks.  He does have a bank account, not that he puts much trust in banks, but that’s another hundred or so.  Quackity sits back in the corner between the dresser and the wall, and allows his spiral to continue.

He owes Schlatt $2,000 just in tuition, not counting Schlatt paying his rent for that shit student housing.  Quackity did his best to graduate as fast as he could, saving some by cutting out several semesters.  Quackity had just gotten his undergrad for pre-law when he was abandoned or screwed over or whatever that dramatic asshole had done by disappearing on him.  He’d been 19.  He’d graduated high school at 16, got his undergrad in the two years that followed, and the summer after that graduation was just surviving, until he fell into Schlatt’s lap and pushed through law school in the two and a half years that followed, graduating a few weeks before he turned 22.  He’s a fucking god, he’s a genius, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t owe Schlatt two grand for tuition and… if he’s calculated right, a little over another 2k for housing.  Quackity’s nine hundred, a thousand counting the hundred in the bank if he’s being optimistic, it is half at best.  He needs more than halfway if he’s going to run for it .  A thousand dollars is enough to get to the other side of the country, and maybe if it really seems hopeless, he does some work for the Badlands and with a good word in from the Captain, it’s enough to pay them to make three people disappear.

Quackity takes a deep breath.  He doesn’t know why he does math when he gets nervous, but it’s almost a compulsion now.  If he tries to pay off Schlatt, that means he’s running for it without any money, and he remembers how well that went last time.  If he just tries to disappear, he doubts a thousand will suffice for all three of them, but who knows, maybe the Badlands will take pity on them, get Tubbo a new identity for free or something.  Puffy is a dad, she’d understand it.

He wants to get out fast, but the smart choice is to wait.  He needs more money, and he knows most clients won’t be kind enough to offer ten times the typical rate on a rookie.  He’ll be grinding away at fucking divorce papers and lawsuits for ages.  If he doesn’t get more offers, he might stoop low enough to be a public defender.  Those cases will at least get him cash quicker, even if it’s fucking pennies for throwing rocks at a system that doesn’t care who’s guilty or not.

Quackity committing himself to the office twelve hours a day at least keeps him away from Schlatt.  It’s easier to assist on other cases than get ahold of his own right now, which means 80% of his job is desk duty, crawling through paperwork for more experienced and douchey senior attorneys.  None of them have questioned how many cases he’s assisting on, even though he’s pretty sure there’s a policy against the amount he’s taking on, but they don’t care, as long as they don’t have to do the pencil pushing.

Schlatt doesn’t worry, he just gets annoyed.  Quackity thinks he only dodged some malice because he could in full honesty say he’d dropped the whole deal with the Captain.  He doesn’t need to know that Quackity still did enough to get paid.  Regardless, Quackity finds himself leaving the office at eight when Schlatt calls demanding he come to the house.  Those nights always felt even longer than they actually were.

Karl does worry.  He’s taken to bringing Quackity lunch, which is fair because Quackity doesn’t eat otherwise.  It’s nice.  Quackity knows to some extent it’s a risk, but his coworkers here don’t know about Schlatt, they don’t know who he is, all they see is the new kid having lunch with his boyfriend.  It’s so blissfully ordinary.   This routine is exhausting but almost peaceful.  He gets lunch with Karl, he either goes back to Schlatt, which he can usually tolerate depending on what kind of drunk the man is that night, or to crash alone in his apartment, then he does it all over again.  The weekends are spent at Schlatt’s because he doesn’t have the office as an excuse, but Quackity doesn’t mind those days.  During the day when Schlatt is busy meeting with his boys or nursing a hangover, Quackity gets to spend time with Tubbo.  Quackity doesn’t have time to go to the Secret City nowadays, but Tubbo is always eager to update him on the trouble he and Tommy got into and Niki’s fantastic tolerance for their nonsense.

Quackity is exhausted and fucking stressed and Schlatt isn’t making it any easier on him, but more often than he might have expected, Quackity feels okay.  He has people now; Karl checking up on him and him checking up on Tubbo and Tubbo trying to repay the favor.  It’s a dangerous thought, but he’s growing more inclined to view this as a family of sorts.  He can survive this long enough to get a ticket out.  Schlatt isn’t even that bad most of the time.  When he’s in a good mood, he’s back to being a doting, affectionate bastard, so Quackity can ignore how grating some of Schlatt’s ‘compliments’ get and how tightly he holds on, and instead kiss him back.  Maybe it should feel harder now, to play along, to engage in this particular relationship knowing Karl is waiting, but somehow it makes it easier.  He knows there’s more to love than this, he knows his worth doesn’t hinge purely on that man’s hands on him, so maybe that makes it all a little easier to bear.

He’s going to dig his way out.  He’s going to be the one to leave, not get left behind, and he’s going to make damn sure that he’s got the money to get out okay this time.  He never wants to be homeless again.

After five most people clear out of the office, Quackity does not.  As such, Karl has taken to handling dinner as well.  Quackity only allows it if Karl lets him buy dinner half the time, otherwise he’ll start to worry about how Karl is making ends meet considering the watch-thief business is far from consistent, but that becomes part of their routine too.  Karl stays and manages to sit quietly, albeit not still, for the extra hour or two Quackity stays to work.  Then they leave together.  Quackity knows it’s risky, but he doesn’t want Karl walking home after dark so often, especially all the way from the West side, so Quackity takes the risk.  Schlatt has no interest in Quackity’s job other than using it as another thing to control.  It still makes him nervous every night walking to his car, but that’s a good thing.  Nervous keeps him alert, nervous keeps him and Karl alive.

It’s a quarter til 6 when Quackity’s phone rings, making him jump.  He’s got all the nearby windows open, the summer heat making the building’s shit AC all but useless, and other than him, there’s no one left.  Quackity knows it will be Karl.  He also knows he’s supposed to meet Schlatt for drinks with some rich idiot or another at 8.  He should tell Karl he can’t tonight.

“Oh, is this Mr. Quackity HQ?  I seriously need a lawyer, I gotta sue my boyfriend.”

Quackity grins, knowing he looks lovesick.  “Oh yeah?  What for?”

“He’s too gorgeous.  It’s a threat to the public.”

“Wait, are you suing me, or do I need to be put away?” Quackity laughs.

“Oh, uh, I dunno, you pick,” Karl giggles.  “Whatever gets you to let me bring you dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah sure.  I mean, I gotta be out of here before eight, but you should come over til then.  I’m the last one left,” he sighs, looking around the empty office.  “As per usual.”

“Well don’t worry, your assistant will be there in like an hour, with food!”  He loudly kisses the receiver.

Quackity laughs, doing the same, before hanging up.  His irritation has, for the moment, dissipated.  A little less than an hour later, he hears the door buzzer, rounding the hall past the empty front desk to see Karl knocking rapidly on the glass doors, a takeout bag held aloft like a prize.

“I got Chinese food!” Karl enters the empty office like he owns the place.

“Aw, thanks, babe!” Quackity kisses his cheek, returning to his desk.

“You’re not gonna work and eat, are you?” Karl pouts.  “Come on, just take a break!”

“Karlos, I’ve gotta be out of here by eight, so I need to finish this,” Quackity gives him a look, sitting back at his desk.

Karl steals the rolling chair from the desk adjacent to his, wheeling behind him and putting his arms over his shoulders, staring uncomprehendingly at the paperwork.

“You can stay there, if you don’t–“ Quackity stops with a giggle as Karl kisses his neck, “if you don’t do that! Jesus, Karl–“

Karl laughs, proud of his mischief before pulling back.  “Sorry, sorry, I know you’ve got important lawyer-y things to do.”

“Yeah, not really,” Quackity mutters.

Karl at least gets him to eat, but he’s still anxiously consumed by the research he’s been tasked with, that is, scrounging for a loophole his superior is pretty sure exists to explain why his client was not actually embezzling.  Quackity doesn’t think said loophole actually exists, and is far more sure they should be getting the accuser to fold; he’d looked weak.  Nonetheless, not his case, and he’s been given his task.

Karl is better at keeping quiet after that, bouncing his leg and chewing the pencil he stole off a neighboring desk, but he’s clearly miserable.

“Babe, you don’t have to stay,” Quackity sighs fondly.  “After this, I’m supposed to go to Schlatt’s anyway, so, if you wanna leave, you can.  We’ve had dinner, mission accomplished.”

Karl pouts, but gets up from the chair and meanders toward the door, walking backwards.  “Okay, fine.  I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch though, right?”

“Yeah, but hey!  You’re not gonna give me a kiss goodbye?” Quackity spreads his arms, as if offended.  “What, you don’t wanna give me a kiss with garlic breath?”

Karl tilts back on his heels, just before turning into the hall toward the front doors, walking back to Quackity to give him a kiss.  He won’t realize how lucky he was until much later, because after that, the door buzzer goes off again.

Karl pulls back, staring at Quackity, puzzled.  Quackity’s eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowed.  Karl knows he’s thrown off, even if he’s trying not to show it.  “Stay here,” he says softly, getting up from his desk.

“Q–”

“Stay back here, alright?” Quackity says more sharply. Karl listens, standing by Quackity’s desk, ready to move to his side if need be.

Quackity approaches the corner to the front desk.  There’s no way he can get a look at the doors without the person seeing him.  He knows it’s not one of the other staff members, because they would have had a keycard and he doubts it’s a fucking client ringing the bell on a dark building well after hours.  There’s one candidate that he’s praying he’s wrong about.  Why would he come here? He never has before, but he does know where Quackity works.

Maybe Quackity should know better about his own luck, because he looks and of course, there’s Schlatt, standing with his hands in his pockets, leaning back and giving him a smirk and smarmy little wave when he spots him.

“Schlatt!” Quackity says loudly.  “What– You’re here!  One sec, I gotta let you in.”

Around the corner, Karl has scrambled toward the back of the room, he’s about to disappear into the bathroom, he hears Schlatt’s grating voice from around the corner, when he remembers his food is on Quackity’s desk, with his cup, and his set of chopsticks, a.k.a. a glowing red beacon saying someone else was here.  Karl knows they’re in the building now, but if they’re going to get caught, they’ll at least do it together.  So he vaults over a desk and grabs his stuff. He can’t make it to the back of the room, they’re too close.  Karl ducks behind the neighboring divider just in time, crawling underneath the desk.  He pulls the desk chair in, knees tucked up to his chest, and heart hammering in his ears.  He’s breathing hard.  He covers up his mouth and tries to bury it.

Quackity knows he’s smiling too wide, but he doesn’t know how to stop.  He looks ahead as they turn the corner, walking past Schlatt enough that he can’t see him frantically scan the office for signs of Karl, but it seems Karl had taken the hint and cleared out, he has no clue as to where.  Still, he returns to his desk and realizes Karl had also thought to grab his food.

“I surprised you, huh?” Schlatt chuckles.  “Just thought I’d come pick you up on the way to that trust-fund brat’s little soiree,” he says mockingly.  “Good to know you’re actually working, and not, I dunno, snorting coke in the bathroom,” Schlatt leans against his desk, scanning the office in general disinterest, “isn’t that what these white collar pricks do all day?”

“Nope, still just, fucking working, y’know?” Quackity says.  He keeps his hands folded behind his back, otherwise he fears Schlatt might notice they’re shaking.  He has no clue where Karl is.  He has no clue what Schlatt might do next.  “Look, I’m pretty much finished up here, we should go!”

“Why the rush?” Schlatt teases.  “Eh?  You don’t want me to see where you’re spending your days?”  He meanders further into the office, staring at the small section of cubicles for the junior lawyers working mostly as paralegals.  “Look at this place!  You’re a bunch of fucking cube monkeys, working away in your little boxes.”

Schlatt, if he were to wander a little more to the left, if he were to then turn around, he might notice one chair poking out more than the others, he might notice the edge of a trenchcoat attached to a very scared young man.  But he doesn’t turn left, he stops there, turning back to Quackity, who is doing his best to bottle irritation alongside his own terror that Schlatt has invaded one of the few places of his life left untouched just to mock it.

“Yeah, well,” Quackity laughs and considers how good it would feel to take his coworker’s mug of pens and hurl it at Schlatt’s head.  “Gotta start somewhere, right?”

“Sure, cute,” Schlatt sneers, returning to Quackity’s desk, closing in on Quackity there, glancing at the paperwork like he’s thinking it might be interesting, before deciding it definitely is not.  “Takeout?  Is this the type of garbage you’ve been eating every night?” Schlatt tuts him.  “See, this is what happens when you spend too much time away from me, you’re gonna ruin your body, and trust me, you need that if I’m gonna keep you around,” he laughs.

Quackity knows his cheeks are red, and he knows Schlatt is going to get a particular satisfaction from that, and normally he might let smaller comments like that go, but it’s harder knowing Karl could be hearing every fucking word.

“There’s not much to see, Schlatt,” Quackity shrugs.  He presses himself back against his desk, that doesn’t make Schlatt feel any less close.  “You’ve now seen it.  We should go, getting drinks with… with that trust fund brat will be a lot more fun, right?”  He’s hoping the mention of drinks might motivate Schlatt toward the door, but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush.

“Nah, it won’t get interesting over there for at least another hour,” Schlatt waves him off.  “You’ve been neglecting me, baby,” he gives Quackity a chastizing look.  “You’re working too much,” he steps closer, pinning Quackity to his desk, his hands snake their way around his hips, leaning in and kissing Quackity’s neck, his beard scratchy and nothing like Karl, and Quackity lets him, because as long as he’s here and occupied, he’s not going to stumble into Karl.

“Come on,” Schlatt sighs, still noting Quackity’s wavering focus.  “What do you want from me?  You’re just so… adorable up on your little desk, looking more like a slutty secretary than a lawyer.”  He laughs, pulling back so he can hold Quackity’s face, squeezing his jaw too tight.  “You don’t wanna do something actually interesting in this shithole?”

“No, Schlatt, I don’t,” Quackity puts his hands on Schlatt’s shoulders, not quite daring to push the man back, merely the implication of that being what he wants.  “This is– This is my place of work, and I wanna keep it that way–”

Schlatt silences him with another kiss and Quackity has half a mind to hit him, but then he pulls back.  “Fine, you fucking prude, come on, I’m parked outside.”

Quackity leaves his food and paperwork strewn over his desk, something he knows his coworkers won’t appreciate in the morning, but he doesn’t have much say with Schlatt’s arm around his waist, pulling him back toward the front door.  He risks a glance over his shoulder, but still, he sees no sign of Karl.  He buries the shame in his gut.  He at least convinced Schlatt to leave.  Karl could’ve heard a lot worse.

Schlatt unlocks the car, going to open the door into the back seats.

“Come on, Schlatt, I’d– I’d rather just go get drinks, y’know?” Quackity doesn’t follow.

Schlatt gives him a look, clearly annoyed.  “You’re turning into a real nagging bitch, do you realize that?  Come on, Schlatt, let’s go get drinks!  No, honey, I don’t realize what I’m actually good for, I’d rather just fucking lead you on like I’m some virgin cheerleader!” Schlatt mocks him, but he gets in the driver’s seat.  Quackity feels like he’s dodged another bomb, not bothering with snapping back at Schlatt; the thought of Karl thinking the coast is clear and trying to leave through the front, while Quackity and Schlatt are still here, fuck.  What a way for both of them to die.

Karl remains in the office, underneath the desk, for five more minutes; until his knees ache, until he thinks if he keeps sitting there with his face buried in a half empty box of chow mein he’ll puke, at that point, he pushes the chair out from the desk, crawling back out and standing, looking around the office like he’s just emerged from a bunker, but there’s nothing and no one there.  He walks back over to Quackity’s desk, the papers have been crumpled slightly, pushed aside.  He doesn’t touch them, but he does take the rest of the trash from their dinner and tie it back in the bag.  He’ll toss it on his way home.

Karl doesn’t know if he’s more scared or angry, so instead he just stands there, frozen in the empty dark, the absence of Schlatt’s grating voice makes the room almost peaceful, but Karl can still hear him, saying things he knows will make Quackity squirm.  Karl wants that man dead.

Instead, he leaves out the front door, stares at Quackity’s car still empty in the parking lot, and walks home.

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Michael Protective Of Luke Masterlist

Before It's All Too Much. (ao3) - alxclightwood G, 3k

Summary: "Luke, what's wrong?" he heard, getting quieter as the room began to spin and darkness clouded his vision, his body finally allowing him to succumb to the relief of unconsciousness.

________________________

AKA Luke likes to be dramatic when he's ill.

Cursed With A Blessing (ao3) - orphan_account M, 156k

Summary: “Well, this probably sounds crazy and not many people know about this,” Dr London started, looking at both of us before finally revealing the results of the ultrasound: “Mr. Hemmings, you are about 12 weeks pregnant with what I believe is Mr. Clifford’s child.”

And while I still tried to process what I had just learnt, Luke burst into tears beside me. Just as if he’d already known.

_____________

When Luke asked Arzaylea to pretend to be his girlfriend, he did it because he wanted to protect his relationship with Michael. For a while everyone is happy with the agreement - the fans are being fooled, their managers are oblivious.

But suddenly there are too many positive tests, too many worries, too many fake friends and the tree find themselves drowning in a whole sea of lies they told...

Faker (ao3) - 1995mgc M, 42k

Summary: "What do you mean Michael was seen with another guy?" Luke asked, looking over at Calum with furrowed brows and hurt expression. "That doesn't make sense, he wouldn't cheat on me."

"I don't know what is going on... I'm just as confused as you are Luke."

or

Where Michael and Luke have been outed by a few drunken photos that got leaked from their phones. Now that their relationship has supposedly gone public, their management has decided to take matters into their own hands and only giving Michael an ultimatum.

The band or Luke.

Well, Michael chose the band... Choosing the band resulted in giving Michael a beard to prance around the city with and expect people to believe he's dating a moderately famous person to bring more publicity to the band. Leaving Luke broken hearted with no explanation on to why any of this is happening so suddenly or why Michael moved out of their apartment or why Michael isn't the same Michael anymore.

floating then drowning (ao3) - lovelymuke T, 9k

Summary: As Luke stands over the bathroom sink and swallows one of the pills, he knows that this is it. There's no turning back after this. As long as he can make the bottles of pills he has stashed in the bottom of his suitcase last until the end of the promo run he’ll be fine. So he doesn’t worry. Instead, he just knocks back the second pill and walks out of the bathroom to his waiting boyfriend. He’s going to prove that he’s still worthy of being in the band, that he can hold himself together.

If he needs medication to do that, no one needs to know.

makeup isn't just for girls - @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) T, 3k

Summary: During Quarantine, Luke takes up nail painting as a hobby. Eventually, he adds makeup too. When he's with the boys again for tour, he comes clean about his new hobbies. Unfortunately, not all of his boyfriends are supportive.

perfectly fine... (not) (ao3) - lovelymuke T, 7k

Summary: In which Luke is sick, stubborn and trying to deal with his problems on his own. Michael is unaware, exhausted and honestly kind of, just a little bit, sick of Luke’s shit.

The Games We Play (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance luke/calum, michael/mali E, 30k

Summary: Michael has always warned his friends to keep away from his boyish little sister, Lucy (Luke). But what happens when Lucy secretly allowed Calum to get a little too close to her? Will something blossom between them? Was it Love or simply Lust?

The Sweetheart and the Punk (ao3) - SuckonLarrysDick G, 1k

Summary: "You know, even if my knuckles keep on splitting open, I won't stop punching people that push you around."

"Oh stop it Michael"

Or the one where Michael loves beating dickheads that bully his sweet boyfriend.

This calls for a band cuddle (ao3) - Bubballoo G, 1k

Summary: Luke doesn't feel well and crawls into Michael's bed. The solution? A band cuddle.

this is everything i didn't say - @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) T, 6k

Summary: Luke's home life has never been great, with an abusive and homophobic father. Calum is the only good consistent thing in his life, with Calum being Luke's best friend. One day, Calum suggests that Luke meets some new people to hang out with. Luke is hesitant, but then he meets a red head named Michael Clifford, and everything changes.

you gave me hope, i gave you my life (ao3) - orphan_account M, 15k

Summary: The boy's left side of his face badly bruised, and his lip was busted and bleeding. His feathery blonde hair was stained with red, which Michael assumed was blood.

"Don't take me back," The boy sobbed. "I tried to run. P—Please, help m—me!" And he clutched Michael'a sweater sleeve tightly. Michael could feel his fear just through one touch.

Or,

The one where Luke runs away from an abusive home and runs into Michael. For some reason, Michael can't help but feel he needs to protect the delicate boy.

You see a lot up there but don't be scared, who needs action when you got words (ao3) - charlieclifford N/R, 1k

Summary: Luke's new to the school and people aren't too kind towards him. Luckily, Michael's there to fight his battles for him when he's too afraid to do it himself.

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

Imagine helping Legolas deal with a sprained ankle

It was all your fault, so Legolas would say.

“If you hadn’t had been so reckless, I wouldn’t have had to jump down from the boulder to assist you with the orc,” he’d complain regularly, from his position forcibly laying down in his sleeping pack with an elevated foot.

Whenever he’d try to rise again to bicker louder with you, a tending Aragorn would push him down again with a hand to his chest.

It was funny the first few days, you couldn’t lie, but now? Well, now it was just sad.

Legolas prided himself on his athletic ability, that much was obvious to you and the rest of the Fellowship early into your journey.

He’d regularly prance ahead like a young foal, or walk across snow with a smug smirk on his face. He was the strongest member there, and never let anyone forget it. This is also why he took injury the worst out of everyone.

It wasn’t, in all actuality, technically your fault. You needed help with an orc, yes, but Legolas timing his jump wrong and spraining his ankle had nothing to do with you.

Alas, he was gaining cabin fever from his immobilised state, therefore anger was bubbling in his chest—directed at you. You didn’t take it personally, but it was starting to wear down on you.

The walks through the days were slower, as Legolas would limp along with a homemade walking stick, fashioned out of a long branch.

Whenever he’d notice you or someone else looking at him over his shoulder, as he bared his teeth in wincing hurt, he’d quickly glare and push on harder.

You’d softly shake your head, but look away regardless.

It was unnatural to see an elf in such a state, like roses freezing over. Even more so, it was unnatural to see Legolas so grumpy. He was quite light-hearted at the beginning of the journey—you remember making a mental note that he’d probably be one of the best to hang around with due to so.

Alas, his sprained ankle and no doubt self-inflicted embarrassment brought the deeply rooted competitiveness out within him.

You were all sat around a fire tonight (save for Boromir and Gimli, who were off scouting the area), like many other evenings—laughing and pulling rabbit meat off of a skewer.

Legolas was a few yards away, pouting in his sleeping bag. You had brought his food to him a few minutes earlier, but he turned you away and claimed he wasn’t hungry.

“You’ll need sustenance to heal, little elf,” you laughed, trying to humour him.

All you received was a gruff grunt, and, “Don’t tell me how elves heal—I’m quite aware of my own race, thank you very much.”

You heard Pippin hissing through a wince, and bared your own teeth in cringe as you turned on your heel and headed back towards the campfire.

“Pay him no mind,” Aragorn said, leaning across to you. “Elves, especially the Mirkwood strain, are very prideful folk. He’ll come to his senses once his foot heals.”

“I can’t imagine it’ll heal anytime soon if he keeps pushing himself every day like he’s doing,” you pointed out.

Aragorn sighed. “That is entirely Thranduil’s blood coming out in him.”

“Remind me to never step foot in Mirkwood then,” you grinned.

Aragorn gave a toothy smile back, and bonked his skewer with yours in a “cheers to that” motion.

You could feel Legolas’ eyes burning into the back of your head, but paid it no mind. You didn’t dare glance over your shoulder, lest Mordor freeze over.

The rest of the camp continued on in low chatter, that is until Boromir and Gimli came rushing back—completely out of breath.

“What is it?” Aragorn asked right away.

“Orc scouts,” Boromir answered, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Thirty, give or take, approaching from the west.”

The camp looked around at each other quickly in fright, before Aragorn jumped into action. Rising to his feet, he grabbed his sword and dictated everyone else to do the same.

“We’ll meet them half way and use the element of surprise,” he said.

Legolas began rising to his own feet, though, a great deal of strained effort was noticeable on his end.

“I’m coming, I just need to get my bow,” Legolas announced, barely able to move the foot resting on a sleeping pack.

“No, not you, mellon nîn,” said Aragorn, upholding a hand and motioning for Legolas to lay down again. “Please, stay behind. Though your valiance is admirable, you will only get in the way of this fight. Rest, and fight when your ankle heals.”

Legolas’ face contorted in hurt, and you imagined this was the first time the athletic prince had ever been sidelined.

You all stood around in misplaced guilt, fiddling with your swords and avoiding eye contact with Legolas.

Finally, the elf’s jaw set, and he forcibly fell back down into sheets—turning over and pulling the covers up over his shoulder.

“We can’t leave him vulnerable,” Sam pointed out, whispering quietly as to not anger Legolas further. However, you could see his pointed ears twitching back, and knew he heard every gut-punching word.

Aragorn nodded, and turned his eyes to you. The hobbits had to stay under the protection of Aragorn, and leaving Frodo and the Ring out of sight and alone behind in the camp simply wasn’t an option.

Aragorn gestured between you and Legolas discreetly. Understanding his words, you dropped your shoulders and sighed.

“I’ll stay back and tend to the camp,” you announced.

The rest of the Fellowship gave you an apologetic look, before running off into the forest towards the orcs.

You were soon left with the silence of the camp, save for the angered breathing of Legolas and the crackling of the dimming fire.

Stood there unsure of what to do in the awkward space, you continued fiddling with the pommel of your sword, and looked at Legolas.

His back was rising and falling quickly—clearly infuriated with the whole situation. You felt bad for him, you really did, but you were still unsure of how to approach him.

Looking down to the fire again, you saw untouched skewers of meat, and arrived at a resolution.

With the food in hand, you walked over to the prince. He could hear you coming, and with every crunch of your boots on the foliage, his eyes twitched.

Sitting down beside his back, you placed a hand on the broad of his shoulder and shook him gently. “The rabbit smells really good, and has that beautiful, slightly charred smoky taste. Seems a waste to not eat it, no?”

“Not hungry,” Legolas grumbled.

“You need to heal your ankle, Legolas,” you said again, this time sterner. “You need to ea—”

“Not. Hungry.”

Thinning your lips, you shook your head down at Legolas in disappointment. “Legolas, I know you’re upset with me regarding your ankle, but holding a grudge isn’t going to—”

He swiftly turned over in his pack, and stared at the dimming fire.

“We need more firewood,” he said, glaring at the dying flames.

You followed his line of sight, and noticed he was indeed right. However, you recalled the orcs and what Aragorn expected of you.

“We’ll just have to wait for the others. I can’t leave the camp to fetch more, and I definitely can’t leave you vulnerable to—”

“Ugh! I’ll do it myself!” Legolas exclaimed. He rose swiftly and tried limping out into the woods with clenched fists and squared shoulders.

“Legolas!” you called, quickly grabbing your sword and cursing under your breath. “Wait! You shouldn’t be on that ankle!”

But he was already marching on.

Heading a few strides out into the forest, Legolas went farther and farther to find the best firewood. You ran behind him, surprised he could go so far for someone who was injured.

“Wait!” you yelled again, finally jumping out in front of him. “Go back to sleep, Legolas. Now.”

He merely glared at you, and stepped around your form—pushing on.

Groaning in frustration, you turned around and pulled on his shoulder. “I’m serious, Legolas! There are orcs out here at the moment, and I need to stay by the camp!”

“Then you can go back,” Legolas growled, forcibly shoving your hand off of his shoulder. “I don’t need to be babysat by you.”

“No,” you agreed, “but you do need my help with your ankle!”

Grabbing the bottom of his cloak, you started pulling him back towards the camp.

“Let go!” he shouted, digging his one good heel into the ground and pulling his cape back—initiating a tug of war between you both.

“No!” you denied, pulling the cloak again. “You’re coming back with me, and that’s final!”

“NO!” Pull. “I’m helping by getting firewood!”

Yank. “You’re not helping at all! You’re putting me in a tough situation instead!”

“It’s not your problem!” Tug.

“Yes, it is!” you exclaimed, pulling the cloak one more time. “It is my problem, because you’ve become a HUGE problem for the entire Fellowship!”

Upon pulling one last time, Legolas lost his footing and tripped, causing you both to fall down.

You each groaned in pain as your backs were sprawled across the foliage. Legolas was the first to sit up, but immediately yelped in pain as he did so.

He held his ankle tight, and bared his teeth as to stop himself from crying out.

“It’s worse,” he whispered, avoiding your eyes. “My ankle—I think I hurt it more.”

You stared at Legolas in horror, as he clutched said sore ankle. You sat up next to him, and ran a finger along it.

He jolted immediately, and fought back another cry by biting down on his bottom lip.

“Dammit, Legolas…” you cursed, furrowing your brows and shaking your head. “Why couldn’t you have just listened to me? You need to rest.”

Upon glaring up at him, you were taken aback, for there were unshed tears in the elf’s eyes. He was clearly holding himself back from letting them fall, as he sniffled and studied his ankle.

“Legolas?” you called softly, reaching a hand up and gently directing his chin to face you. “What’s going on with you?”

Letting the first tear fall, and swallowing the lump in his throat, Legolas spoke up in a quiet voice—finally unbottling his emotions.

“I’m supposed to be the athlete,” he said, studying your eyes before looking down again. “I was always the best in training. I’ve pushed myself through rain, mud and more, because I’ve always been the best. And now? Now I can’t even fetch firewood for my friends...”

Sympathy overtook your eyes, as you suddenly understood the elf.

“You still are the best here, Legolas,” you promised, trying to catch his eyes as he averted them. “A sprained ankle means nothing in the grand scheme of it. You are, without a doubt, the strongest one of us here. None of us think differently of you simply because you’re hurt.”

“But I feel so useless!” he exclaimed, letting a few more tears fall. “My friends are out there right now pulling their own weight against the orcs, and I’m stuck here crying on the ground because I can’t even walk.”

“But you will walk again,” you assured him, turning his chin once more. “And when that day comes—which isn’t too far off, mind you—those orcs will wish they hadn’t ever left Mordor.”

You laughed brightly for a moment in afterthought, earning a smile from Legolas.

“What?” he asked gently.

“Do you remember how you took that cave troll down in Moria?” you chuckled again, thinking of the memory. “You scaled atop the darn thing and shot two arrows into its brain!”

“Three…” Legolas sheepishly corrected, now grinning in a shy way.

“Three,” you annulled, grinning back up at him. “Trust me, Legolas. Your friends think nothing less of you than pure amazing talent. Don’t let it eat away at you.”

Legolas nodded to himself for a moment, before another sheepish grin formed on his lips. “Speaking of eating…are there any of those rabbit meat skewers still left back at camp?”

You smiled warmly, and helped him up.

He tentatively accepted your aid, and slowly wrapped an arm over your shoulder, as you helped him limp back to camp.

“C’mon, athlete. Let’s get you some food.”

[julek]

@themountainarchives day 13!

Title: hiraeth

Prompt: homesickness for a place you can never return to

Pairing: geralt/jaskier

Rating & Wordcount: Teen and Up Audiences - 600 words

Warnings: none.

read on ao3!

Destiny offers Jaskier a second chance.

He’s in Posada again, his hair a little grayer around the edges, this time. His clothes are not as vibrant as they once were, though he still holds himself with elegance and poise. The rings on his fingers are heavy against the cheap wood of the table that, cheap as it may be, still stands.

After all those years.

The bard that’s prancing across the room is young, feet light as a feather. His eyes hold that brand-new innocence that spring brings to young souls, the radiant flush of his cheeks spreading the cheer in his song. He can barely contain his excitement, his hands moving fast on his lutestrings as he dances in tune, stealing glances and blowing kisses and laughing and laughing some more.

Jaskier knows it all too well.

He hears him before he sees him, a rare thing these days.

“His voice is flat,” says a flat, even voice beside him.

Jaskier’s gaze remains on the bard. It’s a mirage, he thinks.

He hopes.

“He’s new,” Jaskier replies quietly. “Fresh out of Oxenfurt.”

“Like you were.”

Jaskier nods.

“Jask—”

“I brought him here,” Jaskier says, distant. “He’s too used to the anonymity of singing with a crew, at the back of a room. I know potential when I see it, and he— he’s full of it.”

They watch as the bard belts out a high note, almost to perfection.

“Is it cruel of me, wishing he’d get pelted with food too?” Jaskier smiles. “Don’t know where he’d store the bread, though. His breeches have some of those hideous, impractical fake-pockets, sewn right at the seam.” He takes a swig of his ale. “Ridiculous, what people dare to call fashion these days.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, and it almost sounds like a plea.

Almost.

Jaskier looks at him.

He hasn’t changed much. Then again, he never did — seasons would change, empires would fall, and Geralt would still be there, face impassive and clad in leather as if charging into battle. His swords are still strapped to his back.

The weary expression is new.

“I want him to succeed.” Jaskier turns to look at the bard, filling the silence Geralt hasn’t broken. “He’s one of my best students. The first in his family to complete his studies. I’m proud of him.”

The bard finishes his song with a flourish. People ask for one more.

Jaskier smiles.

“They love him already,” he says, almost wistfully. “He’ll be booked at every court for the summer.”

“Will you?”

“Ah, I’m afraid not.” Jaskier sniffs. “I hung up my lute years ago. I’m too old for it, anyway.”

Geralt takes a seat beside him.

In his mind’s eye, Jaskier can see it all again. The dust on Roach’s saddle as they rode into Dol Blathanna, the shimmer of Geralt’s hair under the burning sun. The open sky before them as they left, free and rewarded, the road stretching on forever.

But that was lifetimes ago.

“Jaskier.”

“You’ve called my name three times over.” Jaskier sips the last of his ale. “You’re the only one who calls me that anymore.”

“By your name?”

Jaskier nods. “It’s Julian, now.”

“I have— there’s so much I want to say to you.”

Jaskier looks at him, into false-colored eyes. Something in his chest gives.

“Three words or less.”

In his mind’s eye, Jaskier can see it all again. The unsteady planks and the infernal winds and the setting sun. A magic-borne tent that held more promise than his bleeding heart.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt tells him.

Jaskier’s student comes over to their table. Jaskier stands.

“What a performance!” He tells him, and the bard laughs, exhilarated. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, Professor,” says the bard, a sheepish smile on his face. “Shall I meet you outside?”

“Yes, go on. I’ll be there in a minute.”

And his student leaves.

“Jask, I—”

“I loved you, you know.”

Geralt looks at him.

Jaskier sighs.

“I was wrong.”

[kimberly-spirits13]

Body Swap HC (Request) Batboys x reader (Gender N.)

Dick Grayson:

Suddenly Dick just wakes up

In some lavish hotel that happens to be in the same place as where you’re touring 

there’s a massive oh shit moment and then it’s like OH SHIT IM A SUPER STAR TODAY 

that totally doesn’t go to his head at all for a few seconds and then he realizes that he CANNOT ruin your reputation at all at this point 

so he tries to start rewatching the clips of your performances to learn the choreography 

that's when you wake up without an alarm panicked and freaking out 

WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING 

Jason comes running into the room and you scream covering yourself 

“Y/N?!?”

“Wait how’d you know?” 

“Dick screeches not yells.” 

“So you’re saying I’m more of a man that- never mind, how the hell do we fix this before my show?” 

You’re taken down to the cave where the forces of Constantine and Zatanna are called 

they try for hours and hours so that you’re able to get to your body again 

That's when they find that they need the two of you together 

So Constantine zaps Dick from New York to Gotham to finish this quickly 

“What the fuck is happeni- on hey me- I mean.... Y/N... Right?”

“Yeah.”

So you finally have it fixed and you’re back to the stadium right as you’re coming on

“Y/N WAIT!” 

Z comes and basically transforms you into your stage clothes and you run up to the stage for your performance right on time 

You do find however that Dick was prancing and walking around in costumes dancing to pop music 

Jason Todd:

What the fuck

He wakes up in your apartment suddenly and doesn’t remember anything that happened the night before

Which isn’t normal at all considering he typically always remember the patrol at least

What’s more startling is when he can’t find you

In your own apartment?

He walks into the bathroom and it all makes .... less sense but like okay now this is why you aren’t here

So now he’s gotta find you and how to fix it

He goes to the cave and the sensors recognize him as you

“Hey Y/N, your swords are here, you left them last night?” Dick came in and handed them to him

“Uh, so where’s Y- Jason? Where’s Jason?”

“Hasn’t woken up yet.”

Well then

Just as Jason is about to head upstairs, he gets a distress signal on your phone

So of course he goes to it cause this can wait since he’s pretty sure it’s not life threatening

So he goes and finds that there’s some people that have issue with you and your line of work

Does he kick their asses just cause he can and has unresolved anger caused by the nights you almost died coming home cause of them

Yes, yes he does

That’s when he gets a call from you on his phone and goes back to the manor to get this sorted out

“Who did this?”

“Former teammate gone rouge. He’s an idiot” you said coming in with a charm to switch the bodies

Once back, Jason’s relieved cause that was weird

Oh he also makes sure you know about the distress signal and all of that

Tim Drake:

This boy wasn’t ready to wake up in Stark Tower

Not at all

No one prepared him for Black Widow coming in and waking him- you up

Uhhhhh “Hey .... ms. Natasha, there’s something wrong

“Ms. Natasha? TIM?”

Uh yeah so that starts the whole issue of trying to find you

He calls you on your phone and you get a call from yourself

On Tim’s phone

Wait a seconnddddd

And then you realize and come running downstairs

“RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON COME HERE NOW”

Idk why Dick gets roped into this he just does

Once everyone’s caught up to speed you have to find Tim so you call him back

“Hey Timmy, where are you right now?”

“Stark Tower. Where are you? Manor I presume?”

“Correct. Don’t move, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” 

You arrive at the tower and are let in by your dad 

Tony leads you to his lab where Tim is in your body still in pajamas 

You’re both in pajamas still but that doesn’t matter 

Your dad has a bit of trouble getting the transformer machine to work so you help him

He finds it weird that you’re switched and wants to change it as fast as possible 

The man finally figures it out as Tim sits back and watches you and your father working this out 

Finally he works it out and you two give your phones back 

You just go back to your room with him and go back to sleep since you two need to be together incase it happens again

That means SLEEP

finally 

I wanna sleep 

Damian Wayne:

You’re a magic user like Zatanna or Constantine 

Basically what happens is Damian keeps up at how magic must not be that bad and difficult and eventually after enough pestering, you let him go through a spell book

Under his breath he tries it and it does work the way that he intended it to

See the spell wasn't supposed to transfer your minds into each other’s bodies

It was just supposed to teleport you to him 

Na man 

It doesn’t work immediately and he decides that he’ll say nothing about this since he doesn’t want you to tease him for not being able to do it 

That is until you suddenly start feeling super strange one night on patrol while you’re out and Damian is training in the cave 

He falls to his knees (same as you) and you’re both switched

Bruce turns around to see Damian (now you) straight struggling and comes over to you

“Uh... B? How’d I get here?”

“Okay which one of the boys are you now?”

“I’m Y/N....?”

“What did Damian do?”

“Probably fucked up one of my spells.” 

Bruce gets into your comm and contacts Damian who is now feeling the repercussions of this spell

You’re already upstairs getting your spell books, trying to find a solution to the problem

You’re not wanting to call Constantine or any of your mentors since you’re pretty sure that this has happened before and you’ve had to fix it 

not with Damian but this kind of thing isn’t new

“Alright genius show me which spell you messed up.” 

Damian comes and huffs next to you still in your body and finds the page in the book

“Ohhhhhh that’s not good.” you throw your head back and grumble 

“Why’d you have to mess up one of the most advanced spells in the book?”

Before Damian can question you, you’re preforming the counter spell of the body swap spell that he preforms 

it drains all of the energy out of you and as soon as you’re finished and the body swap is complete, you’re out of it for the night 

Damian rushes to catch you in case you fall, but you catch your balance on the counter top of the cave

“Now, you wanna not question me when I complain about a spell being difficult now?”

Damian just rolls his eyes and mutters an apology but feels bad as you two walk up the stairs to head to sleep

That’s the last time he tries to undermine magic 

[teenwolffanclub-me]

How Drunk Are You? (Stiles Stilinski x Reader)

Summary: You and your best friend, Stiles, can’t decide who’s more drunk after a night out with the pack. It doesn’t take long for your little competition to get out of hand.

Word count: 4,752

Warnings: drunk (but consensual) sexy times

Notes: I got this idea while drunk and may have gotten a little carried away but this one really just spoke to me so here ya go 😅

———————————————————————

You tumble out of the Uber, nearly falling flat on your face before a firm hand juts out of the car to steady you.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” Stiles chuckles from behind you as he steps out onto the sidewalk. “You’re way more fucked up than I thought.”

You twirl around to face him, nearly losing your balance for the second time. You furrow your brows and poke a finger into his chest harshly.

“You, sir, are wrong. I’m completely sober.” You wobble a bit in your heels, and he just rolls his eyes before slamming the car door shut and waving off your driver.

He takes only one step forward before his knees buckle, almost sending him crumpling to the ground beside you. He puts a hand on your shoulder to steady himself, breaking into a fit of giggles at his own intoxicated state. He’s trying to be the responsible one but honestly, he may be more gone than you.

You can’t help but laugh along with him as you help each other to your front door. Once there, you try turning the knob before realizing with a huff that you have to unlock it first. You let go of Stiles, who nearly loses his balance again, to rummage through your purse for the keys.

The bag suddenly seems endless as you shove receipts, sticks of gum, lip gloss, and other random shit out of the way to find your keychain. Finally, after what feels like several minutes to your drunk brain, you find them.

“Ah ha!” You call triumphantly and hold them up against your dim porch light.

“Hey. I’ll prove I’m more sober.” Stiles perks up with an idea, his caramel eyes dancing with amusement. “I bet I can unlock the door without looking.”

A laugh bubbles in your chest at the image of him doing that, and you instantly hand him the keys. You don’t think he’s actually coherent enough to succeed, but you know it’ll be entertaining to watch him try.

He waggles his eyebrows at you as he takes the keys and turns so that his back is to the door. He fumbles around blindly, chewing on his bottom lip in concentration. Your breathing slows as your eyes track the movement. You swallow thickly, feeling the familiar attraction you have for your best friend—that you usually keep tightly packed away—rise to the surface.

Admittedly, you’re a horny drunk. You can’t help but flirt with everyone and anyone you encounter while out partying, including your best friends that you’d never consider sleeping with, not even while intoxicated. But Stiles was a different story.

You’d been attracted to the spaz since you met him freshman year, although it was clear nothing was going to happen due to his obsession with a certain raven haired beauty. That was a couple years ago at this point, and he’d moved on, but the two of you were much too close to act on any lingering feelings now.

You laugh again as he continually fails to unlock the door, and decide to help him out. You lean forward, your chest only an inch away from his, and wrap your fingers around his hand. He stiffens against you, but you don’t notice through your drunk haze.

You peer over his shoulder and guide the key to where it needs to be, easily unlocking the door within seconds.

“You lose.” You quip, standing up straight to smirk at him before popping the door open and skipping inside.

What you don’t see is the way Stiles stands there for several moments collecting himself. You hadn’t even done anything, he thought. You’d barely touched him and here he was, clutching his chest in an effort to slow his racing heart. He was so screwed, being alone with you right now, but he was also way too drunk to do anything about it.

He clears his throat and finally walks inside, closing and locking the door behind him. Even while completely plastered, he knows a random supernatural creature could attack at any moment. Not that a wooden door would do much to keep them out, but the action was just muscle memory at this point.

He finds you lounging on the couch, your legs dangling over the armrest. He scratches at the side of his head as his eyes trail over you, trying his best not to make his simmering lust obvious. You were easily the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and that was when you were wearing sweats.

Right now, with you laying there, your skirt riding up and your breasts peaking out from the low neckline of your crop top, he was finding it hard to control his attraction.

“It’s my turn.” You push yourself up onto your elbows and let your eyes sweep around your living room and kitchen. “I bet I can make the fries I have in my freezer without burning the whole place down.”

Stiles groans excitedly at the idea. Anything greasy sounds like the absolute best thing he could put into his stomach right now. He nods encouragingly and you sway to your feet, giggling as you almost fall once again. You take a detour and slide your heels off at the front door, sighing with content as your feet finally relax.

He follows close behind you as you prance your way into the kitchen, telling himself it’s to keep you safe but knowing it’s actually because it gives him an amazing view of your ass. You preheat the oven and pop the freezer open before crouching down to rummage through your cabinets for a pan.

Stiles wants to avert his eyes. He wants to be a respectable young man and not openly gawk at his best friend, but he can see the edge of your red lacy panties with you bending over like that. He chews on his bottom lip and watches as you search for whatever it is you’re looking for. He can’t even remember what you’re supposed to be doing with your body on display like that.

You finally find the right pan for the job and pull it out with a triumphant smile before standing upright, much to Stiles’ dismay. You place the baking sheet on the stovetop and pour out a heaping pile of fries before resealing the bag and putting them away.

You turn on your heel to face your best friend, who was still somewhat in a daze, giving him jazz hands with a big grin.

“Ta-da!” You bounce your way over to the large island in the middle of your kitchen, proud of yourself for completing the first step of your bet.

Stiles’ hooded eyes follow you, his heart racing in his chest. He honestly can’t believe how lucky he is to call you his best friend. The two of you—along with the pack of course—had gone through so much the last few years. It was a miracle any of you were still alive, although not all of you were.

It was with the realization, that life is short and that he loves the shit out of you, that he decides to throw caution to the wind. You jump up onto the island, blissfully unaware of the breakthrough he just made. He gulps, the sight of you level with him now, your mini skirt all hiked up around your thighs and your tight crop top giving him a peak of midriff almost too much to handle.

He isn’t sure if he’ll regret this in the morning, but he’s also too drunk to care. Right now, he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything. He walks toward you slowly, his eyes trailing up and down your form as if it’s the first time he’s seeing it.

Your brows furrow at his sudden change in demeanor, the darkness swirling in his caramel eyes too hard to decipher from this distance. You watch closely as he moves forward until he’s only a foot away. He leans down, still taller than you even while you’re sitting on the counter, each of his hands bracing against the marble beside your hips.

“Stiles...?” Your voice trials off in question as you search his face.

“I bet,” He swallows down the last bit of hesitation bubbling in his throat and lets his eyes flutter down to your lips. “You won’t kiss me right now.”

Your breath catches at his words. Your eyes widen and you aren’t even sure you heard him correctly. Your mind instantly starts racing with questions. Is he just saying this because he’s drunk? Or could he possibly return the feelings you’ve been harboring for years?

To be completely honest, you don’t really care. You’ve wanted him for so long, and he looks ridiculously enticing in his red flannel and black bomber jacket. It was the alcohol that made you do it, sure, but it was more so the fact that you’ve wanted to kiss this man since you met him.

You cup the sides of his face and jerk him down to you, closing those last few inches. Your lips wrestle with his and he stiffens against you as if surprised, despite being the one to initiate this. The kiss isn’t pretty. It’s messy and heated. A battle of tongues and teeth as both of you fight for dominance.

One of his hands moves to your exposed knee, the other gripping your waist firmly. He lets out a broken moan against you, his head tilting to give him more room to devour you. Your hands tangle in his hair and you arch into him as his long fingers tentatively slide beneath the edge of your crop top.

Internally, he’s freaking the fuck out. He didn’t think you’d actually do it. He fully expected you to laugh the bet off and move on, but here you are. Kissing the shit out of him. He knows that he will never be able to come back from this moment. No matter what happens after this, he has to have you.

You pull away first, breathless, not from the kiss itself but because it’s him. It’s Stiles. Your best friend. You’re honestly a little surprised that he’s such a good kisser. Sure, he’s had girlfriends over the years, but damn.

The two of you sit painfully still for several moments. Stiles is afraid that if he moves even an inch, he’ll break whatever spell had come over you. He leans forward minutely, desperately wanting to kiss you again, but you press a hand to his chest and practically shove him away.

His eyes widen as he stumbles back, nearly falling to the floor, panic tightening in his chest. Did he fuck up? You regret it already? Is everything ruined forever?

You chew on your bottom lip as you look at him. His hair is all wild, his cheeks are flushed, his lips are plump and glistening. He’s sex on legs, and you’ve barely even gotten a taste. That one kiss is all it took to ignite the lust that’d been simmering within you all night.

You pull in a shaky breath, knowing that if you’re ever going to make a move, it has to be right now.

“I bet,” You say slowly, your voice low and sultry as you watch his eyes flicker over your face. “I can make you hard without even touching you.”

Stiles sputters silently, brain short circuiting at your words. He’s frozen in place. He wants to pump a fist into the air because this is actually happening but his muscles won’t move. He just nods, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

You giggle at his dumbstruck expression as you jump down from the island, the food on the stove completely forgotten. The edge of your lips twitch up into a smirk when you take a small step toward him and he stiffens. A surge of confidence moves through you at the sight of unmistakable desire in his eyes.

You hold his gaze as you grip the edge of your top and peel it over your head slowly. You’re suddenly very grateful that past you chose to wear your favorite matching red lacy set. Stiles’ eyes instantly trail down your exposed torso, although they keep flickering back to your breasts as if unable to look away.

You run your hands slowly along your shoulders, over your chest, and down your stomach. Stiles watches every one of your movements like they’re supplying the air he needs to breathe. You push your thumbs into the waistband of your mini skirt and pull it down a fraction of an inch before letting it go with a snap against your skin.

Stiles jumps at the sound, his glazed eyes locked onto the place your hands had just been. You take a few steps toward him, swaying slightly, and can’t help but giggle. This situation really is pretty ridiculous. You’re in your kitchen, preforming a strip tease for your best friend. It’s not something you ever thought you’d do.

You don’t stop until you’re only inches away from his heaving chest. You bat your eyelashes up at him and turn around so your back is just a hairs length from him. You bend over slowly, flicking your hair over your shoulder to look up at him as you wiggle your hips sensually.

You hear his shaky intake of breath and can’t help but smirk. If you’d known the effect you had on him, you would’ve done this years ago. He’s absolutely itching to touch you. His fingers are twitching at his sides in anticipation, but he doesn’t want to overstep your boundaries.

He wants to take you. To claim you as his. Pull you back against him and ravish you like the goddess you are. But he holds himself back. The ball is in your court, and he’s going to let you have your fun until he’s sure you’re ready for him.

You stand up straight and turn to face him, eyes skimming down to the obvious bulge at the front of his jeans. A slow smile pulls at your lips.

“You lose again.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. You’re afraid that if you speak any louder, it’ll break this tension, this electricity between you.

It’s at this moment that he snaps, his earlier thoughts instantly forgotten. He just can’t take it anymore. He’s been restraining himself for years and right now, after the show you just gave him, he can’t wait even a second longer to have you.

At once, you’re in his arms. He leans forward and captures your lips with his, sliding his palms down the backs of your legs before hiking them up around his waist. You squeal against him and tighten your thighs to hold yourself up.

His hands are on your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he blindly walks both of you toward the stairs. He doesn’t need to look. He has the entire layout of your house memorized after being here almost daily for years. He clambers up to the second floor, staggering and pausing a few times to deepen your kisses.

You feel feverish. His skin on yours is causing some sort of reaction. You’re burning up, hot crackling desire twisting in your stomach. You don’t even realize that he shoves his way through your bedroom door until he tosses you onto your bed. You bounce a few times, bracing your hands on the soft mattress to keep yourself upright.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him at the foot of your bed. He’s looking at you with this heat, this need. It makes you want to give him anything he asks for. You’re his, whether he knows it yet or not. You’re completely gone for your spaz of a best friend.

He suddenly takes a step forward and grips your ankles in each of his hands. He jerks you toward him until your legs are dangling off the edge of the bed. He pulls them apart and stands between them before dropping to his knees. Your eyes widen knowingly, a spark of excitement igniting in your chest.

“I bet I can make you cum in less than five minutes.” He smirks at the awestruck expression overtaking your face.

You nod your head enthusiastically, wanting nothing more than for him to ease the throbbing need between your legs. He runs his fingers up your shins, torturously slow, before stopping to squeeze your thighs gently. His eyes never leave yours as he moves higher and higher, dangerously close to exactly where you want him.

Stiles leans up and connects your lips again, this time a languid kiss as he lightly guides you down to the bed. You prop yourself up onto your elbows as he peppers gentle kisses down the column of your throat. A shudder moves through you at the feeling of his hair brushing against your heated skin as he moves across your collarbone.

He traces a path down your chest, stopping at your breasts to lap at your hardened nipples. You moan loudly, the feeling of his warm breath against you, along with the course material of your lacy bra enough to make you cum on its own.

He moves lower and lower until his fingers slide beneath the waistband of your skirt. His lips never leave you as he tugs it down over your hips before discarding it somewhere on the floor behind him. Your panties quickly join the pile as you shiver on your bed, dripping core now exposed to the chilly air of your bedroom.

Stiles’ darkened eyes flicker up toward yours as he parts your thighs and dives between them. You cry out when his tongue expertly brushes your clit, throwing your head back against the mattress. One of his hands glides up to squeeze your hip, while the other teases your entrance.

A pitiful whimper escapes you when he inserts a finger. It’s so long and thick and wow you’re really doing this with your best friend. He groans against you, sending delicious vibrations through your body. One of your hands tangles in his hair, pulling harshly when he flicks his tongue against your sensitive bud again.

You steal a glance down toward him and feel your heart swell at the look he’s giving you. His eyes are shining with adoration as he laps at your core like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Your eyes roll back when he pushes another finger inside you and starts pumping them quickly. You feel your stomach tightening already as his free hand snakes up to pinch your nipples delicately.

“Stiles...” You murmur breathlessly, back arching as another wave of pleasure crashes down onto you.

He nearly explodes in his jeans at the sound of his name on your lips like that. His eyes pinch shut as he tries to reel in his own desire so he can fully focus on you. He groans against you at the feeling of your core clenching around his fingers. He pulls them almost completely free before slamming them back inside, smirking at the way it makes you whine.

All it takes is one more lick against your clit, and you’re coming. You cry out, your body trembling from head to toe as intense waves of pleasure move through you. Stiles can’t help but moan at the sound as his free hand slides across your stomach to push you down against the bed.

He doesn’t stop until you sag against the mattress, completely spent. He finally pulls away, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand as a big grin overtakes his face. He’s been wanting to do that for way too long, and honestly can’t believe it just happened for real. He’s imagined it enough times to know it would be amazing, but that had exceeded his expectations.

You’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. All sweaty, flushed chest heaving, pupils blown wide from pleasure that he gave you. A sense of pride swells in his chest at the fact that he was able to make you feel so good.

Once you snap out of your blissful haze, you sit upright and jerk him toward you. You hungrily devour his lips, not feeling the least bit satiated by that mind blowing orgasm. You want—no, need—him. Right now.

He clambers up onto the bed, one of his hands moving to cup the back of your head as he climbs on top of you. You slide your hands along his shoulders beneath his flannel and practically rip it from his body. Next comes his undershirt, followed by the belt around his waist.

Your shaky hands fumble with the button of his jeans for a few seconds before he bats them away to undo it himself. Within seconds they’re gone too, joining the pile of clothes on your carpeted floor. You drag your fingers down his broad chest, pausing over the small patch of hair between his pecks.

He shudders against you, lips leaving yours to suck and lick his way down your neck. You palm him through his boxers and he grunts lowly, stiffening at the feeling. A trembling sigh falls past your lips as you explore his hard length through the thin fabric.

Suddenly impatient, you use both hands to pull the barrier down, eyes widening as his cock springs free. It’s so much bigger than you imagined. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about your best friend’s dick, but it still hadn’t prepared you for the real thing.

You wrap your fingers around him and he freezes against you. He presses his forehead to your shoulder as you pump him slowly. A moan rumbles through your chest at the feeling of him so exposed, so primal on top of you.

All he can do is huff out a few quick gasps as just your fingers set his body ablaze. He honestly feels like he might combust with the way his heart is sputtering in his chest. It takes every ounce of his willpower to peel your fingers away from him. He knows he won’t last long and he desperately wants to be inside you.

“Can I...is it okay if...” He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. He’s so tightly wound, so high off your presence that he can barely string his thoughts together.

“I have condoms.” You breathe, trying to convey with your eyes how much you want this. How much you want him.

He swallows thickly, hesitating for only a moment before sliding onto the floor to rummage through the bedside table you’d gestured toward. He pulls out a single foil packet and moves to sit next to you on the bed. He glances between his shaky hand and your eyes, suddenly needing reassurance.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He breathes, heart clenching in his chest at the possibility of you saying no.

Even if you do, he has to give you this moment to decide. He’s painfully aware that both of you are very intoxicated and may regret this in the morning. But he also knows that he’s wanted you for years and it might just kill him to stop now.

You trail your fingers along the side of his face, eyes rounding at the respect he has for you. You really love the idiot sitting in front of you, a realization that makes you lean forward and close the distance between you.

“Stiles,” You mumble against his lips. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to lose my mind.”

His eyes widen in shock at your urgency and he chuckles, tearing the small package open and rolling the condom on quickly. He reconnects your lips and pushes you down onto the bed gently. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the base of his skull.

Your head tilts back, a long moan escaping you as he enters you in one swift motion. His eyes pinch shut tightly as he braces a hand against your headboard to steady himself. All he can do is grunt and gasp for air as your heat clenches around him. After only a few trusts, he knows he’s going to explode any minute.

He slides an arm under your arched back and turns you both so that he’s now laying on the mattress. Your knees settle on either side of his thighs and his brows furrow as he grips your hips tightly.

“Please...” Stiles groans, not even sure what he’s asking for. You’re everywhere. Around him, on top of him, your delicious smell is enveloping his every sense with his head on your pillow. It’s all too much.

You press your palms onto his chest and swirl your hips, pulling a broken moan from him. You lift yourself up before gliding back down slowly, wanting to see how long you can tease him before he’ll snap. The memory of the way he’d lost control earlier has your core clenching around him. You want to see that again.

“Y/N, I c-can’t...”

You lean down to steal a quick kiss, almost instantly reading his mind. He flips you over again, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip as he starts pounding into you, hard. Your head knocks into the headboard with each of his jerky movements, but you don’t care.

Your stomach tightens and you whimper, not expecting to cum again so quickly. None of your other partners had ever gotten you off more than once in a session. Stiles brings a hand down blindly to rub quick circles over your clit and you cry out against his lips.

Within seconds, you’re both tumbling over the edge, a chorus of moans and shaky breathing the only sound in your otherwise quiet bedroom.

He collapses onto the bed beside you, chest heaving as he tries to make sense of what the fuck just happened. The lustful haze is clearing from his mind as his orgasm fades away. He’s left laying there, his best friend—who he just fucked—only inches away.

He lets his eyes trail over to you slowly, honestly terrified of what he’ll find. He needs to know what you’re thinking. His eyes search yours, but they’re guarded. Unreadable. He instantly starts panicking, heart sputtering in his chest as he bolts upright and quickly discards the condom in your trash can.

Your brows furrow from your position beside him, surprised by his sudden movement. A wave of exhaustion comes over you. It’s a mixture of the alcohol and the mind blowing sex you just had, and all you want to do is sleep it off.

You reach forward to clasp a hand around Stiles’ wrist, stopping him just before he stands from the bed. “Where are you going?”

Your heart falls into your stomach at the thought of him trying to run away from what you’d just done. There wasn’t a single part of you that regretted it. You wanted to do that since you met the idiot, so there was no way you’d be going back on it now.

You honestly didn’t even care if the two of you ever slept together again. You just needed him in your life. You weren’t going to let him disappear on you just because you gave into a night of passion.

“Oh. I-I didn’t know if you...you know, would want...” He stammers, eyes widening at the frown on your face. Maybe he misread the situation.

“Of course I want you to stay, you big dork.” You chuckle, tugging on his arm again.

His lips twitch into a grin, relief washing over him. He crawls back into the bed, peeling your comforter away so that you can join him beneath the warmth. You instantly curl into his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a familiar gesture. You’d cuddled many times before, but never like this. Never naked.

Stiles tries thinking of anything else to fight off his growing erection. Now was not the time for round two. You were basically asleep against him, your breath slowing to an even rhythm. He pulls you in tighter and lets his eyes flutter closed, knowing there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The last thought that flickers through his mind before he drifts off is that he could definitely get used to this new aspect of your relationship. He only hoped, come morning, that you’d feel the same.

[lubdubsworld]

Insatiable ( Jungkook x OC) Chapter 2

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x OC

Rating 18+

Genre : Vampire Au!!!! , DILF! Jungkook ! Bodyguard AU! Babysitter OC!   Age difference!!! [ bet you’ve never seen all of this in one fic before? ]

[ Some notes : Born Vampires stop aging when they turn twenty five.  Turned vampires stop aging when they’re turned. ]

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

“You alright?” Somi asked gently, watching me fling  my backpack into the corner of the room with enough force to dislodge one of the wooden panels on the wall, the shelf crashing and bringing down the two potted plants on it. The sound of ceramic shattering made me wince, regret churning in my stomach. 

“Yeah...yeah. Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Somi.. I broke your pots-”

“Never mind the pots...why do you look so upset? Have you been crying?” She demanded , reaching for me, hands curling around my wrists and drawing me into a hug and I swallowed, my throat dry and eyes swollen from all the tears that I’d wrung out of them. 

Outside the room, Namjoon stood guard, at the door and I felt guilty remembering how the past three hours had gone. 

After confronting Jungkook, I’d stormed off in righteous indignation and poor Namjoon had been forced to follow. 

He had kept a discreet distance as I climbed to the tallest ridge on the roof, scaling the gables with ease and I knew he had been terrified at the prospect of me falling. 

Immortal or not a three hundred foot drop to the ground would be something that would hurt.

And it was my bodyguard’s job to make sure I did not get hurt. 

When he wasn’t busy fucking other women that is. 

I gripped my sister harder, fingers curling into the fir of her coat as I tried to catch my bearing. 

“Do you know Helena?” I whispered, pulling away to look at her. Somi’s face fell,eyes filling with sympathy.

“Oh, no. Was she here?” She asked gently, reaching out and cupping my cheeks and my lips wobbled. 

“Why didn’t you warn me that he was in a relationship?” my voice shook and Somi shook her head. 

“He’s not!! God, Helena doesn’t do relationships. Jungkook and her.... well, I’m not sure but they’re just fuck buddies..... barely that. You know she’s from the Kim clan right? Those bloodsuckers never settle for one partner. “ She muttered. 

I stared at her.

“He called me a child and then told me he’ll tell dad if i try to make a move on him.” I whispered. 

Somi flinched.

“Sera....”

“It was humiliating and painful and I don’t ever want to think about it, ever again.” I muttered. 

She sighed. 

“It’s not like you don’t have men dying for a glance from you, Sera. You forget that you’re literally the most beautiful woman in the clan. If he rejects you, you’re definitely not the one missing out in that equation.” 

I nodded, misery seeping into me. My sob-fest on the roof hadn’t been wasted. I was angry at first but now, a sort of resigned acceptance had taken the place of my anger. 

 The look on Jungkook’s face had been too real, the emotion behind his rejection too potent for me to get over. I wasn’t sure I could change his mind.

Wasn’t even sure if I wanted to. 

“Was he very hurtful ? You know, if you tell dad, he’ll hire someone else and-”

“No.” I said immediately. “ I won’t do that. It’s not his fault, it’s minge. I acted out like a...well a child to be honest. He doesn’t owe me anything and he’s always been obvious in his disinterest. I was just too blinded my own attraction to consider that it wasn’t reciprocated.” I grimaced. 

God, I’d been an idiot and Jungkook’s words had knocked some good sense into my head. But I did care for him and his son and they needed this job. I wouldn’t put his job in jeopardy just because I didn’t get my way. 

I was better than that.

“Alright... Dad wanted to meet you for breakfast tomorrow.... He sounded serious. Do you know what that’s about?”

I groaned, when I remembered the reason my dad wanted to see me these days. 

“Dad wants me to start meeting men now. He thinks I’m old enough now that i’ve turned 21. He’s been badgering me for a whole entire month but I kept putting him off because of...well, because of Jungkook.” I admitted. 

Somi looked worried.

“You want to ? If you don’t we can talk to dad and-”

“No-” I shook my head.” I’m just gonna agree.” 

Somi looked surprised.

“Are you sure? Sera you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to-”

I smiled weakly. 

“I’m not going to be allowed to stay single forever Somi. Especially not when the entirety of dad’s day is spent trying to chase suitors away from the door. Do you know the Count from Jeju Do...dude’s a whole seven centuries old and he looks like a toad. He apparently tried to ask about me and Dad’s been freaking out.  “ I shuddered. 

Somi laughed.

“ That’s what you get for being you. But dad’s right. Keeping you away from everyone is only inviting more interest. And we don’t want you to be with someone insufferable.” She ruffled my hair and I hugged her again sighing into her shoulders.

No I didn’t want to be with someone who just saw me as some kind of a possession to be owned. I wanted someone nice and kind. A handsome man who did the right thing .  Someone who maybe, worked hard to give his kid a safe and protected life, someone who didn’t shun away from hard work and was a gentleman as well. 

Someone like-

“Someone other than Jungkook.” Somi said gently reading my mind. 

“I really liked him.” I whispered softly, feeling tears spring again. 

God, I thought I was all out of tears for Jeon Jung Kook but apparently I was wrong. 

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

I took extra care with my makeup the next morning, because my father usually had a ton of business meetings during his breakfast. I didn’t usually bother but , I was going to agree to his suggestions today and well, nothing wrong in delighting my father. And nothing made him happier than seeing me prance about  with pretty feminine clothes . 

My dad, for all his jovial cheerful air, loved his position as the head of the Hwang clan. And as his most prized possession , I was the apple of his eye. And while he didn’t treat me as an object or anything ( my dad loved me deeply and his affection was always evident. ) , there was no mistaking the fact that my dad enjoyed the power that came with being my guardian. Powerful men were willing to bend to his will, just for a chance to be with me. 

I sound insufferable, don’t I?

Trust me I’m not. 

The vampires that court me are usually assholes. Entitled, brain dead assholes .  When I opened the door in the morning, dressed in a short summer dress and ready to meet my dad, I was surprised to see Jungkook standing guard outside. He straightened away from the wall where he was fiddling with his phone, his gaze flitting to me, eyes cold and blank. 

I bowed lightly, not smiling.

“Mr. Jeon. I have a breakfast date with my father and then I’ll be heading to the cottage. I’m also meeting a friend of mine at the Art Museum in the evening so i’ll need the Mercedes brought around to pick me up maybe at 5.00PM.” I said briskly, glancing at him. 

My face flamed red when I noticed his gaze, fixed steadily on my ass. I cleared my throat angrily and his eyes met mine, a slow lazy grin playing around his mouth. 

“You look different.” He commented , shamelessly giving me another once over. 

The nerve. 

I swallowed, willing myself not to blush harder.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” 

He chuckled.

“That dress barely covers your butt, angel. You sure you want to head to daddy dearest, dressed like that?” The way he said daddy made my skin heat up. 

I felt my jaw come unhinged. 

“That’s...that is none of your damn business.” I said shrilly.

He gave me another once over.

“Okay, then. If that’s what you’re into...fine. Let’s go.” 

Gritting my teeth, i tried to keep my face neutral. I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he got to me. I would not. 

I walked ahead of him , my fists clenched and my jaw tight and I felt incredibly upset because the day had barely begun and I was already wound tight. I was supposed to be relaxed and clear headed while talking to my father but Jeon Jungkook had muddled my brains as usual. 

I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. 

“Sera, wait.” His voice made me pause and I stopped, turning around to glare at him.

“What?” I snapped. 

He sighed, deeply. I watched as he ran his hands through his hair, tongue pressing into his cheek the way it did when he was upset. 

“About last night-”

I felt my pulse quicken. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it!” I said quickly, turning back around to leave but his fingers came around my arm, gripping hard . 

“Well tough luck. Because I do!” He said sharply. 

I whimpered, pain blooming up my arm and he swore, loosening his grip.

“I keep forgetting you’re human.” He muttered, “ I’m sorry... I just... I wanted to apologize for how i handled things last night. I was twenty once and I should have been more understanding.”

I closed my eyes. Oh, God no. Please, please for the love of God, let me hate you in peace. Don’t apologize and make me fall in love all over again.

“Its fine.” I choked out. “ You were right. I was out of line.”

“You deserve better.” He said quickly, eyes flitting away from my face and I felt a sharp pang in my heart. God , this was agonizing. 

“Jungkook-”

“It’s just that you’re...well you know who you are. You can’t be with ...someone like me and trust me you don’t want to be with someone like me either. I know its appealing, the whole illusion of stability. older man, has a kid, has his life together .....but that’s not all it means .” He gave me a tired smile.

I bit my lips, ot replying and he went on. 

 “ I have baggage, a shit ton of it and I would have to be especially cruel to unload something like that on a girl barely out of her teens. I’ve done shit I’m not proud of ,....but ruining your life, I’m gonna draw the line there.” He smiled , looking a whole decade younger and I closed my eyes.

I was back to square one, I thought miserably. He had my whole heart. 

“ So we’re good right?” He prompted and I exhaled, giving him a smile.

“We’re good.”

“That’s good. Because my son loves you and I would rather we be friends. You’re just like a daughter to me. ” He touched my face gently, pulling away at once, the small contact leaving fire in its wake and I had to clench my fists . 

A daughter?!! Is he out of his damned mind? 

“Okay.” 

“Let’s go then.”

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

“Jungkook, please sit down. You’re like my son and I don’t want you hovering like you’re part of the backdrop. I’ve trusted you with my entire life.” My father beamed, pointing at me and i laughed. 

Jungkook bowed respectfully, taking the chair next to me. 

“How are you , my buttercup?” My father asked softly, fingers gripping mine and I smiled.

“I’m well, father. Do you like my dress?” 

Next to me Jungkook coughed and I shot him a dirty look. 

“It looks ravishing on you. The prettiest flower in my estate is my daughter, do you agree Jungkook?” My father prompted and I swallowed the smirk that threatened. 

Poor Jungkook was going to learn that being my bodyguard meant singing my praises twenty four seven or at least anytime my father was in hearing distance. 

“Uh..” Jungkook’s eyes flitted between the two of us, “ Yes sir. Your daughter is quite lovely.” 

I beamed at him and he looked away quickly. 

Coward. 

Turning back to my dad I held my hand out. 

“DAd, you wanted to see me about something?”

“Yes dearest. You know the Kim clan’s matriarch has been after me. Three of her great great great grandsons have come of age recently. And all three of them are set to take over some very lucrative businesses. They are good men and apparently they’re quite smitten with you. They say you know of them from school?”

I sighed.

“Do you know their names?” I prompted.

“Mingyu, Minjae and Yugyeom.” My father said briskly. 

 Ugh.

 “ They’ve asked me out before, yes.” 

“Uh..Excuse me.. Could I get a refill?” Jungkook said quietly next to me and i turned, watching him wave to one of the footmen. 

“Jungkook, are you thirsty?” My father asked brightly. 

An idea formed in my head, wicked and dangerous. 

“Perhaps, he should get a taste of the Hwang Elixir?” I said innocently. 

My father’s gaze snapped to mine. 

A small frown made its way to his face. 

“Are you sure? I’m not sure if Jungkook would be comfortable-”

I turned to him, purposely flipping my long hair off my shoulders exposing my throat . Jungkook’s eyes went to the curve of my neck at once and i felt a sick sort of triumph when his eyes flashed red.

“Oh, no no...” I crooned, leaning in closer. “ I’m sure you aren’t uncomfortable , are you Jungkook ssi? After all, I am just like a daughter to you , aren’t I?” I stared right at him, fluttering my lashes and I saw his jaw clench. 

“Of course, Ms. Hwang.” He said briskly, glaring at me. I played with the small gold chain around my neck, letting my fingers flutter over my pulse , drawing his gaze there.

“Well, that is true ...” My father looked uncertain, but I gave him a gentle nod and a smile. 

“Well, as a special guest, I suppose you can enjoy our hospitality , Jeon. Why don’t you take a drink from -”

I moved closer, pressing up against him and Jungkook sighed, lips closing over my neck, and I felt my eyes flutter shut at the wet warmth of his mouth . 

It was intoxicating, the way he used one hand to grip my neck gently, the other on my waist to steady me and when his fangs pierced through, I could sense the warm liquid flood his mouth and Jungkook’s entire body relaxed, a strangled moan escaping him. 

“---my daughter’s wrist.” My father finished and I felt Jungkook stiffen next to me. 

This time I couldn’t stop the grin that bloomed on my face. 

My eyes dropped to his lap and yup, his pants definitely looked a tad tighter. 

“Did I do good, Mr Jeon? Or should I call you daddy? ” I whispered quietly , fluttering my lashes at him and his fangs retracted and he pulled away from me, shoving me back into my own chair quickly. 

My father was slightly slack jawed. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hwang. “ Jungkook muttered and I laughed.

“I do believe it is I whom you should be apologizing to. It is  my  neck you just mauled. ” I smiled brightly staring at Jungkook and if looks could kill, I would have a thousand wooden stakes through my heart right about now. ‘

Take that Mr. Jeon. 

Daughter, my ass. 

“My apologies , Sera.” He said stiffly. 

My father laughed raucously.

“Ahh, you must be used to the neck, my dear boy. understandable understandable. it is how we used to do it in the old days, after all . These younglings with all their etiquette and feminism and what not....it’s hard to keep up..... But now you must tell me? Is my daughter not the sweetest you’ve ever had?” 

I choked, coughing. Oh God, sometimes my 900 year old father had no idea how he sounded. 

Jungkook looked like he had swallowed a lemon. 

“She’s certainly ...” He stopped, probably realizing that any adjective at the end of that sentence would sound entirely wrong. 

“Delicious?” I prompted, blinking innocently and Jungkook shot me another glare. 

“Well, nevermind nevermind. .... So, tell me dearest, will you be willing to meet the Kim boys?”

I sighed.

“I like Yugyeom. I cannot stand Minjae. I don’t know enough about Mingyu to make any judgement. How about I meet Mingyu and if I don’t hit it off with him, I will allow Yugyeom to court me....” I said softly.

I glanced at Jungkook but he was studiously looking away. 

“Very well my dear. Do you have any plans today?”

“I’m meeting a friend at the museum.”

My father’s eyes widened.

“Well isn’t that a wonderful coincidence. Mingyu's law firm is just a block away if I’m not mistaken. I’ll ask the boy to pick you up afterwards. Have dinner with him and you can tell me tonight of your choice.” My father smiled briskly.

“Yes, father.” 

“Jungkook..” My father prompted and the vampire glanced up.

“Yes, sir?”

“Take good care of her. At the restaurant, make sure you stay at hearing distance. “ 

“Yes sir.” Jungkook bowed and I groaned. 

In other words, let my father know if I behaved appropriately. 

i pouted and my father waggled his finger at me.

“No, no no.. Missy. I’m going to make sure you keep your end of the bargain . You need to give these men a proper chance before you reject them. “ 

I nodded.

“And you must ask Either Somi or Seolhyun to dress you. No jeans or one of those ridiculous gowns that make you look like a pastry.”

There was no mistaking the snort that came from my right and i glared at Jungkook before turning to my dad.

“Yes, father.” 

“Good, now run along the pair of you. “

I stood up, kissing my father fondly on his forehead.

“I love you.” I whispered. 

“You are my whole entire joy, dearest. “ He kissed my hand gently, eyes warm and soft.

As we left the room, Jungkook let out a sigh.

“I am never having a meal with you two again.” He ground out and I laughed. 

“Anything you say, daddy.” I grinned. 

Jungkook groaned. 

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

As luck would have it,  my friend cancelled . 

So at six the evening, I finished locking up the cottage as the last of the kids left, fumbling with the lock while a tired Joo Won napped in his father’s arms, head resting on Jungkook’s shoulders. I felt myself soften at the picture they made, Jungkook singing softly , fingers brushing his son’s hair back as he rocked him gently. 

“I’ll be a while... I needed to get ready. Why don’t you put him to bed? Who’s watching him tonight?”

“Hwasa and Moonbyul offered. I’ll drop you off in your room and head to the north wing. What time are you meeting the jerkwad?” He said casually.

I blinked rapidly, confused.

“I’m sorry... the jerkwad?” 

Jungkook shrugged.

“It’ just a fact. Most men are absolute jerks at twenty one.” He shrugged. 

i felt myself bristling on behalf of the unknown Mingyu.

“That is absolutely unfair. My brothers were incredibly kind and good.”

“To you perhaps. Because they don’t have to impress you. But men act differently when they’re trying to get between a woman’s thighs. They’re jerks when they want to get laid...” He grinned.

“Is that why you act like a jerk to me? ” I smiled evilly and he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, darling we both know I don’t have to act in any different way to get you into my bed . I just have to do this.” He smirked, curling his finger in a come hither gesture.  

I felt my pulse pound and I tried not to let his words get to my head. He was flirting , yes but it was a joke. He was joking with me because the very idea of being with me was a joke to him. 

And I couldn’t forget that. 

Rolling my eyes, I pulled on the lock a couple more times to make sure the door was well locked. 

“Shall we leave?” He prompted watching me wrestle the backpack onto my shoulders. I grunted under the weight. 

“Of course. Let’s go.” 

We walked in silence for a few seconds.

“So, how’s he doing? With stuff?” Jungkook asked gently and I felt warmth bloom in my chest. 

“He’s very advanced for his age Jungkook. You’ve done a wonderful job with him. He’s able to read and he has a beautiful l writing hand. He’s learned his multiplication tables all the way up to seven and he has the voice of an angel. Which I think he gets from you. ” I smiled, reaching out to brush the back of Joowon’s head. 

Jungkook smiled softly, the late evening sun painting his perfect features in a soft golden glow. 

“Your father was kind enough to support me the first few years when i had him. I didn’t trust anyone enough to leave him with them and well... i needed to put a roof over our head.” He sighed . 

I touched his arm, giving it a small squeeze.

“I understand. I’m glad you’re here. He’ll grow up well in our clan.   “

“And he has a lot of excellent men to look up to here...He needs a good role model, someone kind and amazing who can inspire him to be hardworking and fair. ” He smiled.

I bit my lips.

“I think he’s had that all along. ” I said quietly.

Jungkook’s breath caught for a second and the air between us changed. I licked my lips. 

“Jungkook you’re a good father. You know that right?” I said after a few more seconds of silence. 

He laughed.

“Am I really? I wonder.” 

“He loves you.” I breathed , “  You’re all he talks about.... Today, one of the other kids tried to say that his father was brave because he helped someone who was stuck in an elevator. you know what Joowon did? He listed some twenty different incidents where you’ve helped people out....And he looked so proud.”

Jungkook’s ear looked red in the brightly lit garden. 

“i was just doing my job. Most of those times, I was in danger.” He grunted. 

“And yet, you did the right thing. “ I whispered. “ And your son was watching. And he’s learned the importance of doing the right thing even when you’re scared. That’s a life lesson that isn’t easy to learn.”

“Can’t disagree with that.” He chuckled. I grabbed his arm forcing him to stop. 

I had to tell him this. 

 “ Jungkook, when immortality is on the plate, people don’t give much value to morals. They don’t always care about doing the right thing.... . Its how our kind functions. Consequences don’t mean much when you have a whole eternity to fix your mistakes.....So I always admire vampires who value morals. “ I smiled, “ To see a five year old with such a well formed moral compass... it tells me that you’re an amazing father. Possibly the best I’ve ever met. “ I reached out, to hold his hand, wanting to touch him in some way, to make him believe that I was completely honest. 

“Sera!!!!!!” My sister’s voice made me jump and Jungkook stepped away as well. 

“Dad told me you’re going on a date? I’ve picked out an outfit for you!! But you need to take a shower! You cannot show up smelling like diapers and spit-up.” She called. 

I groaned. 

“Time for the ugly duckling to transform into a swan, I see?” He said gently. 

“Your son’s favorite fairytale.” I whispered.

“He makes me read it every night.” 

“I would like to sit in on that someday.” I laughed.

His eyes met mine. 

“You’re always welcome, Ms Hwang,” He smiled politely. “ Someday soon maybe your kids and my son would be friends.” 

And just like that the wall grew between us. 

His kids and my kids. 

Not our kids because he wasn’t for me. 

He would never be for me. 

I felt the sudden inexplicable urge to cry. 

Turning away, I began following my sister as she waved to me. . 

“I’ll be at your door at seven.” He called out behind me. 

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

[crescentsteel]

When in Brazil - Beach

pairing: Oikawa x f!reader genre: SMUT wc: 7.8k (i am deceast bye) warnings: fingering, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, edging

Let me bore you to death zzz

I promise the last chapter will be exciting (in my head it is at least) :(

Prior to this series, I have zero knowledge about Brazil. So if there's anything sus somewhere there as I describe Rio, pls be kind to me.

No beta for this one once again uwu

Lmk if you wanna be part of taglist

Sunshine || masterlist

In the hustle and bustle of a busy city as Rio de Janeiro, one finds themselves having their time stolen away from them as they get swept up in all the craziness the place has to offer.

That’s you, except the craziness is in the form of a never ending cycle of wake up, work, then go home.

You’re just glad a certain orange-haired boy joins you from time to time to ease your thirst for something exciting.

Yet sometimes, you crave the silence, the quiet, to be alone and actually enjoy it. Living in one of the most tourist-infested places in the world, you rarely find yourself in such a situation.

That’s why you dragged your feet outside even if your clock tells you it’s 2:48 in the morning.

You woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. Rather than waste your time away in bed, you grab a can of beer from your fridge and decide to make the most out of it.

The thing about Rio — it’s almost never silent. Even at this time, you can hear the soft beat of music from the local bars and clubs alongside the sound of the sea right across the streets where they’re located. The shores of Copacabana, being the most famous beach in the city, are never empty as well.

But what good is being a local if you don’t know places you can hide from the crowd?

A tad bit more than kilometer away from Copacabana is Posto 1 in Praio de Leme, a beach not as crowded as the others.

With the absence of people flocking here and there, you easily make your way to the beach, almost prancing on your steps for the slight tang of freedom and muted noise you haven’t had in forever.

Despite the stroll being an all-familiar route you take, it feels blissfully different. And when you arrive at Posto 1, you suddenly feel grateful for living in Rio. You take your slippers off and feel the sand beneath the soles of your feet. The smell of salt water permeates the air while you welcome the dainty breeze brought by the sea.

You savor each step, taking your time to reach a certain spot you consider yours as the darkness of the dims the bright liveliness of the city.

Luck must be in your side as you find the place still as you remember it the last time you went there. Trees surround the area abundantly compared to the more famous beaches in the city.

Lifeguard stations that separate the area covered by each beach look like mini lighthouses made of white stone. Posto 1, being the first station, is situated beside rocky shore that signals the other end of the beach.

In between Posto 1 and the clump of rocks, that’s your secret spot. The station blocks the view of the rest of the shoreline, the trees behind you conceal you from the buildings across the street, and the rocks perfectly completes the set up as it eludes you to think that you’re hidden from the tropical urban jungle that is Rio.

You pick a spot near a tree so you can lean on something when you sit down. You unknot the canga on your hip and sprawl it on the sand. You seat yourself comfortably and cross your stretched legs. You open your can of beer and savor the first taste as you stare in the vast darkness

You don’t know how long you’ll stay there, but you don’t care. You have the day off tomorrow and you don’t mind if you’re there long enough that the sun will rise on you.

Damn. You should’ve brought at least two cans of beer for this.

However, your paradise of being alone was quickly interrupted when you hear coarse footsteps approaching somewhere behind you. Shortly after, a figure emerges from the trees, much to your displeasure.

He notices your presence too as he looks your way as soon as he comes to your view.

“Hi!” The stranger greets you all too friendly, which adds to your irritation. You haven’t even enjoyed your time alone and you’re already disrupted. What’s worse is that it’s not even a local. It’s a freaking tourist, probably Japanese based on his features.

“Sorry, but the beach is closed at this time,” you announce in an amicable manner despite being annoyed, something working on a diner has instilled in you for years.

“Oh? But you’re here,” he responds with an easy-going smile that pisses you off even more. You should’ve spoken in Portugese. Maybe then, he would’ve left you alone. “Yeah. It’s not open for tourists at night,” you lie with a fake smile, still hoping that he’ll leave.

However, he does the opposite. He crosses the few steps away from you and crouches to get to your eye level. You stare at his face for a few seconds and realize that he’s actually attractive — brown hair, brown eyes, and a dazzling smile.

Still, you came here to be alone. You don’t want the company of another, no matter how good looking they are.

“Can’t you make an exception for one tourist?” He flashes you a grin that you’re pretty sure would sway a lot of women when directed at them. Maybe you too on a different night. But not this one.

“I’d be honest, mr tourist. I prefer to be alone. If you go past that station, you’ll find a lot of space for yourself.”

He purses his lips. “But it seems more fun here, ms local.”

How is this place fun? There’s literally nothing here. That’s why you claimed this place for your own because people rarely go here when the night deepens.

He’s most likely looking for someone to bother and entertain himself, as expected of tourists.

You sigh when you realize he’ll probably keep pestering you until you give in. You take one sip of your beer and turn to him.

“You better hold one hell of a conversation, tourist. Or else I’ll be the one leaving,” you announce with a deadpan voice.

He chuckles lightly before sitting on the sand. He extends one leg on the side while he bends up the other so he can rest his elbow on his knee. “I’m sure I can manage,” he declares with unshakeable confidence that makes you scoff a bit.

The guy is full of himself. If he wasn’t very pleasing to look at, you would’ve left already.

You return your gaze to the dark waters to distract yourself from his presence. “I’d offer you a beer, but I only brought one.” You say out of courtesy as you lean back to the tree and try to relax despite the stranger beside you.

“I won’t mind sharing yours,” he responds casually.

You take one more sip and face his direction to hand him the drink in your hand. He grabs it with a smile and a wink that would’ve made you cringe if he didn’t look so damn good when he did it.

He puts the drink on his mouth and nips it casually. “So what’s a pretty local doing at the shore at this hour?”

You raise an eyebrow at the subtle flattery he included in his question. “Like I said, I wanted some time alone. Unfortunately for me though, a very rude tourist arrived a few minutes after I just settled down,” you eye him meaningfully which earns you a pout from him.

You almost want to laugh. What is up with this guy? He’s a bit weird, but in a charming kind of way. “What about you, tourist? What’re you doing out this late at night?”

“Jetlag. Our hotel’s just across the street and the people I’m with are already tired. I’m so bored,” he whines as he drinks again from your can before he hands it to you.

“So you decided to take a stroll in a completely foreign city?”

He feigns a surprised look. “Are you a fortune teller?”

“A witch, actually. Better leave now before I curse you,” you warn him with a straight face.

Not even fazed a bit, he meets your dead eyes with affable ones. “I don’t mind being cursed by you, ms. witch.”

You shrug off your shoulders, unaffected by the flattery. You’re used to it with the amount of foreigners hitting on you during tourist season. “You better decide what you’ll call me then,” you respond coldly.

“You really want to keep being strangers, huh?”

Something surfaces in his orbs that unnerves you, a glint that tells you there’s more to this man behind the pompous persona he’s purposely showing you.

“Uh-huh. Ms. local sounds fine to me.” Not that he seems dangerous or anything, but you don’t want to get to know him. You’d like to remain as strangers. This is just a small chat for you both to pass time. There’s no need for names when you already have a way to address each other.

“Alright then, ms local. Lets play a game.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What game?”

“A guessing game. The person who first gets three correct guesses about the other wins.”

“What does the winner get?” You ask with intrigue.

“Anything they want.”

You tap the can of beer dangling from your fingertips while you study him. What can he possibly ask of you if he wins? He looks friendly, but you can’t be too certain. He might ask for something like your number. You have no intentions of giving it to him and getting involved with a tourist. The most you can get from the is a one night stand and a “thank you for the experience” message, as if fucking a local completes their whole Rio trip.

He suddenly laughs. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask for anything weird. I just want the tree you’re leaning at.”

You frown at him. “Seriously? There’s another tree over there.” You point a tree a few steps away from him.

“I want that one specifically,” he says firmly as he ignores where you’re looking at and eyes the trunk you’re leaning on.

“Okay then, tourist. If I win, will you leave?”

“Deal” he quickly agrees. “Go ahead, ms local. Ladies first.”

Without even thinking, you make your first guess. “You’re probably a model or an actor in Japan.”

He breaks into a wide smile at your hunch, which doesn’t tell you anything whether you were right or wrong. “You really think so?”

Did you get it wrong? He seems like someone who has a nightly skin care routine to make sure he doesn’t have any breakouts. His skin looks nicer than yours too. So it makes sense for him to be either of the two.

You don’t tell him that though. He looks like he’s well aware that he’s a pretty boy.

“I mean you do look nice. You’re tall and stuff,” you justify briefly.

He gives out a pleasant laugh that sounds way too rehearsed, like he’s been practicing it in case someone compliments him.

“I’m flattered, but no. Sorry!”

He doesn’t look sorry at all. “Actually, I’m a starter for a pro Volleyball team in Argentina,” he says with his face becoming a little bit more serious as it oozes with pride. You find it interesting — how he glorifies being an athlete. He does have the build for it, but he’s kinda too pretty to be a professional athlete.

Your thoughts suddenly go back to Shoyo now that he mentioned the sport.

“Oh oh oh wait,” your enthusiasm shoots up when a hilarious assumption hits you. “I’ll go again then you’ll get two turns after this,” you clear your throat before voicing out your thoughts.

“Let me guess. You traveled all the way from Japan to Argentina to pursue Volleyball,” you declare with all smiles despite how ridiculous it might have seemed to him. You could waste one guess to entertain yourself.

He stares at you wide-eyed with disbelief. “How did you know that?”

You gape at him in surprise. You were just goofing around with Shoyo’s story. You don’t expect that he’d have a similar story.

“For real?”

He nods. “Yeah. That was frighteningly accurate.”

Wow. What were the chances that you were actually right? What was just a ridiculous hunch was actually on point. Now, you’re far more entertained. You’ll ask for his name before you part ways and tell Shoyo about him. You don’t have a clue what the Volleyball scene is like in Japan so maybe somehow, they know each other.

He recovers after a quick while and regains his composure. “Okay, my turn. I’m guessing…,” he looks up as he scurries what guess he’ll make before his gaze lands back to you, “you’re into nice guys.”

You let out a scoff at his too safe of a guess. He must be frolicking when he appears to be thinking earlier because that’s kind of a no-brainer.

“Who isn’t?” You ask back sarcastically instead of confirming that he’s right.

“A lot of women actually,” he swiftly responds. “So that’s one for me. And I’m also guessing you don’t go out much.” This time he doesn’t pretend to be thinking and straight up tells you, as if he’s figured it out already earlier.

You squint at him. “How did you know?”

“You wouldn’t be out here at this time of the night if you did,” he cocks an eyebrow as he answers.

Shit. That’s two correct guesses off the bat. The stakes are not that high for you. You’ll just lose a back rest, but it unnerves you that he’s this astute. You just assumed that he’s nothing but good looks.

You put a little more effort to the game he initiated and thought of a hunch that’s very likely to be correct.

“Umm. I think you like beer,” you surmise. If he didn’t mind sharing one with a stranger, he must like it enough.

He purses his lips to the side and shakes his head. “Nope. I think it’s vile. Also, our fitness coach will chew me out if he finds out I’m drinking tonight.”

You furrow your brows together at what he just admitted. “Then why’d you ask for mine?”

“I wanted to look cool,” he confesses without shame which makes you palm your face.

“My turn.” You remove your hands away from your face and hope that he gets it wrong this time. You’re kinda enjoying the game and want to continue for a tiny bit more.

“It’s been a while since you got laid.”

It’s a staring contest between you after he utters it. He holds the same seemingly good-natured expression in his face despite the sexual nature of his statement. You, on the other hand, can’t suppress the frisky smirk that’s creeping up on the corner of your lips.

You roll your eyes and look away with the smirk still planted on your face.

He finally bares that certain wickedness you saw a glimpse of earlier, and he does it at the right time. He’s probably waiting for the moment you start getting drawn to him, and when you do, he lures you a step deeper into his trap.

You feel stupid for thinking this game is his way of small talk. It definitely isn’t. Yet, you find yourself taking the bait he set.

“Actually, I had a good fuck the other night,” you answer indifferently.

The look that surfaces on his face mirrors yours a while ago, except he doesn’t try to hide the sensual gleam in his eyes when flashes you a grin.

“Boyfriend?”

You suddenly miss the bitter taste of the beer so you drink again prior to answering, “Friend.”

The curve of his lips twitch up, evidently amused with your reply. “I didn’t think you were the type, ms local.”

“Why? You thought I was boring?” You question with haughty disdain from what he was implying.

He stretches his bent knee as he plants both palms on the sand and leans back a bit. “No. Just really uptight.”

Only because his company was unwelcomed, but you’re positive he’s aware of that so you don’t comment on his remark. You move on with and proceed to make your guess.

“Right. Okay, my turn.”

You’re absolutely sure of this one, so you go for it without hesitation.

“I think you’re trying to get me in bed.”

Oikawa doesn’t know if he’s going to give you a free pass on that one. You’re not entirely wrong, but you’re not totally right either.

He does want to fuck you. You’re hot and you’re as interesting as he thought you’d be. But he’s not trying to get you in bed, not yet at least. He hasn’t taken any action yet.

He was still treading carefully until you were no longer treating him like a bothersome stranger, which seems to be the case when you unfiltered your words and then willingly gave him intimate information about your sex life.

“Yeah,” he says with no hint of shame. He decides to grant you a second correct answer since that’s the last one you’re going to get. His next guess will be the start of his attempt to actually get you to have sex with him, like you speculated.

“You like beer.” He already had three probable guesses in his head before the game even started. He just panned the game longer so you’ll ease into him. He reserved this particular guess to seal the deal.

“That’s no fair, tourist. That’s too obvious,” you complain yet you still wear an entertained grin.

“Not my fault” He chuckles at his already calculated victory.

“Ugh. Fine. The damn tree is yours.” You start to get up but he grabs your arm, causing you to frown inquisitively at him.

“I didn’t say you have to leave. Move a bit to your front,” he commands which you do even though you still look confused.

He stands up and takes the place you’re sitting at earlier. Your neck is craned towards him as you gawk at him while he comfortably seats himself behind you, stretching his legs just a bit so you’re positioned intimately between them.

“What are you doing?!” you ask with a panicked voice.

He ignores your question. He takes it just a bit further and grabs your waist to pull you closer to him so your back is pressed to his chest.

You gape at him with a scandalized expression, your body rigid with his touch.

He only smiles innocently at you. You might be frozen solid, but if you really don’t want him to, you could easily tell him to fuck off. But there you are, eyes wide open as you try to grasp what he just did.

“I just claimed my prize. I can see why you chose this tree. So comfortable.” He tries to sound nice and friendly, but knows it’s useless as he can’t help the sarcasm that tainted his words now.

You let out a deep breath and shake your head as you rest your back resignedly on his chest. You snuggle even closer until you fill the spaces between you two perfectly, your head nestled comfortably on the nook of his neck.

Still, you don’t seem pleased. The look in your face is a mix of frustration and defeat, but it only strokes his ego even more because despite that displeasure on that lovely face of yours, you’re still leaning cozily against him.

You straight down gulp the remaining liquor you have and put the empty can down on the sand.

“You played me well, tourist,” you mutter, the bitter taste of the beer matching your resentment towards him.

“Not sure what you’re talking about, ms local,” he continues playing innocent.

“Oh please. You planned this from the start. That’s why you asked for the fucking tree.”

He lets out the laugh he’s been holding in since you made him admit that he was trying to bed you. “You finally caught up, mi querida?”

You hoist yourself up to face him. “You speak Portugese?” you ask him curiously.

“Español. I did say I’m from Argentina, mi bella dama.”

You’re stunned with the way the supposed foreign words roll off so naturally from his tongue. It didn’t sound pretentious nor forced, proof that he’s fluent with it. You definitely underestimated him. There is so much more to his charisma than just his pretty face.

“So, ms local,” his gaze drops to your lips with uninhibited hunger that he doesn’t make the slightest effort to hide. “Can I start claiming my actual prize now?”

You open your mouth but no words come out. You don't know how to respond because you’re at war with yourself with the direction of your supposed small talk is heading to. Yet, you can’t deny that you want to reciprocate his overt desire for you.

He takes his thumb and skims it lightly over your lower lip as he keeps his eyes on it. “Say yes,” he orders you with the softest voice you’ve ever heard from him.

The wind suddenly feels colder as your body heats up from the ache that’s beginning to set in your core.

He completely has you in a trance, mindlessly obeying his dainty command.

“Yes.”

He smiles darkly at the consent you gave him. He moves his thumb down to your before he slowly dips down and presses his lips against yours. It was gentle, too gentle for your growing arousal as he’s deliberately teasing you to want more of him.

He peppers your cheek with the same soft kisses that are making you more and more impatient.

“Kiss me already,” you mutter when his lips reach your ear, causing the sound of his amused chuckle to be heard crisp and loud.

“But I am,” he whispers before licking the sensitive shell of your ear.

You snap your thighs together from the sharp pleasure the action sent to your pussy, your eyes almost half closed from how fast your desire is engulfing you.

He must have sensed it for he turns his gaze to your clenched thighs. “Well, well, well, ms local. I didn’t think you’re this sensitive. I’m barely doing anything,” he teases while his other hand skims your bare waist.

You want to wipe the smug expression off his face but you’re too horny to fight back. You just want him to kiss you properly already.

A triumphant glint surfaces in his orbs as he dips down and gives you what you’re silently asking for. He parts your mouth with his thumb on your chin and claims your lips, flicking his tongue on your lower lip before sucking it.

You grab his shoulder for support as you push yourself up a bit to feel him closer.

“Mmmm, beer tastes way better from your mouth,” he mumbles then quickly returns to your lips, slipping in his tongue as he deepens the kiss.

His hand on your chin travels to the side of your head, fiddling the other ear his mouth hasn’t touched earlier. You whine into the kiss, fully revealing to him how sensitive your ears are.

His other hand skims the bare skin of your waist he easily accessed because of your cropped top. Then, he moves it up to squeeze a clothed boob, earning him a moan you deliciously deliver to his mouth.

He pulls away to get a glimpse of you and he can’t help but be pleased with himself for a job well done. He’s totally got you, hook, line, and sinker with your eyes pooling with lewd desires, completely different from the cranky stranger you were minutes ago.

But he’s not done yet. He’s not yet satisfied. He can do more than this. He can break you just a teeny tiny bit tonight.

He gets back to your lips, your tongue seeking his while he fervently moves his mouth against yours. His hand lets go of your face so he can pay attention to your other boob he’s been neglecting, kneading both supple mounds with his huge hands at the same time.

You lean your head on his shoulder as he trails his lips down your exquisite neck, softly nipping the delicate flesh as he entertains himself by watching you squirm within his hold.

He lugs your bra down so he could feel your bare breasts, and as his idea of fun, he softly bites the nook of your neck while he harshly grips both tits.

A very indecent moan from your throat erupts in the tranquil air of the beach. You must have realized it too because you bite your lip while your other hand tightens its grip on his thigh.

“Let’s see how well you can keep it down,” he breathes on your neck as he puts his fingers to work, rolling both your nipples with his thumbs while licking the spot he just bit.

You plan to protest, but you’re scared that when you open your mouth, an obscene moan will come out instead. So you do your best to stay as silent as you can, your muted whimpering reaching only his ears.

His mouth goes back up again to your ear, his hot breath gradually melting your resolve to keep quiet. “Should I lick your ear again so you’ll moan for me, hmm?”

You ferociously shake your head, certain that you will lose it if he does. “I’ll do it if you don’t use your words,” he threatens you by grazing his lips on your earlobes.

“N-no,” you weakly answer.

He laughs lowly and withdraws his lips away from your ear. You feel a little bit of relief as he shows mercy. Only to feel stupid when he suddenly pinches your nipples, the surge of pain and delight causing you to lose to your own body as another moan rips out of your windpipe.

“Aahh! ”

You bury your face on his biceps to muffle the next ones as he continues tweaking the hardened buds while he sucks the curve of your shoulders.

You can feel the strain in your hips from how hard you're clamping your thighs, desperate to alleviate the ache in your already sopping cunt by grinding your inner thighs together.

Being the scum the tourist is, he hooks his foot on your ankle and does the same to the other, successfully prying your legs apart, worsening your need to be touched down from the lack of any sort of friction.

He removes one hand away from a boob and drags it down to your stomach, the cloth of your loose shirt catching on his knuckles before it comes to a stop in the waistband of your shorts.

“Can I?” He asks while he traces circles on the skin just above the garter of your cloth.

Despite the overwhelming lust, you look around. Even though you used to have this place on your own at this wee hours of night, the possibility of someone going there is not completely zero.

You let him get as far as this because you can just swat his hands away the moment someone emerges from the other side of the lifeguard station.

Instead of putting his hand in, he dips his hand further down on your crotch, cupping your sex over the fabric of your shorts. Even with just that, your pussy is already throbbing.

You look at him with hesitation.

“What if someone comes?” You ask apprehensively, your lust-induced mind hoping he comes up with a sensical answer that you can accept.

“I won’t remove your shorts, ms. local. I’ll just,” he teasingly tugs the waistband, twisting it around his index finger, “put my hand in, yeah?”

He gives a drawn out lick on the spot behind your ear as he tugs a nipple, making you shiver with the unspoken oath that he can satisfy your needs.

You nod agreeably, impatient for the touch you’ve been craving for.

With your permission, he slowly slides his hand in, the leisure drag of his fingers almost making you mad with anticipation. Your torment only increases when he steadily traces his middle and ring finger on the length of your slit.

“You’re practically dripping,” he remarks as he continues the tortuous caress of his fingers. “Holy shit. You’re twitching already.” He laughs sardonically behind you.

“Jerk.” It’s supposed to sound angry, but it comes out as a needy whine.

You throw your head back on his chest, the night sky and the leaves of the tree you’re under starting to become hazy with how feverish your whole body feels.

“You’re really mean, you know that?” He mopes flatulently before he suddenly pinches your clit, the abrupt pang of pleasure causing you to arch your back as you cry out.

“Oh my. I’m starting to think you actually want to be heard.”

You’re no longer able to respond when he starts rubbing the bundle of nerves, covering your mouth with the back of your hand to suppress the erotic sounds coming off of your mouth.

“Mmmmmpp,” you whimper when he gives your boob a firm squeeze again.

You close your eyes shut as you feel your orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Gonna cum already, hmm?” His question drenched with mockery.

Yet, you don’t give in to his taunt as you’re completely distracted with his fingers sending you to a frenzy. You nod your head frantically, shamelessly admitting that he can easily make you cum.

Then he stops. He slides his fingers down and spreads your folds open as your cunt throbs from the climax he’s defied you of.

“What I’d give to see this view,” he purrs on your ear, “this pussy twitching at nothing.”

You hate the way he’s treating you, but you hate yourself more for letting him do so. As if teasing wasn’t enough already, he starts massaging his fingers around your folds, keeping you spread open while deliberately avoiding any spot that will feel too good.

It’s utter hell for you.

You’re about to ask that he puts it in, but thankfully, he does so before you almost disregard your dignity and actually plead for him to do it. He inserts one steady digit, pushing it deeply until the whole length of his finger is in.

“You’re too wet,” he comments as he thrusts another finger in.

You bite your own hand as the stretch of his two fingers brings back the pleasure he thwarted earlier. But this time, he makes sure to not let it escalate as he keeps the speed of his fingers to a bare minimum. He drags them out incredibly slow and lunges them back in in the same excruciating tempo.

Your eyes flutter shut as you relish the sensation, his digits hitting their deepest reach at the same time the waves crash into the rocks of Leme beach.

Oikawa watches with utter fascination, seeing and feeling the rise and fall of your chest as he prolongs the pleasure his fingers can give you.

But he already misses how you sound when you lose control.

Without any warning, he increases his pace from tedious thrusts to ruthless ones.

Your clutch on his biceps almost hurts, but he really couldn’t give a shit when your moans start to seep out of your hand despite how hard you try to contain them. He can bet you’re not even aware that you’re already rolling your hips against his hand.

But it’s still not enough for him.

Luckily, he knows how to make things even better .

He flicks his tongue on a certain spot on your neck while rolling your nipple between his skilled fingers.

“Too much!” You bat your eyes open and face him, successfully unlatching his mouth from your neck. “Its too muuu aahhhh haaa. ” Your eyes instantly become cloudy as he makes sure that the base of his wrist rubs your clit while he continues ravaging your pussy with his fingers.

His cock is getting stuffed in his shorts with your back grinding against it as he witnesses you lose yourself with your mouth falling open as you whimper with wanton need for your release.

“To- hnnngg, tooouurist.”

Damn. For a moment, he thought you were going to moan his name. He would tell you right now but he kinda likes the idea that you’re a literal stranger allowing him to do vulgar things to you as he pleases.

Your feet leave the seams of the cloth you sat on as the pleasure stretches out to the tips of your toes, the coarse grains of sand getting stuck between as you curl them with your orgasm tingling too close.

The simultaneous stimulation of your most erogenous places is coercing you to let go.

“I’m gonna cum mmmppp.”

Then he withdraws his fingers completely, causing you to regard him wide-eyed with a confused look as he denies you of your high that was a thrust away from your reach. All the while, he just smiles pleasantly at you like he didn’t do anything wrong.

He takes his middle finger in his mouth while you watch him with both impatience and intrigue.

He gives it one thorough suck before sticks his tongue out and licks it, effectively making you wonder how it’d feel if he does what he just did directly on your pussy.

Then he turns to you with a naughty grin. “Why are you staring at me like that, ms local?”

Your eyes lingers on his fingers and tells him instead, “Put them back.” You can’t ask him to do what was just on your mind. The place isn’t right for it. But that’s just fine. His fingers prove to be good enough.

“You want me to put my fingers back in your pussy?” he reiterates your request haughtily.

You look down on the sand before you nod.

He hums on your nape while he inserts his hands back in your shorts, his fingers ghosting just above your slit. You buck your hip up to feel them but he retreats them when you do so.

Your mind is staggering from how much you want him to fill you up again with his digits. You look at him with your eyes begging him.

“Please,” you whimper.

He goes for your lips, kissing them passionately as he traces your slick opening. He plunges his tongue in the same time his fingers enter your cunt, easily pushing you at the very edge you were at earlier.  

Then stops again.

“Why?” You sound almost sulking, your foiled orgasm looming over you.

“Like you said earlier, ms local. I am trying to get you in bed.”

He presses his lips in your temples and drags them down back to your ear. “I don’t see any bed here. Do you?”

The sultry drawl of his voice makes you shiver, the ungratified ache in your groin making you succumb to him.

“My place is near,” you answer timidly.

“You’ll really take a stranger home?” He sneers at you, making you doubt your own decision. Yet, convinces you otherwise when he slowly rubs your clit again.

You shut your eyes and nod frantically with parted lips.

He takes his hands out of your shorts and cheerfully says. “Let’s go then.”

You fix your clothes before standing up to which he quickly follows. You take your canga and wrap it back again on your hips then picks up your empty can of beer. You plan to lead the way, but not even three steps away from where you were, he grabs your wrist and tugs you back to where you were.

He shoves you to the tree he was previously leaning on. Your hand flies to the trunk of it while he wraps one arm around your waist and pulls your ass against his erection, an entertained chuckle coming out of his lips.

“I lied, ms local.” He slides his other hand under your made up skirt, trailing his palm from the side of your knee up to your thigh.

“I didn’t want you in bed. I want you right here right now.”

He briskly tugs down your shorts while you worriedly grip his forearm, alarm evident in your orbs as he reveals his actual intention.

“We’re gonna get seen!” You warn with a cautious whisper while you look around to check for the possible presence of another.

He ignores you and hitches up the cloth hanging from your hips as he takes out his cock and traces it against your moist slit.

You drop the empty can as you drive your nails deeper in the tree with your eyes getting misty from the reminder of the little death he’s relentlessly and purposely deprived you of.

He leans over your back and reaches for your cheek with his lips, tenderly placing a kiss before speaking. “Then they’ll see a tourist with a local whore.”

Flames of fury spark in your eyes as you hiss at him. “You fucking asshole!”

He ignores your futile anger and grips his cock to align it on your entrance. He sees you try to keep up the resentful facade but you’re twitching wildly again for him to even take it seriously. He easily makes you crave for him again by grinding his shaft on the length of your cunt.

“I’m kidding, ms local. You’re too pretty and too interesting to be one,” he says with his lips latched on your shoulder.

“Do you even have a condom with you?” you ask exasperatedly.

“Nope. Should we stop and get one?” He asks back as he once again rubs his member on your opening.

“I.. uhh,” you mumble undecided even though you unknowingly just grinded against him.

He places featherlight kisses along your nape. “I promise to pull out. How about that?” His voice is delicate, persuading you to abandon your hesitation.

“Fine! Just make sure you do it right,” you firmly forewarn him, which he doesn’t even bother answering.

He begins to sink himself inside you, feeling your fluttering walls swallow his cock inch by inch.

“Shit, it’s so hot and tight inside you,” he groans.

Your knees buckle a bit as you cover your mouth with your palm this time. “You okay there?” he asks not out of concern but because he wants to entertain himself with how you sound when you’re trying so hard to keep the obscene sounds at bay.

You shake your head but your face is one deluged of sinful desires.

“But you look like you're enjoying this,” he pants as he’s starting to feel good too with how well you’re squeezing his cock. He closes his eyes and rests his cheek on the back of your shoulder as he rams his length completely inside you.

“Fuccck,” he moans on your shirt while you deliver a muffled one on your palm, which he didn’t like.

He snakes his arm from your waist up to your chest once again, forcefully lugging down your bra that he hears it rip a little.

“I want to hear you feel good,” he says as he toys with your boob he wasn’t able to pay much attention to earlier.

In between struggling puffs, you manage to say, “I don’t wanna be heard uughhh.” You let out a suppressed whine as he pulls his cock back all of a sudden and languidly slides it back in.

“You’re lucky enough I’m allowing this,” you continue on.

“Make me luckier then,” he hums on your shoulder as he aggressively tugs the nipple poking at his palm.

“Gaaah!” You snap your head back, prompting him to softly bite the flesh of your throat you exposed to him.

“Yeaaah. You sound so hot, ms local. Just like that mmmm.” He originally planned to take his time with you, but shit, your pussy feels too good clamping on his cock like you’re already about to cum.

It’s taking all of him not to pummel his cock stupidly fast into you and sought his own pleasure.

“Faster, tourist. Fuck!” Your voice cracks at the last word you uttered from keeping it from being too loud.

Instead of quickening his pace, he stops moving at all. He needs a moment to regain control of himself despite how splendid your insides feel. He wants to tease you some more until you lose that fiery pride of yours. He finds it sexy, but it would be sexier if you drop it and desperately beg for him to fuck your brains out.

He lifts himself off your back and retrieves both his hands to skim them over the curve of your ass.

He kinda wonders what face you’ll make if slams one hand against the meaty flesh. Oh well. No need to wonder if he can just see it for himself right now.

The solid sting of his palm hitting against your skin pierces the quiet air of the shore, quickly followed by a sharp gasp from you that is just as audible.

Fuck, he put a little too much force on that one. He can see the pinkish mark he’s left on one cheek. He checks on you and expects a pained expression but what he finds is eyes lidded with intense carnal longing while panting heavily.

He looks around briefly, checking to see for any unwanted onlookers before landing another slap on your other ass cheek.  

Your hand grips his that just struck you as you turn your neck to look at him with utmost desperation he’s been wanting to see from you.

“Make me cum already,” you mumble with a wavering voice as you start moving on your own, wobbly withdrawing your hips and pushing them back against his cock.

The sensation in his shaft as you use it to give yourself pleasure is nowhere near enough for him, but he continues to stare at your cute attempt to make yourself cum.

“Please!”

Ahh, fuck. Yes. That should do it. You look just the right amount of pathetic he can get himself off to with satisfaction.

He plants both hands on your hips, holding them in place so he can give you what you vehemently begged for. He buries himself inside you in one swift thrust and repeats it again, and again, and again until he sets a steady rhythm.

You wretchedly grasp the tree again to support yourself as he does his way with you.

Harsh slaps of skin to skin contact can be heard, but he figures it won’t be heard from a distance.

“Ah, ahh, aaaahhhhhh!!”  You practically yelled out that last moan, causing him to lean over again and put a hand over your mouth.

“As much as I want you to- shiiit -hear you scream for me, I’d rather not be caught here,” he tells you in a raspy voice. He doesn’t know the laws in this country. He might get arrested for this if found. Their coach would probably take him off the starting roster as punishment if he gets in trouble because of this.

But fuck, you really feel unbelievably good. Even the vibrations of your stifled wails on his hand is an added stimulation for him.

Even he himself is having a hard time to keep his voice hushed as he feels his orgasm about to explode. He removes his hand away from your lips and replaces it with his mouth so he drowns out his groans as he swallows yours.

With his knee, he nudges your leg apart from the other as he dips his hand from your hip down to your clit, rubbing the swollen bud ferociously to finally push you to your peak he previously kept on declining you to reach.

You start trembling beneath him so he wraps his other arm around your waist again to support you.

He pulls away a bit to look at you become undone and holy shit, you do not disappoint. You look so fucking pretty with your moist lips gaping as you puff while your eyes have completely surrendered to the sinful goodness he’s giving you.

“So good, so good, so fucking good uuhhhh,” you mewl shamelessly.

“Yeah? Gonna cum on a stranger’s cock?” He goads you even though he’s about to cum himself just to see if you still give a crap about that.

To his delight, you just nod thoughtlessly.

“Cumming, ahhh, A-“

He covers your mouth again with his before you’re able to let out a scream that will probably expose you two.

He feels too good that all your senses are filled with nothing but the intense carnal bliss as he batters the insides of your pussy by ramming his cock wildly into you without restraint, probably chasing his own high as well.

Your vision becomes a static blur as the coil in your stomach snaps viciously, making your whole body convulse with how intense you came. If he wasn’t holding you up, you’d probably be a thrashing mess on the sand.

You hope that he keeps his word and pulls out because honestly, you just don’t have it in you anymore to stop him as he prolongs your orgasm by seeking his own.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he spews while his forehead rests on your spine as his thrusts become wilder and more erratic.

He takes out his cock a second before you feel hot spurts of liquid on your lower back accompanied by his hoarse grunts.

He unties the canga around your waist and uses it to wipe off the mess he made on your skin while you’re still holding on for your dear life on the tree.

“My legs,” you whine as they give out with exhaustion.

Thankfully, he catches you in time and releases the soiled clothing he used to wipe off his load. He pulls up your lower garments before he settles you back to how you two were seated a while ago, except it’s less compromising this time.

You’re all curled up within his grasp, still catching your breath from what just happened as he puts a hand on your forehead to make you rest against his heaving chest.

The sound of the waves, the blow of sea breeze, and the sand beneath your thighs are lulling you slowly back to the present, making you aware that you just had sex with a stranger, with a freaking tourist

“So,” he speaks first but you keep your eyes closed and pretend this is just one sexy dream then you’ll wake up in the morning and realize that you actually didn’t go out at this time.

“Ms. local, helllooooo?”

He’s obviously recovered based on the familiar, frivolous tone he had when he came out of the trees a while ago.

You sigh since you aren’t able to convince yourself enough that this is just a dream. The sex felt too good and too hot for it to be unreal.

“Do I finally get a name?”

You open your eyes and find him looking eagerly at you.

“No,” you respond immediately which visibly turns his excitement upside down.

You also discard your previous plan to get his name. There’s no way you’re telling Shoyo about this guy.

Sunshine || masterlist

Taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai  @aphroditeschambers​ @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @crescenttooru @yashuaaa @liberhoe @richkookie @hqbeesun @megatron-1199​

[1plus1kiyoomi]

Chapter 17: Sakusa Musubi

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“The pre-season starts tomorrow, right?” You ask Kiyoomi as the three of you prepare for bed. Kia is settled in the middle of his bed, wrapped in a blanket burrito. Kiyoomi has her like that so she’ll stop moving around and sleep immediately.

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi answers, taking the Kia burrito in his arms. She starts giggling, excited to be lifted up. “I said go to sleep or I’ll eat you.” Kiyoomi jokingly bites on her covered leg, making her squeal.

“No! No! Don’t eat me!” Kia shrieks in defense, her giggles turning into laughter. “Mama, help! Papa’s eating me!”

You grin from ear to ear, Kia and Kiyoomi’s interaction bringing joy to your heart. You let Kia be, continuing to talk with Kiyoomi. “Can we watch you play tomorrow? Kia has never seen you in an official game.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I’ll tell my manager,” Kiyoomi replies, gently throwing Kia back on the bed.

Kia manages to get out of the wrap, so she crawls going to you. He pulls her back by the ankles, bringing her back close to him. He starts tickling her sides, making her squirm around. “Mama! Help!” Hearing Kia’s sincere pleads, you sigh.

“Omi, that’s enough,” you tell your fiancé. He stops, Kia panting heavily. He whispers something to her and you immediately know what it is. “Don’t go near me. Stay there.” You warn them but they’re already crawling going to you.

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t attack you?” Kiyoomi asks, hands on his hips. Kia mimics him, her hands on her hips as well.

“Why would you attack me?” You whine, raising your arms, ready to push them away.

“Wrong answer,” Kiyoomi says, hovering on top of you. Kia goes on his back, her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs hanging off his sides. “I’ll you another chance.”

“Yeah! Another chance!” Kia repeats, peeking her head at you.

You can’t help but smile. “I’m your  fiancée?” You answer but unsure. Kiyoomi squints his eyes at you, thinking about your answer. He shakes his head, his hands ready to tickle your sides. “Kia! Save me! You love me, right?” You plead to your daughter.

“Kia, don’t help her,” Kiyoomi convinces. “You love me, too, right?” You scowl at him.

Kia goes down from Kiyoomi’s back and sits down beside the two of you. Kiyoomi sits back on the bed, waiting for Kia’s answer. She takes a good look at the to of you, but doesn’t answer.

“I thought I’d never get to ask you this, but here we are,” you chuckle, sitting up and leaning on the headboard.

“What are you talking about?” Kiyoomi apprehensively glances at you, worried about the chuckle you gave out.

“Who do you love more? Mama or papa?”

The room falls silent, the two of you staring at Kia anticipatingly. Kiyoomi crosses his arms, his eyes telling her to choose him. You smile at her, expecting to be chosen. Her eyes shuffle from you to her dad, a serious but empty look plastered on her face.

“I’m sure she’ll choose me,” you tell Kiyoomi proudly.

He scoffs, “If you’re so sure, why has she not given an answer yet?”

“She’s thinking of a way not to break your heart,” you reason confidently. He snickered at your sureness, also certain that Kia will choose him.

“The only one with a broken heart tonight will be you.” He sticks his tongue out, mocking you. You charge at him, but he grabs your hands and stops you. “Kia, tell your mama that you love your papa more.”

You two don’t get a respond, so you check her. She’s lying on the bed, her body under her blanket. You let go of Kiyoomi and fold your arms together. Kiyoomi pokes her but she doesn’t move.

“Good night,” Kia tells the two of you. She’s avoiding your question. You and Kiyoomi laugh, leaving her to sleep. The two of you end up with broken hearts.

You get off the bed to wash your face at his bathroom. He follows you, saying he has to wash his face, too. He locks the bathroom door, so you gulp. You keep your distance, wary of his actions. You know he’s up to something. And you know you can’t say no to him.

“2 meters,” you tell him, making sure you’re out of reach from him. He pouts at you. “We did it last night and Kia is just outside. Don’t even think about it.”

He moves closer to you, but you step away further. “The walls are soundproof.”

“I swear to god Sakusa Kiyoom, move any closer and I’ll-,” you warn him.

“You’ll what?” He says with a cocky tone, stepping closer to you. He lifts your chin up with his finger, his darkening irises piercing through yours. “You’ll what, angel?”

You cursed under your breath, your knees becoming weak. He smirks, seeing your pressed thighs. You pull him by the back of his neck, making him bend down so you can capture his lips into a kiss. He tilts his head to the side so you can kiss him better. He places his hand on your butt, squeezing on it. You spring in surprise and he takes this as a chance to lift you up by your thighs.

“Let’s take a shower.”

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“Omi! What happened to your back?” The whole changing room of the MSBY Black Jackals team freezes at Bokuto’s question. They’ve all seen what Bokuto’s talking about. They just choose not to say something about it, afraid to be in their teammate’s bad side.

“Did Kia scratch you?” Hinata asks, worriedly looking at Sakusa’s back.

“It’s from (Y/N),” Sakusa replies nonchalantly, staring at his two curious and worried teammates.

“These idiots...” Atsumu mutters to himself. He takes a peek at Kiyoomi’s back and can’t help it but smirk. ‘He really went hard last night? And before a game day? Nasty. Just nasty.’

You on the other hand is walking Kia around outside of the arena, waiting for their manager. He arrives and gives you two the special passes that Kiyoomi has requested for. You thank him and he leads you two near the locker rooms so you can meet Kiyoomi before the game.

“Mu-chan!” Kia squeals, running towards Atsumu. You watch her as she latches on the setter.

Your eyes wander around the room, looking for Kiyoomi’s curly hair. You feel someone blow on your ear so you flinch, looking back only to see the man you were looking for. His mask was pulled down to his chin so you could see his whole face.

“Are you sure Kia won’t be afraid of the crowd later?” He asks you, staring at his daughter from the distance. “You know how loud it can get when the game starts.”

“I think she’ll be fine,” you reassure him. Kia sees Kiyoomi so she comes down from Atsumu’s arms and start dashing back to you and her father.

“Papa!” She screams on top of her lungs on her way to the two of you. Kiyoomi squats down, his arms wide open, ready to hug her. She prances to his arms, hugging him tightly. “I’m gonna watch you play!”

“Is that so? I’ll do my best then,” he replies, gently smiling at her. Their manager calls them back to prepare. “Give me a good luck kiss.” Kiyoomi lowers his head, Kia planting a kiss on his forehead. He stands up and leans down, waiting for a kiss from you.

“Win the match and I’ll kiss you,” you tease, chuckling. He rolls his eyes then puts his mask back on. “Good luck, Omi.”

You and Kia head to your designated seats, waiting for the game to start. The team starts to enter and the roars get louder, startling Kia. You calm her down, making sure she won’t cry. She sees Kiyoomi walk on the court, her fears forgotten. She leans near the railing, wanting to see him clearly.

“Kyo! Papa!” She screams on top of her lungs, waving her arms. Kiyoomi spots her and grins at her, taking the attention of cameras and the commentators. Sakusa Kiyoomi smiling is rare. They got to take a lot of footage for the fan service.

“Flying kiss,” you instruct her. She puts her small palm on her pouty lips, then flicks her wrist, making a smooch sound. Kiyoomi pretends to catch the kiss then swallows it. Kia giggles, turning his smile into a grin.

“Go Omi!! Get that service ace!” You screamed, your voice echoing through the entire gym. You even beat the Itachiyama Academy’s cheering squad loudness. He looked up to you, a little bit embarrassed. Not by you, but because his ears were turning red from excitement. He loved hearing you cheer for him.

You blew a kiss at him. You saw him shyly catch the kiss with his hand, making you smile. He wasn’t a big fan of PDA but he loved showing off that you were together. So he allowed all these cringe-worthy actions in public.

The whistle blew, signaling that he could serve. Before he could throw his service toss, he kissed the palm of his hand that caught your kiss.

And he got a service ace.

You look up to the screens hanging on the ceiling and see that the cameras have captured everything. Everyone is cooing and squealing, the commentators asking who the little girl Sakusa Kiyoomi is being soft for. Kia sees herself on the screen so she hides her face on your chest, shy. The cameras move away, giving her comfort back.

The game starts and the commentators introduce the players. “And for the MSBY Black Jackals!”

“Musubi?” Kia tilts her head to the side, the name of the team capturing her attention. “Can I change my name to Musubi?”

“You wanna be called Sakusa Musubi?” You giggle at her sudden suggestion. She nods, determined. “We can’t change your name, baby. Uncle Keikei chose your name for you. He’ll be heart broken if you change your name.”

“Then can we name my baby brother Sakusa Musubi?” Kia asks. You blink your eyes multiples times in confusion. Maybe you just misheard her because of the noise.

“What did you say baby?” You make her clarify.

“I want my baby brother to be Sakusa Musubi,” she repeats. You didn’t hear her wrong.

“You want a baby brother?” You chuckle, not taking her words seriously. You take it as one of her random babbles. “Did your uncle Keikei and Kenken tell you to say that again?”

“No. Papa.” Her reply makes you stop, your full attention on her.

“Papa?” You raise an eyebrow and she nods.

“Papa Kyo. He said you and him will give me baby brother.”

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Spam Musubi Recipe

Ingredients:

2 cups uncooked short-grain white rice 2 cups water 6 tablespoons rice vinegar ¼ cup soy sauce ¼ cup oyster sauce ½ cup white sugar 1 (12 ounce) container fully cooked luncheon meat (e.g. Spam) 5 sheets sushi nori (dry seaweed) 2 tablespoons vegetable oil

Directions: 

Step 1: Clean rice grains by rinsing and draining it AT LEAST TWICE. Please watch Uncle Roger’s tutorial on how to properly cook rice the Asian way. Step 2: Once rice is cooked, mix in rice vinegar while it’s hot. Set rice aside to cool. Step 3: In a separate bowl, stir together soy sauce, oyster sauce, and sugar until sugar is completely dissolved. Slice luncheon meat into desire thickness and marinate it for at least 5 minutes. Step 4: In a large skillet, heat oil over medium high heat. Cook the spam/ luncheon meat until desired crispiness. Step 5: Cut nori sheets in half and lay on a flat work surface. Place a rice press in the center of the sheet, and press rice tightly inside. Top with a slice of luncheon meat, and remove press. Wrap nori around rice mold, sealing edges with a small amount of water. (Rice may also be formed by hand in the shape of the meat slices, 1 inch thick.)

Musubi may be served warm or chilled.

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[averytiredfanfictionwriter]

I’ll Be There When Your Reality Drowns (Ranboo x platonic!Reader)

Based very loosely off the song ‘Siren’ by Kailee Morgue. Content Warnings- character death, some weird stuff, i don’t know how to warn for it so just be careful it shouldn’t be bad though A03 link- wow. Word Count- 2,121

I said that there would be another fic. Well, enjoy! And reblogs are very much welcome as well as likes. I appreciate every like that I get, and it makes me happy when I see that people liked what I wrote.

It starts normally like always. Ranboo’s just walking aimlessly around an unknown village when he spots her. He doesn’t know why she’s always there, or why he feels an immediate pull towards her, but nonetheless it’s there. His attempts to get to her always fail and he wakes up feeling severely disappointed and depressed. 

“Hey, Ranboo, are you okay?” Tubbo asks as he gives Micheal a golden apple.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired. Didn’t sleep too well last night.” It’s the same reason he’s given everyone whenever they ask about his abnormal silence and slight air of sadness that follows him recently.

“Okay. If you want to talk about it I’m always here.” He offers and Ranboo nods. 

With everything else going on, these dreams are just the tip of the iceberg. How does he tell his husband that he stole Tommy’s disk, helped blow up L’Manberg, and worked with Dream to do god knows what else? Tubbo wouldn’t handle it well, not in the slightest. And there’s no reason to anger the man who currently possesses nukes. There’s no one he can tell now. 

Ranboo completes his jobs for the day and finds himself wandering around the SMP, hoping that maybe today the woman from his dreams will be here and he’ll be able to get some answers as to why he feels like a planet being sucked into the sun in his dreams whenever he sees her. But she’s not there. She’s only in his dreams to torment him, maybe something that Dream is making him see. 

Dejected, he returns to Snowchester and the mansion where he finds Tubbo playing with Micheal outside in the snow. 

“Hey, come play with us,” Tubbo says.

Ranboo thinks about it for a moment. “Okay.” 

The three spend the rest of the day outside, only coming back inside when the sun starts setting. Their nightly routine drags by as Ranboo waits in anticipation for when he can fall asleep and see the woman again. If that’s the only place he can see her, then so be it. 

After taking showers, brushing teeth, and getting changed into pajamas, everyone’s finally in bed with Tubbo bidding Ranboo goodnight and going to his own room. They found out the hard way that Ranboo is not a nice bedmate most nights and spends the entire time kicking hard enough to leave bruises for weeks.

Ranboo settles in between the blankets and closes his eyes. Just for a moment, he thinks he sees something in the corner of the room, but by then it’s too late to think about it. He’s already asleep. And this goes on for weeks. The same routine, never changing except for when either he or Tubbo have something super important to attend to. The same dream every night and the same waking fear that he’s never going to meet the woman. Until one day, it all seems to come crashing down on him. 

Ranboo steps onto the path leading into the village and looks around slowly. He spots her quickly, standing next to the same building that she always is. Her black wings seem to glitter in the sunlight while also soaking up all the light that hits them like a black hole. 

“Hello?” This is the first time he’s tried calling out to her, and she makes no movement to indicate that she’d heard. 

Ranboo steps forward until he’s next to her and she turns around to look behind her, but the look isn’t one that might appear when seeing a stranger. Rather, it was one that you might get when seeing a friend again for the first time in a while. 

“Hey… it’s been a while.” She walks over and hugs him.

“Uh yeah. My name’s Ranboo. I keep seeing you in my dreams and I don’t know why.” He says bluntly and she laughs loudly.

“I know who you are, silly. You’re my son. How have you been?” She says with a smile.

“Uh… I’ve been good. I’ve been having some really weird dreams lately though…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“Oh what about?” She asks and he struggles with what to tell her.

“Well, this one for starters. But the others I’ve seen you in I’ve never been able to talk to you like I am now.” Ranboo mutters and she nods, the smile never dropping from her face.

“Well, that’s because you needed to talk to me silly. Don’t you remember the past few times we’ve talked?” She asks and Ranboo feels the color drain from his face.

“What do you mean we’ve talked before? Is my memory that bad? Did I do more than what I can remember?” He mutters quickly, looking down at his hands.

“No no no no no. You can’t remember because I didn’t want you to remember. I’ve been unable to leave the end dimension and I didn’t want to cause you any unnecessary stress or pain or fear or anything. The only reason you couldn’t talk to me recently was that I was escaping. You’re going to see me very soon, don’t worry. You need to go now. It’s not safe to stay here for long.” The woman pulls Ranboo in for a quick hug.

“Wait! No!” Ranboo sits up in the bed, the sunlight streaming in from outside.

“What’s wrong?” Tubbo bursts into the room quickly, worried that something’s happening to his husband.

“Nothing. Just a weird dream.” Ranboo shakes his head.

“The same one?”

“No, a different one this time. Well, a little different. Not sure why though.” It’s not entirely a lie. She told him why, but why did he need to talk to her?

“Okay. I’m gonna take Michael out for a walk. You have to go meet Tommy in the SMP.” Ranboo nods, getting ready for the day before leaving to get on with everything.

Before he can meet with Tommy though, his worst fear comes to pass.

“Wilbur,” Ranboo says slowly.

“Hello, Ranboo. We need to have a chat.” Wilbur's sickeningly sweet smile is enough to put Ranboo on edge.

“About what?” The fear creeps into the young man's voice against his will.

“You know what. And I’ll make you a deal right now. Help me, and I don’t tell anyone what you’ve done. Your secret stays with me. Your precious husband and Tommy will never hear that you helped Dream blow up their country, nor will they find out that you had his disc all along. So, what do you say?” Wilbur says happily, bouncing around energetically while he speaks.

“Go to hell.” Ranboo seethes, a faint static noise starting to come from him.

¨Already been there. It’s not as fun as you’d think. But if that’s what you want then so be it. I just wonder what everyone’s going to say.” Wilbur practically prances off and the realization of the consequences fully hits him.

“Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I’ve got to get to Tubbo.” He mumbles before running off to Snowchester where his husband is currently.

Tubbo isn’t there when he gets back and he feels the panic set in. Surely Wilbur can’t possibly tell everyone in the time it takes him to get back to the SMP, right? But he did. And that lands Ranboo where he is now.

“You helped Dream!? You stole my disc and helped blow up L’Manberg!?” Tommy screams at the taller man and he holds up his hands in surrender.

“I didn’t know what I was doing! I-” Ranboo tries to defend himself against the onslaught of words from the crowd of people surrounding him but it’s no use.

“You knew damn well what you were doing! You knew who Dream was- knew what he’d done- and yet you still helped him!” Tommy is livid. No one’s ever seen the kid as angry as he was now. Not even when Wilbur and Techno betrayed him in the first destruction of L’Manberg.

“I trusted you, Ranboo. You know what he’s done to Tommy… to me… and you still helped him. I can’t believe you.” Tubbo mumbles and that hurts more than the words that Tommy’s screaming. 

“Tubbo I-” Ranboo is cut off from speaking again and tries to curl up as small as he can. The crowd closes in on him, swords and axes in hand.

“You belong in the prison with Dream.”

“You’re just as bad as him. “ 

“Why shouldn’t we put you in there with him?”

The voices overlap each other- loud, accusing voices. 

“Stop!” Someone says, landing in front of the boy and holding their wings out to shield him from the sight of the group of people in front of him.

“And who are you?” Sam asks angrily, eyes red and holding a sword out in preparation to take Ranboo into custody.

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re not going to touch him. Ever. And if any of you do, I will take all of your remaining lives and then display your bodies outside my house for the rest of my life. And I’m immortal. But don’t worry. He’s coming with me.” Her black scaly wings look familiar, and it takes him a moment before he places where he’s seen them before.

“And why should we give him to you?” Sam asks.

“He needs to be put in prison. He’s not going anywhere with you!” Tommy screams out and runs towards the woman with his sword raised.

She uses her wing to knock Tommy to the ground and looks Sam in the eyes. 

“As his mother, I’ve decided to take him with me. You do not get to tell me what I can and can’t do with my son. Last I checked, you aren’t his parent.” The purple glow of her eyes seems to get brighter as she speaks. 

“Give him to us or we’ll kill him and you right now.” Someone shouts from the crowd and the rest of them shout words of agreement.

“Is that a threat?” She asks head cocked slightly to the side.

“No. It’s a promise.” The same voice shouts and Ranboo identifies it as Sapnap.

“Well, in that case, come on then. I don’t have all day.” She smiles sweetly.

Sapnap steps forward and draws his axe. Y/n pulls her sword from the scabbard at her hip and the crowd eyes it wearily. The enchantments on it are evident in the runes etched into the blade, and a lot of them are ones that not even Philza recognizes. A slight haze surrounds the metal in the sunlight and Sapnap gulps but doesn’t retreat.

The crowd backs away and Ranboo does the same.

“Get ready to die,” Sapnap says before charging at Y/n. 

She steps back, dodging his lunge and making one of her own, at the same time sweeping her leg under his. Sapnap jumps and swipes at her with his blade. She dodges under it, coming up behind him and wrapping hers around his neck. The blade touches his skin and he feels a hot and cold sensation spread through his body, the freezing effect doing nothing to cool the burning that it follows.

“Are you done?” She asks and Sapnap’s breath catches in his throat.

“Never.” He tries to stab behind her but gets nothing but air. 

“Your choice.” She mutters before sliding her sword across his neck. 

The crowd gasps and screams as they watch the wound on his neck that was just made heal and his body contort and elongate. His screams die out as the fire engulfs his body, disappearing as the blue frost follows it leaving a pure black color in its wake. Not a moment later, he stands back up, but it’s not him. It’s something else. The black figure towers over everyone, giving them a quick look before teleporting away.

Someone screams, and then it’s chaos. Most of the group scatters with Bad simply staring at the spot where Sapnap’s body was.

“No…” he whispers and he feels his heartbreak.

“He’s not dead. He should be back wherever he spawns. You don’t have to worry.” She says, and Bad looks up before taking off to see if she’s telling the truth.

When the area is clear of people, she turns around to look at Ranboo. 

“Let’s go. You have a lot to learn.” She says with a gentle smile and places a hand on his shoulder. “And don’t worry about your friends. They’ll come around eventually. Trust me. Everything’s going to work itself out in the end.” 

He nods and smiles at her in return. She leads him out of the SMP, one wing wrapped protectively around him.

[saphirered]

Was wondering if I could request a Dorian x Rogue Reader where the reader’s never really taken part in any sort of pageant event before and needs some guidance from the party’s resident performer? Love your writing by the way! Have a great day!

Thank you and I hope you like this one too. Have a nice day! 😘

Everyone’s picking out outfits, talking about the pageant and having fun doing so. Orym and Fy’ra have gotten out of participating in the pageant but you weren’t as lucky. Wether it’s because Opal is very convincing, you’re easily tempted, the prospects of a shiny crown or Dorian’s persuasion, you don’t know. Might just be all of the above but you’re apparently in now and will be participating and find yourself playing the part of dress up doll for Opal who’s put you in a grand total of twenty-seven outfits varying from big voluminous dresses to nice suits, some of which including some impractical but pretty armour.

Awkwardly you leave the dressing room. This dress she’s put you in is so poofy you can’t even lower your arms to your sides as the sheer volume of tule keeps them at an angle. You’re pretty sure you look about as comfortable as you feel. The only good part about this humongous ballgown is there’s loads of places to hide weapons and stuff you could possibly lift from people’s pockets among the yards upon yards of fabric. Opal is fawning over you, pulling at the fabric flouncing it up to adjust the layers. Dorian notices your feelings about this twenty-eighth outfit and steps in to save you from the pageant expert.

“Maybe not this one? It doesn’t really do much for their figure, wouldn’t you agree?” Opal taps her lips at Dorian’s suggestion. The genasi has a point. The majority of your features get lost in the garment and no amount of accessorising can fix that. She scrunches her brow and nods. You let out a breath of relief hoping to be done with this. Not like you mind shopping but dressing up in this many outfits is exhausting and you can’t wait to be done. Why can’t you just pick a random one off the rack and call it a day? Lesson of the day; never go pageant shopping with a pageant girl. You’ll be at this for hours.

“Yeah. Too much volume. Maybe we should go back to something more formfitting. I think I saw a couple of outfits that would work much better.” Opal’s words make your breath hitch and you keep in a groan at the mention of more things to try on as the girl scurries off to find the things she saw and you’re left with Dorian. Turning to him as you finish staring after Opal and praying to the gods these new outfits she’s looking for would just spontaneously combust before they made their way back to you, you grab the genasi by the cloak, both hands clutching on tightly.

“Save me, Dorian. Please have mercy and save me from this hell.” You beg. Dorian presses his lips together tightly as to not let the laughter escape. He’ll have to admit it’s very funny to see you so completely and utterly out of your element but he also feels for you.

“I reckon we have about ten minutes before Opal returns. Only way to stop her is finds something you like and suits you well. Blow her away with whatever you find. As long as you look as uncomfortable as you feel, She’ll keep coming with the outfits.” Dorian’s right nothing will satisfy Opal as much as you feeling as comfortable and pretty as they know you are, regardless of you admitting it or not. The problem is, you don’t even know where to start looking. This shop, it’s all just a needle in a haystack for you.

“You have to help me find something and quickly! I don’t think I can take another hoop skirt or waistcoat. I might just faint.” Dorian clasps your hands over his and releases your grasp on his cloak. He offers you a confident smile that somewhat eases your fears of the intimidating woman on fashion spree. Dorian pulls you along to the racks, using one hand to browse while holding yours tightly clasped in the other giving it a soft squeeze whenever you look over your shoulder and around to find Opal and her growing heap of clothes.

“So we’ve eliminated any big skirts and traditional suits. How do you feel about something fitted and flowy?” Dorian brushes his fingers over the shoulder of a smocked shirt. You stare down at the poofy mess you’re still stuck in like a butterfly in a net.

“Uhhh, as far away from any ballgowns as we can get please. I don’t mind a bit of a cinch.” You say as Dorian picks up something akin to a corset with set in with decorative chainmail pieces. He holds it up to your body, purses his lips and puts it back not the rack. Not really your style. You need something fierce and practical, something that shows off your features just right but won’t be wearing you and will still make you feel comfortable in your own skin.

Then he spots it. This will look perfect on you. A dark navy blue fitted top with a deep v-neck nearly down to the bellybutton, and fitted sleeves. The matching leather pants also are fitted and somewhat resemble what you normally wear, though these are much less weathered. Over this all goes a very long trained chiffon robe rhinestoned like the night’s sky held together by an ornate silver clasp at the waist. When Dorian pulls it from the rack and holds it up to you you don’t know wether to fear or feel relieved at the look he gives you. Before you know it you’re being rushed back to the dressing room. Dorian helps you out of the monstrosity of the gown you’re in and leaves you to change into the new outfit as he distracts Opal long enough before she can return with the pile she’s gathered.

You never doubted Dorian to have style but this takes it to a whole new level. This is perfect. It fits in all the right places and whatever he said about it showing when you feel uncomfortable in a garment, it’s true as when you see yourself in the mirror that fully disappears and instead you feel confident. It may not have any protective properties like your usual armour does but it sure feels like you could take on the world right now. You’re badass, beautiful and confident.

When you step out of the dressing room you can already see Dorian mid argument with Opal who wanted to barge in, arms filled with clothes of all kind and the shop assistant being with whatever she couldn’t carry, huffing and puffing under the weight of it all. Their attention turns to you. Dorian’s attention turns to you and he doesn’t know how but you take his breath away. You look absolutely stunning. You look like a deity from the stars themselves, the energy you radiate does you justice and if he ever even had an ounce of doubt (he never did) it only shows your natural beauty more than ever.

“Oh. My. Gods.” Opal exclaims as she drops all the fabric in her arms rushing over to you, inspecting your new outfit, gushing about how it fits and how you should style your hair, maybe do some makeup to match the ‘star-effect’ of the robe for cohesion. You can’t even keep up anymore but let her ramble on. She tells the assistant you’d found your outfit and the assistant exasperatedly begins picking up the pile she dropped to put back on the racks. No more fittings for you. Opal’s satisfied and you’re safe. You offer Dorian a look of gratitude and he winks back, not daring to interrupt the fashion tyrant dressed in pink.

——————

Backstage before your turns in the pageant you get a moment alone with Dorian as the two of you watch the other candidates. You’re panicking as Dorian pulls up your hair, adding a comb to keep it in place and add some flare. You have no idea where he got it nor dare you ask right now, just thankful he’s been doing what he can to ease your nerves. This is not your thing. Prancing around like some trick pony is not your thing. You stick to the shadows, at most mingle with society using honeyed words to get what you need or want but this is a whole new world and you feel as if your skills are useless in this environment.

“You’re going to be okay. All you have to do is answer the question. It doesn’t take much more than a charming answer to persuade the judges. No different than persuading a shopkeeper to give you a better deal.” Dorian adjusts the comb before removing his hands and taking a step back to inspect his work. He taps your shoulder and has you turn around. It doesn't take a genius to see you’re nervous and the jitters are clear through your bouncing leg as you sit staring up at him, panic in your eyes and breathing hitching high in your chest visible through your partially exposed collarbones.

“Yeah but getting a better price on potions doesn’t have a crowd a few hundred large to witness it. What if I say something wrong? What if they don’t like me?” Dorian kneels in front of you, stroking your cheek and hand on your shoulder.

“Deep breath.” You do as you feel his thumb run across your cheek, the gesture alone calms your nerves a little bit and pulls you back to this world. You nod to signal you’re good.

“This is no different that the real world. If you say something wrong, own it. Make them think it’s intentional. There’s very few things you could say that you couldn’t own or turn into something funny.” Dorian assures you. You place a hand over his on your cheek and press a kiss to his wrist as a thank you as he continues.

“As for them not liking you, I don’t see how the couldn’t instantly be mesmerised. You are gorgeous, intelligent, resourceful. If they don’t eat you up and admire you for who you are they don’t deserve you.” The next candidate is called to the stage and both of you know you’ll be up soon. You’re glad Dorian’s pep talk is working and you can feel the affection from him. If only he knew how much it means to you to have him here. Then again, you’ve told him plenty of times how amazing he is.

“Why are they walking all weirdly getting on stage?” You raise an eyebrow as the next candidate places one foot directly in front of the other, walking on their tiptoes more than their full feet.

“Watch the hips.” You do as Dorian says and you can see their hips swaying as they walk adding just a little bit more flare to that strut. You have to say, it kinda looks good. Maybe you should give it a try?

“Could you, I don’t know teach me? I know how to sway hips but this, this goes beyond me.” You gesture to the candidate stopping at Ruby to answer the question. Dorian looks a little taken aback but rises to his feet pulling you with him. He never thought he’d ever be teaching anyone how to walk the walk and is pretty sure he’ll get some weird looks from the others but he doesn’t really care if it makes you happy and more confident about this whole pageant. He puts his hands on your hips as you stand facing each other but keeps a bit of a distance between he two of you so you can still take the steps as you would on your own.

“Okay, so first things first. You want to keep your steps on the same line. See it like walking on a narrow ledge or a tightrope. You want to stick to balancing on your toes and keep a bounce in your knees. Don’t lock them too much. Light on your feet.” Dorian guides you forward as he steps backwards with you guiding you along, tapping whatever hip is swaying next. Your movement is a bit rigid at first but before you know it you’re doing it and Dorian steps away to let you strut without his help. You’re a natural. He gives pointers as you turn but you have the walk down in no time.

Then your name is called. The panic returns for a second but is overshadowed by your newfound confidence. You look the part, you got the act down so act the part too. Confidently you strut down to Dorian, give him a seductive look as you stroke his cheek following his jawline. He’s gotta say, he likes this look on you but can see the glee break through your seduction.

“What would I have done without my handsome hero in blue?” You smile and give him a kiss.

“Still be stuck in that dressing room with Opal probably? You look stunning. Go show them exactly what you’re made of.” Dorian encourages you, a hue of purple spreading lightly across his cheeks as he watches for any witnesses to your moment. Holding on to his cheek as long as you can stepping backwards you offer him one last wink and blowing him a kiss before you turn and strut onto the stage ready to play. Who knew pageants could be fun after all.

[stiltonbasket]

chancellor of the morning sun: burdens, mingjue (youth)

In which being a woman in the cultivation world is difficult, and Nie Mingjue comforts a friend.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | | Part 8 | Part 9 | AO3

On the night after the welcoming banquet, Nie Mingjue wakes to the sound of someone crying outside his door. 

This was by no means unusual when he was younger; Huaisang often had night terrors after his mother died, and refused to sleep without Nie Mingjue for the next three or four years. But A-Sang is thirteen now, far too old to come crying to his da-ge after dark, and the person on the other side of his door seems to be a woman. 

“Who’s there?” he calls, lighting one of his dream lanterns before getting out of bed. “A-Sang, is that you?”

“No, it’s me!” a familiar voice shouts, nearly sending Nie Mingjue to the ground as he scrambles to keep his footing. “A-Jue, let me in!”

Nie Mingjue drops his lantern and tries not to panic. The crying is still going on, but the person who called his name was Lan Xichen, without a doubt; and if she had come to his chambers this late, with the Unclean Realm full of foreign cultivators who would gladly take any chance to see her reputation ruined, then she must have come to seek his help with some kind of emergency.

And Nie Mingjue has not forgotten that the son of his father’s murderer is sleeping under his roof, or that Wen Ruohan openly sought Xichen’s hand in marriage for Wen Xu, and would have forced the two to meet if Nie Mingjue’s own fuqin had not intervened.

“I’m coming!” he says frantically, throwing the door open and grasping Lan Xichen’s arm the moment she crosses the threshold. “Lan Huan, I’m—”

And then he looks over Lan Xichen’s shoulder, blinking at the miserable line of young maidens trailing down the corridor behind her. Jiang Yanli is standing at Xichen’s side, crying into her sleeves, and Qin Su and Jin Zixuan’s first shimei are there, too; and Wen Ruohan’s young niece is standing in the back, holding Qin Su’s arm to keep her from falling over. All five girls smell of liquor, even Xichen, and Nie Mingjue gapes at them in bewilderment as Xichen fists her hands in his tunic and shakes him from side to side.

“Jiang-jie won’t listen to us!” she complains, sobbing drunkenly into his chest: which sets Jiang Yanli off again, and then Luo Qingyang starts weeping, too. “A-Jue, tell her!”’

Mingjue frowns. “Tell her what, A-Huan?” he says gently, wiping his intended’s face. It will be ruin for them both if anyone spots her here in the middle of the night, let alone with four other girls in front of his private quarters, but Nie Mingjue would rather cut his own hands off than turn the girl he loves away in such distress. “What’s wrong?”

“Jiang-guniang thinks she’s not worthy of Zixuan,” Luo Qingyang wails. “But just look at him! He prances around like a prize stallion, and he keeps making a fool of himself everywhere he goes! It’s pathetic! And he keeps talking about how wonderful he is, almost as much as Zixun! Nie-zongzhu, I have to beat him up twice a month to keep him in line, and it’s not even working!”

“Not worthy of Jin Zixuan?” he snorts. “Jiang-guniang, it’s Jin-gongzi who isn’t worthy of you. A-Huan, didn’t you tell her so?”

Jiang Yanli only cries even harder, and Xichen gives him a reproachful look and pinches his stubbly cheek. “She won’t listen to us when we tell her she’s more than enough. Yanli thinks we have to say so, since we’re her friends, so I brought her to you so you could tell her instead!”

“Jin-gongzi should count himself lucky that a maiden like Lady Jiang would give him the time of day,” Nie Mingjue says promptly. “He’ll get over himself in time, and Luo-guniang will beat him into the ground if he doesn’t. Right, Luo-guniang?”

Luo Qingyang nods fervently before listing straight into one of the walls. “I will!” she yells, as Wen Qing reaches over and puts her back on her feet again. “‘N then I’ll put itching powder in Jin Zixun’s pants, and, and…”

“Steal his wine again,” Qin Su suggests, letting out a loud burp. “That peach-blossom brew was delicious. Don’t you feel any better after drinking it, A-Li?”

“No, I don’t,” Jiang Yanli murmurs. “Good night, Nie-zongzhu. I’m going back to bed now.”

“Yanli!” begs Xichen, throwing herself at the shorter girl and almost knocking both of them backwards onto the floor. “Yanli, don’t go! You’re worth a hundred of Jin-zongzi, you—A-Jue, help!”

“What am I supposed to say?” he asks, thoroughly bewildered. “I can go challenge Jin-gongzi to a duel myself, if you like. Would that cheer you up, Jiang-guniang!”

But to his surprise, Jiang Yanli only goes to her knees and trembles like a kitten left out in the cold, sobbing about her fears for her future at Koi Tower and her dread of being bound to a man who will never respect her, her terror at the prospect of having no allies past her wedding day save for her mother-in-law, and then about having to spend the rest of her life within reach of Jin Guangshan. 

“Mother keeps telling me that I should try to do better, so that Jin-gongzi likes me,” she chokes. “And one of my Yu aunties told me once that Jin-gongzi has to like me, since that’s going to be the only thing keeping me safe from—from—”

“Why haven’t you spoken to your parents about this?” Nie Mingjue demands, aghast. He knows very little about how his own engagement was settled on Xichen’s side; but not long after his ascension, he discovered that neither she nor her uncle were consulted on the matter, and that the sect elders only informed Lan Qiren of his niece’s engagement after the betrothal papers were sealed and signed and the bride price was already paid. 

Nie Mingjue’s father made the agreement believing that Lan Qiren was amenable, and would have dissolved the betrothal in a heartbeat if Lan Xichen ever said she was unhappy with it—even in the months just before his death, when his greatest regret was that he would likely not live long enough to see his grandchildren. But he never disapproved of Lan Xichen’s decision to remain unwed until Wangji was at least eighteen, though the wedding was originally set to take place just after Xichen turned eighteen, and he would even have accepted a divorce if his daughter-in-law initiated it. 

And Jiang Fengmian is widely known to dote upon his daughter, just as Nie Mingjue’s father doted on Lan Xichen, so why would he not offer the same choice to his child that Nie Huangyin gave to A-Huan?

“Father would break the engagement if I asked, but Jin-furen is mother’s best friend,” Jiang Yanli weeps, in answer to Nie Mingjue’s unspoken question. “It would make things so difficult between them if Jin-furen ever knew I felt this way. And A-Xian and A-Cheng already hate the idea of me marrying into Lanling, Nie-zongzhu. It would be so much worse for them both if they found out I was afraid.”

“It is better out now, than ten years from now, when you are wedded into that house and bound there by a husband and children,” Nie Mingjue says somberly. “Jin Zixuan is not a bad sort, but if he can look upon a maiden who spends her days tending to her family and teaching in orphanages and finding apprenticeships for street children, and call such a girl unworthy because of her looks and low cultivation—then he is not worthy of any wife, let alone one like you, and I pray he will come to recognize it without some great tragedy to bring him to his senses.”

“But—”

“If A-Huan were to lose her cultivation, I would still count myself as the luckiest man in the world to be her husband,” he declares. “And if she were not beautiful, that would be nothing to me. Whatever the strength of her golden core, and whatever she looks like—her heart has nothing to do with either her face or her jindan, and I love her for that above all things.”

Jiang Yanli’s jaw drops open, and she stares up at Nie Mingjue in open disbelief. Xichen is far too drunk to register what he just said, and Wen Qing seems to have stuffed bits of cloth into her ears to keep herself from listening to anything Jiang-guniang would not have confided while sober—but the word love still burns on his lips like the hot filling from Lan Xichen’s sweet bean cakes, flooding through every inch of his body until he can think of nothing else, and he spends a good two minutes in a kind of stricken trance before wondering if saying such a thing before Maiden Jiang might have hurt her feelings.

“It didn’t,” she says softly—because apparently, Nie Mingjue said that last aloud. “I think I see now, Nie-zongzhu.”

Nie Mingjue opens his mouth to ask what she means, but a small purple blur interrupts him before he can get the words out. The blur skids around the nearest corner, screeching in indignation at the sight of Yanli’s tearstained face, and then it turns upon Nie Mingjue and demands an explanation. 

“What did you say to my Shijie?” Wei Wuxian cries. “Shijie, did he bully you?”

“Silly A-Xian,” Jiang-guniang smiles, ruffling Wei Wuxian’s hair. “Nobody bullied me, but Nie-zongzhu made me feel much better.”

“By making you cry?” Wei Wuxian says doubtfully. “Should I get Suibian?”

“A-Xian, no!” Jiang Yanli is giggling now, kissing her brother all over his puffy cheeks. “Come on, let’s go back.”

Wei Wuxian drags her off down the hallway, casting suspicious glances over his shoulder, and Wen Qing charges herself with the duty of escorting Luo Qingyang and Maiden Qin back to their own quarters. However, she declares in no uncertain terms that managing three drunk girls is beyond her, and that leaves only Nie Mingjue to look after Lan Xichen. 

“Your uncle’s going to kill me if he finds us,” he whimpers, as he struggles up a flight of stairs with his betrothed yawning in his arms. “And then A-Sang will spend the rest of his life on birds and fans, and never catch up with his lessons in time to attend your clan lectures.”

“Shufu likes you,” Xichen assures him, patting the tip of his nose. “He would never do such a thing.”

“He would if he thought I’d been improper towards you,” Nie Mingjue groans. “A-Huan, have you had anything to eat after you started drinking?”

“Mm, A-Su brought snacks. And Wen Qing kept slipping headache medicine into my wine.”

Nie Mingjue sighs in relief and hugs her a little tighter. “Good. Will you try to drink a little water after we get back to your room?”

Xichen nods drowsily, nearly stopping Nie Mingjue’s heart as she nuzzles against his shoulder, but he manages to get her up to her bedroom in one piece and helps her get into bed, making sure she lies on her side to prevent choking in the morning. He also puts a few pieces of rice candy on her nightstand since he always carries a handful in his pocket for Huaisang, and fetches a glass of water for her to drink when she wakes. 

Lan Huan is fast asleep by then, breathing quietly in her nest of blankets with her hand tucked under her cheek, and Nie Mingjue makes it as far as the door before remembering that she is still too drunk to be left alone.

But she doesn’t have a maidservant, Nie Mingjue thinks desperately, staring wildly out of the room as if one might climb out of the nearest cupboard. And Wangji didn’t come along this time, and I can’t wake Lan Qiren—

Oh, no.

Oh, this is very bad. 

Anything could happen to Lan Xichen with so much alcohol in her blood, and she might even stop breathing during the night and smother. But there is no one to fetch except for Lan-xiansheng, and that means Nie Mingjue will have to stay with her until she wakes. And given the fact that Lan Qiren will be looking for his niece by mao hour tomorrow, while Lan Xichen will probably sleep a shichen longer than usual—

Nie Mingjue sinks down beside the bed and puts his head in his hands. 

Well, that settles it, he despairs, pulling the thick blankets away from Xichen’s face. Lan Qiren is definitely going to kill me. 

But he would be lying if he said that the sight of Xichen’s peaceful face was unworthy of death by uncle-in-law, so Nie Mingjue accepts his demise with grace and starts planning his funeral instead.

___

When Lan Xichen opens her eyes, the first thing she notices is the dull pain in her head. 

The second thing she notices (after gulping down the water and candy on the nightstand) is that someone seems to have left a heap of something dark near her bed; probably a bag, or a pile of clothes, though she can’t see well enough to tell what it could be. 

And the last thing is that her uncle is sitting on a chair by the door, tapping his foot loudly enough to make her head pound. 

“Shufu,” she croaks, struggling upright with the aid of one of her pillows. “What are you—”

“Disciples of the Lan clan must not consume alcohol,” he says, strangely calm despite the enormity of her transgression. Her clothes still smell like Baling mead, sweet and spicy and fruity all at once, and she nearly dies of shame at the thought of how shocked Shufu must have been when he found her. “They must not go out of doors after haishi. And they must never share chambers with any member of the opposite sex to whom they are not married, unless they are a relative.”

Lan Xichen freezes. “What?”

“Should I not be asking you that?” her uncle reminds her. “What is Nie-zongzhu doing in your bedchamber?”

Thunderstruck, Lan Xichen stumbles out of bed and stares at the dark heap on the floor, which yawns at her touch and stretches like a cat before springing up in horror. 

“Lan-xiansheng, it’s not what it looks like!” Nie Mingjue cries, making Lan Xichen shrivel at the memory of how shamefully she must have behaved last night. “I only wanted to make sure Xichen was safe, I would never—”

“And you did not think of waking me?” Lan Qiren lifts his eyebrows at them. “Even if you wanted to ensure that my niece was well, how could you risk being seen leaving her rooms in the morning? My own quarters are just on the other side of the hall.”

Mingjue ducks his head in shame, and Lan Xichen suddenly wants nothing more than the comfort of his hand in hers. “I didn’t want her to get in trouble, xiansheng,” he mumbles. “She only came out last night for someone else’s sake, and I couldn’t have borne to see her unhappy just for that.”

“You are a sect leader, Nie Mingjue. Don’t look down when you speak to me,” Shufu scolds. “As it is, I am glad that you did not leave her. But as her uncle, I must order you to go now before the breakfast bell, lest you ruin both of your reputations at once and force her to marry before she is ready.”

Mingjue takes the hint and flees, leaving Xichen and her uncle alone. Shufu says nothing more for a while, merely studying the ceiling as if the laws of the Lan sect were inscribed there, and then he clears his throat and points to the stack of parchment on her desk.

“Copy each precept you broke, a hundred times each. The tenth, eighteenth, and seventy-first laws. Go.”

And then, after a moment’s lull:

“I think he will be a good father someday, A-Huan,” Lan Qiren reflects. “Your little ones will want for nothing, what with how he cares for you and how much he coddles Huaisang. I could not have found you a better husband if I chose for you myself.”

Lan Xichen drops her paintbrush.

“Shufu!”

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Prove Them Wrong | Reggie Peters

A/N: I got these two requests for a Reggie fic and decided to merge them together, I hope you don’t mind! 

Request 1:  Please i just want a fanfic of reggie discovering YouTube and uploading home is where my horse is video and the gang reacting to it since people absolutely love it

Request 2:  Hi!! Can you do one where the reader is julies friend and is with her when the boys come back and her and Reggie have a instant connection and he follows her around and is always talking to her

Relationships: Reggie x Reader, Sunset Curve x Reader, JATP x Reader

Warnings: Fluff? 

Words:  4,165

Your life has been pretty ordinary for the past 16 years. A life pretty much every person would call boring was a life you wouldn’t change for the world’s most expensive things. Until you met Reggie and the other boys from Sunset Curve. You say boys, but it would be much more accurate if you said ghosts. Sunset Curve was a ghost band from the 90’s that popped into your life one night when you were helping your best friend Julie clean up her mother’s studio. 

2 months earlier… 

A text from Julie comes in when you’re doing your homework on your bed whilst watching reruns of Friends on your laptop. The show makes for good background noise, you find. “911!” Worry rises within you as you read the call-for-help text from your best friend. “U ok?” you text back. Three dots begin dancing on the screen, raising suspense. “Do u wanna come help me clean out mom’s studio? :( x” A soft smile plays at your lips whilst more dots appear. “Don’t think I can do it by myself.” You close the Netflix app on your laptop and get up to put some proper pants on. You had the habit to kick your jeans off the second you got home. Prancing around in your underwear after a tough day at school has become one of your favorite things to do, but Julie might not appreciate that too much, nor would the neighbors. “OMW!” you quickly text back and hop into your Vans before heading down to the Molina house. You find your best friend behind the grand piano, looking up at the chair-decorated ceiling of the shed. Something Julie’s mom did with a superstitious meaning you’d kind of forgotten. Neither you nor Julie believed it, to be fair. “Hey,” you greet softly, making her look at you. A smile appears on her lips, glad you’d be willing to come over and help. Like you’ve been so many times last year when her mother died. You’d be there to listen to her talk about all the memories with her mom, or to hug her as she cried because she missed her.  This is just another part of the grieving process she needs to get through, and you’re there to hold her hand all the way through it. “Are you okay?” you ask, walking towards the piano and leaning your forearms on it. “Yeah, it’s just a little weird to be here…” she says as her eyes start scanning the entire space. “There are so many memories of her in here.” Her fingers glide across the piano keys. “Yeah, I know,” you whisper, not wanting to bring up anything that might hurt her. You remember the days you’d come over to play with Julie and you’d hear her mom singing in her studio. You remember when you’d make music together with Carrie and her dad and Julie’s mom. There are so many unfinished songs about bunnies and puppies from when you were kids, and even some more recent ones about the person you had a crush on or about that boy that broke your heart when you were fifteen. Those songs are now stored away in the back of your mind, waiting for the day Julie would start singing again. Along with all those memories you put on tape.  “Let’s get crackin’!” you tap the top of the piano in a rhythmic beat before stepping away and holding out your hands for Julie to take. The girl gets up from the stool behind the piano and carefully places her hand in yours. You pull her away from the piano and halt in the middle of the garage, looking up to the loft that suddenly seems very looming. Both of you know whatever’s up there is the ghost of a musician’s past, and not even Julie’s mom’s. No, all the instruments up there are from the people that used to live here. Julie never told you, but you’re certain Carrie’s dad used to live here when he was a child and sold his parents’ house to Julie’s parents when they died. You’d noticed the way Trevor always stood in the doorway, glancing around with soft eyes and a tender smile tugging at his lips. Almost like he’s reminiscing about his past. Besides, he’s accidentally slipped up a few times when talking about his childhood, saying he used to play around here with some of his buddies. No one else ever mentioned it, so you didn’t either. There’s probably a good reason for him not to speak about his past in too much detail. You climb up the stairs first and step up on the wooden floor, letting your eyes scan over all the junk up here. Keyboards, old guitars, drumsticks, even an entire drum kit, along with bags and backpacks, all strewn around the place. “Y/N,” Julie’s voice makes you snap out of your thoughts. You look down to find Julie still on the stairs, half of her body in he loft. She’s holding a CD up to show you. “Sunset Curve?” you read aloud from the black CD case. “Never heard of that band.” “Let’s give it a listen?” she suggests and after receiving an agreeing nod from you, she climbs down again, followed by yourself. She places the CD into the stereo whilst you sit down on the couch. Julie presses play and joins you. “1-2-3 Take off, last stop Countdown till we blast open the top Face first, full charge--” The music fades away as it’s overpowered by a loud screeching noise. You look over at Julie, who has her hands up to her ear to cover them from the noise. Your eyebrows knit together, confused as to what’s happening. It might just be a fault in the production of the song? Or maybe a scratch on the CD? Before you can even come up with a decent reason, a bright flash lights up the entire garage, followed by a loud thud. And, when you look up, you find three boys in the middle of the studio, scrambling up from where they’d come down harshly. You and Julie quickly get up from the couch, wanting to take a closer look at the scene in front of you.  “Woah! How did we get back here?” One of them says, confused about his surroundings. Julie lets out an ear-piercing scream before running out of the garage, leaving you with those three boys. You have no clue what’s happening, and you don’t know what to do either. Should you run and hide like Julie? Or should you just wait and see if they have a reason for being here? “Hello!” one of them yells excitedly, making you snap out of your train of thoughts. It’s the dark-haired boy with the red flannel tied around his waist that’s talking to you. “I’m sorry, who are you and what are you doing in our studio?” Your eyes widen at this. They think this is their studio? “I-I’m… I’m sorry, gimme a second,” you say, holding up your finger. The boy nods curtly before you dash out of there too, running up to Julie’s room with the question haunting your head ‘Who are they? And why do they think it’s their studio?’ After a while, you and Julie pluck up the courage to go back into the garage, armed with a cross since Julie’s positive they’re ghosts. Turns out they are. They -- along with Google -- explain they’re three ghosts that used to be in a band called Sunset Curve and that they died after eating bad hotdogs in ‘95. Luke, Reggie and Alex introduce themselves to you, and from that moment on, you’re certain these three ghost boys will change your life forever. And they do. 

Present day

To say your life has changed since the day those boys came into your life is an understatement. It went from studying while watching Friends in your room to going out to their gigs almost every Saturday and sitting in on their rehearsals every day after school. You, along with Julie, have grown very close to the boys in the last five months. They’ve become your best friends you could talk to about everything and anything. But the most special connection you have, is with Reggie. Ever since that day, the boy hasn’t left you alone. Every time you’re at the Molina house, he’ll poof in, wherever you are. Whether you’re getting a drink or a snack in the kitchen, or  you’d just come out of the bathroom, he’d be there. This caused a lot of heart attacks, but also a lot of deep conversations.

Especially if he came to your own house. This was mostly when he’d had a bad day or missed his old life or his parents. He’d poof into your room and just tell you to do whatever you were doing, that he just wanted to hang out. After a few times, you didn’t even ask anymore and he didn’t have to tell you to just continue whatever you were doing. Those nights even ended with the two of you cuddling, which is something  you realized you could do for some unknown reason. But you liked it, so you didn’t think too much about it.  Today is Friday, which means it’s the last big rehearsal before the boys and Julie have their gig tomorrow night. And though you’d much rather be there with them, you have to watch your little siblings for the night since your parents have gone out to a dinner party. You’re making some popcorn in the kitchen for all of you to munch on when watching a movie, when Reggie suddenly poofs in, making you jump. You hadn’t expected him to come in this early, which causes the worry to well up inside of you. Something must’ve happened. “Reg, you okay?” you ask in a hushed voice, glancing back at the kids in front of the tv. “No…” he murmurs, wringing his flannel in his hands. He looks sad, sadder than when he misses his old life, which means something really bad must’ve happened. “Gimme a second,” you say and turn to leave the kitchen. Reggie smiles a little as those words remind him of the first words you ever said to them. “Kids, it’s time for bed!” Moans and whines come from the little kids on the sofa, protesting their early bedtime. “No complaining! Chop chop!” you rushed them up the stairs before returning to the kitchen. “Get yourself comfy on the couch, I’m just gonna put them to bed real quick, okay?” Reggie nods agreeingly and watches you walk away again. He grabs the bowl of popcorn you’d prepared and takes it into the living room. Even though he can’t eat, he’d want you to snack on it since you’re the one that made it. “Sorry it took so long. They can be really stubborn sometimes,” you exhale frustratedly as you plop onto the couch next to Reggie. “Now, tell me, what’s going on?” “So, I suggested to Luke we’d try this song I wrote a while ago,” he starts solemnly. “Home is Where My Horse is?” you ask, remembering him writing that up in your room. You’d even helped him on some verses.  “Yes, that one! But he just rejected it… Again!” he sighs exasperatedly, throwing his head back on the backrest of the couch. “Yelled at him that he didn’t appreciate my talent and just poofed out,” he chuckles airily, and you do too. “I’m sorry Luke isn’t more open to your creativity, Reg… I really wish I could help you somehow, if I knew something I--” you stop in your tracks as an idea pops into your head. “What is it, Y/N?” he asks, getting excited as it seems you have an idea.  “What if we film you singing the song and upload it on YouTube?” you suggest, eyes twinkling at the idea alone. He nods excitedly at first, but then slows down when he realizes he has no clue what you’re talking about. “What’s a YouTube?” he asks. You let out a giggle before grabbing his hand and leading him towards the dining table where you’d left your laptop. You open it on the site and show him the home page filled with different types of recommended videos. “It’s a platform where people can post videos of whatever they like. A lot of artists use it for their music videos nowadays. It’s where I posted ‘Edge of Great’ a few weeks ago,” you explain. 

He peers at the screen with wide, intrigued eyes. You then lean forward and type in ‘Queen don’t stop me now’ before hitting enter. Reggie’s eyes widen even more as you press play on the music video.

“I could film you with my dad’s equipment and edit the whole thing together and upload it. At least then the world will see how truly talented you are and maybe Luke might change his mind too?” He eagerly nods his head in agreement, getting excited about the whole idea. Besides him being able to prove to his band that his country songs are worth taking a second look at, it’s also a good opportunity for you to test out some new techniques. 

So, on Saturday, the two of you get up at the crack of dawn -- or you do since ghosts don’t really sleep -- and make your way down to the riding club your little brother goes for riding classes. You’re acquainted with the owners, so they’ll let you film whatever you need around there. Doesn’t even matter if it looks like you’re not filming anything. “Okay, you ready?” you mutter as you set up the first scene. He’s currently sitting on a picnic bench with his guitar in his lap and the stables in the background. Your camera is set up in front of Reggie with the stable doors on each side of his head, perfectly balanced. You simply nod your head curtly as his ‘action’ sign. He immediately starts strumming his guitar and singing out his self-made words. “Home, what is it really? Sometimes it’s a someone and not a place, It’s that feeling of being safe, It’s about who you’re with at the end of the day…” You spent the entire day running around the ranch, letting Reggie sing his song multiple times in different locations. You even film a couple of nature shots to edit in later. This is just going to be the greatest music video you’ve ever made, and it’s all thanks to Reggie. Your Sunday is spent behind your laptop, editing Reggie’s footage until it’s turned into a somewhat coherent video. “Hey!” Reggie poofs into your room late that night. “Where’ve you been? You missed movie night!” he asks, worry laced in his voice. You don’t even take your eyes off your screen. It’s almost finished just a few more… Yes! “I just finished editing your video! Wanna see?” He nods his head excitedly, so you make some room for him on the chair you’re sitting on. He seems hesitant at first, but eventually sits down on the very edge. Your entire side that’s touching his tingles. It’s always been a weird feeling to touch him, but this is from an entirely new calibre. You rewind the video and press play. There’s a shot of the surrounding nature at first and some horses galloping in the distance whilst the strumming of his guitar floats out of the laptop. Then the camera pans to Reggie on the picnic bench with his guitar. “Home, what is it really? Sometimes it’s a someone and not a place, It’s that feeling of being safe, It’s about who you’re with at the end of the day… and for me” The picture changes to Reggie looking out into the meadows, watching the horses frolic around in the grass with a couple of shots of him playing his guitar as he’s walking along with the horses. “Home is where my horse is! Riding through trees by the river Feel the summer breeze smile gettin’ bigger Home is where my horse is Don’t need a house or a roof I just put on the saddle, lace up my boots  Cuz home is where my horse is” In the next few shots, you’re even in it. Reggie had grabbed your camera and placed it on the grass before grabbing your hand and pulling you out into the meadow with him to dance. It probably looked most ridiculous to any bystanders, but the footage is too pretty not to use. You can just about see two silhouettes dancing around over the grass with a flare of sunlight breaking in and giving it a magical flair. “I don’t need the streets Don’t need the city lights I don’t need a fancy car I just hop on my horse and ride” You’d filmed a couple of the riders too, since Reggie himself couldn’t really ride a horse seeing he’s a ghost and everything. But it made for some good footage to set the scene of the song properly. “Home is where my horse is! Riding through trees by the river Feel the summer breeze smile gettin’ bigger Home is where my horse is I see the beautiful beast running up to me And I know I’m home” The song ends and the screen fades to black, Reggie vanishing as he looks out into the meadow again. You look up at real-life ghost Reggie with expectant eyes. He’s just staring at the black screen for a moment, mouth ajar and eyes wide. “Woah!” he finally mutters. “That was amazing, Y/N! Show me that again!” he exclaims excitedly. Of course you oblige and show him again. This time, he points out everything he loved. “This is my favorite part!” he says, pointing at the screen as the two of you are shown dancing. You can’t help but smile at how excited he gets over this collaboration. “So, can I upload it?” you ask when the screen fades again. “What?! Of course! Put it on the Tube-thing!” he claps his hands excitedly and watches as you open the site and start the upload on the Julie and The Phantoms channel. You had edited their Edge of Great video when Ray asked your father to help him film, so you pretty much had the right to do this, even if Julie might say otherwise. “There we go! It’s set to upload in about five minutes!” you say and turn to Reggie, almost forgetting how close he’s sitting until he’s literally mere inches away. You can actually feel his hot breath tickling your lips. A wave of warmth rushes through you when you catch his eyes darting from your lips to your eyes and back again. “You’re really talented, you know that?” You simply hum in response to this compliment, not that you agree with him, but you don’t know what else to do. You’re completely frozen in place. His eyes are so pretty up close. They’re the most beautiful shade of green you have ever seen, especially with that twinkle in them. “Can I kiss you?” his soft voice makes you snap out of your thoughts about those dreamy eyes.     “Wh--what?” you stutter, hoping you did hear that right, but not wanting to assume. “C-can I kiss you?” he repeats, his voice just above a whisper. 

“Yeah.” Your voice wavers ever so slightly. Reggie’s eyes flutter close as he leans in to press his lips to yours. There’ve been times you dreamed about doing this, but you never thought you’d actually be able to kiss him. The ability to touch him was a surprise and a miracle, you didn’t think this would be possible too. A bleep coming from your computer causes you to pull away abruptly. You just about catch the smile on Reggie’s face before you turn to the screen, madly blushing yourself. “It’s ready to go!” you state excitedly and start typing up a description for the video. “What are you doing?” he asks, peering over your shoulder. “Typing up a little description for the fans, or whoever watches,” you reply as your fingers stilt for a second to think about what else to write. “Home is Where My Horse is, a Reggie original. Written and performed by your favorite bassist, Reggie Peters. Filmed and edited by Y/N Y/L/N. Special thanks to Hold Your Reins Ranch.” He reads the little text aloud. “Nice,” he nods his head, impressed by your abilities with this foreign platform. “And we’re live!” you inform him as you have pressed the post button. “Thanks, Y/N,” he says with a soft smile, making you look at him again. “I’m just gonna kiss you again, is that okay?” You nod your head before closing the distance between the two of you and kissing him again. This is not what you’d expected to come from this project, but you’re glad it had. This feels right. That night, you send Julie a message with the link to the video. “Give the boy a chance. This is an actual bop!” you sent along with it. You’re a little scared you might’ve overstepped and shouldn’t have suggested making this video for Reggie and you definitely shouldn’t have posted it to the Julie and The Phantoms YouTube channel. It probably wasn’t your place to mingle into a band conflict, but you couldn’t handle seeing Reggie so upset. 

“Get ur talented ass to the studio. NOW,” Julie’s text reads. It sounds a little passive-aggressive, but you still obey and hop into some pants and shoes before heading down the other end of the street where the Molina house stands. “‘Sup, kids?” you say when you find the boys and Julie on the couch, throwing up a peace sign. The bubbliness might camouflage the nerves building up inside you. “Care to explain yourself, miss Y/L/N?” Julie starts with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. You glance over at Reggie. He’s glancing down at the rings around his fingers. “I’m sorry, Jules. But I really think you ought to give this boy and his horse a chance!” you aggressively point at the boy in question, whose head snaps up at this. Now he’s looking at you with a scared, yet tendered expression on his face.    “I was joking, babes,” Julie mutters, holding her hands up in defense. “We didn’t think you’d react this defensive over this…” Your eyebrows knit together as confusion takes over you. “Wh-what do you mean?” you question. “Your video has been viewed over a thousand times already and it’s only been up for about two hours, Y/N,” Julie explains and turns her laptop for you to see the view count at 1,327. Your breath hitches in your throat at the large number. That’s how many people have seen your work? I mean, you would’ve watched it that many times in a row yourself because that song is actually amazing. These people are stupid for not giving it a chance earlier. “Woah, Reg! That’s a lot of people hearing your song!” you exclaim excitedly. The boy gets up from the couch and walks over to you with a proud smile on his face. “Actually….” he starts and scrolls down on the laptop. You taught him how to do that. “They’re loving your camerawork and editing!” He shows you all the comments underneath the video. The reactions are divided evenly between praise for the song and praise for your work. “Wha--” your eyes dart from Reggie to Alex, then to Luke and Julie. “We had a band meeting and we want you to become our band’s official videographer,” Alex announces with that soft smile of his plastered on his lips. Your mouth drops in disbelief. You’ve always loved videography and editing, but you always saw it as something fun, not as an official band thing. After months of sitting in rehearsals and watching gigs, you’re finally going to be part of the band. Or close enough to being a part of the band. “What do you say, babe?” Reggie asks when you’ve been quiet for a good minute. Luke and Alex exchange glances at the sudden use of pet names. That’s new. “I mean, it could be cool?” you shrug humbly. The band cheers, Alex and Luke even high five. Before you can even go over to hug Julie, Reggie’s already cupped your face and crashes his lips to yours. You’ll never get used to that feeling. “That’s new,” you hear Alex say when the two of you pull away. You need a good second to cool it after that passionate kiss, but once you do, you beckon the others over for a group hug. “Thank you, guys,” you whisper and press a kiss to Julie’s hair as a thank you. From that day on, you’re not only known as the Julie and The Phantoms videographer, but also as the cute bassist’s girlfriend. To say your life has drastically changed since meeting these boys would be the understatement of the year.

Taglist: @hannahhistorian92​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @thequirkybookaholic​ @bookdealer5​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @hemmingsness​ @iainttakingshitfromnobody​ @ifilwtmfc​ @angryknightstatesmantrash​ @kiss-themoongoodbye​ @rudysbay​ @thedarkqueenofavalon​​ @caitsymichelle13​​ @calamitykaty​ @wiselight​ @kcd15​​

[ktheist]

saving grace | 1

muses. duke!yoongi x lady!reader

universe. arranged marriage / minor traces of magic in history

concept. driven into a corner with the new king, seokjin, offering to marry you off to a prince in a foreign land and a persistent mother who would seize the chance of a lucrative marriage for her daughter, you’re forced with the only other option to secure your freedom ‒ enter into a beneficial agreement with the man who reaped the seeds of war, the duke of cralon, yoongi min.

words. 6.1k

warnings. mentions of war, it’s cliche and cheesy all in one package

index. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / finale

x

“that’s not a reward,” you heatedly claim, somewhere in your periphery, the royal assistant flinches from your tone, “that’s banishment! you wish to banish me to another country where i’ll be of no threat to you because of the information i hold!”

“l-lady ___, please lower your voice.” jungkook, seokjin’s new advisor, tries to placate only to stagger back from a glare you shot.

the music and chatters is loud enough to drown a scream - and you haven’t reached that point of wanting to yell your heart out at this man. the area you are in - on the second floor on the veranda overseeing the ocean of people dancing in the hall - is secluded enough to give the king his privacy.

“now, why would i do that to my most trusted confidant?” the smile on seokjin’s face could not have been more dubious. though he may wear the crown and sit upon the throne, his crude nature is what he truly is.

it’s not a secret that seokjin is the son of a maid who rose to the top but it couldn’t have been possible without the help of the count’s daughter. he needed information but his status as a prince born from a mere maid, hadn’t allow him to attend the social functions nor received any acknowledgement from the aristocrats. it was you who offered to be his eyes and ears in exchange for moving into the royal palace once he becomes king after the siege.

“as i recall, you wished to live in a palace like a princess,” his voice is unusually high pitched, laced with mockery of what you can only assume is an attempt to mimic yours, “and it just so happens that the prince of aflar is looking for a bride - who knows, despite being the 12th prince, perhaps he’ll be able to rise as the king. that way, you’ll become queen.”

“i don’t wish to become queen! i wish to live a free life without my parents dictating who i should marry just because a lady cannot inherit the family title.” this time, the heel of your foot hurts from the stomp but the anger rushing through your veins allow forbids you from showing it.

“___,” he’s used to calling you by your name - of course, it’s been five years since you’ve known each other. five years after finding out the second prince’s true nature and regretting choosing his side every waking day of your life, “you wish to live in the palace but refuse to take lessons to prepare you as my queen - what would people think of the respectable lady who doesn’t have any prior relations to the second prince-turned-king suddenly living with him under the same roof?”

“there are thousands of servants living in the palace.” you plainly point out - he must’ve expected this if he doesn’t even bat an eye at your words.

“servants don’t go prancing around the palace looking for the king as they please.”

“th-that’s because you’ve been avoiding me under the guise of the workload left by the previous king,” the stutter is what brings about the sly smirk on his lips.

“my, then your reputation is already ruined,” he feigns a disheartened sigh, almost as though he truly cares, “it’s not like the servants are loyal to me so they’ll talk - they might even be talking now - if news gets out that we’ve been acting like lovers, your chances of marrying well has dwindled to zero. you ought to quickly find a marriage prospect to mend the mess you made.”

something in the way he pans out his words causes your shoulder line to jolt backwards - as though physically slapped by the truth of his narration. though not proven yet, and though the thought of having a man to call your husband would fix everything makes you sick - you can’t deny the simple-minded way of thinking of these aristocrats.

the fact of the matter is, it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. whether you’re seokjin’s - as he had time and time indicated - lover. what matters is the double-edged sword you’ve forged for yourself.

one wrong move, and they’d believe seokjin if he’d called you his lover and then claimed you a traitor who tried assassinating him in his sleep.

but as of now, despite becoming the king, he’s still struggling with the lack of support from the aristocrats. and having managed to wedge your way into the top circle is possibly the only reason you’re still able to do whatever you want.

all of a sudden, a disarming smile curls on your lips - seokjin must’ve noticed if he’s trying to control the curiosity that flashes in his eyes before he sports a bored expression.

“very well, i thank you for giving your blessing for me to pick out any marriage prospect i want.” the smile stretches gleefully over your features as the man’s eyes widen at your next words.

“what are you-”

“i wish to wed the duke of cralon and head knight of the kingdom, yoongi min.”

x

“the min family is rumored to be the wealthiest family in the kingdom - perhaps far surpassing the previous king. one word from the duke and these filthy aristocrats will grovel at his feet,” the voice you use trickles with sweet honey while seokjin’s hands tightly grip the seat, “but for some reason he’s staying quiet after coming back from the war and finding out the king he serves has had his head cut off.”

“what are you trying to say, lady ___?”

it’s the honorific that tells you he’s speaking as the king and everything that allows him to sit on the throne. his features, when he’s glowering, is heartbreakingly beautiful.

that’s how it feels to be driven into a corner, seokjin.

“i never told you but the duke fancies me. every year, he sends me birthday gifts,” technically he isn’t the only one - it’s just a formality to maintain an amicable relationship between the houses of nobles but having been out of touch with the ways of the nobility, you’re almost sure seokjin isn’t aware of said ways, “but my parents wouldn’t allow us to meet because of his infamous reputation and i never had any interest in marriage,” the pleasant smile on your lips is a contrast to the man’s contorting features - he must understand where you both stand now, “but if i accept his proposal, the duke won’t stand and watch as the new king sends away his fiance, will he?”

when the king glares up at you but doesn’t seem to have anything to say, you thought that’s the end of it. thought you can curtsy and call it a night whilst devising plans on how to get the duke’s attention and make him fall for you within the limited span of time you have to show seokjin how smitten the knight is for you.

...until the man himself steps out of the shadow without even a scrape of his boot against the ground. the duke is a man of many things but graceful had been far beyond your imagination. and yet here he is, in his knightly attire in black and hints of yellow lines on the sleeves and shoulders - a glaring contrast to his porcelain white skin and silvery grey hair yet perhaps what contributes to highlighting his crimson eyes. the color that’s rumored to be the curse of the goddess for the min family’s generational brute and violence that lead them to winning wars and coming back unscathed.

“your ma-” it all happens too fast.

he’s about to greet seokjin - whether it is with weighty contempt or newfound alliance, you’re not sure - with a hand on his chest and an uncaring glance your way. then you’re running towards him and before you know it, your arms are around his neck and your voice is pitched higher than you would like, “your grace, i’m glad you came back safely!”

you never thought someone could actually turn into stone in a split second but you don’t think the man in your arms is breathing at the moment. and you know exactly who’s fault that is - your own.

“please, play along,” in contrast to the high pitched tone from earlier, you curse yourself for sounding meek and timid - if your heart isn’t beating like a galloping horse and your body isn’t heating up like a baker’s oven, perhaps, you would have had better control of the situation, “my life depends on it and if we walk out of here alive, i’ll do anything you wish, duke.”

...was what you said but it all seems too far blown out of proportion, you might as well forego all your worldly desires and surrender yourself to the church and become a woman of god.

“perhaps, marrying the foreign prince would have been a better option after all.” you lament out loud, pressing the sleeve of your nightgown to your eyes but instead of being engulfed in darkness, you see a vivid replay of seokjin’s knitted brows and troubled expression. and if you’d just focus, you would still feel yoongi’s muscles underneath your fingers as you held onto his arm after flinging yourself at him whilst you make your way back to where you were standing - in front of the king.

pleasantries were exchanged while a dark cloud loomed over the three of you before yoongi excused himself and since you were clinging onto his arm, you ended up leaving as well. before you’d managed to conjure up a plausible explanation for your behavior towards a person you’ve never met. but right in that moment, leslie, your maid had called for you to inform you of the carriage waiting outside.

relief threatened to paint your features but you’d hid it with a dip before peeking at the crimson eyes that’d stared right into your soul. ‘letter’ you’d mouthed before leaving joining leslie in search for the carriage.

it’s been three days since then and there is not a single spot on the table perched in front of your window that isn’t covered with the thin bundles of papers leslie has presented you with when you ordered her to find out more about duke min. he isn’t particularly a social butterfly but his reclusive nature had extended to a point where only the butler is the only one who ever spoke to him. besides that, ever since he’d came back from war, he’d been swarmed with reports and the recent issue of missing goods from the iyesgarth port owned by the ducal house. none of which are useful for you to attract the attention of the duke for an exchange of protection.

“what was that, my lady?” at the familiar fluttery voice, your whole body shoots up.

“leslie!” the woman’s name tumbles out of your lips in surprise, “when did you get in?”

you didn’t even hear her enter-

“a few minutes ago while you were still snoring off,” she answers simply as she walks over, inspecting the teal dress she must have gotten from your closet while murmuring to herself about the ‘handiwork is terrible. we shouldn’t order dresses from vivian’s boutique anymore.’

it didn’t seem like she heard anything but if she did, leslie has always had a knack for going about her day as though she knew nothing. you wonder how much information she holds just from that uncaring personality of hers that allows people to feel at ease with knowing she wouldn’t tattle.

but this isn’t something you could let go, “leslie, how much did you-” but it’s her rambling that almost has you biting down on your tongue as you clamp your mouth shut.

“...won’t do. you need to dress pretty for the duke, my lady.”

almost as though the traces of sleep has flown out of the window, you’re crawling over the bed and grasping onto the maid’s shoulders for dear life, “d-did you say duke?”

an unsuspecting smile graces your lips once the realization that your unusual behavior, is caused by the news of the duke, “yes, he’s on his way here as we speak!”

it takes a moment for you to register her words. another for you to blink back at her as though waiting for her ever smiling face to fade into the dark before you finally wake up, wishing fullheartedly that this is all just a bad dream.

“my lady?” leslie cocks her head to the side, as though searching for your conscience that’d retreated so far back into your existence, she realizes she’s staring back at nothing but a shell.

“why...” the lowest murmur leaves your lips like a calm before a storm before a hurricane rages and whirls out of your entire being, “why is the duke coming here?”

x

“___! what did you do to summon the rage of the duke to our home!” your father, dressed unusually impeccably, stopped in the middle of ordering the butler and servants for when the duke arrives.

“m-me?” yes, you knew you had sounded utterly audacious for someone who boasted - and even blackmailed the king - about the duke’s affection for you, “i didn’t do anything!”

it was in that moment that the clamor of a carriage had echoed from outside. the sound of the horses neighing comes a second later. but nobody heard the footsteps of duke min as he tread towards the open doors of the mansion.

he wasn’t named grim reaper for nothing.

“my apologies for coming on such short notice,” at least he's rational enough to admit his fault.

you catch the sight of the tip of his fringes falling over his face as he bows, before you curtsy, head lowered and eyes fixed to the ground.

your mother had scolded you an earful about peeking while curtsying, “___! have some refinement! a lady does not peek like an uncivilized cavewoman!”

if you’d lived in a cave, you wouldn’t have to be constricted to such formalities in the first place.

“please, don’t apologize,” your father presses smoothly, unlike his frazzled self from just a minute ago - it must have taken him years to hone such composure as to not tremble under the duke’s crimson eyes, “we at the ___ manor, are honored to have you as our guest, your grace. though we are quite puzzled by your grace’s reason for coming here.”

“reason.” the duke echoes, it seems the only thing delicate about him is his features but you’d be lying if you said you don’t find the low gruff of his voice thunderous to your heart.

a short silence lapses as though he’s sifting through his memories and finally letting his gaze travel to you - though his tone doesn’t seem to harbor any murderous intention, those crimson eyes that seek yours render your body cold. you clasp your hands together out of needing something to hold onto as you fix him one of your schooled, noble smile.

“i wish to speak to the eldest daughter of this house,” he says simply, “about our engagement.”

that same smile on your face falters into a pressed line.

x

“my, my,” your mother laughs, royal purple fan that’s been fluttering over his face now being lowered to her lap, “what troublesome rumor has spread about our beloved ___.”

the slightest twitch on her pristine smile tells you otherwise. but you can’t challenge her genuinity - not in front of the yoongi, at least.

and to be truthful, the more pressing matter - one that plagues your very talk as of now - is the fact that the conversation pertaining your supposed blessed marriage had only been attended by seokjin, jungkook and you - there were guards but you doubt any of them were interested in gossips about a count’s daughter’s affairs.

...could seokjin be the one to have spread the rumor?

before you can even come to a plausible conclusion as to why the king would do such a thing, you’re brought out of your train of thoughts by the woman covering your hands that are on your lap, grasping onto them tightly - at first glance, it would appear she’s genuinely concerned for you, “how do you plan to take responsibility over daughter’s wounded reputation, your grace?”

it’s commendable how your mother is still able to let her lips stretch over her face as though the man’s red eyes aren’t piercing through her skull like a spear. you’ve always known she was a scary woman - she wished to pass on her legacy onto you and perhaps that was why you would always end up huffing and trudging back to your room every time you tried to tell her you didn’t want to follow such path.

her ways were effective but you weren’t looking to gain something out of another’s suffering.

“mother!” your voice bounces over the walls, “his grace’s reputation is also tarnished by the rumor, how could you ask him to take responsibility as if it was his fault?”

the woman stares down at you with her signature glare but after years of being on the receiving end of it, you’d grown a spine or two, “silly child, who’s going to marry you now that the rumor of your engagement with the grim reaper has spread far and wide?”

“mother!” it almost comes out a chide at the word she uses to describe the man sitting right across from you.

“d-dear wife,” your father is sweating bullets from his seat as he bravely speaks up, “why don’t we let the duke and ___ discuss this matter privately? it is, after all, their reputations that are on the line.”

“theirs?” your mother’s hiss causes your father’s shoulder line to shrink back.

yoongi’s reputation may have been borne by only him but for a lady, everything you do reflects on your family name. that, you understand and for once, your mother’s outburst is well-founded.

the roots of rage almost tangles around your ankles as well - but the uncertainty of the source of rumor lingers on your mind.

it is the moment when the door shuts behind the butler after your parents which required a lot of pleading from your father, do you allow yourself to feel the heat of yoongi’s eyes on you - if looks could kill you’d be dead for simply and foolishly meeting his gaze.

“your grace, i apologize on my mother’s behalf... my mother, she’s only worried about my future like any mother would,” the head that’s held up high, the shoulders that line straight and the schooled smile on your lips - does well to conceal the inner turmoil inside you. but when all you receive is a steel gaze and a pin-drop silence, you’re forced to change the topic, “i was in the middle of writing you a letter.”

in other words, you mean to say you’re too hasty, duke.

unlike you, the man has his legs crossed languidly, his sword - said to be forged by the spine of the devil himself - is leaned next to his foot, almost as though ready for him to pull it out of its sheath if you so much as move, “i thought you would chip a nail writing me one so i decided to spare you the pain and pay you a visit, my lady.”

the underlying mockery in his words does not go past you yet it takes a moment for it to register - he looked like a straightforward man based on the menial conversation he shared with seokjin and you as a witness.

but it’s true what they say about judging books by their cover.

“that’s very considerate of you, your grace,” the smile you force on goes against the normal order of nature but the man doesn’t seem fazed. his crimson eyes fixes themselves on yours as though trying to take a peek into your soul and find out your darkest secret. if there’d been any trace of humor, it’s all vanished into thin air now.

“your grace, i told you my life was on the line that night. and you helped me regardless of who i was - i’m thankful for you. there’s no way i’d start a rumor of us being engaged and trouble you further,” you begin, capturing yoongi’s gaze with yours - where you get such courage for someone who’s about to spew half-truths, you don’t know, “but that night - it was because seok- his majesty was about to marry me off to the 12th prince of aflar because i’d offended him with my words.”

“so he does whatever he wants just like his father,” his eyes glazes over you, as though picturing the new king at the back of his head as you speak. the matter of what he came for no longer as pressing as he made it out to be - dare you say, it was just an excuse to for him to come barging in.

“no!” the hurried denial warrants a narrow of eyes from the duke - as though wondering why the lady whose pleas were ignored, is defending the very person who’d ignored them. you only wanted a way out - not breathe the flames of an uproar from the nobles who chooses to remain neutral, “what i mean is, i’m sure his majesty will understand if you let me stand by you for a short while - i promise i won’t get in your grace’s way.” the last part is added as an afterthought when his eye twitches just the slightest bit as though displeased by the thought of some lady sticking to his side like glue.

the silence that lapses between you is tangible as your body screams to be released from the frozen state you’re in - you couldn’t move a finger even if you’d wanted to, at least not until yoongi seems to finish thinking.

“what exactly did you say to the king to have him want to send you away for good?” comes the million gold question.

this is it. you know he’d catch on but you’re not so prepared to give an answer. you’re not sure if the hesitance shows in your face but you doubt your mastery for hiding your emotions is as spectacular as his.

and so, with a tilted chin, you set a resolute gaze upon the duke, “the missing shipments from the port iyesgarth,” you state, noticing the curious raise of brow, “how are armwells doing these days?”

“impossible,” the frown that etches itself on his face is another kind of heartbreaking beauty. leaning back against the chair again and consequently allowing you to let out the breath you never knew you were holding, he continues, “the armwells own the warehouses. why would they steal shipments from merchants who pay them plenty just to leave goods in their warehouses?”

“the answer you’ve been looking for is right there,” the smile that blooms on your face is a pleasant one and the knit of yoongi’s eyebrows is all heartbreakingly adorable. “their spendthrift son has been gambling away the money and however much they make over the warehouse fee is starting to not be enough.”

there’s a light in his eyes that shines with doubt and with that, births the shadow of, dare you say, plausible confidence in what you’re saying.

“the goods from the shipment are being sold in the black market,” those crimson eyes follows your every movement as rise from your seat, hand clasped together in front of you - a habit you’d developed to appear small and unsuspecting, “ask around for a franny.”

x

franny is baron armwell’s alias. he couldn’t go around selling stolen goods under his name because the authorities - namely, the duke as part of his line of work after coming back from war - would catch on. it had just so happened that isabelle armwell, a lady you occasionally talk to at gatherings was sporting a long face at the debutante ball. she was spilling every single family secret after a trip to the washroom and a consoling hug.

with a heavy heart, you wave at the girl with the brightest blue eyes and blonde locks that flows past her bosom in waves. she’s wearing a light blue dress with minute diamonds pooling around the hem and dispersing up her waist. it’s been exactly five days after the duke min’s visit and over one week of celebrating the knights’ victory.

“___, i didn’t think you’d be here!” her beaming smile reminds you of the smudged makeup and tear stained eyes you bore witness just a month ago.

“why would you think that?” you blink despite having an inkling of where this conversation is going-

“well, since the rumors of you and duke min’s engagement...” she fiddles with her fingers from what you can only assume to be jitters. of course, a lady her age who’s just debuted into society would be curious of how you tamed the beast laying dormant.

to be frank, you did not.

“-remains a baseless rumor.” you speak rather loudly, hands on your hips as you steal a glance at the throne where seokjin sits, his eyes already on you, “i’m not sure who started it but duke min and i are-”

“lady ___,” a familiar guttural voice greets you from behind you. isabelle’s shock-stricken gaze that’s fixed at something - or rather, someone - past your shoulders is enough to confirm who the bearer of your doom is.

and true enough, standing before you, in the min family’s signature black suit and maroon undershirt, is none other than the devil himself. as opposed to last time, there’s a suave smile on his cherry pink lips - perhaps, nothing more than a show - and his silver hair is swept back, revealing his round visage and making his otherwise soft feature appear sharp and clean.

“your grace,” you dip down, dress lifted midair just below your hips before coming up and noticing the man also in the middle of standing back straight after bowing, “for a moment there, i thought it wasn’t you, but a shapeshifter who looked like you and attended this ball.”

if there’s anything you know - and you know plenty - about the duke of cralon, is that he rarely shows his face at balls and parties. even the ones held by the previous king.

the first time you met him was purely coincidental but not unprecedented. granted, the ball was held to celebrate the victory of the winter knights in the war. if there was any celebration duke min would attend, then it was that one. and he did attend.

but for him to appear at a regular ball held by the new king...

“alas, it is i and not some monstrous shapeshifter - i was hoping you’d spare me a dance, lady ___.” a gloved hand extends your way, hovering in the air as you scrutinize the man’s uncharacteristically smiling face - as though he’d found humor in your underlying tone.

his motives are unclear but the fact that you have his attention must mean your lead has lead to a fruitful discovery.

“why, this will pour oil to the flames,” you murmur under your breath - low enough for only him to hear and yet slip your own hand in his.

“so you’re friends with lady armwell,” the mellow tune of the cello pours into the room as a new song begins.

the feeling of the hand on your waist is unsettlingly gentle and careful - almost as though he’s fearful that your bones may break if he held on tighter.

“she only tearfully told me about the her brother’s unmanageable gambling habits, the information i gave you was out of my own findings - i can find out a plenty of many things for your grace if you choose to help me shake his majesty’s eyes off me,” you search for those crimson eyes as he twirls you around once, “i trust it’s been helpful to your grace, but if you are still unconvinced of my expertise-”

the bells of chuckles that drums in your ears are the last thing you expect to hear - quite frankly, the chances of gaining a threat for whatever reason is much higher than bearing witness to the duke’s laughter.

“there’s no need,” this time, his hair doesn’t brush over his eyebrows when he shakes his head, “you’ll make a fine fiance, ___.”

the lack of honorific doesn’t entirely go past you but that isn’t a material matter at the moment.

did he just said... fiance?

“your grace, unless my ears are-”

“yoongi.”

“p-pardon?” the warmth on your hip and hand seeps into you as he directs your body to move with the melody of the instruments, reminding you that there are hundred pairs of eyes on you and if the lady were to stop dancing all of a sudden, then there is no doubt of a new kind of rumor surfacing.

but judging from the way he dips his head and his hot breath fanning the shell of your ear, you can almost hear the squeals and gossip that will fill tomorrow’s tea party, “since we’re engaged, shouldn’t we at least call each other by our names?”

words die in your throat, as does the music. you barely notice the hands that held you falling away as you watch the man take a step backwards and lower his head - so much for formalities after deciding to forego it just five seconds ago.

“i’ll send a letter tomorrow notifying my visit in three day’s time.” with that, you’re left staring like a fool at the black and red insignia engraved on the back of his jacket.

it is a moment later that isabelle and the other ladies begin to crowd you, that you finally come to your senses.

“it it true? you’re engaged to the duke of cralon?” lady irene’s beaming smile is far too close for your liking.

“calm down, lady irene. don’t make a-”

before lady krystal manages to finish her sentence, you already find yourself slipping past bodies and out of the ball room. your destination is unclear but you saw yoongi take a left and that could only mean that he’s heading towards the garden instead of the double doors of the exit.

lights line the tall walls surrounding the palace but you wouldn’t have spot the grey locks that appear almost white if not for the moonlight. the crimson dragons on either side of the shield symbolizes the min family’s pledge to protect the crown. the fact that he’s wearing this and not the official knight outwear means he’s not here as the head knight but as a-

“your grace,” you send a prayer to the goddess for the sternness in your tone but it easily dwindles down and hits the ground as you’re met with the echoing footsteps of the duke who doesn’t seem to acknowledge your presence.

your temple throbs as the image of the duke’s handsome features come unnervingly close to you whilst he whispers-

“yoongi.” you almost scream.

it is settled knowledge that the duke of cralon possesses inhumane abilities that helped him and his predecessors win wars for the kingdom, cearis. if his unfailing reputation isn’t enough, then you’ve already seen how you would be completely helpless in his undetectable presence that night when you failed to notice him until he presents himself to seokjin and consequently you.

but in your haste to right the wrong, you’ve forgotten the possibility of abruptly calling his name ending up with your face buried in his chest when he whirls around to face you.

with cheeks that feels like they’re surrounded by a thousand suns, you quickly clear your throat after taking one step back. his raised eyebrow, however, tells you he thinks nothing of the minor mishap just now.

still, you meet yoongi’s gaze with a pair of knitted brows and a distraught tug in the corners of your lips, “i believe there’s been a misunderstanding, your grace,” the briefest lift of eyebrows as though he is painfully aware of the way you address him, doesn’t go unnoticed by you though you wish it would, “when i asked if i could stand by your side, i did not mean as your fiance - it makes me think you don’t trust me enough to believe that it wasn’t me who spread the rumor.”

“i do believe you,” he says simply, “but wouldn’t you say the rumor plays in your favor, ___?” there he goes again, addressing you informally, “since everyone saw us dancing together, they’ll feed into the rumor. it doesn’t matter if the king doesn’t buy into it. as of now, his position is vulnerable and if he were to break two lovers who are mad for each other apart and marry the other off in the name of political gain, the aristocrats won’t sit still.”

“so just now...” you trail off, the image of isabelle and the other nobles’ fallen jaws flashing at the back of your mind, “it was a return of favor because i helped solve the mystery of the missing shipments?”

“you don’t seem pleased,” his eyebrows begin to knit together.

“how can i be when i was not consulted of such plans prior to this?” the silence that lapses between you is no different than back in the parlor in your mansion, except yoongi seems to consider your request more seriously this time judging from the hard lines set upon his otherwise smooth forehead.

“then, what would you have suggested, ___?” the blinking red doesn’t seem too menacing now that he’s staring at you with genuine concern.

sighing, you curse yourself for admitting the truth in his words, “your grace is correct that the rumor gives us an advantage. however, next time we are to make a public appearance, i’d like to have a say on how it’s to be executed.”

his gaze lingers on you for the longest time - you’re not sure whether he’s debating on foregoing your investigative expertise or whether he should reveal to seokjin that this is all a faux. but what he does next could never have crossed your mind in the list of things he duke yoongi min could be thinking.

“i understand,” the figure in front of you dips to a bow, a gloved black hand levitating midair as a shadow casts itself over his gentle features and contrasting glowing eyes, “my apologies for acting without taking your feelings into consideration just now, lady ___.”

the title returns in his mouth yet your chest caves in displeasure. you’re not too fond of him calling you just by name but you’re not any glad that he’s back to using that honorific.

“v-very well, you’re forgiven,” you force out after realizing you’ve made him wait long enough, cheeks warm as you place your hand in his, eyes fixed on his lips that presses against your knuckles - they really are as soft as they look.

a halo encases his body when he stands straight. and if it weren’t for his abrupt remark, you would have pondered on the faintest hint of smile on his features, “now then, may i ask another favor from you, ___?”

another one? right after you assisted him in finding out the culprit?

“your grace may, though please bear in mind tonight doesn’t count as you returning the favor so you’ll be owing me two public appearances.” you shrug as casually as possible.

“that’s fair,” he nods a little too nonchalantly before getting to the point - and perhaps a tendril of regret wraps around your heart for agreeing without hearing his request first when he utters his next words-

“i wish us to call each other by our names - it’s suffocating to be so polite.” he sighs, hand ruffling his silvery tresses like a child tired of the etiquette lessons forced on him and not at all like the man that had you on the edge of your seat back in your mansion.

“th-that’s-” the words teeter on your tongue but refuse to leave your mouth as you fumble for a reason to object but the longer you stare into those indecipherable eyes, the emptier your mind gets and the harder your heart races.

“r-reasonable,” you stammer out, the flash of anticipation across the duke’s face leaving you no choice but to add, “yoongi.”

x

note. hello!! i’ve been working on this for a month or so (whew) bc i got super into historical au’s and just wanna write something without prince and princesses as the main leads and this happened!! hope you guys enjoyed it and are looking forward for more. drop your @ below if you want to be included the taglist!

[eirist]

Little Bits and Pieces of Heaven

THE EGG HUNT SHENANIGANS

One-shot #: 25

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot scribble.

Rating: T (Just light flirting stuff)

Note: Light teasing. PWP. And pure insanity I tell you. Just ending my quarantine with another one-shot. Because who knows when I can write and upload one again.

Summary: "Found the bunny."      

With a cheerful and dazzling smile, Luffy—the captain of the infamous Straw Hat Pirates—held out his hands to show off the beautifully decorated basket to his crew members.

Sanji cocked an eyebrow at him. "Seriously?"

"Yes!” Luffy exclaimed. “We're gonna go hunt for eggs!" His already bright smile widened some more at the idea of an adventure.

This time it was Zoro’s turn to raise an eyebrow. "Wearing… that?" His lone eye scrutinized the rabbit costume the rubber man had on.

The younger boy nodded again, head bobbing up and down enthusiastically. “Usopp and Chopper are wearing the same!”

"Yes we are!" Usopp and Chopper yelled proudly, pumping their fists up in the air.

“…”

“What the hell is wrong with this island?" The cook muttered under his breath with a slight shake of his head.

“More like what the hell is wrong with them?” Zoro grunted, folding his arms across his chest as he nudged his head towards the three.

It was one of those rare days when he and the idiot swordsman weren’t snarling insults at each other because there is a more pressing and absurd matter to attend to...

…like Luffy, Usopp and Chopper in bunny suits, holding colorful baskets to join the island’s ‘egg hunt’.

“Fufufu…” Robin laughed softly from her deck chair where she was relaxing. “It’s the island’s tradition. They are celebrating what they call Easter.” She explained as she flipped a page of the book in her hand.  

“By looking for eggs?” Zoro inquired with a frown as the three bunnies started singing a song about egg hunting.

“Yes,” Robin nodded. “We just so happen to arrive here right in time for that celebration.”

“Weird.”

“No it’s not!” Usopp retorted looking aggravated at Zoro’s comment. “I recalled visiting an island once where hunting for eggs is considered a manly man’s sport! The one who finds the most wins the title of the most manliest man alive.”

“Suge Usopp!” Chopper gasped.

“That is right,” the sniper crossed his arms over his chest haughtily. “And guess who won the title five years in a row?”

“You, of course.” Both Zoro and Sanji drawled, with the same expression on their faces that clearly says… they’re not buying Usopp’s obviously untrue and exaggerated story.

Robin stifled her giggles behind her hand as Usopp yelled his retorts at the two. Both Luffy and Chopper were looking at him with their eyes sparkling from amazement.

“Whoa you’re awesome Usopp!” Luffy commented.

“You really are strong!” The reindeer gushed.

“I know right!” Usopp answered with an approving grin and a thumbs up.

“But I will defeat you today!” The captain declared. “I will be the one to win the title of the most manliest man alive.”

“And you’d do that…” Sanji said in an almost bored tone. “By finding… a lot of eggs?”

“Yes!”

Sanji sighed as he pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his pants.

“And you really need to wear… those costumes to hunt for them?” Zoro asked, still doubtful why they need to be in that.

“Yes!”

“It’s tradition Zoro,” Usopp stated matter-of-factly. “You can’t find the eggs if you’re not in a bunny costume! You’re so ignorant.”

“Temee…”

“Hey! Why don’t you join us too Zoro?” Luffy invited and Zoro almost blanched at that.

Almost.

"Yeah!” Chopper chirped in. “Join us! The more the merrier!"

“Nope. I’m good.” Zoro answered almost instantly. Like hell he would don that stupid costume and then hunt for stupid eggs.

Best to just leave them to their crazy shit.

“Have fun.” He waved them off.

Sanji let out a ‘tch’ before taking a drag from his cigarette. Things seemed to get weirder and weirder these past few days. But somehow the idea that he'll be free of the usual food stock raiders for the day feels too good to pass. "Alright then, run along rabbits. Go scour the island for eggs.”

“We will!” The trio chorused.

Sanji nodded at them. “And don't you dare create any messes for us to clean you hear?"

“Eeeh…” a voice from behind them suddenly said. “Don’t worry about it Sanji-kun."

And just like that the cook immediately swiveled around to face the newcomer.

"Nami-swaaan! Don't you look dazzling in that ensemble, my sweet!" He crooned as his eyes automatically turned to hearts, kneeling down on one knee in front of the navigator.

“Thank you!” Nami beamed at him and winked. The chef instantly fell down the lawn deck in a swoon, blabbering about her beauty. She was wearing an outfit just like the one she had on when they went after him in Whole Cake Island. Only this time the corset skirt is frillier and more colorful as the layers sported different shades of pastel spring palette.

The puffed sleeves of her blouse are pulled down her shoulders, revealing them and she had put on a rabbit ears headband on top of her head.

Zoro glared at the prone figure of the blond before shifting his attention to Nami. “You going with them?”

Nami nodded with a scheming grin. “Heard something about money prizes.”

“Of course you wouldn’t let that pass,” the green-haired man smirked. His lone eye trailed up and down her form as he studied her. “And you're supposed to be what? A rabbit as well?"

"Yes."

He jerked a thumb towards the three doofuses in their onesie costumes. "Why not wear the same as them?"

Nami narrowed her eyes at him as Sanji barked threats from where he was still lying down. Something about shutting his trap if he can’t say something nice to his precious Nami-san.

Zoro ignored him. Even as he started shouting insults that he is being the usual, unfashionable stupid marimo that he is.

"Because that is not cute." The map maker huffed, placing her hands on her hips.

"Looks ok on them." The grin that Zoro send her way was nasty.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder snootily. "Say one more word about what I'm wearing Zoro and I'll make sure your next sentence is, “Please don't charge me”."

"Right. Don't charge me… greedy witch," he said monotonously, deliberately omitting the word please and adding an insult as well.

She gave him the evil eye.

“Now go and run along with your rabbit friends."

"You can kiss your next island allowance goodbye Zoro," Nami said in an overly sweet tone as she smiled evilly. "I'll be splurging them for expensive lingerie later."

"OI!"

"Byeeee!" Nami immediately pranced away from him to escape; pushing Usopp, Luffy and Chopper towards the ship’s ladder so that they could embark. Sanji was automatically back on his feet and on her side to assist her while nose bleeding about lingerie and the orange-haired woman.

"Damn it Nami! You come back here!" Zoro was yelling as he stomped to follow her.

“Have fun!” Robin called out to them, eyes never leaving her book and creating duplicates of her hand at the railing to wave at them.

-------------------------

It was around lunch time when Nami entered the crow’s nest. The first thing her eyes landed upon was the figure of a sprawled Zoro, unsurprisingly asleep on the floor.

She approached the thunderously snoring swordsman and nudged his side with her foot.

“Hey,” she prodded him awake. “Hey Zoro, wake up!”

The snoring stopped. And there was a grunt. Then a tiger-like yawn, followed by another grunt.

Nami rolled her eyes at his response. “Zoro!”

“WHAT?!” Zoro answered irritably. He opened his eye and blinked up at her. “Hunt’s done?” He asked groggily before turning to his side so his back was now facing her, not even waiting for her answer.

A frown appeared on her lips. What a rude and lazy ass. She poked him on the back with her feet. He merely grunted again and ignored her.

“They’re still hunting,” she explained, looking down on his prone figure disapprovingly. She doubt if he was listening. Sometimes, you might as well talk to a rock than Roronoa Zoro.

“The game is happening on the whole island,” she continued. “I went back to get reinforcements. So wake up and come with me!”

“Will not. I’d rather sleep.”

Nami settled down on the nest’s floor just behind him. This time she was prodding him with her finger, making sure her nail was digging into his skin.

“Stop that.”

“I will not.”

“Why aren’t you looking as well?” He grumbled petulantly as she continued poking his back.

“That’s what my three rabbits are for! I’m just there to oversee and secure the money prize!”

“You can’t make me join you.”

And Nami leaned forward so her lips were almost touching his ear. “Really?”

“Whatever you’re planning. It won’t work.” He declared smugly, even as he kept his eye closed.

She laughed softly, letting her breath tickle his ear. “You’re no fun.” She shifted closer, bending over so she could drape her body on top of him.

“You know… I’m not planning anything.” She whispered, letting her lips lightly touch his ear. “I’m just here to offer a ten percent deduction to your current… debt amount.” She let her hand slide inside his t-shirt, past his haramaki to caress the well-defined muscles there.

“I already told you that’s not gonna work.” Zoro’s eye was now open and looking at her. A smirk was on his lips. “And I don’t recall borrowing money from you onna.”

“You don’t?” Nami gasped exaggeratedly. “What about that time in Vert Island? You owe me belis for the cottage rent.”

Zoro’s brow furrowed. “Thought that was your treat?”

She mock-pouted. “Oh Zoro. When are you gonna learn that there are no such things as free or treat when it comes to me?”

“You really are a wicked witch.” The green-haired man groused. “And after I made sure you thoroughly enjoyed your stay there.”

Nami snickered. Zoro noticed that the bunny ears on her head actually made her look more mischievous. “Nothing’s free nowadays Zoro,” she pointed out. “Favor for a favor. I pay; you work your ass off.”

He snorted. “Next time, I’m just lying down and letting you do all the work. Whether you pay or not.”

She threw back her head and laughed again. “Do the hunt and maybe I’ll humor you.” She bent over and placed teasing kisses along his jaw and neck.

“In your dreams.” He sneered and she felt his arm snaked around her, his hand squeezed the back of her thigh before it slid up to do the same on one plump cheek of her behind.

That made her bite her lip even as she complained. “Tch! You’re a hard man to bargain with.”

A shark-like grin appeared on Zoro’s face. “Yeah.” He playfully slapped her ass before giving it another squeeze. “Offer a better deal Nami.” He said teasingly against her ear this time before nipping at the skin below it as his hand continued caressing her backside.

“Mmm… well what do you—”

“WHAT THE HELL?”

They simultaneously turned their heads towards the voice.

Sanji was gaping at them from the nest’s entrance… his eyes wide as saucers. His face was so red. As red as the blood dripping down his nose as he took in the image of Nami's perfectly shaped-derriere and her lacy thong as her ridiculously short skirt and position put them on display….

… along with the shitty swordsman’s hand on it.

Silence reigned for a moment. Then…

“TAKE YOU GODDAMNED HANDS OFF HER AHO KENSHIN!”

“TAKE YOUR GODDAMNED EYES OFF HER ASS ERO COOK!”

“Temee…”

Both men growled the word at the same time as Nami disentangled herself from Zoro. She wasn’t even embarrassed at being caught. They weren’t actually keeping it from the crew after all.

But of course it would be better if Sanji was the last one to know.

Nami sighed heavily as she watched the two throwing death glares at each other.  

It's the beginning of chaos.

The two attacked each other almost immediately. Sanji had leapt inside the crow’s nest, flaming legs and all as Zoro avoided him and made a grab for his swords.

And manage to hit the cook straight in the face with the sheathed end of his red katana.

Her mouth fell open as the Sanji collapsed down the steel floor. But she knew of course this was far from over.

In one swift move a grinning Zoro carted her towards the nest’s entrance. He enjoyed that, she knew. In a matter of seconds they were down the metal ladder while Sanji recovered, fumed and yelled expletives at his rival.

Using one arm to hold on to the ladder’s rung as his other was wrapped around her waist, Zoro swung slightly for leverage.

Nami’s eyes widened when she realized what he’s about to do.

“Zoro! NOOOOO!!!”

She screamed bloody murder when he let go and made the high jump down onto the Sunny’s deck.

Nami’s heart leaped to her throat. That was probably the reason why her scream stopped coming out of her mouth. Halfway down the long drop she could swear she felt her soul left her as her mind went blank.

She's going to kill Zoro! Mark her words!

Somewhere above Sanji was still yelling threats and curses.

The swordsman landed on the deck as if it was just a natural thing to do.

Oh dear heavens. Roronoa Zoro will be paying for this stupid stunt of his for the rest of his life until his next and next and next!

“Zorooo!” Luffy greeted when he spotted the former pirate hunter on the deck. “Heey!” He bounded towards him, showing his now-filled with eggs basket. Chopper and Usopp were nowhere to be seen as the three most likely got separated. “Look, look I found a lot! Shishishi! I can’t wait to show it to Usopp. Whatcha got there?” He peered at the figure tucked under Zoro’s arm.

"Found the bunny." Zoro answered nonchalantly.

"Oh that’s great! Shishishi!" Luffy chortled. He peered down again at the navigator who is still hanging motionlessly on Zoro's arm.

"Ne, Zoro?"

"Huh?”

"Uhm... the bunny looks mad.”

"..."

“THUNDERBOLT TEMPO!”