#put a wig on their bald head for my amusement

[ardentinwoe]

Just take one good swing.

[totothewolff]

Grand Prix Elite Academy (4/10)

+18 | professor!Toto x reader fem!student, sewis, carlos x reader, collegue au | romance, smut, comedy, gossip, betray

Summary: Your life turns 180 degrees after receiving your acceptance letter for the Grand Prix Elite Academy, the most exclusive and prestigious Formula One College, designed to shape the future drivers of the motorsport world. You will try to navigate your new life among the Monaco elites, survive the campus dynamics and rivalries between the faculties, and try to win this year's Elite Cup to beat an undefeated Mercedes, all while befriending your eclectic classmates, join the wild parties, have a couple of make-outs under the racing circuit benches, lose your v-card and get over that stupid crush you have on professor Toto. Will you make it alive to graduation? Race to Greatness! Author's note: This is a Formula One college AU fic set in an elite academy in Monaco, where the F1 Teams are Faculties, their Team Principals are professors, the FIA is the college board, and all the grid drivers are your classmates. You are accepted under a scholarship program called WomenOne and have lots to catch on to after years of putting your racing dreams on hold. Becoming the outcast new girl is always challenging, especially when all of you live on one campus.

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As the morning sunlight streams through the grand staircases of the main building, you sit with your group of friends, placed on different steps, almost forming a circle as you chat with excitement and laughs with some racing gear and helmets scattered around them.

Other students pass you by, entering the large double doors to the main hallway entrance.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafts from Lando's and Charles's Starbucks cups as they sip and joke around, discussing their latest racing strategies and sharing stories of their weekend adventures.

The sound of revving engines at the distant hum as you all wait for their morning classes or free practices to begin.

"That fucking bitch I'm going to cut her in half! And I will tear that wig off Britney's head," Leandra lets out.

A bald Nico is a funny visual.

"I'm not trying to play the devil's advocate here, but are we sure she was involved?" Max asks out loud.

Leandra rolls her eyes at him, as does Seb.

"Still, she can do no wrong under your eyes after all these years," Carlos points out.

"Just saying! Please don't kick me out of the group! I need friends." Max goes a little red with embarrassment.

"Calm down! No one is going to do that!" Charles quickly adds. There was a time when Max was the odd and unexpected link in the group; now, everyone is fond of him. "But, it's just facts, bro. She's the one who knew about Y/N being a sad virgin."

"THANK YOU CHARLES!" you add while he giggles.

"The knowing about Y/N being a sad virgin, I get it. Naya also knew the part about Y/N being broke and this year's "Charity Baby," but we all also knew that." Lewis joins in the fun.

"AW GUYS, YOU ARE SO SUPPORTIVE!" you interrupt them with murderous eyes.

Lewis holds his chuckles as he continues: "But the part of Y/N wanting Toto to deflower her, Naya wasn't there to witness her telling that to him." he points out.

"WHAT!?" you scream. At that part, you throw your arms in the air to everyone's amusement.

"Don't you remember?!" Mick says, amazed.

"Please, be joking." you start praying.

"He is not. We all heard your drunk ass asking Toto to fuck you."

"OH MY GOD!" At that moment, you want to get run over by the McLaren car roaring in the distance at the circuit track.

"If you want a life-changing first-time experience," Lando says. "I mean," he looks at his crotch and back at you, then winks. "I have cock to spare."

"Cock to spare," Leandra repeats, bursting out laughing. "How do you come up with this shit?!"

"How does that shit work with girls?! That's the real question," Carlos adds, laughing too.

"SERIOUSLY! THANK YOU GUYS!" you squeak, furiously red.

"Yes, but Nico was there. If Nico is there, Naya is there, and vice versa," Seb says, sounding extremely unhappy with Lewis.

He had remained quiet so far before he let it all out: "Didn't I tell you? Don't invite him! It doesn't matter how much Nico swears he has changed, he is always trouble!"

The couple starts to argue.

It's the first time you witness them acting other than being utterly in love with each other.

Lewis and Seb tend to get lost in each other's eyes for hours, feeling like the world is non-existent around them while sharing soft chats and sweet kisses around campus.

"Honey, I asked for your forgiveness times enough already. What else do you want me to do..." Lewis replies, getting exasperated with him.

"Well, now that you are friends with Nico again, why don't you go and ask him about it?! Ask Nico if he is the one behind the printed posters addressed to Y/N pinned all over the hallways! OH! And in that process, why don't you warn him to stay the fuck away from her!"

"Like that would work," Lewis says, sighing.

Seb then gets on his feet and suddenly climbs up the stairs in a rush, looking really mad. His short skirt sways in the wind, his boots' heels echo on the stairs, and his bag moves violently behind him as he opens the big double doors.

"Honey!" Lewis calls for him, gets fast on his feet, and goes after him.

-

You give them enough time before following their steps. You deeply care about Seb and want to make sure he is okay.

He is also your project partner in Christian's "Race Engineering" class, your first subject of today, and knowing how prickly of a professor Christian is, you want to make sure everything is fine.

You find the couple in the hub of the old library. Walking inside there feels like stepping into a time capsule.

A retro vibe wraps you as you step on the blue carpeting on the floor; a golden glow emanates from the large windows.

The shelves there are lined with worn, leather-bound books that seem to hold secrets and old stories, while vintage posters and track maps adorn the walls displaying the bygone eras of Motorracing.

This small library is always empty since the main one is way bigger, more stylish, and modern. People sometimes use this one to hook up, hiding among the tall bookshelves in the many corridors.

You catch them talking almost mouth-in-mouth. Seb is lean on a study desk, ass on it, legs hanging.

And Lewis is resting his hand on Sebastian's Aston green pleated mini skirt. Lewis's other hand caresses Seb's hair and cheek as he whispers soft things to his lips, like, "Nico doesn't mean shit to me. I love you. I will make it up for you. You are my rock. I need you by my side" you are able to hear him as you approach them.

Then the bell sounds, Lewis kisses Seb goodbye, grabs his helmet on the table next to Seb's legs, and gives you a warm smile on his way out while pulling up half of his racing suit on his way out.

"He is going to spend the entire day on track! My poor baby always ends up exhausted after that. I won't be able to join your study session tonight. I will be preparing his ice bath for when he returns." Seb tells you as he hops off the study table.

Seb is so dedicated to Lewis and is so adorable to witness. "All good with you two, then?" you ask shyly.

"Always, dear." Seb reassures you, sounding all happy now.

"I wanted to make sure you were doing okay. You looked distressed for a minute. You know I care about you, right?"

"I know. You are a good friend, thank you." Seb squeezes you in his arms for a brief second on your way down back in the main hallway, and then he explains to you. "It's this Nico thing. He always tends to get under my skin. I hate throwing tantrums at Lewis like that, but I can't help it sometimes!"

"I get it, now. Hey! By the way, with all of this, I haven't been able to tell you yet how hot you look!"

"Thank you!" Seb twirls for you, grabbing your hand in the process.

"Your legs look unbelievable!" you add. "Fishy, fishy"

You two keep walking hand in hand until you reach the classroom's door. "I know, thanks! Lewis agrees with you. You know? He is in this phase now that I drive him crazy when I wear mini skirts. The other day, he was barely able to hold himself. He almost takes me raw at my desk in the student affairs office. He felt so hard under those pants. Mmm, delicious." Seb lets out a long sigh.

"Hey! Don't eat bread in front of the poor!" you complain, slightly jealous but in good faith.

"Oh, shit, I forgot about your virgin-ess! Sorry! I hope you find the cure soon." Seb jokes with you.

"I just need to convince Toto to supply me the injection to solve it!" you fool around.

"Slut!" Seb playfully tells you as you two grab your seats inside the classroom.

-

"Ough," Seb moans in a low voice for the fourth time, trying to make you lose it sitting next to you at Toto's class while the professor turns to face the screens again, his firm ass and muscular back in display for you two to enjoy the view.

"As you can see, class," he says, gesturing to the complex graphs and charts, "these simulations show the effects of different wing configurations on downforce and drag. The blue line represents the current setup, while the red line shows the potential gains we could achieve by modifying the wing's angle and curvature." His voice is calm and authoritative, but his hands move quickly and precisely as he uses a laser pointer to highlight key points on the screens.

Some of your classmates lean forward, their eyes fixed attentively, as they write notes on the complex data and ask questions about its implications for their racing strategies.

Toto asked the class to come up with an example by reading the intricacies of the data displayed on the screens in front of him to form a decision on a fictional course of a race.

"Shut it! You idiot, you will get us in trouble. I'm already standing on thin ice with him," you silence Seb, trying to keep your composure.

After what Mick told you, you haven't been able to focus the entire class nor look directly at Toto, fearing crossing his gaze, with your mind going back to that night, trying to puzzle all the shit you did under the alcohol influence.

Every time Seb moans for you in a low voice as Toto turns his back for something or moves suggestively, you struggle to hold your chuckles.

"Miss Y/LN, Miss Vettel, do you have anything you want to share with the class?" his deep, powerful voice addresses you.

You feel Toto's eyes set on you. His glasses slightly sliding on his appealing nose.

You go all pale, darting "Don't you even dare!" eyes to Seb.

"No, sir." you quickly reply.

"Miss Y/LN, why don't you come sit right here?" he commands you more than asks you, pulling a single chair and placing it in the middle of the room, at the front, near where he stands, in a place where everyone will notice your slightest move. "Since you appear to be on the moon this entire class, this is the best spot to get you back on track, and Vettel."

"Yes, professor?" Seb answers.

"Last warning, another distraction, and you go out."

Nico looks more than pleased that you two are getting scolded.

-

You have been avoiding going to your dorm all day long. You even tried to get transferred to another room at the Student Affairs front desk, but they informed you it wasn't an option since you were under no harm and because you are located in a dorm that belongs to the scholarship students housing program.

Then, why is Naya in there with you? It makes no sense; her parents are wealthy.

-

You close the entrance door, returning from the long study session you organized in the main library for the "Trackside PU" extracurricular, and you enter your dorm without making considerable noise, going straight to the kitchenette to place your tumbler inside the small dishwasher.

Naya is studying and writing notes on her iPad at the round dining table. There's a lot of tension in the air as you both become aware of the other's presence.

She's wearing reading glasses. You have never seen her with those before. She looks even hotter.

After a few minutes, you hear a clear "It wasn't me" that she lets out loud enough for you to listen.

You send her a look.

"Nico was inside my bedroom when you came in here. He heard it all. I told him not to do it," Naya explains.

"Sure"

"It's the truth!" She holds your gaze. "Torger is also mad at him for doing that, but he doesn't know how to address the matter with you yet."

"Can't Toto speak for himself, or does he pay you to act as his messenger?" That sounded harsher than you expected, but she pushed you to react like that.

Naya gives you no comeback. "Now that I cleared things, I'm going to bed. I had a long day," Naya says while stretching. Good night," she tells you as you look at her short grey skirt and Mercedes' blazer uniform. She is looking on point but with her tie loosened. Then you remember, you still have no faculty.

"You tell me."

-

"Just ignore her! Naya hates that, not feeling relevant enough. Maybe just try to move on." Lea advises you while attempting to remain empathic but being honest.

As you all condition in the sleek, high-tech training center, pushing yourselves to the limit, your sweat-drenched bodies showing your intense workouts.

The sounds of pounding music and clinking weights fill the air as you all tackle your individual routines.

Lewis grunts with effort as he lifts the massive dumbbells, his piercing gaze focused on the weight above him.

Sebastian, meanwhile, is on the stationary bike, his powerful legs pumping away as he sprints through a virtual reality course.

Lea, ever the showgirl, is working on her agility and flexibility. She leaps and spins through gymnastics-inspired exercises, exchanging suggestive looks with the trainer she banged at Lewis' birthday party.

"What if Nico tries to blackmail me?!" you ask the trio as you go all cheeta on the treadmill. "He has the photos." you sound way too overstressed. "I fucked it big time! I'm so losing my scholarship due to all this! I shouldn't have gotten drunk! I'm going to disappoint my dad!" you struggle to speak, tears running down your face as you fully panic at the high-end training facility.

Not even a week has passed by since the incident, and you have been receiving lots of DMs on your GPEA app of guys offering to deflower you and a couple of nasty dick pics that you had to flag and report.

"It's not coming to that. We have your back!" Seb reassures you.

"It's best if you speak with Toto about it. It's making you feel miserable," Lewis says. "Niki is the only one who puts Nico in place. Toto could talk to Niki to make him stop the gaslighting. And also, Toto can deal with Naya's antics."

"Maybe she didn't do it herself, but I doubt she feels bad for it. She lets no one get near her precious Torger," Lea adds and imitates the way Naya says Toto's name with her accent and all.

"Just remain cautious around her, please," Seb asks you.

-

That night, you have the most bizarre dream.

"You're a virgin!" Massi screams at you, his voice dripping with condescension. "How can we expect you to be a top-notch driver when you don't even know the thrill of passion?"

The room erupts into laughs and snorts. All your classmates go into a chorus of mocking jeers. "Virgin! Leave!" they chant, waving their hands in ridicule.

Before you can protest or defend yourself, Massi slams his fist on the table, and you feel yourself get dragged out of the GPEA.

"TOTO!" You try to reach for him as everyone laughs and points at you in the hallways.

Then it morphs to visuals of Toto's strong hands pressuring your hips, pulling your skirt up, and roughly fucking you against his desk.

Your bodies moving in a fast and desperate rhythm, throwing papers, pencils, and stuff all over the lecture hall floor, your moans and his grunts echoing in the empty room, skin slapping against skin hard, he going deeper inside you, pulling your hair, forcing you to arch your back.

You wake up with a cold sweat and wet panties, feeling disoriented, scared, and horny at the same time.

You rub your eyes, trying to shake off the vivid memory of the crazy dream that had just left you.

You get off the bed.

-

You lace up your running shoes and step onto the misty veil that shrouds the campus racing track surrounded by the woods. It's early morning, and the skies are still dark. The air feels crisp and cold.

You went out for a jog because you could not sleep a minute more after having those crazy dreams about you getting expelled from the academy and that triple x with Toto.

You set off briskly, your footsteps echoing off the asphalt as you weave through the deserted track.

The sounds of nature gradually replaced the silence as the skies became washed blue, preparing to welcome the sun.

There's nothing that motivates you like hate. You feel now a rage to shut their mouths, to show them.

You don't notice how hard you are running till tiny gravel debris starts peeling off the track under your tracking shoes, and you feel your legs tensing in your black sporty booty shorts.

At the same time, your iPhone bounces violently on your arm holder, and your headphones are about to fly out of your ears.

You drop yourself out of breath on the grass next to the chicane, exhausted and unable to move further. The perfectly maintained green grass feels cold and wet against your ass. 

You are struggling to catch your breath, and rage tears are coming out of your eyes. Your strong, fast strides left most of your fury leave of your body.

"You good?" you hear a deep voice from a distance.

OH FUCK! NOT NOW!

You feel another panic attack coming your way and start bracing for impact, shrinking.

"Yes, it's nothing," you quickly reply, struggling to talk. You sense an instant and desperate urge to keep running even if you feel about to puke just to avoid Toto right now.

"So, you casually hyperventilate on cold mornings?" Toto asks you, approaching you, arching an eyebrow.

He calmly keeps jogging till he closes the gap between you, now able to observe your face and features. You look like a distressed mess.

So Toto is an early bird?

You don't notice the tears falling from your eyes until they blur your vision, and your body starts shivering under the cold breeze, running out of warmth.

Toto unzips his sports jacket and offers it to you, grabbing your attention.

You instantly are about to reject it, but he knows it beforehand and tells you, "Take it," before you can even wave your hand.

It sounds more like an instruction.

"I think I know the reason behind those tears, and I'm deeply sorry for the situation. I heard the gossip. It's a small campus." Toto drops himself on the grass beside you, bending his knees. The muscles in his toned legs look so fine.

Before he explains, "Nico is a highly competitive and strong-willed student. He plans on graduating from here with a deal and a seat on an F1 team secured. He has this unhealthy way of dealing with those he considers threats."

Toto notices you shaking your head.

"How am I a threat? No one even wants me on their faculty, puff" you laugh it off.

"Nico knows you got here because there's something special in you. And I believe so, too," Toto replies, encouraging you.

You give Toto an "Are you kidding me?!" look.

He smiles brightly at your reaction, with his gorgeous teeth showing. "I'm rooting for you!" he adds.

"The one who called me a small-minded quitter or that I had no mindset, how was it? I don't recall exactly."

Toto rolls his eyes at the pettiness. "Anyway, Nico likes mind games, that's all. But that mixture makes him a ruthless fighter and a true champion. He has that fire! Nothing gets in his way. Not even Lewis' raw talent or Naya's strategic mega-mind."

"...And also make him an awful human being!" you add in a funny voice, full of dislike.

Toto tries to remain diplomatic, so he doesn't give you an answer to that.

"So that's what Nico wants? To play his games with me and watch me fail? Sorry, but I'm not giving him or you all the pleasure."

"Did I truly offended you that much? With just some words and facts, mostly facts." Toto asks you, a bit skeptical.

"You made it personal. You threw my mom's passing as a low punch, basically."

"Wasn't my intention you perceived it like that. I get what you went through more than you imagine."

He sounds sincere.

"Just so you know, I didn't give up my dream. I choose to help my father achieve his. You judged me way too soon. I do have a hunger to win and push for more, but I need a chance to do so."

"Is that so?! Was I wrong, then?"

"Yes."

"...And?"

"I think you should apologize."

"To you? What for?"

"Didn't you listen to a word of what I said?!" you let out. Shit! You went too far again. "...sir?"

"I find you so intriguing. You feel the need to add a sir to address me when, almost a week ago, you wanted me to fuck you right there, and now you are fighting me when I try to look after you. What's on that head of yours?"

"About what I said that night at Lewis' birthday party, I was..." You are now totally red.

"...You were completely drunk. I would never accept you that invite, not under that state."

"So all good?"

"All good."

"Puff, great." You look relieved.

Wait, under that state... So... Is a yes when sober?!

"You know, most people get burned falling into Nico's games," Toto warns you.

"I'm not most people." You hold his gaze.

Toto looks at you in a way you can't read as he sees the fire burning in your eyes, your rage on display, and your hunger to show something.

Your eyes wander to his lips. You can't help it. He notices this and slowly leans towards you, closing the gap between you as if a magnetic force pulled you closer.

As he is near your mouth, he whispers to your lips. You feel his breath brushing your skin. "Is that all you can jog?! You are not even halfway through the circuit. If you want to put people in shame, you better jack on," Toto teases you before getting on his feet.

"Eat my dust." You follow him and start jogging faster than him, passing him by.

You sense his eyes going all over your body as he enjoys the view of a sweaty you in those tiny booty shorts, ass, and hips swaying around meters in front of him.

-

"Y/N!"

You turn around to see Lance running your way, crossing the gardens.

"Hi, Sir Lancelot!" you offer him your hand after stopping your scooter.

"Ma'lady," he kisses it, greeting you. "All better now?"

"Slightly, yeah," you let out a sigh.

"Since you have been all stressed out lately, I thought inviting you to decompress at our Bonfire Night the following weekend would be nice. I hope you can join us."

"Sounds excellent, but what's a Bonfire Night, and who is "us"?"

"I always have to remember you are new around here! It's like talking with a baby! Always in need of explanation," Lance says.

He is such a sweetie but terrible with words.

"Every year, my dad hosts a bonfire party at the beach for friends and family, like many of our neighbors on that night. We spend the entire evening there, having the best time, eating, dancing, and drinking until sunrise. It's at our house in St. Tropez!"

"Oh, it sounds so cool!"

"The guys are coming, Charles, Yuki, Pippa, Lea, Sewis. So what do you say? We leave next Saturday at 4 p.m. on my dad's yacht at the harbor here."

"Count me in!"

-

"So, I told Lance I'm coming! I had no idea the rich did that bonfire thing-ritual every year."

"It's a tradition! We have many," Charles corrects you while trying to assemble a sandwich, smashing mayo on the bread with a knife. "I'm glad you are in the mood to join us! You do need it."

"Give me! What you are trying to do is just sad." You wash your hands before grabbing ingredients and starting to prepare a decent Saturday morning breakfast.

"Can I have one? Please!" Lea smells and sees you perform magic in the pristine kitchenette at their dorm, handling bacon, avocado, eggs, pepper, olive oil, and toast bread like a pro.

"Coming right your way!" you slide a grilled sandwich on each of the three plates.

"It's like the Upper East Siders' going to the Hamptons to act even richer near water, but in this case, it's in our mansions by the beach at St. Tropez," Charles says while biting the perfectly made sandwich and making pleasure gestures.

As Lea almost finishes hers, she tells you. "Feel like joining me today? I'm going to buy my outfits for the bonfire night. I would love a second opinion."

"I would love to, but I promised my dad I would visit him and Diesel."

"Who?" Charles asks.

You pull out your phone to show them pictures of your dog.

Massive squeals and aws come out of their lips.

"I need to meet him!" Lea says, "We could go to your dad's after shopping!"

-

After spending hours going from shop to shop and stopping for a well-needed boba, you arrive at your family's components store, and you two wait for your dad to join you.

"Could you please stop playing with the labeler?" you ask Lea, amused and almost laughing as she goes all over the shop, holding the labeler gun in her hands, nearly James Bond-style, tagging random stuff.

"But I love it! Beep, beep," Lea says as she presses the button and throws more product labels.

"Hey! Don't dare to label Diesel!" you warn her as she aims it in his direction.

"Never. Besides, he would be priceless, right? You little, sweet, furry baby!" she bends to pat Diesel and says with the most ridiculous voice.

Diesel quickly turns his head your way when he hears his name, bandana swinging in the air. He then runs like crazy to the doors as he smells your dad approaching. He goes all nuts as your dad enters the store, then runs to push his bowl with his nose, knowing it's lunchtime.

"Dad!" you give him the biggest hug as he pulls you off the ground in his arms.

"Our world champion is in the house! Hi, baby, how are you? We missed you."

"Splendid!" you lie, after almost having three panic attacks in just one week. "Dad, I have so much to tell you! That campus is to die for!"

Let's better not mention the parties, the nasty gossip, all the alcohol consumption, and the drugs.

"Hi, Mr. Y/LN. It's nice meeting you, sir. I'm Leandra de Vries," She approaches you, returning the labeler to the counter.

Your dad offers her a handshake.

"Nice to meet you, Leandra. You are in great luck today! I made my signature lasagna for lunch. It's Y/N's favorite!"

"YES!" you throw a fist in the air, already tasting the flavors in your mind, all excited.

"Oh great, I love Italian!" Lea says.

"Let's go upstairs, girls, lunch is waiting. Come on, Diesel, come here, let's go!"

Diesel goes first on the stairs. He used to be scared of stairs, so he takes his time climbing them before entering your small loft on top of the store.

"This is where I live, welcome." You receive Lea inside and give her the tour. It takes little time.

"I had a closet about this size. It's cute and cozy in here. I like it," Lea says, bouncing on the sofa before taking her time to look around at the pictures you have on a shelf. "She's your mom, right? You look like her. She is beautiful."

"Yes, thank you, that's her, the one and only. God, I wish she was here to see all of this."

"She is so proud of you, and she is watching it," your dad says, gesturing with a finger to the sky before returning to serve the dishes.

You three spend a great time chatting up and filling your stomachs with delicious food and some wine.

-

On the ride back to campus at night, Lea asked her driver to pick you up, she jokes with you in the backseat of the luxurious car.

"You forgot to mention your dad was hot and single!"

"Girl..." you look straight at her, smirking.

"I already love you like a daughter..." Lea teases you.

A hysterical laugh escapes your lips. "Please don't!"

"I'm joking, I'm joking," she bumps your arm softly with her fist. "I have limits. I would never! You know, it's just my dark humor," she tells you.

"I live for your dark humor."

-

The highlight of your week is that letter from Williams offering you a place on their faculty, which you immediately accept.

You can't believe you are going to use the same facilities Senna did during his time here.

You call your dad full of excitement!

-

"Congratulations, Miss Williams!" Charles tells you as he opens the door of their dorm, welcoming you with a hug.

"Congrats!" Lea also comes to hug you. "It's super difficult getting in that one. They are super duper hermetic! By any chance, do you have any link with the Williams family?" she looks surprised.

"Maybe it's due to Claire being in charge, you know, since I'm a girl and I'm here because of the WomenOne program, maybe she gave me a shot."

"Sounds unlikely," Charles agrees.

"To be accepted or invited there, you have to have stellar references or be close to their family, which you have to be insanely rich or Formula One royalty basically," Lea explains.

"They rejected Naya, even being a Lauda! Go figure," Charles tells you the gossip.

"Oh, but that was because Frank and Niki are opponents!" Lea addresses you.

"Then who knows, but I'm so excited, I can't believe it yet! I hope it's not Nico pulling me a joke." You roll your eyes.

"Please don't mention that name again; maybe he could Beetlejuice here! God forbids!" Charles jokes.

"Well, let's get ready. The chauffeur is picking us up at 3:00 p.m."

"Y/N, so that you know, it's the third most demanding faculty. You got this!" Lea encourages you.

"Understood, thanks. It's a really exciting day!" you let out, all happy.

"Oh, Charles is the most excited!" Lea throws him a dirty look.

"Okay..." you look back and forth between them. "What's the tea?!" You instantly ask, watching the interaction.

"He is Lance's aunt's lover."

"No shit!" your eyebrows go to the roof.

"I... I... WAS... we don't do that anymore." Charles quickly adds, starting to pack his things in his duffel bag.

"Come on! You always end up fucking no matter what! He always says that," She looks incredulous at him. "That's a cute duffel!" she points to your purple packed bag.

"Not this time!" Charles sounds so sure.

"Let's bet! One on, he gets no action tonight. Two on she will suck the collagen out of him."

"Show me your outfit for tonight! You asked me to help you with your makeup, right?"

"YES!"

-

"You can't seriously be wearing that! Whose swimsuit is it? Your grandma's?!" Lea looks you up as you exit her bathroom in your bathing suit with the dress you are to wear on top hanging in your left arm.

"Why?!" You thought you looked fine. "It's Victoria's Secret!"

"It's huge! And ew!"

"No way!" You look at your reflection in the large mirror. You are wearing a two-piece electric blue bikini with a twist-front top and matching boy short bikini bottoms that cover you up to your belly.

"Also, you need to moisturize that skin properly. It's looking a bit dry." She handles you some jars with creams.

"Really?! Oh thanks"

"You always give me no time!" She goes inside her closet. "I'm again pulling a miracle!"

"Fairy godmother, please help me!" you beg, now getting self-conscious while applying the cream to your legs and arms.

-

Be careful with what you wish for.

"Are you serious with this, Lea?! Why do you insist on having my ass on full display every time!"

"Because it makes you look so hot! That high-cut V-shape is so flattering on you! Besides, all cheeky thong bikinis are so sexy!"

"For sure, one of my titties is flying out of here at some point," you say as you fix your top to hold the girls in place better.

"Your skin looks so shiny and fresh now," she says, and you agree. "You look so fucking hot!"

The two-piece monochromatic green strap bikini Leandra gave you has a tie knot front and cutout design, revealing a bit of extra skin up there. It matches the high-cut leg and cheeky back bottom that accentuates the best out of your curves; the high-waisted Brazilian thong is very revealing.

"I trust you fully, okay? Thank you," you say, feeling confident with yourself now; the workout routine you have been under is showing.

"Carlos is going to get rocket hard when he sees you!" Lea lets out, all excited.

"Shut up! He is going, too?" you squeal, eager. "Lance didn't mention him."

"Carlos Sr. owns the house next door. Carlos and all his hot Spaniard cousins and friends will be there like every year. I'm almost 100 percent sure he will try to hook up with you tonight. I manifest it. It's in the air."

You look at yourself in the mirror one last time and from all angles.

You look and feel good, and you hope Lea is right. You want some action in your life.

-

You observe in awe the majestic, three-story-high yacht that's way bigger than your house, with its gleaming white hull and gleaming chrome railings sparkling in the afternoon light.

After passing the security check, you board with your friends and start searching for Lance inside among the guests who have already arrived.

A luxurious Mercedes car pulls over, and a hot, tall man descends on the dock and boards the yacht with an air of confidence and sophistication. He is wearing a light linen shirt, blue swim trunks, sunglasses, and espadrilles men's shoes.

All the wealthy elites are wearing their finest beach attire, diamonds and pearls glinting in the sunlight.

Lance is inside the ship, standing beside his stunning mother and billionaire dad in the main salon, which has comfortable seating areas where guests can mingle and socialize over champagne and canapés. The yacht's interior is opulent, with lavish furnishings and sparkling chandeliers.

After chatting for a minute, he lets you know he has to stay there to welcome all his guests but that Lewis and Seb are on the upper deck.

So you all choose to go hang out with them and take in the breathtaking views of the Mediterranean Sea.

The waiter offering the cocktails around blocks your view of Toto boarding the ship as you grab one of the glasses.

Then you turn your back in his direction, quickly catching Charles's step. You finish climbing the stairs just as Lawrence welcomes Toto with a "My good friend!"

The sun is setting rapidly now, and the yacht is beginning to move out of the harbor. Its engines are purring smoothly as it cuts through the waves, picking up speed.

Lewis's abs look great in that see-through "Sea Maiden" Burberry t-shirt paired with bright orange pants.

"Are those real?!" You feel his abs, greeting him, making Seb laugh as Lewis has him wrapped around his arm. Seb's chin resting on Lewis's shoulder.

"Lucky me!" Seb says, wearing a beautiful two-piece ensemble: a cute baby blue and white stripes bikini top paired with a Miu Miu white mini skirt. This time, he has natural short hair and sunglasses. His waist looks tiny.

The drinking and partying started from the get-go, with music and laughter creating a relaxed vibe.

Lance and you dance around for a while, holding your drinks in hand before you need to pee.

You go down the narrow, long hallway to the bathroom when you see a girl closing the door going in. "Dammit!" you let out before turning back around.

As you exit the hallway, Toto enters it on his way to the same bathroom door, only to find it's in use.

-

As you approach St. Tropez, you can see the many bonfires on the long beach coast twinkling on the horizon.

The yacht docks at the Stroll mansion, where a staff team had set up a massive bonfire and a beach party like no other.

There are food tables, a very famous DJ, gift bags with everything you need plus luxury items, beautiful white and natural wood-looking outdoor sitting areas with stunning flower decor, and Cantoya lights that give the place such a vibe.

You and your friends disembark last. You are already having a good time on deck. As you finally make your way down to the beach, you are welcomed by the smoking hostesses in bikinis, who offer you roasted marshmallows.

"Follow me! I asked our people to set us our own bonfire in a spot far away from my parents!" Lance informs you.

And he was right. It was less crowded and far from the main action but still on site.

As you walk there, feeling the still warm sand on your feet, you pass a breathtaking house with an oceanview front and an open concept.

Carlos waves his hand from the pool there, grabbing the group's attention.

"Where are you going?!" he screams.

"To Tortoise," Lance screams back. "See you there?" You assume it's a reference. Carlos nods his head.

-

Ten minutes later, he arrives with some of his cousins and Lando. They all get introduced, and the boys choose to start playing beach volleyball. It turns out Tortoise is the nickname of that court.

The sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the distant hum of the DJ's music create a pulsating atmosphere.

As you sip your cocktails, Lance's team goes back and forth from the bar to your location. You all enjoy the music and cheer for Lewis and Lando playing against Carlos and his cousin.

Nearby, Yuki and Pippa are going at each other, sharing passionate kisses, she is sitting on his lap, wearing a tiny bikini, and Yuki's hand is all over her ass.

After Lewis falls on the sand and misses the shot, Seb laughs really hard, making Lewis go after him.

Seb starts running to the sea in his cute two-piece bikini. Lewis catches him midway, pulling him up from the ground and into his arms before taking his top off.

Seb lets out a small scream, quickly placing his hands over his chest, covering his nipples, and looking your way, making you all laugh.

They start playing in the waves before Seb pulls Lewis down to the wet sand with him.

They start caressing each other, making out hungrily, their hands going everywhere before they go behind some palm trees.

Lewis stays on his feet, back leaning against them in complete pleasure.

-

The volleyball game's second round caught your and Lea's attention.

A group of guys, all lean and muscular dudes living nearby, are playing a fierce match against the double C, Charles, and Carlos.

Their sweat-drenched faces and glistening skins make them look like they've just stepped out of a fitness magazine.

You two can't help but watch as they leap and dive for the ball, their muscles flexing with every movement.

One of them, a tall, big, blonde-haired guy with piercing green eyes, caught Lea's eye. He couldn't help but be drawn to her, feeling a spark of attraction ignite within them.

"Boys, you look so heated! Why don't we go for a dive-in?" Lea says, getting on her feet once the game ends, pulling off her clothes, and locking her eyes with the hot dude.

You all watch Lea run naked into the waters as you all scream and whistle, mesmerized by her openness, cheekiness, and hot body.

The blonde dude wastes no time following her. They get further into the waters, now barely visible; she grabs herself tight to his neck, her face buried in his shoulder as they fuck.

Everyone in here is making you so horny, and you can't keep ignoring Carlos' sweaty and delicious body.

You need some fresh air! What are you saying?! You can't get fresher air!

Before you leave to get a drink, Lando approaches you. "What are you hiding beneath that?! You are the only one still with clothes on."

"A cute and hot swimsuit," you say, all confident and playful.

"LET US SEE!" Pippa turns her head still on Yuki's lap.

You slide down your dress slowly.

Carlos devorous you with his eyes.

"WOAH! WOAH!" Lance lets out.

Lando throws a kiss in the air as you walk to the bar to get a drink on your own.

You notice, when you turn back a few steps away, Carlos biting his fist, watching your ass sway as you go.

-

The music gets louder as you reach the house's massive pool. The modern Stroll mansion is a work of art.

The bonfire roars to life, sending flames shooting high into the air as the beach erupts into a frenzy of activity. People laugh and dance, others gather around the fire, and some jump into the pool.

Toto can't believe his eyes. That's you, and a lot of you is on display. He feels an instant sensation traveling through his body.

Toto's eyes wander all over you as you pass before him on the other side of the pool. He gets on his feet and jumps into the pool.

Heading toward the bar, swimming across to catch you in there. Just as the bartender gives you your drink and you sip it, you turn around to witness Toto stepping out of the pool, water running all over his muscular body. You can't help but follow the water down with your gaze.

"But if it's the Williams girl!"

"Hi, Mercedes boy!"

"Boy?!" he laughs a bit at that.

"I didn't see you at the yacht!"

"We were upstairs."

"And where are you now?"

You point in the distance to a miniature bonfire.

"Feeling better, then? I hope you are having a good time; you look like it." You sense his eyes going all over you without discretion.

"I am! You?" you suggestively bite and suck your straw. Is that how you are supposed to flirt?!

"Meh. Lawrence is a friend."

"You can join us if you want."

"Sure, I can pop by later. Don't drink too much," Toto says, stealing the drink from your hands, putting the straw in his mouth, and sipping it.

-

Toto wanders away from the party as he takes an important call. Being the boss requires 24/7 availability.

He is close to the Sainz Mansion, enough to overhear Carlos and Lando's conversation.

"Y/N looks so appetizing," Carlos says.

"The way he looked at you, man, she is just waiting for you to fuck her." Lando agrees and adds.

"Right?! I felt the same! I'm going to take Y/N to my bed as soon as I see her. I think I still have condoms upstairs. See you around."

-

Since everyone but you seem busy fucking and hooking up, and Carlos is nowhere near, apparently, you go for a walk to take in the beautiful surroundings.

It's your first time at St. Tropez, and it's as gorgeous as you heard. You venture to go exploring further past the Stroll's house.

Toto watches you from a distance, wandering all by yourself. He catches your step, and you more than gladly invite him to join you.

Soon, it's just the two of you alone in front of an empty mansion. It's a quiet, lonely beach, just for your voices and laughs as you talk about life, finding things in common, and starting to know each other.

He gets near the sea, dipping his feet in the water as he slowly walks in. You follow his steps. The wet sand feels soft against your toes.

Soon, you are standing before him, half your body inside the water, with the moon reflecting on the surface.

You feel Toto slowly pulling the string off your top, unwrapping the tight nod in your back and causing it to fall down to the sea.

The cold air hardens your nipples as well as your excitement. Toto looks down at your breasts.

The waves move your bodies against each other.

"Beautiful," he lets out and kisses your neck. Before cupping one of your tits and rubbing your nipple with one of his thumb fingers, licking it with his tongue, moving it in circles, playing with your nipple, arousing you before claiming your lips.

You kiss him hungrily, dancing on your tip toes, stroking yourself against him.

He pulls you tight against his naked, firm chest in a fast move, and proceeds to place a trail of kisses from your temple to your shoulders, where he starts to move down to your chest. His lips biting and sucking your nipples.

He wraps your legs around his waist, pulling you by your thighs with a firm grip, and carries you deeper into the sea.

You feel your breasts rubbing on his skin, your naked skin brushing, making him get hard, or so you feel against your inner thigh.

Toto holds you in place by the ass as he starts pushing your body against his, up and down, slowly, as you two make out, your hands going all over his wet hair.

He then puts you down before making you turn around; you back against him, and you feel his now full erection on your ass cheeks as he rubs you against it while kissing your neck, squeezing and cupping your tits with both his big hands before moving to play with your nipples again.

The sensation sends you to heaven.

He starts sliding his big hand down your body, leaving a trail of warmth on your stomach. You feel his fingers sliding your bikini bottoms' light and small fabric to the side.

You sense the water brushing your pussy as Toto's index finger starts caressing your folds while he bites your ear lobe.

"I couldn't resist not being your first," Toto confesses. "You are an enigma that I want to unwrap slowly," he whispers to your ear.

You moan for him several times as he slowly and tenderly pushes his finger into you, exploring your insides.

"Warm and wet for me," he whispers, hot against your ear. You place your hand on his forearm with a tight grip.

"It feels so good," your voice is barely a whisper. Toto inserts a second finger inside you, giving you time to adjust to the feeling.

Then he starts fingering you, making you moan and say things that for sure will make you die of embarrasment tomorrow. He is torturing you with the pleasure of his different speed rhythms.

Just about when you start gasping for air, he leads your right hand inside his swim trunks to wrap it around his hard cock.

"Do it this way," Toto guides you as he reads the hesitation in your eyes. You start rubbing his dick as he keeps finger fucking you.

"Faster and in a twirling movement like this," he shows you how he likes it. It's great that you are a fast learner; you soon make him groan.

As you go on him, jerking him off, he bites your lip.

Minutes later, he pulls his dick out of his swim trunks and starts rubbing the tip of his cock between your ass cheeks as he groans loud and cums on you, grabbing your tits tight as you arch against him.

He softly pats, slaps, and squeezes your ass a couple of times as he claims your lips. You make him wrap his toned arms around you as you slide your hands all over them.

You keep kissing till you start to feel the chilly air. You get put together before Toto carries you back to the beach, where your bikini top is nowhere to be seen.

You can't return to the bonfire party topless like that.

He picks up his white linen shirt from the sand, places it on you, and buttons it up for you. Your naked breasts are still visible under the fabric.

You pull him closer, stealing him many more kisses. "Don't leave yet," you whisper against his lips.

You two lay on the sand. Well, Toto does. He places you on top of him as you keep exploring each other's bodies, tasting every corner and spot with your wet tongues, leaving traces everywhere.

You break the hot, wet kiss you are sharing to catch your breath.

"You should go back to your friends before they worry," he tells you, unconvinced.

"Oww," you whine.

"Okay, you win" he smiles against your mouth and continues kissing you, his hand squeezing your ass.

After a couple of minutes, he tells you. "I'll see you around, okay? We will make time for ourselves this week."

"Like, ahem, when?"

"Whenever you like."

You give him a couple of "final" goodbye kisses before he buries you beneath his body, shifting positions, placing himself on top of you and in between your legs, kissing you passionately, unable to pull away.

"Go," you push him away playfully. "I can't quit you". You steal him another quick kiss before he gets on his feet, dick looking hard again.

-

You return to your now completely drunk friends bonfire party with the biggest smile on earth, wearing a sizes bigger man's shirt with visibly no top beneath.

Seb and Leandra give you THE look.

And you go all red under their stares.

To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

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[melancholic-hues]

the hectic way of things (take a break)

posted on AO3

fandom - honkai: star rail

rating - general audiences

warning - no warnings apply

category - f/m

pairings - boothill/robin ; robin & sunday ; boothill & robin ; boothill & robin

tags - written before version 2.2 ; alternate universe

word count - 7848 words

chapters - 1/?

-

She is just about done with her makeup, about to move onto her wig, when she hears her balcony door lock get picked. Then comes the distinctive sound of the door sliding open, and the clacking of heels against tiled floors.

“Boothill!” Robin shoots up and runs over as the cyborg opens his arms wide. She crashes into him, her landing against his metal chest softened by the vest he’s wearing, and he twirls her around, his cold, metal hand in her own soft, warm ones. “You came!” she beams, expression genuine and sincere.

“Wouldn’t miss a second of you for the world, darlin’,” he drawls, accent all western and sweet, leaning down to kiss her. “‘sides, I did promise I would come, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she smiles, giving him another peck on the lips. “Through my balcony.”

“Aye, cut me some slack. I at least picked the lock. If it were one of my targets, I would’ve blown the darn thing to pieces,” Boothill grins, his smile sharp and charming and all the reasons why she fell for him in the first place.

“You could’ve come through the door, you know?” she says, grabbing a light trench coat and leading him over to her vanity, where a blonde wig sat atop a bust. They’re going to an amusement park just to have fun, so she has to wear a disguise. Thankfully, she’s done this before with ease — get a disguise, she means. She hasn’t been to an amusement park in a while.

Boothill trots over, footsteps soft, leaning on the wall, next to her vanity. He says, “didn’t want your freak of a brother to stare at me. Climbin’ through windows are more my style.”

“He’s the one driving us there, so you might as well have given him a proper hello,” Robin hums a light and happy tune, carefully tucking her blue hair under the wig cap. “Don’t stare at me like this, I’m practically bald right now.”

“And I’d still love you all the same,” Boothill reassures, “with hair or no hair.”

Even though it’s meant as a simple and silly sentence, Robin blushes. “Thank you,” she mutters, carefully putting the blonde wig on. She hates using wig glue, and, since this is only for a short while, clips will suffice. While she is snapping the clips together, she looks over at Boothill’s appearance.

It’s not often you get to see a cyborg, especially one who is a Galaxy Ranger and, well, pretty, like Boothill. He looks the same: a worn, black leather jacket and similar-looking pants; a belt full of ammo, his revolver, and a coil of lasso; and, of course, a wide-brimmed cowboy hat.

“Ay, quit staring,” Boothill teases, throwing her a wink.

Robin giggles. “Alright, alright. Aren’t you going to do anything about that belt? Pretty sure you can’t bring that to the amusement park. Which, might I remind you, is in the public. Also, you’re notoriously well-known around here.” 

“Can’t help it if the people recognize this absolute perfection of a face and this machine of a body,” Boothill sighs, popping his hip out, all cold, metal plates. She agrees; his face is absolute perfection, and she would be lying if she said she doesn’t often think about the machine of a body that he has. “I’ll just swallow my gun and bullets.”

“We can keep your stuff in Sunday’s car. Most likely, he’s just going to sit around and work.” Work, work, work. That’s all there is, these days.

There was a time, far before, when her brother wasn’t so caught up in work and professionalism. When he was actually, you know, her brother. When he was just Sunday, not the leader of the Oak Family. Not the head of Penacony. They used to escape their lives all the time when they were younger: she, standing on a box and singing; he, sitting on the ground and being her first and most loyal fan. 

Now, they barely get twenty minutes of face-to-face time with each other a day.

Hopefully, this day trip to the amusement park can change that. Even for a day. She’s willing to give up her entire singing career for a good, solid week with her brother.

“…you alright?” Boothill asks slowly, leaning down to check on her, hands stuffed casually in his pockets. “Robin?”

Robin nods, smoothing out the fabric of her knee-length dress and shrugging on the coat to hide her wings. “I was thinking. Sunday wasn’t always this obsessed with work.” After pausing for a second, she continues, “I’m worried about him, Boothill. What if he’s overworking himself? I feel like he’s a ticking time bomb, just about to blow.” She stares at her reflection in the vanity mirror. The crease in her brows shouldn’t be there. She has to be happy.

“Your brother, ah,” Boothill sucks in air through his sharp teeth, “as much as we don’t like each other, and don’t tell him I said this, but he can handle this. He’s a tough one. Takes more than that to crack him.”

“But everyone has a limit.” Robin takes a deep breath, the tears retreating. She puts on a smile. Her reflection does the same. It’s a practiced expression, one too often used. “What if we take him along? Invite him to go on some rides with us? He’s probably already donning a disguise. Might as well put it to good use instead of wasting it, sitting at a table and creepily watching me.”

Boothill stares at her, incredulous in his target-shaped eyes. “Your brother? In an amusement park, actually going on the rides with us? I’m sorry princess, but the chances of that happenin’ ain’t somethin’ I’d bet my best revolver on.”

She rakes a hand through the wig, smoothing out its strands. “Maybe. I don’t know. I want him to stop working for more than an hour straight in a time when he isn’t sleeping.”

“Well, you sure as hell can try. For goodness sake, you’re his sister. He’ll listen to you more than any of us,” Boothill shrugs, the sunlight from the balcony behind glinting off the metal pieces of his jacket.

Robin looks down at her vanity, various cosmetics spread across the surface, and wrings her hands together. She looks away from Boothill for a moment, her shoulders tensed in worry.

Boothill strides over, his metal hands on Robin’s soft shoulders. She looks at both their reflections in the mirror and thinks, kind of wryly amused, of how different yet how compatible they are. She has never known a day of hard, arduous labor underneath a scorching sun, chasing an elusive target; Boothill has never had anyone to fret, to worry over him, almost to the point of overprotectiveness.

“Hey, now,” Boothill softly coaxes, mechanical voice husky yet calming, “you’re the Robin. You’re magnificent, darlin’. Now, you don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise, ‘cause you ain’t nothing less than wonderful. If you really set your mind to it, I’m sure your brother will understand and do whatever you want. Hell, maybe he’ll even give the head position to someone else if you ask hard enough. Got it?”

Robin’s shoulders drop. They lock eyes in the mirror reflection, and she gives him a genuine smile, her hands holding onto Boothill’s and her wings softly fluttering. There’s something about his words that, even though she’s heard them hundreds of times before from other people, makes her actually believe him. “Got it.”

“Great, now get out there and wow us all, sweetie,” Boothill urges, jutting his chin toward the door. He extends a hand toward Robin.

In moments like these, she finds it all the more lucky that Boothill is here. Underneath that cold, beautiful exterior is a soft, gentle person looking for a purpose. She’s glad he gave her a chance.

Robin takes his hand, and he leads her up, pulling her close. Robin lets out a gasp of surprise, one hand braced on where his collarbone would be and mouth an “o” as he spins her to the door. They stop in front of it, and Boothill bends into a low bow.

“After you,” he says, hat hiding most of his face from view.

Robin opens her door and walks through, Boothill following. “I’m sorry for dumping all of that on you. This is supposed to be a happy day. You didn’t even ask for it,” Robin mumbles, walking down the long hallway, toward the stairways. The expensive statues and paintings that they walk past only further remind her of her duty to be perfect and focus on Penacony and work first and foremost. It fills her with a heavy sense of guilt.

“‘s fine,” Boothill simply says. “You oughta have someone to confide in. No good keepin’ this all for yourself, you know?”

Robin looks at their intertwined hands. She nods.

“Wow. Look at those pretentious brats.” Boothill snickers at the portrait of a former head of the Oak Family. Back straight, wings unfurled and radiating pure power, expression powerful yet patronizing.

Now that she thinks about it… “you’re right,” she agrees. The subject does look quite stuffy and stuck-up. Probably never had enough friends. She laughs. “I’ve never seen it that way before.”

“Now you do.” Robin notes how Boothill’s sharp smile disappears when he looks over the railing of the stairs.

She peeks over the railing to see what caused it, and someone is standing there. 

Sunday.

He has an unpleasant look on his face, one of disgust and disdain. It’s directed at Boothill, right next to Robin and holding her hand, but she can’t help but feel it’s all toward her.

“Good morning, Robin,” Sunday says, eyes pinned on Boothill as they make their way down the stairs. Boothill’s heels clack on the marble, the sound ringing loud and clear, with each step. Sunday’s voice is cold.

“Good morning, brother.” She tries her best to remain upfront and cheerful. Sunday has changed out of his professional clothes, settling into a light blue hoodie and jeans. They still must be designer clothes, because can you imagine Sunday wearing cheap street clothes? But they’re, well, actually casual. She was so sure Sunday had no idea what the term ‘casual’ meant since all she saw him wear were suits. But she’s been proven wrong.

Sunday nods, acknowledging her greeting, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off Boothill, no, not even once. Boothill levels Sunday’s stare, his smile not at all friendly. Robin feels trapped between them, her gaze warrily going from Sunday to her partner. 

She watches Sunday take a deep breath, shoulders rising then falling, then his gaze softens as he finally looks at her. “Well, Robin, are you ready to go? I see you’ve got quite the disguise already.”

Robin is so, so glad for the change of tone. “Shouldn’t we be talking about you? You’re finally out of that suit, for once.” She tries not to let the wistfulness and sadness bleed into her voice. She wishes Sunday (her brother, maybe? Eventually, or is she holding onto an unlikely future?) could dress like this every day.

“Well, I’ll be going to the park with you, so it’s only fitting that I stay undercover. I have upset a lot of people to attend this with you,” Sunday says. “You look beautiful, as always.”

Robin holds onto Boothill’s hand tighter. He squeezes back. ‘Attend’ as in business matters. This is still Sunday, the head of the Oak Family, and not her brother. Never her brother, it seems. “Thank you,” she replies.

Sunday opens the door for her. He lets her walk through, and she pulls Boothill through before Sunday can intentionally close the door after him.

The air outside is warm. Perfect for a trip like this.

“Isn’t the weather wonderful today, Boothill?” Robin asks. She can feel Sunday’s glare on Boothill’s back. She can tell Boothill can feel it too. 

“Yeah, darlin’, it’s wonderful,” Boothill answers, voice and posture stiff. A fancy car — always extravagant, always over the top —is sitting in the driveway, and Sunday takes out a key from his pocket. Unlocks the car.

Boothill reaches forward and pulls open the passenger seat door, tipping his hat low and winking at her. “You first.” He guides her into the car’s back seat like a princess to a carriage, their hands never separating. Sunday must be having several strokes just watching them.

She so desperately wants him to accept her relationship with Boothill and actually see Boothill as a person (cyborg?), not just as barbaric, western scum that’s beneath him. She wants Sunday to listen to her just once, without having to assert his own decisions and feelings into it.

But today is not one to spend wishing for miracles. She’s going to an amusement park! The amusement park in Penacony! Where people go to have fun and relax and forget about their problems for a short while! Robin is desperate for even a minute away from her troubles.

“Everyone has their belongings, yes?” Sunday asks when he slams the driver door, inserting the key into the ignition. Boothill pulls the car door closed behind him, his cowboy hat taken off and leaning against his legs.

“Yes. Is it okay if, uh, Boothill leaves his belt in your car?” Robin asks when they’ve pulled out from the driveway. “We can’t bring it into the amusement park.”

Sunday glances at her. “Why didn’t he leave it home?”

“He’s right here, you can ask him,” Robin suggests. The reflection of Sunday in the rearview mirror’s eyes widens and Boothill stills, next to her. She sits there smiling innocently. These two are going to talk to each other, whether they like it or not. Well, this is the perfect opportunity. She’s trapped them. Either they talk, or they risk leaving Robin upset.

Sunday caves. “Well, erm, Boothill.”

Robin beams in encouragement.

“You can leave your… supplies, uh, in the car,” Sunday hastily finishes.

“Where are your manners, Boothill?” Robin chides softly.

“Thank you, Mister, uhm, Sunday,” Boothill thanks through clenched teeth.

“That wasn’t so difficult, now, was it?” Robin asks.

Sunday looks straight forward, and Boothill looks out the window. “No,” they both say at the same time. Sunday’s look is intense; Boothill looks pained. Robin hides her smile with her free hand — the other is still in Boothill’s grasp, and dear Xipe is he clutching it for dear life.

“There, there,” Robin soothes, tucking a strand of Boothill’s hair — a mix of snow white and charcoal gray — behind his ear, careful not to touch the ammo-shaped earring. She pats his cheek, one of the only remaining parts of his organic body and flesh. His stiff posture loosens by a bit.

“Robin, how are your concert performances?” Sunday interrupts.

“They’re going well! My newest album was well received by my fans and the critics. The next concert isn’t for another two system weeks,” Robin idly comments, yawning. She got up early out of pure excitement for the day, and she’s definitely regretting it.

“Tired?” Sunday glances at her through the rearview mirror.

“A bit,” Robin confirms. “Woke up too early.”

Sunday hums, “take more care of yourself.”

“Pot meets kettle, brother.” She totally doesn’t place a huge emphasis on the last word. “You got me there,” Sunday smiles.

Robin puts her and Boothill’s intertwined hands on his thigh, head leaning on his shoulder. Her eyes are drifting shut. “I can’t wait. How much longer until we get there?”

“Two and a half hours. Enough for you to get some sleep in.” Sunday’s voice is tender, reminding her of a kinder time.

“Okay.” She yawns. “Boothill?”

“Yes?” He moves to make her more comfortable on his metal body.

“Don’t start with Sunday while I’m sleeping, okay? You too, Sunday. Don’t argue with Boothill when I’m sleeping,” she murmurs.

Her eyes drift shut before they can respond.

—

Sunday watches Robin’s shoulders gradually rise and fall, her head on Boothill’s shoulders, through the rearview mirror. Boothill is looking down, quite fondly, at his sister and smiling. Their hands are intertwined, carefully placed on the cyborg���s machine thigh.

Boothill.

He has a million questions about Boothill and Robin. Where does he even start? Just how, oh how, did his sister, sweet and kind, pick up a man as bloodthirsty and crazed as Boothill? They are not compatible, no, not even in the slightest. Galaxy Rangers are dangerous, and Boothill has an enormous bounty on his head, placed by the IPC. Boothill will only ever hurt Robin.

Sunday presses his lips into a tight white line, fuming. Now that Robin’s asleep, the atmosphere changes without her bright, calming presence. He can tell Boothill doesn’t like him, but he’s Robin’s older brother, so that son of a Memory Zone Meme can take his opinion and shove it up his cogs. Aeons, he’d gladly fight Boothill if it isn’t for Robin.

No, no, that’s wrong. He can’t fight Boothill; no, that’d be stooping to his level, and Sunday is way more dignified than a ruthless, rowdy cowboy who makes a living killing others. Having a job that requires killing is never a good sign.

But Robin is an adult. She doesn’t need that much fawning over, right? That’s why Sunday doesn’t forbid her from seeing Boothill. Someone had to keep her company. Sunday can’t anymore.

His grip on the wheel tightens, skin around his knuckles turning white. Work, work, work. That’s all there is, these days. Things in Penacony have calmed, but the rebuilding effort takes so much thinking and the public needs so much reassuring and everyone is so Aeon-damned incompetent that he has to deal with everything himself.

He curses the entire Bloodhound Family, that bartender fraud, the gambler from the IPC, the arrogant doctor, Boothill.

He takes a deep breath. May Xipe and the Harmony help them all. Save him, please.

Boothill combs through Robin’s wig, stupidly smiling. Sunday is so distracted by the action that he realizes the car in front of them has slowed.

He slams the brakes, sending them all leaning forward.

Sunday’s back hits the car seat again, and his next inhales are audible. Boothill lets loose a string of swears. Sunday is saying them in his mind, two totally different things. He does not have anything in common with Boothill except for their care for Robin.

After Boothill has repositioned Robin, who slept through the whole ordeal, on his lap, Sunday snaps: “you kiss my sister with that mouth?” Thinking and actually saying these swears are two completely different things, remember? They have nothing in common!

Boothill’s expression hardens. He doesn’t back down.

“Yeah,” he bites out. “And she seems to like me perfectly fine that way.”

Sunday can’t argue with that. Robin seems content with Boothill, and he’s trying to not think about the last time she was at peace like this with him. It’s all the work piling up, he tells himself. It’s not him.

“You don’t have bad intentions with her?” Sunday asks.

Boothill considers him for a moment, wary in his piercing, target eyes, then looks back down at Robin. “No. Why would I?”

“You’re a Galaxy Ranger. You could easily use her celebrity status to your advantage. Galaxy Rangers are dangerous, you are aware of that, aren’t you?” Sunday states, savoring the moment Boothill’s cold expression wavers. Doubt. He doesn’t even need the Harmony’s powers to sense it.

“I am well aware of what I do,” Boothill responds. But his voice doesn’t have the same confidence and surety as before. Sunday subtly smirks. “And I be darned if I bring much trouble to Robin.”

“Hm? What if you do? How can I trust that you won’t go back on your promise?”

“I may not be as refined and elegant as you, Mister Sunday, but I sure as hell don’t go back on my word.” He’s being sincere. But sincerity alone isn’t enough. There needs to be more control. Sunday knows what it’s like.

“Swear it, then,” Sunday demands, voice calm but threatening. “Surely the best cyborg Galaxy Ranger out there, who hasn’t shot a single stray bullet in his career, doesn’t need to hesitate when doing so? Since you have so much pride in your occupation, surely this is but another trivial matter?” He expertly weaves the Harmony into his words, the gentle hum of its power buzzing in the back of his mind as he taps his gloved fingertips on the wheel.

Boothill’s eyes are full of fury when he declares, “I swear it. On my life.”

“Good. Because I’ll take you apart, piece by piece and cog by damn cog if I have to, if she gets hurt while in your care,” Sunday smiles and totally doesn’t think about all the ways he can take Boothill’s body apart — painfully, preferably. “The Harmony will remember this. Thank you for swearing it on your life.”

Boothill glares at him. He looks away and mutters. Something something Robin’s words.

‘Don’t start with Boothill.’ 

The car falls into silence, the effect of the Harmony wearing off.

A memory resurfaces.

***

They were finally alone one night, when the sun had long dipped below the horizon and the stars were brightly twinkling in the night sky. Both unable to sleep, Sunday finally decided to confront Robin about her relationship with Boothill. 

“I don’t get it. Him, of all people?” Sunday asked, brows creased in worry. “He isn’t threatening you to do anything for him, right?” Fear clawed at his heart at the possibility of his sweet, dear sister being forced into doing anything. No one should have control over her — not even Sunday. He was merely suggesting what she should do as her older brother, which wasn’t ‘control.’ 

Robin gave him a concerned look as if questioning his sanity because, well, who didn’t love a bloodthirsty lunatic–cyborg who travels the universe to chase other targets while simultaneously having a bounty on his head? That was sarcasm. “No, brother, I love him. Truly. It’s of my own accord.” 

“Are you sure? What do you even find in him?” Sunday reached for Robin’s hands. He took them in his own. “I don’t want you to get hurt, you know?” 

Robin squeezed their hands. “I won’t. I can handle myself, and Boothill can protect me if I can’t myself. As for what I find in him…” she blushes, pink coating her cheeks.  

Sunday waits for her response, head tilted, the wings by his head slowly flapping. 

“It’s like, uhm, whenever I see him,” Robin explained, the blush reddening, “I just feel like there are butterflies in my stomach, you know? When your bones melt and suddenly, all you want to do is stare at their face. Boothill has a very pretty face.” Sunday would not refute that. By all definitions, Boothill’s face was physically attractive — physically. It’s whether one was attracted to him that matters. He wanted Robin’s response regarding that. 

“I feel like he understands me,” she had finally said. “He just knows what I want. And he’s giving it to me.” 

Sunday’s eyes widened. “And, uh, what do you want?” Aeons. He might be sick. Was his sister — ?  

Robin seemed to realize what he was thinking too. She quickly shakes her head, and the blush spreads. “No!” she hastily corrected. “No! No. That’s, ugh, Sunday! Mind out of the gutter! No. I want someone who can look past the superstar status of me. I want a break, if you understand what it’s like to take a break.” 

“I take plenty of breaks,” Sunday defended. It was a lie. There was simply not enough time in his hectic schedule to afford the ever-elusive luxury of rest. 

Robin rolled her eyes. “Sure. Anyway, Boothill’s kind and honest. I’m in very good hands, brother. I promise you that.” 

“I just want you to be happy.” Sunday sighed. “I don’t like him.” 

“Well, I do.” Robin’s face was set and determined, an absolute, take-nothing-else gleam in her eye. Something about her willingness to compromise had changed. Sunday wondered when it had, and how he hadn’t noticed. “And I love him, Sunday. 

“Can you accept that?” 

***

Can he accept that, huh?

Sunday rests his cheek on his fist, elbow propped against the windowsill with one hand on the wheel. He glances out the window at Penacony’s bustling metropolis, with its towering skyscrapers, bustling streets, and diverse culture brought together from hundreds of different cultures around the universe. The more populated cities have been spared of damage, thank Xipe, so their primary rebuilding focuses are the agricultural and suburban areas affected.

Penacony has always been one of his greatest loves from the start. He will stop at nothing to make sure it is a planet whose name is passed around the universe like a legend, a paradise so far and so unreachable that you can only read of its honor in fairy tales and books.

He’ll just have to figure out a way to deal with Penacony’s ruined reputation among the public and interstellar organizations.

Only if he was better.

His gaze drifts over to Robin and Boothill again. Boothill must be keeping Robin company when Sunday couldn’t, and that was almost always. Well, that settles it. Robin loves Boothill dearly, and Boothill loves her right back, swearing it on his life to protect her. Fine. If that’s what it is, then he’ll have to accept that. However begrudgingly. For Robin’s sake.

Where is the damn SoulGlad when you need it?

—

Boothill drags a hand down his face, cursing this machine body and the eleven bullets he swallowed earlier.

He knows he loves Robin. He knows he’s willing to lay out his life for him. But there was something about swearing his life for her in this Aeonforsaken car and in front of her brother, no less, that he couldn’t help but feel suspicious about. Now, he ain’t the brightest gun in the rack. However, that doesn’t mean he’s gullible and easily manipulated.

Reignbow Arbiter’s piercing arrow shoot through him now. Boothill mouths a swear, upper teeth digging into his lower lip, and glares out the window. Robin is still sound asleep.

Sunday reaches over to turn on the radio, and an upbeat, funky tune fills the car. He turns the volume down, head bopping to the rhythm of the bass drums.

How the hell this man looks so calm after threatening Boothill with dismemberment, he has no damn clue.

Two hours pass, and Boothill is about to dismember himself out of boredom.

Finally, finally, the amusement park comes into view. He recognizes the color and shapes of some of the coaster tracks of the attractions Robin was showing him a few days prior. There’s a ride that shoots its riders up the nearly straight-up track then plummets them right down.

The parking lot is almost empty when they pull through. Robin insisted on getting there a bit before the park opened so they wouldn’t be stuck waiting in lines, but she already brought speed passes for everyone, so does it really matter when they get there since they could just skip the lines?

Boothill gives Robin a slight shake in the shoulder. “Darlin’,” he whispers, adamant not to look up because Sunday will be glaring at him.

Robin’s eyes flutter open.

Boothill smiles. “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” Robin says as he leans back so she can sit up. “Are we there?”

“Right at the gates,” he confirms.

Robin stretches, yawning. “Nice."

Sunday stops the car. “We’re here.”

Boothill opens the door and gets out. He offers a hand to Robin. She takes it and steps out of the car, all celebrity and princess-like.

He produces a bottle of sunscreen from his pocket and squeezes some onto his fingertips. “Look up ‘n close your eyes,” he instructs. Robin does, and he carefully applies the sunscreen over her face, neck, and shoulders. He gives the rest of the bottle to Robin for her to lather the rest on her arms and legs and wipes the rest of the sunscreen on his fingers onto his pants. 

After she’s done with that, he places his hat on her head. 

“To protect you from the sun,” he says when she lifts the brim to peer at him. Robin returns with a smile and they follow Sunday, who has his hood pulled up and a mask on and is probably sweating like crazy. “Oh, and this.” He snaps off his belt and leaves it in the car, but not before opening up a capsule on the right side of his waist and tucking his gun in. He stores some of the bullets in his arm and pops another four in his mouth, leaving one to chew on.

Robin watches him with fascination sparkling in her ocean eyes. Boothill smirks, the sole bullet remaining held between his teeth.

They get into the express lane (Boothill tries not to look too smug at the lines of people waiting in the slow lane or pay much mind to the way they’re gawking at all three of them — what can he say? They’re all gorgeous. Especially Robin and himself) as Sunday checks them in. The attendant, thankfully, does not look too closely at any of them and tells them to place any baggage on the bins to be inspected.

Boothill and Sunday have nothing on them except their phones. Robin drops her purse in the bin as it rolls toward the staff members. It goes through a scan in a large, black box before getting returned to Robin. She thanks the staff and wishes them a nice day, catching up to Boothill a few steps ahead.

They enter the amusement park, some of the rides already opening up and functioning. Robin grabs a map of the park from a nearby directory board and unfolds it. She stops, and Boothill leans over her, chin on her head, to look at the map with her. Sunday is looking at the digital map on the board.

“I want to hit up the mild rides first, then we can progress onto the thrill rides,” Robin informs them, one perfectly manicured nail tracing their would-be path through the park.

“Ain’t nothin’ that looks ‘mild’ about this place ‘sides the kids’ rides,” Boothill grumbles.

Robin laughs, tucking the paper map in her purse. “Are you scared, Boothill?”

“What? No way,” Boothill rolls his eyes. He has nothing to fear here. He swallows the chewed bullet. There’s no way he can use that one after all the bite marks on it.

“Let’s save the grandest ride for last,” Robin looks up and points to the ride that shoots straight up, “the King of the Jungle.”

He snorts. “Corny — freakin’ — name.” He frowns. Right. Someone (he’ll find the bastard and force them to change it back) tinkered with his Synesthesia Beacon, so he can’t say words aloud. ‘Freedom of speech’ his bullets.

Robin covers her mouth with her hand, failing at hiding her smile. “I forgot that your Synesthesia Beacon does that.”

He sighs deeply. “Well, it ain’t fun either.”

“Alright,” she closes the map and tucks it in her purse. “What about Clockie’s Twisted Coaster? It’s right here.”

The coaster in question is, indeed, right in front of them. Penacony’s signature mascot, Clockie, is plastered all over the ride: its face is square and center on the ride’s tracks, the ride name in script next to it, the entire ride’s colors are all ones found on Clockie, and the stupid music blasting out of the speakers is Clockie’s theme song or whatever it’s called. 

The ride itself isn’t very long — the cart, with seats for four people, two on each side, hangs below the track and progresses up, swinging the cart, and drops down a series of curves, rotating the cart 360-degrees. The ride continues like this in an ‘s’ shape but with more exaggerated bends before coming to a stop.

Pretty mild, it seems.

“Let’s go,” Robin says. “Sunday?”

The man shakes his head. “I don’t do roller coasters. Here, let me take your purse.”

Robin is visibly disappointed, but she nods in understanding. She hands her purse over to Sunday, who tosses it over his hood carefully. “Your flash passes,” Sunday continues, taking out two cards from his pocket. He walks over, handing one to Robin. Boothill takes his when Sunday offers it to him, but the man’s gloved hand grips the card tight.

Boothill is so ready for a fight.

It doesn’t come.

Sunday lets go, looks him in the eye, and tells him, “make sure she has fun, okay?”

It takes him by surprise. He blinks, arm still extended and holding the card.

Sunday nods and turns back to Robin, who’s now practically glowing with happiness. “Go. Have fun.”

“I definitely will, brother,” Robin throws her arms around Sunday. “Thank you thank you thank you!” She backs away, takes Boothill’s hand, and tugs him to the flash pass entrance of the ride. Boothill lets himself be dragged along.

—

What? What!

Robin is so excited. Have you seen Sunday? Did you see him hand over the flash pass to Boothill? Do you know how long she’s been wanting Sunday to finally talk to Boothill without being openly hostile?

She’s practically buzzing with relief and joy, her previous disappointment from Sunday’s rejection to joining them on the ride temporarily forgotten, when she and Boothill show their flash passes to the staff and enter through the gates.

“He handed you the card, Boothill!” Robin says, just shy of jumping up and down like a child. “Wow. I can’t believe it.”

Boothill leans down to kiss her on her forehead. “Me neither. Your brother was lookin’ really unwilling. Thought he’d be out for me for at least a while. He probably still will.” He tucks the flash pass into the back pocket of his pants.

When she thinks of Sunday offering an olive branch to Boothill, or the other way around, she thought it’d be in more intimate, private settings. Like the living room in their giant mansion, way too big for just the two (occasionally three, but Boothill sleeps in her bed) of them, or in the kitchen after Robin left to use the bathroom or wherever. Not in public, not when they’re surrounded by innocent bystanders. She’s not complaining. The amusement park works too.

“This ride looks, ah, weird,” Boothill mumbles into her ear.

“Hmm? This one’s a classic,” Robin tells him. “We’re next!”

“I’m gonna regret swallowing those darn bullets,” he grimaces as the attendant opens their gate, directing them to the open cart. Boothill places his hat on the rack they have for loose items, and they get on, Robin on the inside and Boothill on the outside. They can’t hold hands through the safety seats. Well, they technically can, but Robin’s body is primarily flesh and bones so it’d be really uncomfortable for her.

“You got this!” Robin encourages, swinging her legs. The attendant starts the ride, and they move forward.

***

“Holy Aeons and all of Lan’s arrows,” Boothill says, one arm slung around her shoulder and mostly relying on Robin for support (don’t underestimate her strength and endurance — she’s a singer, remember?), “I’m gonna throw up all my bullets.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t scream,” Robin teases, giving Boothill the time to recover and stand on his own.

“Now, I was just sayin’ that ride was too loop-de-loop,” Boothill manages, wincing, “not that it was scary. I ain’t even feelin’ nauseous. It’s, ah, the rattle of these parts, per se. Aeons, what the heck. Everyday I discover somethin’ new ‘bout this helluva body.”

“Mhm,” Robin reassures, waving to Sunday.

“How was the first ride?” Sunday asks her, hands crossed behind his back and posture ever so regal for an amusement park. He must be smiling underneath that mask — his eyes crinkle. He doesn’t ask both of him; no, just Robin. That’s okay. Baby steps, baby steps.

“It was wonderful,” she declares, “Boothill wanted to throw up his bullets,” and doesn’t elaborate further. She loops her arm through Boothill’s. “Which rides next?” She tilts her head at Boothill, repeatedly poking at his cheek.

Boothill catches her finger between his teeth, bite gentle. Robin pulls her finger back. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow,” he tells her, eyes twinkling with mirth, tucking an exposed strand of her baby blue hair behind her ear, patting down her wig.

“Okay. Drop of doom next!”

Boothill’s expression drops, like the ride they’re gonna go on next.

***

Robin steps out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house. It was actually a roller coaster with a whole cinema and, of course, Clockie theme. She turns around, her wig blowing around her in a gentle breeze, and extends a hand toward Boothill, her smile wide on her face.

Boothill shakes his hair, the dual-color strands whipping around his face, and puts on his hat. He takes her hand. “Where do you wanna go next?” he asks, trailing behind her on the steps leading up to ground level. Sunday starts toward them the moment he sees Robin emerge from the exit.

“Can we stop for food?” she announces. All of the walking around and getting on the rides and general cheery atmosphere has her hungry.

“Sure,” Sunday agrees, looking at the map on his phone. “There’s a food court that’s not so far away from here. Follow me.” He starts toward a sunset retro-styled house in the distance, surrounded by palm trees and synth-pop blasting out of its speakers. It reminds her of the sunsets on Punklorde, a planet filled with cyberware and hackers. Isn’t there that one Stellaron Hunter girl from Punklorde?

“The style of that food court reminds me of you,” she comments, “don’t you think?”

“Ehh,” Boothill squints at the design, scrutinizing it, “not really. Run-down saloons and bars and the kind are more my type. But I can see myself hangin’ ‘round ‘ere, poppin’ down to the bar and orderin’ myself some booze. Bet they sell real darn booze too.”

Robin giggles at his accent. “You talk so funny.”

“Oh, really? And how do I talk, princess?” Boothill challenges, one hand on his hip.

“Like this,” Robin clears her throat, voice imitating a low, country drawl, “howdy. Name’s Boothill, darlin’s. I’m the best Ranger out there you can find. One shot from my gun, BAM BAM BAM ��� ” she mocks a gun with her left hand, shooting it — “and the enemy drops dead in less than a second, you hear me? There ain’t a single stray bullet in my entire career.”

Boothill rolls his eyes. “I do not talk like that.”

“Yes, you do!”

“No, I do not!”

“Yuh uh!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Pfft,” Robin exaggerates her exasperated sigh. “Fine. I suppose you don’t actually talk like that.”

“That’s right,” Boothill nods, a satisfied look on his face.

“What do you want to eat?” Sunday stops. Oh. They’ve already reached the place. She didn’t even notice.

“What’s on the menu?” Robin walks up to the menu boards above the counter, making sure to stay away from the ordering line. Her eyes scan the lines of options, mentally coming up with a list. It’s all junk food, as expected. She’s been craving some junk food anyway. Let’s hope Sunday actually lets her eat those ‘artificial foods injected with junk and bacteria.’

“I want three double cheeseburgers with two sides of fries and a SoulGlad,” Boothill announces.

Robin blinks up at him. “What?”

“Three deluxe double cheeseburgers, two servings of curly fries, and a SoulGlad,” he repeats.

“No, no, I, uh, heard you the first time. Are you sure you want that much?” It’s more than enough for one person; then again, Boothill’s a cyborg.

“I can eat a whole lot more,” Boothill shrugs. “Whadda ‘bout you?”

Robin hums. “I’ll take chicken tenders, a blueberry milkshake, and a pretzel. I hope the pretzels here have salt on them the size of dice.” She pats around for her purse, then remembers Sunday has it and he’s paying. “Sunday! We’re ready to order!”

Sunday gets up from the table he’s sitting at, meeting them at the end of the line“What would you like?”

“Three deluxe double cheeseburgers, chicken tenders, two servings of curly fries, one blueberry milkshake, one SoulGlad, and one pretzel,” Robin recites and looks at Boothill. “I didn’t forget anything, did I?”

Boothill shakes his head. “Naw.”

Sunday nods, the pleasant smile on his face he uses when he’s holding back a scathing remark. Ah, well. “I’ll go pay. You two can wait at the table.”

“Thanks!” Robin hurries over to the table before someone else can take it. It’s one of those metal wire mesh tables with benches attached and an umbrella over, taking on an obnoxious shade of orange the same color as the SoulGlad drinks. Boothill takes off his hat and tosses it on the table, letting out a sigh.

“Ain’t your brother dyin’ from the heat?” Boothill runs a hand through his hair. The weather is fair, not hot, but still warm enough to make you sweat after a few minutes basking under the sun.

Robin stares at Sunday, at the counter and talking to the cashier. “Maybe?”

“Are you sure you don’t want Sunday to go on an attraction with you?”

Robin’s smile wavers. “Well, I’m not going to force him onto anything he doesn’t want to.”

“You should. What’s a man doing, out here in a park, having no fun? Take him on a ride, darlin’. Gotta shake him up a lil’,” Boothill urges.

“After we eat,” Robin says. “I’ll ask again if we can go on Hanu’s Great Escape.”

“When I said to shake him up, I ain’t talking ‘bout takin’ him to one that, but whatever calms your horse.”

Robin beams at him. Hanu’s Great Escape is known for being exhilarating and scary. She wants to go on it with someone. The lines are typically very long, up to nearly an hour of waiting in line, but they have flash passes, and she is determined to bring Sunday on one of those rides at least once today.

“This is, ah, a lot,” Sunday says when he sets down a plastic tray with everything on the tabletop. He sits down opposite to Robin and Boothill, taking his share of the food — just a cup of soda and a sandwich — off the tray and leaving the rest to them. “I think it was somewhere around 200 credits?”

Boothill grabs Robin’s food for her, setting down the box of chicken tenders and fries while ripping open the packaging of a fancy plastic straw, sticking it in the milkshake. He takes his share of the food, unwrapping the aluminum foil of one of the cheeseburgers and flipping off the cap of the SoulGlad bottle.

“I can pay you back,” Robin opens up her phone to her money transferring app. 

Sunday brushes it off. “You don’t have to. We’re family, there’s no ‘owing’ here.”

Sometimes, Robin wants to excuse all of Sunday’s overprotectiveness and his strict rules because of how nice he is to her, the softness in his voice lulling her into a false sense of trust and security. But nice doesn’t mean kind, and Sunday isn’t exactly kind. Perhaps the only person Sunday is truly kind to is Robin, and even that has its occasional exceptions. Sunday is a control freak, more or less and however much she condemns it.

She bites into a chicken tender a bit too harshly, the meat soft and the food warm and her teeth clacking. It isn’t healthy to keep on bringing up sad topics. Today is a happy day, and she will make the most of it by shutting up and having fun. How many times has she said that now?

Boothill bites down on the burger, taking half of it as he chews and swallows. Watching him eat has always intrigued her. How does the food, organic and soft, dissolve in his mechanical insides? How does the food get processed without the chemicals and cells and nerves found in a typical human body?

“You’re starin’ again,” Boothill warmly points out, tapping her on the tip of her nose.

“How does the food work in your body?” Robin has asked this before, and not once has she gotten a coherent response.

“Do you think I’d be a ranger if I knew? ‘Cause boy, does this body need a lot of engineerin’,” Boothill groused, “this thing’s almost more trouble than what it is worth.” He takes a swig of the SoulGlad, orange dribbling out the corner of his mouth. Robin extracted a handkerchief from her purse, on top of Boothill’s hat, and dabbed at it.

“There.” She folded the handkerchief into a neat square, placing it on the table. 

“I’m waterproof, hon. For the most part,” Boothill deadpans.

“Isn’t it cute, though?” Robin counters playfully, leaning in to peck him on his nose.

Sunday, with his mask pulled down, very loudly sips his drink. Third wheeling must be sad.

“Sorry,” Robin apologizes, not really meaning it. She leans away, pressing close to Boothill, knocking their ankles together under the table. She grabs a curly fry from his box, munching on it. This place really loves their salt, huh? They’re in luck since she does too.

“No, that’s alright,” Sunday passive-aggressively says, finishing his sandwich. Boothill moves onto his third cheeseburger.

“Is that all you wanted?” Robin asks, pulling over her box of chicken tenders. Granted, there are only three left, but they can make it work. “We can share this.”

Sunday waves his hands, dismissing her offer. “It’s fine. Save some for yourself.”

“Oh, please, I have Boothill’s shares if I’m really that hungry,” Robin then makes a show out of it, grabbing a handful of Boothill’s curly fries. She likes the fries. Or anything with a copious amount of sodium in it, which, unfortunately, may be every junk food. Boothill shows no sign of objection, he’s almost done with his cheeseburger. It’s honestly kind of impressive.

“That’s fine, but I’m not hungry anymore. You know me. I never had that much of an appetite,” Sunday offhandedly mentions, casting a side-eye at Boothill. Boothill crumples up the aluminum foil of all three cheeseburgers into one giant ball.

“Okay.” Robin takes back the chicken tender, grabbing one and dropping it in Boothill’s box of fries. “For the curly fries,” she explains and moves back to eating her chicken tenders.

Boothill pecks her on the forehead. Robin giggles.

They gradually finish the rest of the food, and Sunday goes to return the tray and throw out their trash. Robin uses this opportunity to ask Boothill whether she should ask Sunday to go on Hanu’s Great Escape with her.

Boothill crunches down on a bullet. Where did he get that from? “Go for it,” he says simply.

“Really?” Robin asks.

Boothill pats her head. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Robin shuts up as Sunday returns to their table. Here goes nothing.

[imaginingsoftly]

For the Love of the Game - Jake DeBrusk

Type: first meetings, mini-rants about hockey culture thinly veiled as plot

Requested: No

Warnings: lots of swearing

A/N: An ending miraculously made an appearance, so the Jake thing is actually a one-shot and not a series. 

Night shifts were the time to work. Y/N sighed as she finally sat on a stool halfway through her shift, the first chance she’d had to sit since the night began. Weekend night shifts, while her favorite, could be demanding. Everyone was out, it seemed like, and they were all drunkenly breaking bones. Not that she’d ever complain about the volume of work. It was lucky, really, that she’d managed to get a radiology tech job in Boston at all. Mass. General was an enormous hospital with some of the best staff in the country, and it wasn’t often they hired new grads without prior work experience. 

Mary, one of her favorite coworkers, slumped onto the chair next to Y/N with a groan. “I just had a 220-pound drunk guy fall on me. I’m gonna feel that for weeks.” Mary rubbed at her back as Y/N laughed. Mary was small, barely five feet tall, and maybe 100 pounds. Her size had been an advantage in college, when she was a flier for one of the cheer teams at a university in Texas, but was a disadvantage now when she had to manhandle people over twice her size. “How many X-rays are you up to tonight?” Mary asked. “I’ve seen you running around non-stop since our shifts started.”

“I lost count about an hour ago,” Y/N chuckled. “I can tell you that it’ll be a new personal record though. I’ve never seen so many random injuries before. Most of the time my people are coming from car accidents this time of night, but now it just seems like a ton of drunken reverie.” Mary made a face in agreement, and they watched in amusement as one of the orderlies hauled another drunken patient back into his room. It was madness in the halls, and Y/N shook her head. “Am I missing something? Is there a holiday I don’t know about?”

Ben, one of the doctors, appeared at Y/N’s side suddenly. “The Bruins played tonight. They won, but it was a really rough game. There were a couple of brawls in the stands, and some in the streets. That’s probably where most of these people are coming from.” Now that he mentioned it, there were a lot of people wearing sports gear. Y/N recognized the black and gold as belonging to the home team, but she didn’t recognize the blue and white the others were wearing. “The Toronto Maple Leafs,” Ben said, before she could ask. “They’ve got a bit of an intense rivalry going the last few years. A lot of tension, on and off the ice. Doesn’t help that Boston tends to come out the victors in playoff games.” 

Sports. Y/N’s mom was never a sports fan, minus Premier League, and even then she was just a casual observer. There had never been any intense feelings about sports in their house, and Y/N would never understand the hatred people felt for each other over teams. Ben squeezed Y/N’s shoulder gently, drawing her back to the present. “You guys need any coffee? Kevin’s making a run for me before he gets in for his shift.” Mary shook her head with a smile, but Y/N nodded. She would never turn down a good cup of coffee. Anything was better than what they’d get in the cafeteria. 

“Black, please. With a shot or two of espresso.” Ben shook his head disapprovingly at her, and Y/N shrugged with a smile. “I know, I know, caffeine is bad. I promise I’ve only had 3 other cups today. I’ve been good.” The coffee addiction was real. Honestly, it wasn’t so much the caffeine most of the time so much as it was the taste, but Y/N knew she shouldn’t be drinking this much of it. A voice sounded over the earpiece Y/N was wearing before Ben or Mary could say any more, and Y/N stood again with a sigh. “Duty calls. We’ve got a transfer from a Pete Asnis?”

“That means it’s an athlete,” Ben said, beginning to walk with Y/N. “I’m going to guess Bruins, since the Red Sox didn’t play tonight.” A nurse handed Y/N a clipboard with the information on her patient as they rounded the corner to the room Y/N was bound for, and Ben stopped. “I hope nothing is broken. They can’t afford another injury.” Seriously? That’s what he was worried about? Not that the guys might have a broken bone? Y/N rolled her eyes, though she slapped on a smile as she slid into the room. 

Said Bruins player was sitting on the hospital bed clearly unhappy to be there, a scowl painting the face she was sure smiled more often than not. He was arguing with an older bald man when Y/N entered, and she knocked on the door once to gain their attention. “Hi there; I was told a,” she stopped to look at the name on the clipboard, “Jake Debrusk needed some x-rays done?” The man on the bed managed to scowl even deeper somehow, and the bald guy sighed heavily. He was clearly a trainer of some sort, dressed in his joggers and team pullover, but he also looked like this routine was far too familiar to him. “He needs a scan on his right clavicle. Took a nasty hit and heard a crack. He can’t lift his right arm past about 45°, and I’m already seeing some swelling.” 

Good. At least the trainer could tell her everything she needed. “Alrighty, let me just check out that swelling and we’ll decide if we can take that picture yet, yes?” Jake softened slightly at her smile and nodded. He had a nice face, though there was a nasty bruise forming over his eye. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N, one of the X-Ray techs here. Hopefully we can get a scan of your shoulder and get you home ASAP.” The trainer reached out a hand, introducing himself as Don Delnegro, the head trainer for the team. Jake barely acknowledged her words, and looked absolutely miserable from his seat on the bed. He began to slide his shirt off so she could get a look at his shoulder, but stopped when he jolted it. “Can I help you?” Y/N reached out her hands slowly, and when Jake nodded began to help him slide the shirt over his head without jostling his arm too much. 

The bruising on his shoulder and torso was spectacular. Of course, they were nothing compared to the muscle they were coloring, and her mouth dried a little at the beauty sitting on the hospital bed. Y/N tried to keep her reaction to a minimum, but Jake clearly caught the slight widening of her eyes. “Toronto always plays us rough. We’ve got a little bit of history.” He grinned at Y/N. “We always come out on top though.” Delnegro scoffed from behind Y/N, and she reached out a hand to feel for swelling before she lost her mind. It was definitely swollen, a bit too much to get a clear scan. 

“I have some okay news, and some bad news.” Jake groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Please don’t tell me you can’t do the x-ray,” he begged, “I don’t want to stay.” If it weren’t for how childish and dramatic he sounded, Y/N probably would have been a little offended. Hospitals weren’t for everyone, but she liked it here. “So bad news, you’re too swollen for a scan. Okay news, it should only be a few hours before we can scan you. You might be able to go home before morning.” Delnegro sighed and settled in. 

“You don’t have to stay, you can go home.” Jake looked at the older man almost apologetically, like he felt bad about an injury outside his control.

“I don’t trust you to take care of yourself. I’m staying until they discharge you.” Delnegro fixed Jake with a stare that would have had even Ben cringing, and Y/N smirked at the stubbornness of the trainer.

“You’re going to want the company, trust me. It may be a couple of hours before we can get the scan.” Y/N spoke before she could stop herself. It really wasn’t any of her business if he was alone or not. Jake took his turn to glare at someone, though Y/N was completely unimpressed. No matter how threatening he tried to look, the guy just didn’t look mean. Her pager signaled a new patient that needed scanning, and Y/N sighed. No more time for conversation. “A nurse will be in to check on you every hour or so, and when they let me know the swelling is down I’ll come back.” She smiled at the two men one more time and slipped out the door once they nodded. 

Now to find someone to check in on him. If he was a professional athlete, the hospital big-wigs were probably expecting her to give him preferential treatment. They had when one of the Patriots players had hurt himself during a workout. Dealing with the business side of hospitals, the one that didn’t put patients first, was her least favorite part of the job. Mary was power-walking down the hallway when Y/N walked out of the room, and she flagged her down. “I’ve got a possible broken clavicle with a good amount of swelling in this room,” she said when they met halfway, “do you know who’s got him?” Mary looked down at her clipboard and then at the door Y/N came from. 

“I do. You want me to let you know when the swelling is good for a scan?” Y/N smiled. Mary could read her mind. “If you wouldn’t mind,” Y/N said gratefully. Mary nodded her confirmation, and Y/N headed towards her next patient. Broken wrist and a possible concussion. Jesus. The game must have been pretty wild. 

It was yet another hockey fan, this one in blue and white, Toronto’s colors. He was so drunk Y/N could smell the alcohol as he entered the room, and she tried not to gag as she positioned him to get scans of his wrist. “Those motherfuckers think they own us just because they win more often than we do. News flash, we have more cups than they do.” Y/N nodded silently as the man ranted, though she almost wanted to ask him what the hell he was talking about. Cups? Own who? Rivalries made no sense. “And do you know that a whole bunch of those assholes decided it’d be a good idea to start a fight in the middle of the goddamn game? My team was winning and they decide they’re gonna start making jokes about choking? Not on my watch.” These people are crazy, Y/N decided. No sport was worth a broken bone and a concussion. Alcohol and sports don’t mix. 

She finally got the scan, after telling the man several times to stop moving while the machine was working, and it was indeed broken. She gave the scans over to the nurse with the instruction that it was a clean break and then slumped at her desk for a breather. Ben stopped into her space with the coffee she’d ordered, and Y/N jumped up to hug him. He laughed as she sighed heavily into his shoulder. “That guy you just scanned was something else. I could hear him yelling from down the hall.” Y/N sighed again and then stepped back. 

“I appreciate this coffee more than you and Kevin could ever understand.” It was scalding, clearly fresh from the coffee shop across the street, and Y/N drank as much of it as she could. Yes, she needed this. Ben raised his eyebrows. “You know,” he said teasingly, “I’m not going to take it away if you don’t suck it all down right away.” Y/N shoved his shoulder, and they walked together back into the hallway. “How’s our Bruin? Mary said it was too swollen to do anything with so far.” Y/N nodded. She had forgotten Ben was a fan and would want to know how he was holding up. “I’m not asking just as a fan,” he said, almost like he knew what she was thinking. “He’s my patient. Just wanted to see what I was going to be working with.” He bumped Y/N’s shoulder and smiled when she glared up at him. 

Ben was like the big brother she’d never had, and she would never admit how much stupid things like that meant to her. He cared enough to jostle her around or make sure she ate dinner when the shifts got crazy. “The team trainer was with him, and he said that arm movement was limited to lifting below 45°, and he was having a lot of trouble moving. I had to help him take his shirt off.” Ben smirked, and Y/N groaned. He was not about to make a pervy joke. “No, Benjamin, I did not just want his clothes off. It was just as much a test of his range of motion as it was to check on the swelling.” She punched his shoulder. “Get your head out of the damn gutter.” Ben’s laughter followed her all the way down the hall as he left, and Y/N had to bite her lip to keep from laughing too. She may not have wanted his shirt off for that reason, but the muscles underneath definitely hadn’t been a sacrifice to look at.

It took almost 3 hours before the swelling went down enough for Y/N to get a scan of Jake’s shoulder. It was indeed broken, and some muscle was torn. Y/N bit her lip as she scanned the x-ray alongside Ben. It looked bad. He would be out a few weeks at least, more if the tearing didn’t heal properly. Ben sighed heavily. “He’s done for the rest of the season. No way he plays with this.” Y/N felt a sudden rush of sadness for the athlete in the room behind them. She may not have been a sports fan, but this was his livelihood. It would be like telling her she couldn’t come to the hospital for a month. 

Y/N let Ben go so he could break the news to Delnegro and Jake, and she went looking for Mary at the nurse’s station. “A clean break, and some muscle damage.” Mary looked up from the salad she was devouring, her fork freezing halfway up to her mouth. “Ben said he’d be out the rest of the season. Poor guy.” Mary frowned. “Hopefully they don’t let him come back in a week or two,” she said heavily, “it is the playoffs. Sometimes they do that.” There was no way that guy would be skating in a week, let alone playing in a game. Mary took a bite of her salad, chewing thoughtfully.

Ben appeared at Y/N’s side, apparently done giving the diagnosis to Jake. “I know it seems crazy, but he’s actually played through a pretty serious concussion before. And one of his teammates played through a couple of broken ribs and a punctured lung. The lung actually collapsed during a game, and he spent 3 days here.” Y/N stared up at Ben horrified, and she knew Mary was making the same face. “It’s the culture of the game. You pretend you’re not injured until you drop.” What a horrible game. 

Y/N shook her head in disgust. “Thank you for reminding me why I’m not a sports fan. That’s absolutely disgusting. How irresponsible could those doctors be that they let them play like that?” Ben shrugged like he had no idea, and Y/N scoffed. Sports were ridiculous. 

She ran into Jake and Delnegro again as they were discharging, running into one another at the doors. “Thanks for all your help, Ms. Y/L/N,” Jake said sincerely. He held out his left hand for a fist bump, and Y/N chuckled. Delnegro held out a hand for a handshake, and Y/N smiled at him as well.

“It was nice to meet you both,” she said. “Please heal up and don’t do anything stupid.” Delnegro laughed as Jake looked at her in shock. “One of my coworkers mentioned you boys like to pretend you’re not injured. Broken clavicles aren’t anything to mess with.” She nodded at them both with another smile, walking off in the direction of her car while Jake stood there flustered. A wild end to a wild night. 

_______________________________________________________________

Jake did indeed go back early, a little over two-and-a-half weeks later, and Y/N had the game on in the break room just to keep an eye on him. She could only check in for a minute at a time, but those minutes pieced together gave her a new appreciation for the game. The game was so fast, and she had to admit watching them hit each other was a rush. It was all fine until the third period, when he took a hit and went down hard. Ben happened to be in the room with Y/N when it happened and he swore viciously, something about a cheap shot and a dirty player. “That was the bad side,” Y/N said anxiously. Jake stayed down on the ice, and the pain was evident on his face. “Why isn’t he getting up?” Ben swore, shaking his head. 

“You’d better get ready, shorty. Your favorite patient is coming back.” Ben laughed when Y/N punched his shoulder in response. Ben used humor to cope, and he was clearly upset to see a patient and a player on the team he loves injured again. Or still injured. There was no way that clavicle and muscle damage was already healed completely. Y/N sighed heavily and trudged out of the break room. A call for the transfer and scans would be coming any second. 

Sure enough it did, less than ten minutes later, and Y/N was accepting a coffee from Kevin as he came in for his shift. “Heard you got the Bruins player again. Good luck. They lost tonight. He won’t be happy.” Y/N groaned. Not only did she get an idiot that didn’t know how to let himself heal, but she was getting an idiot that was going to be an asshole too. Kevin patted Y/N’s shoulder as the man himself strode past the pair at the nurse’s station, Delnegro by his side again. “Whelp duty calls, shorty. Good luck.” Y/N took off after the pair, intercepting them before they reached a room. 

Y/N touched Jake’s left arm gently, though she stepped back when she saw the intensity and anger in his eyes. He hadn’t looked this threatening a couple of weeks ago. “Why don’t we go ahead and get you scanned real quick, if there isn’t too much swelling.” She shook the anger off. Being intimidated wouldn’t help anyone. Jake’s eyes softened slightly as he took Y/N in, and he reached out his hand awkwardly for a shake. “Welcome back,” she said with a small grin, “I was hoping I wouldn’t see you back here. I told you not to do anything stupid.” Jake barked out a laugh, and Y/N thought she saw a small smile on Delnegro’s face.

“Sorry, Ms. Y/L/N,” Jake said sheepishly, “it’s the playoffs.” Yeah, she’d heard all about it. He remembered where her machines were, and Y/N was kind of unsettled at how normal it was for him to be back in the room getting scanned again. Hopefully he wouldn’t make this a regular occurrence. “So,” Jake began as she moved him into position for the scan, “the doc from a couple of weeks ago said you weren’t a sports fan.” Damn him.

Y/N ignored Jake’s eyes as she finished arranging his arm, though she answered him as she walked across the room for the kevlar apron. “I’m not. My mom wasn’t and it was just her when I was a kid. I never got the appeal.”

Jake groaned. “How can you live in Boston and not like sports? All the teams are good!” He looked so sincere, and for the first time Y/N felt a pang of loneliness for not being a sports fan. It was rare to find someone in the city that didn’t care about at least one of the teams, she knew that. “So look: our season is over after our loss tonight, but the playoffs are still going on. If I promise to be good and not injure my shoulder more, will you watch a game with me? I’ll explain the sport and maybe we can make you into a hockey fan.” Y/N opened her mouth to refuse, probably make some sort of excuse about him being a patient, but Jake hurriedly continued. “I was planning on coming back here once the season was over and asking you out. Since the season is over and I’m already here, I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone. It doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want it to be, but I’d love for you to see how beautiful the game really is.” 

Well, when he put it that way. “Sure,” Y/N said, surprising herself. “I’d like that.” The smile that lit up Jake’s face made one night of sports well-worth it. Maybe she would become a hockey fan after all. 

[rollingthunderthighs]

Daredevil - Haikyuu x Reader

Summary: Tanaka (y/n), younger sister of Tanaka Ryunosuke! You’ve been watching your brother play volleyball since you both we just kids. You found your own passion, which you quickly gave up on due to... reasons. It happened halfway through your last year of middle school, then having to go to Ryu’s practices after school to wait to walk home with him. After spending your last year along side him and the team, you’ve come to cherish your time with Karasuno’s Volleyball Club. Now that you’re entering high school, you decided you wouldn’t go back to the past and stick with your new found interest; to help Kiyoko with managing the team of lovely crows! However, these other first years are something else; will you be able to handle them? Will you be able to handle your over protective brother? Most importantly, can you find your own wings while helping the others fly high? The past can’t stayed buried forever after all.

Pairings: Karasuno First Years x Reader; Kei Tsukkishima x Reader; Tadashi Yamaguchi x Reader; Tobio Kageyama x Reader; Shoyo Hinata x Reader

Warnings: Cursing

MASTERLIST

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Chapter 1 - First Day Back

-----

“Oni-chan,” you sigh, irritated at your brother as he put his jacket on, “Can you hurry up?”

Your brother simply waved you off, glancing at you with sleep still prominent in his eyes. You sigh again, louder just so he could hear it.

You love Ryu, you do, but having to deal with him in the morning was nothing short of a pain; he was always half asleep, always slow. Half of the time you would start to walk without him, having to contain an eye roll as he’d run to catch up with you. Even though he was a year older than you, he had insisted on being a good big brother and walking you to Oujitsu Middle. However, now that was all different, you were finally attending Karasuno along with him so he didn’t have to worry about taking you to school and running to his own. 

Once he finally decided to move his lazy ass, you both left the house with silent goodbye to your sleeping elder sister. You smooth your skirt, glaring at him from the corner of your eye. 

“Oni-chan, it’s my first day you know, you could’ve tried to put in a little more effort to leave early so we wouldn’t be late.”

“Ah, sorry (y/n)-chan. It’s just hard to wake up in the mornings, yanno?” He yawns loudly, arms raised high as he stretches.

“Maybe you should go to bed sooner, instead of kissing photos of Kiyoko-senpai all night long-”

“Hah, shut up punk I do not!”

He threw his arms around you, trapping you against his chest as he brought a hand up to give you a noogie.

“RYU YOU JERK, LET ME GO!”

“THEN DON’T MAKE OF YOUR AWESOME BIG BROTHER!”

You swat his hands away as he laughs at the mess of your hair.

“Ne, that’s a good look for you, (y/n)-chan~” He teases.

“You’re worse than nee-chan.” 

He shudders at the mention of your guys’ sister, and you take that moment while he’s distracted to strike; you smack the back of Ryu’s shaven head, the sound loud and sharp.

“Ouch, what the hell!?” He whines, rubbing his head tenderly.

“That’s what you get,” you huff, fixing your appearance before sticking your tongue out at him, “not my fault you decided to go bald, jerk-suke!”

“You’re so lame, nerd-(/n),” he grunts, shoving you lightly as the gates appear in your line of sight, “Now get to class before I kick your ass. You want help on where to go, need me to walk you?”

He stops at the gate in hopes you’d accept, but pouts as you continue walking and wave him off.

“Nope, I’m good. Thanks anyway, oni-chan, I’ll see you after school.”

“We’re practicing at the gym right after!” He yells out, sighing as you only wave him off once more.

Tanaka clicks his tongue, a little worried about you, but overall knowing you’d be fine. With what happened after last year, he felt bad that you felt as if you had to stick with him at his own club, but if that’s what you wanted then he wouldn’t push it.

As long as you were happy, he didn’t care; it also helped that he wouldn’t have to worry anymore, knowing you’d be a couple feet away.

After walking away from your brother, you head up to the board to see the class lists posted, trying to find your class. You spot your name on the roster and head towards class four, still a little in shock of how you made it to the college prep class, your exam scores not only shocking you but the rest of your family. Your two older idiot siblings had always managed to just barely scrape together passing scores; well you had to give Saeko some credit, she was in college after all-even if she really didn’t care about her core classes.

You got to your class with no problems, but were somewhat dreading the idea of walking in since you expected it to be somewhat full with classes starting soon. You weren’t late, per say, but you were by no means early.

‘Thanks oni-chan.’ You think bitterly, sighing as you slide the doors open.

To your frustration, your assumption was correct; the classroom was already full of first years, and you had to hold back an irritated groan as all the good spots were taken. Glancing around, you spot a seat that was going to have to be the next best thing for now; it was somewhat towards the back of the class, the next seat over from the window-the seat you truly wanted. Slipping off your bag from your shoulder, you hang it on the hook beneath your proclaimed desk as you sit down with a gentle breath of relief. 

Light music catches your attention, moving your head ever-so-slightly to peer at the boy sitting next to you. His headphones were playing loud music, the genre hard to catch as it was muffled just enough to leave the people around him wondering what it could be. You take in his appearance, short blond locks and thin framed glasses that hid his eyes; he was also pretty tall, even though he was sitting down you could tell. He looked as bored as you knew you were going to be as the day progressed-

Hell, you were already bored and the day hasn’t even started yet.

You had intended to turn away right after the initial glance, when his sharp gaze met your own; you had been taken aback by that single look, his face remaining unchanging but those now visible amber eyes overflowing in emotion.

The contrast intrigued you.

You purse your lips, overall unaffected by his stare, before turning to look back towards the front of the classroom. A grunt of distaste fills your ears, and you bite your tongue to hold in a retort. You continue to tell yourself to ignore him, not wanting to get caught up in drama on the first day.

Your eyes unintentionally flutter back over to the boy as his music comes out crisper, his headphones sliding off his head to rest on his shoulders. 

It wasn’t like you were trying to stare, it was just the music had caught your attention.. 

So when his eyes instantly caught your gaze again, eyes now a harsh glare, you knew that you wouldn’t avoid the drama this time. 

“What do you want.”

You raise a brow, his voice sounding calm despite the look on his face.

“Nothing?”

“Then, could you stop looking at me.” His tone turned upbeat, a sickly sweet smile on his face.

You wanted to gag at how fake it was.

You click your tongue instead, giving him a once over before staring straight back into his eyes with your own steady gaze. You weren’t going to lose this, whatever it was.

“Then could you keep it down next time? I, and I’m sure anyone else, wouldn’t want to look at you without reason. Thanks.” You shoot him the same fake smile he gave you.

You saw his smile falter, and you just stare, amused at his crumbling facade. 

“You must’ve had a good reason then, since this wasn’t the first look, midget.”

“Hah,” you both glare at each other, the tension rising, “you’ve got some nerve-”

“Nerve, smarts, height. Everything you don’t.”

You felt your face contort, knowing your inner Tanaka-special-look was shining through. This guy looked anything but intimidated, looking down at you with amusement instead.

“Seems like I have all the looks too, what an ugly face you’re making there, chibi-chan. Is that why you’ve been staring at me, hm?”

The anger coursed through your body, about to push yourself to stand when a brunette sitting in front of the blond turned around, waving his arms.

“Tsukki, you shouldn’t tease like that,” he glanced at you with a shy smile, “S-sorry about that, please don’t take any offence.”

You raise a brow in question, looking at both boys before sighing out as you settled into your seat again. Your gaze turns from the freckled boy, who looked distressed and exasperated all at once, and towards the blond asshole to your left. 

“Tch, make sure you keep your sass to yourself, Tsukki.”

“Don’t call me that.” He snapped, and you only snicker at his frustration.

“Or what? What are you going to do, Tsukki-chan~.”

The sensei walked in right after, cutting off anything he was going to say.

It was always to get the last word in, especially when you got looks like that; amber eyes burning in annoyance. 

-----

The rest of class went by without a hitch; the welcoming ceremony was held right after lunch, and you felt yourself snickering as you saw the-painfully obvious-wig atop your vice’s head. However unfortunately, you were forced to stand next to Tsukki, being his desk neighbor and all.

“You laugh at the most idiotic things, chibi-chan. You must only have a few functioning brain cells.” He gave a smug smile.

“Oi, do you ever shut up? Attention wh-”

“Y-you guys might want to quiet it down..” Yamaguchi, as you learned during the lunch period you spent with them, whispered from in front of the both of you.

You had decided to stay in your seat for lunch and, to your dismay, the grumpy blond giant and his friend had the same idea. You didn’t want to hurt your pride by seeming like a coward, so you stayed in your seat and faced him head on instead of getting up and running away.

The entire lunch period was full of insults and fighting between the both of you, to which poor Yamaguchi had tried to defuse. You realized you liked the brunette, he was nice-maybe a little dumb considering he was friends with the asshole, but nice. Although, he did join in on throwing some teases your way, but you thought they were more cute than anything. He had blushed when you said it out loud, and you could only laugh at his flustered expression. 

“Ah, sorry Yamaguchi-kun.” You sigh loudly, causing other students to look at the scene. 

Yamaguchi flushed at the attention, turning back to the speeches as Tsukkishima huffed another insult under his breath; an insult you gracefully ignored, not wanting to get in trouble on your first day for yelling in the auditorium.

-----

Once the academic school day ended, you felt a slight amount of excitement shoot through your body, knowing your brother had practice and you’d get to see everyone again. As soon as the bell rang you sprung out of your seat, rushing down to the changing rooms and changing into one of your old track suits. You brought it with you because you really didn’t feel like wearing the schools, plus this one was much cuter anyways. 

You hadn’t worn it in a while, not since..

You shake your head, pushing those old memories from your mind as you head down to the club room, hoping to find your brother, but spotting someone even better.

“Suga-kun!” You wave excitedly as he comes down the stairs.

His shocked expression quickly turns into a smile as you meet him at the bottom. 

“My my, (y/n)-chan,” he laughs while pinching your cheek, “It’s been a while hasn’t it, look at you!”

You blush at his antics, brushing his hand off with a giggle. Sugawara had been kind to you from day one, even though you were just the little sister who sat in the gym while waiting for her brother to finish practice. He, along with the rest of the team, welcomed you with open arms. 

You only met them halfway along in the school year, the first part spent at your old club activities in middle school, until that happened.

Ever since that day you had to go wait for your brother at Karasuno, instead of him picking you up from practice, so you quickly had to get used to all the crazy yet wonderful people you met;

Which is why you were finally glad to be back, being surrounded by really amazing people, no one with false intentions. 

“Suga-kun, that hurts!”

He laughs again, only to be cut off by a loud whine.

“(y/n), why don’t you ever smile at me like that. I’m your brother, not Suga-san!” Ryu pouts, walking down the steps with the captain, your eyes widening at the sight of him while you ignore your brother.

“Daichi-kun!”

Diachi laughs at Ryu’s deflated look, walking over and placing a hand on your head. 

“Long time no see, trouble-maker,” his laughter stops as he looks at you closely, a teasing smile appearing on his face, “Say, have you grown since last time?”

You place your hands on your hips, grinning cheekily.

“You noticed huh, I’ve grown a few cm, now I’m officially 155cm!”

Your happiness was cut short when Suga and Daichi raised a hand to stifle their laughter, and you pushed off the hand resting atop your head.

“Don’t laugh, you asked!”

“Ah poor little sister, you got stuck with the short genes.”

“I’m almost as tall as nee-chan-”

“You’re both short, (y/n).”

“Says the loser who can’t even reach 180cm!”

“Oi-”

“Alright you two, knock it off,” Daichi chuckled, lightly bopping you on the head while being a little more forceful to your brother, “Let’s get going. You ready for your first actual year being a club member, kiddo?”

“Oh yea, now I get to actually actively help instead of being forced to listen to oni-chan yelling with nothing to distract me.”

“Hey-”

“I bet Kiyoko will be thrilled to have you this year too.” Suga smiled, cutting off your brother who just grumbled angrily under his breath.

You all were making your way to the gym when Daichi pulled out a few papers from his club jacket. 

“I agree, hopefully the new recruits won’t stop by too late, we have an interesting person joining after all.”

“Oh? Who would that be?” Suga questioned.

“The one kid we saw at the middle school matches, Kageyama Tobio.”

“The first setter of Kitagawa is going to join the team?”

“Huh? But, that guy is totally cocky.” Ryu sneered, thinking back to the matches he saw him in.

You remember the kid briefly, going with your brother and the other two to the games. Kitagawa was a powerhouse middle school, most of those kids ended up going to other powerhouse high schools, which wasn’t Karasuno.

Yet.

“He was pretty good though, from what I could tell,” you chime in, “I’m just surprised someone like him didn’t go to some high-end school in the prefecture. He seemed like he could totally get in.”

“Look at you,” Ryu cooed, trying to bring you into a noogie, “Thinking you know all about volleyball and the skills~”

“I know some things, idiot!”

“Quit it you two.”

“Okay…” You both agreed, knowing how scary the third year captain could be when he wanted to be. 

“You better not try to intimidate the Kitagawa kid either, okay Tanaka.” Suga teased, changing the subject back to the matter at hand.

“I-I wouldn’t do something like that.” He grumbled, causing you to snicker.

“Ha, yea oni-chan-”

“You either, (y/n)-chan. You can be just as bad.”

Now it was your turn to pout and grumble while your brother laughed at you.

The gym doors were already open to your surprise, after getting the proper footwear on and heading inside, you spot two kids you haven’t seen before.

“Hello.” The taller male exclaims, and you snap your fingers together as you realize he was the kid you were just talking about.

“It’s him.”

“Oi, oi, oi,  who said you could waltz in here-”

Your brother was cut off as Daichi grabbed the back of his jacket, yanking him backwards.

“You’re Kageyama, right?”

“Osu.” Kageyama agrees, standing straight and still as the boys approach him. 

You stay behind them, only looking out from the back of your brother. You take in his features, and notice how intimidating he looked up close; he was tall-taller than Daichi even, eyes holding a sharp concentration, and as you glanced at his lips pulled in a taut line, you wondered if he could smile. A flash of orange caught your attention, glancing behind Kageyama to see another student sneaking besides the others. He starts to head over behind your friends, towards you, and doesn’t notice you until he’s standing almost directly beside you. He glances over and jumps, red spreading across his face as he yells out a greeting.

“H-hello!”

The others were too engrossed in their conversation, so you smiled politely back and gave him a small nod in greeting.

“Hello-”

“HELLO!” He shouts again louder, another shy blush spreading across his cheeks as he repeats himself once more. You laugh, catching the attention of the boys and they look at you.

“Huh, who are-OH, YOU!” Ryu shouts and points, causing Hinata to squeak and back away from you.

“M-me?”

“SHORTY NUMBER ONE!”

“You’re the other applicant, Hinata Shoyo.. I’m a little surprised.” Daichi smacks your brothers hand away, giving a welcoming smile to Hinata.

“Uh.. hm?” He bites his lip, confused.

“Oh,” you point at him suddenly, causing the blush to come back as he jumped back even further, “you’re the orange who jumped super high!” 

The captain and vice held back snickers at the name, but it just made Hinata grow tongue tied.

“I-I, uh, huh?”

“We saw your match last year.” Suga clarified.

“You’re way short, and sucked pretty bad. But you’ve got guts, yanno?” Tanaka nodded. 

“Ah, thanks!” Hinata grinned, beaming at the attention. 

“Your jumps were awesome, right (y/n)-chan?” 

“Right,” you agree with Suga, an excited gleam in your eye, “it was sooo cool to see! You looked like you were flying!”

“TH-THANKS!”

“But it looks like you haven’t grown so much since then,” Ryu measured out with his hand, “At least he’s taller than you, (y/n).”

“Oi, I’m not that short-”

“I may be little, but I can jump,” Hinata interjected, looking at the three members before looking at you, “I’ll become Karasuno’s ace!” 

You flush at the way his eyes stared determinedly stare into your own.

“Ace huh..”

“Oi, oi… The newbie says he’s going to be the ace? Making that declaration to my sister no less, what are you getting at, you’ve got some nerve, boy.”  Tanaka’s face twists into something scary, glaring down at the boy who froze up, slowly turning his head to make eye contact with your brother.

“S-s-sister? I-UH, I-I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE, UM, LIKE THAT!” He waves his arms in a panic.

“It’s good to be ambitious, right?” Suga swoops in to save the kid from further embarrassment.

Hinata sighed, agreeing and apologizing at the same time.

“Hey,” Kageyama’s voice pierces the conversation, “If you want to be the ace, I hope you’ve improved. If you goof around, you’ll waste another three years.”

That’s when all hell broke loose.

They began to fight, bickering back and forth about growth and how neither one has been wasting their time. Hinata lost his happy-go-lucky aura and Kageyama’s face was even scarier, each glaring at each other with just as much loathing. You were now standing between your brother and captain, hearing the latter sigh as he tried to diffuse the situation. You gulp down your nerves as they cut him off, watching how Daichi’s smile grew tight and his eyebrows furrowed. 

Oh lord, here it comes.

“Oi, Daichi-san is talking to you!”

“Yeah, you should listen to your captain, yanno!” You throw in your two cents after your brother, only to feel annoyed when they both ignored you.

“What’s the commotion, volleyball club?”

You freeze, slowly turning your head to see the vice principal walking inside the gym.

“Yikes, the vice!” You and Ryu gasp.

“Sensei.” Suga hastily corrects you both.

“S-sensei.. Right.”

You purse your lips together, looking down at the court hoping you can this time contain your laughter. 

“You’d better not be fighting.”

The duo, who were totally not fighting, had paused momentarily as the vice walked towards the crowd. 

“Of course not,” Daichi gave the man a convincing grin, motioning to the two first years, “just a little friendly rivalry, right?”

“Hey, the vice likes to make trouble for us, so keep it down.” Tanaka Hisses, and you nod along while raising your hand to your mouth to mimic your brother.

“You don’t want the club to get in trouble now right?”

Hinata’s brown eyes lock on yours and he nods meekly. You let out a smile, glad he was finally calming down, when Kageyama tsk’s and gives Hinata an ugly look. You sigh, looking over at the taller boy to see a dark look on his face, it was almost scary.

“Server! And I’ll return them all!”

You facepalm as Hinata took the bait, your brother raging at them from beside you, the tension growing thick in the gym. The vice wasn’t amused as they continued fighting, if the sharp glance he gave to Daichi was any indication anyway. 

The two idiots went to serve and receive, and you could only watch an awe as Kageyama went to do a jump serve. Sure, this wasn’t the time for such things, but not many people you knew could do a jump serve, it was cool to watch one up close. The force he used to smack the ball was plentiful, jaw dropping as Hinata barely dodges and the sound echoes when the ball makes contact on the floor.  

Hinata stands back up, yelling for another when Daichi tells them to knock it off, only to be ignored again. You knew it was coming, hopefully the vice would leave soon so you could watch Daichi blow up on them with front row tickets-

You gasp as the ball, the second attempt that Hinata didn’t dodge, smacked against his arms, flew up into his face, before ricocheting off and hitting the vice square in the face. It was as if time slowed down, the ball hitting the vice’s cheek, his head snapping with enough force to pop his wig into the air. You watched, eyes glued to the head piece that went up and up till it came down, landing straight on-

Your lips part to laugh, thankfully Sugawara noticed and slapped his hand over your mouth to stifle the bellows you wished to release. Everyone stood frozen in shock as the hair piece landed atop the one and only, Daichi. 

“He was wearing a wig?” Kageyama muttered, eyes blown open wide.

“You just noticed?” Hinata snickers, amused at the sight.

“You guys,” Ryu was trying to hush his own giggles, “shut up!”

“Tanaka, you shut up too!” Suga scolds, hand still on your mouth as you shake from silenced laughter.

“Sawamura-kun, I’d like a word with you.”

Once they left the gym, Suga let you go only to have you clutch your sides in laughter. Your brother was no better, practically passed out on the floor as tears escaped his eyes. The scene replayed itself over and over in your mind, the lack of oxygen making you woozy. However, as soon as you heard a chuckle coming from Hinata, you Tanaka siblings stopped laughing. 

“That was sure stupid of you,” Ryu cracks his knuckles, giving his scary face, “you’re going to regret not listening to Daichi-san.”

Hinata looks to you for help, surprising you, but you just shrug.

“Oni-chan is right, you’ve done it now. Good luck you two.”

“Wait, why am I going to be punished for something he did!?” Kageyama glares at you, and you shudder slightly.

There was no reason to be upset at you, but the way he was looking at you caused you to look away nervously. 

“You both were the issue.” Ryu huffs, arms crossing to give his own glare at the taller first year.

“This is all your fault!”

“Huh, me!?”

The boys began to argue, leaving Ryu to shake his head and Suga to rub his temple with an exasperated smile. 

What a fun first day back, you can’t wait to see what else was to come.

[gripefroot]

Crazy

“And then she said to me, I think that cat is judging us for being stupid. Backed straight out of the alley then, and it hissed after us until we started running. Never did find out if the money was stored there. Guards cats are pretty effective, when it comes down to it.” 

The elevator dings. The joke between Bucky and Steve ends on twin chuckles, their attention shifted to the doors as they slide open. The elevator is not empty. Bucky is surprised. Steve, less so. 

“Morning, Nick,” Steve says easily, taking a step inside. Bucky follows behind, giving Nick Fury a nod and a once-over to the woman beside him. She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look his way.  

“Morning, boys. Nice to see you out early for recon prep.” 

“What recon?” Bucky makes the mistake of saying. He grunts as he feels Steve’s elbow in his side.  

“Where’s Romanoff?” Nick asks, as if Bucky hadn’t said anything.  

“She’s already underground, sir,” the unknown woman answers.  

“Good.” 

“I’m Steve,” Steve says, and offers his hand to the woman. She takes it, a polite but distant smile flitting on her lips. 

“Agent 28.” Her eyes flicker to Bucky, but he says nothing. With a raised brow her hand drops to her side where a holster is strapped around her thigh. 

He doesn’t trust himself to introduce himself when he’s thinking about that thigh holster. The brand. If it’s too tight. If it could hold anything larger than the Glock 19 she’s carrying. How sexy it is. What her name actually is, because he’s pretty sure that modern parents don’t name their kids numbers. Not entirely sure, though. 

“She’s my best agent,” Nick is saying, and Bucky reverts his gaze to the closed elevator doors with burning ears.  

“Nonsense, sir,” she replies. “You told Natasha that just last week, and I know for a fact you told Barton he was your best agent at last year’s holiday party. He brings it up every other time I see him.” 

Steve snorts. Bucky finds himself clenching his fist in the pocket of his jeans. Fury is apparently unconcerned by getting called out, and shrugs.  

“Either way, she’s been on this case since we got it three months ago. She’ll be running the recon today.” 

“Looking forward to it,” Steve says. Bucky senses the shifting weight of the woman, and he hears the lightness in her voice.  

“You might be changing your mind about that.” 

An omen.  

The tac room is underground Avengers Tower. Once the doors ding open to reveal a long hallway, Fury says something about speaking to Stark and punches the buttons as the other three climb off. Bucky slows his pace to follow the woman, who strides ahead. At the end of the hallway, Natasha is leaning against the wall, but she perks up when their footsteps draw closer.  

“About time,” Natasha says. “Hey, 28. I got the stuff you asked for. Told the boys yet?” And she falls into step beside the woman. Clearly they’re acquainted. Bucky wonders why Tasha has never mentioned Agent 28 before.   

“Nope,” Agent 28 replies. “Figured the sooner I tell them, the more complaints I’ll hear.” 

“This doesn’t sound good,” Steve interrupts.  

“It’s not.” 

Compared to the hall, the gear room is bright. Rows of vests, coats, weapon holsters, and various items for disguises are neatly lined on the wall. A few outfits are laid out on a table, and Bucky glances in trepidation at the chairs sitting empty in front of a mirror. He’s been in here before - he remembers the day Clint Barton was sat in one of those chairs and his hair shaved off because some evil scientist goo had gotten in it. That had been a bad day for Clint. Great day for Bucky, though.  

“Sit,” the woman says. Steve is quick to obey, with a trepidated glance at Bucky. He knows what it means: If we’re going to get messed up, at least we’ll be messed up together, right? Bucky struggles to have the same confidence. He sits beside Steve, glancing back towards the open door in case he needs to make a hasty exit.  

“Did you read the briefing I sent over?” Agent 28 asks, rummaging through a tub of...barber supplies. Bucky stiffens.  

“Oh, yeah,” Steve assures her. “Recon at a coffee shop for a suspect dealing in chemical warfare for Libya. We just need to find out who he’s meeting, and potential locations for any deals, right?” 

“Right.”  

She pulls out a buzz cutter. Holding it in her hand like a weapon (which to Bucky, it looks very much like one at the moment), she turns to steady meet their eyes, the opposite hand on her hip.  

“Here’s the deal,” she says shortly. “I can tell you two are ready to bolt, so I'll speak plainly. If the Avengers show up to a coffee shop all sitting together, the suspect won’t show. If the Avengers all show up to a coffee shop and don’t sit together, the suspect won’t show. You get my meaning? Anyone with half a brain will know what you look like, and anyone guilty will bolt at the first sign of trouble.” 

“We’ve done recon before,” Steve says, unwisely. “We can - ” 

But Agent 28 interrupts him. “Believe it or not, a baseball cap and sunglasses are not the height of secrecy. I’m in charge of this mission, and I won’t let it go south because a coupla boys are afraid to cut their hair. Hair grows back. Got it?” 

“Got it,” Steve mumbles. Bucky is still staring at the woman. Trying not to look at her thigh holster.  

“Got it,” he says hoarsely after a moment.  

She starts on Steve. Clumps of golden hair fall to the ground, and Bucky swallows. Several minutes later, she turns off the buzz cutter, fluffing up the short ends of Steve’s hair as he stares in the mirror. 

“Not bad,” he admits. “You a hairdresser?” 

“Only by necessity.” A smile grows on her face, and Bucky blinks. It’s a very nice smile. Maybe a little wild, a little feral. But he’d be lying if he said it didn’t intrigue him more.  

Oh, no. She’s going to cut his hair.  

“Nat has some clothes for ya laid out,” Agent 28 tells Steve. “Go on over and get dressed.” 

“What about Nat? Is she cutting her hair too?” Bucky blurts, before he can stop himself. The woman steps over to his chair, buzzer still in hand. He gulps.  

“Natasha is going to wear a wig,” she informs him, meeting his eyes in the mirror. 

“Well, why can’t I wear a wig?” Bucky sounds like a petulant child, and he knows it. 

“Because your hair is long already,” Agent 28 explains patiently. “If we put a bald cap on you and some shorter wig, it’s going to look goofy. Believe me.” 

“And what about you?” 

“I don’t need a disguise,” she says at once. “SHIELD has an algorithm to delete all footage of me from public and private security cams. No one knows what I look like.” 

“Really,” Bucky says, only half-believing.  

“Not all of us feel the need to take credit for our dirty work, Sergeant,” Agent 28 gives him a smirk in the mirror, and Bucky nearly falls out of his chair. What is it about her -  

She flips on the buzz cutter. Bucky flinches, and holds up his hand in desperation. “Wait! Wait. There’s got to be another way.” 

She turns it off. “Afraid of a haircut?” she teases. 

“Well - maybe.” 

“How old are you again?”

“Ha, ha,” Bucky says sarcastically, though he’s struggling not to grin. “Come on. You do this a lot. There has to be other options. Please don’t cut my hair. Anything else. Just don’t cut it.” 

Agent 28 bites her bottom lip. Bucky tries not to stare, and fails. She has very pretty lips. Then at last she sets down the buzz cutter on the counter, and reaches over for a comb instead.  

“Fine,” she says, and starts to drag it through his hair. Immediately goosebumps break out across his scalp, and Bucky forces back a moan of pleasure. He must be looking a little strained, because she lifts a brow at him in the mirror. “But this is your choice. You can’t complain about it.” 

“Okay,” Bucky mumbles. He won’t be complaining yet - it feels too good to have her fingers in his hair. Way too good. It’s like a massage, really. In fact, he’s so lulled that he doesn’t realize what she’s doing until he watches through a daze as she pulls a hair tie off of her own wrist to secure his hair...in French braids.  

“Er,” he says, jolting from his stupor.  

“All done. Your clothes are back there,” Agent 28 says, jerking her thumb backwards. She’s smiling way too broadly - she’s enjoying this. She’s enjoying the consternation Bucky must be exuding. With a narrowed glare her way, he slowly stands from the chair to wander over to Nat and Steve. Still she smiles.  

“What’s this look called again?” Steve asks Natasha, twisting slightly to look at himself.  

“Ah, ‘never grew out of punk rock phase to spite Mom’,” Nat replies. Bucky grimaces - it’s not a good look, whatever it is. Poor Steve. But then his amusement is cut short as he sees the pile of stuff for him.  

“The point is to blend in,” Agent 28 says, coming from behind. “This coffee shop is popular amongst the odder end of folks. Get dressed, Sergeant. Nat, can I help you put on your wig?”

“Bossy,” Bucky mutters to himself as the girls go off. Steve glances over, a grin growing on his face as Bucky rifles through the pile of black leather and chains. Luckily Steve doesn’t say anything, and Bucky tugs off his nice, soft t-shirt to don some scratchy black top. And studded belt. His black jeans and boots are good enough, he decides. And the leather jacket isn’t so bad. The necklaces are bad, though.  

“No guns!”  

Bucky jumps, and freezes, Glock halfway into his pants pocket. He can feel Agent 28’s glare on his back, and slowly, retreats and lets his gun clatter onto the table. Steve is struggling not to laugh. Bucky glares.  

Ten minutes later, they’re nearly ready to go. Natasha is dressed in a miniskirt and tall boots, with black hair that falls to her hips. Since Bucky knows her, he finds it a kind of scary look. Agent 28 is wearing a flowy skirt and top, with a bandana in her hair.  

“Starving artist,” she explains, then jerks her head toward Nat. “Daddy issues.”

“We look ridiculous,” Steve says.  

“No more ridiculous than anyone else there. We’ll blend in.” Agent 28 casts a look around the group; Bucky tries not to flinch under her gaze, but probably doesn’t manage. Then her brows crease. “I forgot about your hand,” she says irritably. Walking over to the buckets of accessories, she digs through as she speaks. “It’s a bit suspicious to wear gloves in the middle of summer, so...I know Stark has something in here somewhere…” 

And a minute later she pulls out a floppy, flesh-colored thing. “Lube, Nat,” she orders. Bucky’s eyes widen, but Agent 28 is nothing but smug smiles as she returns, spreading out the limb...thing. Oh. It’s a hand.  

“Steve and I will head out now,” Natasha says, plopping a bottle of lube on the table. “Space out our entrances.”

“Got the address?” 

“Yep.”

“See you there.” 

Talking in low voices, Nat and Steve leave the room in their ridiculous clothes. Bucky stares wistfully after them for a moment, and then turns back to the other woman. And jolts, and the cold lube hits his hand.  

“You wanna rub it in, or shall I?” she asks, eyes flickering with mischief. 

“Um - I will.” Bucky swallows and tries to be nonchalant about it. Not an easy thing which his stomach tightening. When his metal hand is appropriately...moistened...Agent 28 holds up the limb hand and he slides his fingers easily inside. It squelches in a very awkward way. He flexes his fingers, staring. They look pretty fake. But less fake than metal, probably.  

“It won’t short circuit, will it?” she asks. 

“No. I can get my arm wet, you know,” Bucky tells her dryly, glancing up with a smile he can’t resist. “Showers and everything.” 

“Is that so?” Agent 28 teases back. “I would’ve thought you’d wear a shower cap up to your shoulder.” 

“Haven’t done that yet.” 

“Too bad. Sounds fun.” 

“Fun? How old are you again?” 

She purses her lips together in a show of annoyance at his joke. But Bucky guesses that she doesn’t mind - her eyes are alight, and a little blazing. They leave the room in silence. 

Coffee shop frequented by hipsters. Well, she hadn’t been wrong. Bucky sips his coffee from a seat at the front bar, glancing around the crowd, strewn in morning sunlight and chattering way too loudly for a Thursday at 10 a.m. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Natasha pretending to text by the bathroom doors, Steve at a window seat. Agent 28 is behind him somewhat, near the entrance.  

It’s been an hour. When is the guy supposed to show up again? Bucky very much wants to ask this agent, but they aren’t wearing coms. And he suspects that if he addresses her when they’re supposed to be reconning, she’d bite his head off.  

The thought is appealing, admittedly.  

Natasha’s eyes flick upwards. Steve quickly picks up his coffee for a drink. Agent 28 coughs slightly, and Bucky stiffens in his seat. 

Target in sight.  

The man heads to the front counter to order. Bucky’s closest now, and he listens as he orders coffee. Nothing suspicious so far. But the way-too-high-tech briefcase for the West Village is a bit of a giveaway.  

A scent of flowery warmth fills his nostrils, and he stiffens again. Agent 28 is sliding nonchalantly into the seat next to him, reaching over for a little packet of creamer.  

“He’s being followed,” she says, so quietly that anyone without super-hearing probably wouldn’t be able to hear. Bucky tilts his chin down to show that he understood. He clenches his empty cup in his hand, standing smoothly and striding towards the trash can near the door. Two bulky men are hovering, just inside as their eyes scan the crowd. The hair on the back of Bucky’s neck stands on end, and slowly he tosses his garbage away.  

He returns to his seat. Agent 28 has swiveled around, facing the crowd of the shop with a disinterested stare. But Bucky can see the pulse beating in her neck. She’s on edge. Which accounts for his surprise when she meets his eyes with an enormous smile, and a loud, “Darling.” 

So that’s what they must be doing now. Bucky smiles in return, a little stiffly, and obligingly takes her hand when she reaches for him. He senses Natasha near them, getting into line behind the target. And Agent 28 draws him near, so that he’s standing between her legs, towering over her in her seat.  

Bucky gulps. He’s not sure why his knees won’t stop shaking. Sternly he berates himself, You didn’t go through super-serum experimentation and decades of brainwashing to lose control of yourself over a woman. Pull yourself together, Barnes! 

It doesn’t help. 

She smiles, as if aware of his inner turmoil, and that she’s the cause of it. “We need to extract the target,” she says softly. And then louder, “Whaddya say to heading back home?” 

“Anything you say, love.” Bucky tangles his fingers with hers, keeping them steady. Her gaze is very hard on his face, and then her eyes flicker behind him. The shout from Steve and the icy determination filling Agent 28’s face come at the same time. Bucky tenses - there’s a gunshot, he hears Natasha grunt and a crash, and suddenly Agent 28 is hiking up her skirt, drawing her Glock (from that really commendable thigh holster around her now-bare leg), as she aims around Bucky and fires. The recoil shakes him a little, since she braced herself against his bicep.

There’s a sudden tent in his pants.  

Screams. Glass crashing. A ping of a bullet on his metal arm. He can feel the heat of it, and winces. Then, as suddenly as the chaos started, the shop is quiet.  

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts (no more than 6 or 7 seconds could have passed) Bucky swivels to see...Natasha, lying on the target on the ground. Both unharmed, and a little shaky. Steve, clutching his arm as blood seeps between his fingers, and the two bulky men lying still on the ground. One shot. One taken care of...Steve Rogers-style. Bucky grins to himself.  

“I thought you said no guns,” he says as an aside, as Agent 28 flicks the safety back on, and puts the gun back in its holster.  

“I said no guns for you,” she clarifies, with a little dimple forming around her smirk as she smooths down her skirt to cover herself more modestly.  

“But you can have one?” he asks. 

“I always have one.” 

“I like preparedness in a woman.”

She merely lifts a brow in return, but Bucky sees interest in her eyes as she slides off the stool. Heads are beginning to poke back up from beneath tables, and Steve offers a hand to Nat to help her stand. The target scrambles to his feet.  

“I’ll take him back to SHIELD,” Agent 28 says, picking up the man’s briefcase in one hand and grasping his arm in the other. “When we have the intel, I’ll contact you for the follow-up.” 

Stepping on broken glass, she begins to wind towards the door. But as Bucky stares after her, she glances back over her shoulder with a smile. Just for him. 

“Make sure things get cleaned up. And take off your disguises before you address any press.” And she’s gone out the door. Bucky is speechless, but only for a moment. Sighing, he turns to Steve beside him. 

“I don’t think she likes me much. Always telling me what to do,” he says regretfully. But it’s Natasha that answers. 

“Nonsense; that’s just how she shows that she cares. Steve, go get your arm looked at. You’re bleeding out.”

~

It’s impossible to ever stop being an agent. Even tucked up in bed that night, trying to read a fantasy novel, your ears attune themselves to the sound of New York City traffic outside your window. The honks. The screeches. People calling out to each other.  

You can almost pretend the noise is dragons fighting goblins. 

There’s a soft swoosh, right outside your window. A thud on the balcony. Unmoving - you don’t want to give yourself away - you feel your heart begin to race as your hand slides under your pillow for a gun. The window is slid open, slowly. 

And you’d thought that living on the second story was high enough that you didn’t have to lock your windows. You deserve a burglar or two for that idiocy. Grasping the handle of your gun, you jerk around and hoist yourself to your knees, keeping the gun steady in your hands as you aim it at -  

Bucky. Bucky Barnes, one leg inside your bedroom while the rest of him tries to squeeze through. Bucky Barnes, sheepish and a little confused, and more than a little irritated.  

“There’s something keeping the window from opening all the way,” he says. “Could you jiggle it a little?” 

“Not even a hello?” you ask, pulling your gun back. He’s safe. You think.  

“Hello. Please open your window.” 

Biting back a laugh, you jump off the bed to oblige. “I suppose if I don’t, you’ll be stuck there forever,” you tease him. With a grunt and a pull, the window slides open the rest of the way, and Bucky lets out a long breath of relief as he pushes himself through.  

“That would be a problem,” he says dryly, staring down at you as he straightens his jacket.  

“Would it really? I think it would be fun.” With a smirk you close the window again, and the traffic is muted. And suddenly your bedroom seems very, very quiet. “Why are you here, Sergeant?” you ask him, hands on hips. “And why no warning? I could’ve dressed up for ya.” 

Immediately his face flames red. “You - your pajamas are very nice,” he stutters out, and you laugh. 

“Why are you really here?”

“I just - I…” Bucky bites his bottom lip, as his color slowly returns to normal.  

“Missed me already?” you ask lightly. 

“I - I guess.” 

Now that is not the answer you’d expected. During the recon he’d been a little tense around you; you’d assumed he was still sore that you’d threatened to cut your hair. Barnes isn’t known to be particularly friendly to strangers. But now he’s at your apartment, having climbed through the window at night, just because he ‘missed you.’ 

How very interesting.  

“What’s your name?” he blurts. “I mean, your real name.” 

How very interesting. 

“Only Director Fury knows my name, hon,” you smile up at him with a shrug. “That’s something you’ve gotta earn...if you’re interested.” 

“I’m interested. I am interested.” Bucky’s not one to mince meanings. The light in his eyes has shifted; bright to dark, full of meaning. Insinuation.  

You take a step forward, tilting your chin upwards as he catches his breath. You place a hand on the front of his shirt - his heart is racing. You can see very well the stubble on his strong jaw, the dimple in his chin. The thick lashes which ring his eyes. “You wanna get to know me, Sergeant?” you ask softly.  

“Yeah,” he breathes out, low and slow. “Yeah, I do. You...you were so...amazing. Today. You were amazing. You are amazing. Cooler than Sam or Clint, for sure. Maybe even Tasha. Probably cooler than Steve.” 

He’s babbling. It’s adorable, but you interrupt with a laugh. “Well, maybe I wanna get to know you, too. If I’m being quite frank. Which isn’t my name, by the way.”  

Bucky laughs aloud - the sound fills your bedroom with warmth and liveliness. It makes your skin tingle from your scalp to your toes. “You look like a Frank,” he teases back, lifting a finger to tap the end of your nose.  

“How’d you find out where I live, anyway?” you ask. “It’s not public intel.” 

He shrugs. “I have my ways.” 

“Which are…?” 

He holds up his metal hand, gleaming in the light from your lamp. Holding your gaze, he flicks off the end of the pinky finger. “I can hack into any technology,” he says, and you give an involuntary “ooo!” at the fancy port.  

“I could use one of those in my finger,” you say fervently, remembering a handful of instances when you’ve fumbled precious flash drives and such. “What - do your other fingers have that, too?” 

Bucky is grinning now. He knows he got you. So he flips open the ring finger - a three-pronged port. The middle finger - a mini USB-drive. “Pretty much unlimited memory,” Bucky explains. “Stark has good tech like that. He put all the updates here, in fact. And this one - ” The index fingers just looks like a hole inside. You suspect it’s not. “Miniature stun gun,” he says proudly.  

“Very cool,” you say, impressed. “What about your thumb.” 

He chortles, and gives you a thumbs up. The tip opens, and a little flame peeks out, steady and orange. 

“Very handy, if you’re going to an Aerosmith concert thirty years ago,” you tease. 

“What’s an Aerosmith?” 

Your eyes widen. “You don’t - you don’t know?” 

“I don’t have a lot of memories from thirty years ago,” Bucky points out.  

“Then you gonna learn, pal. Come on.” Bravely you grasp his hand - disregarding that he might want to leave, that he’s not interested in music - it doesn’t matter. There’s a single lamp lighting your living room, and you turn on the stereo. Still holding his hand.  

The music starts. You turn to face him, pleased to see the interest in his expression as he nods his head. So you sing along, tossing your head back to mimic Steve Tyler’s voice.  

“Come here, baby You know you drive me up a wall the way you make good on all the nasty tricks you pull Seems like we're makin' up more than we're makin' love...” 

Without realizing it, you’ve pulled Bucky in to a dance. He doesn’t protest, snaking his hand around your waist and pulling you close, pajamas and all. He’s smiling down at you, with an expression you don’t fully understand. But it’s enticing enough to keep you interested. 

“I go crazy, crazy, baby, I go crazy You turn it on Then you're gone Yeah you drive me Crazy, crazy, crazy, for you baby What can I do, honey I feel like the color blue…”

“I like this song,” he says, during a guitar solo. He’s swaying just so, his flesh hand shifting to nudge your hips to the slow beat.  

“Do you?” you ask. “Or do you like me? Hmm?” 

Bucky smiles. “How about both?”

“Okay.” Your fingers inch over to his hair, where you stroke the end of his braid. He still has the braids in. And - “You still have my hair tie,” you tell him with a pretend scowl. “You little thief!” 

“And you’ve stolen my thoughts all day,” Bucky snarks back. “We’re even.”

That kind of lovin' Makes me wanna pull Down the shade, yeah That kind of lovin' Yeah now I'm never, never, never, never gonna be the same…

The steps have slowed. But Bucky’s hold on you tightens. His eyes - oh gosh, those eyes - riveted, you catch your breath as his face grows near. Tentatively his lips brush against yours, hot and promising. Your heart is threatening to leap from your chest, and you can’t help smiling as he pulls away with pink cheeks. 

”Wait until I tell my mom that a guy I learned about in high school history has the hots for me,” you tease. 

“Ha, ha.” But he rests his cheek against your hair, all the same. I'm losin' my mind, girl 'Cause I'm goin' crazy I need your love, honey I need your love…” 

The song ends. You don’t want to stop dancing.  

“So, what do you think?” Bucky asks quietly, to the silence. 

“About what?” you murmur back. His embrace is really too warm. 

“Me. Us. You know.” 

You lift your head, holding his gaze as his eyes glitter on your face. Drinking you in. Even if he’s not terribly eloquent, you understand him perfectly. He lowers his head to nudge his nose to yours. You scrunch your face - he’s so cute. How could you say no?  

“I could probably lose my job, if...if we were to start dating,” you confess. 

“Then wouldn’t I lose mine, too?” Bucky asks. 

“Nah. You’re too important.” 

“Not that important,” he mutters. “But maybe enough that I can make sure you don’t get fired.” 

So. Cute. “Maybe we don’t have to tell anyone, so no one gets fired,” you whisper back. His hand is trailing up on your back, and you nearly moan aloud. Bucky has very good hands. Just strong enough to entice, but not so much to hurt... 

“Okay.” It’s barely a breath, but it flares the embers in your belly to life as Bucky kisses you again, no longer gentle, but hungry and fierce. 

How long have you known him, now? Twelve hours? Thirteen? You are so lost.

Bucky is tugging you towards the couch, gasping for air between kisses as you tug at his shirt. But you push him down first, straddling his legs as he stares up at you. In wonder. Oh, you like this. You draw his shirt all the way over his head, and nearly salivate on him.  

Later. You can salivate later.  

Fervently you begin to kiss him again, cupping his face in your hands as you squirm; he’s yanking at your shorts, at your top. With no luck, of course. You’re nearly about to get off so he can get them off, when a ripping sound pops your head back up.  

Bucky is smiling up at you. Sheepishly. Definitely ruefully. 

“Punk,” you mutter, feeling his cold metal fingertips on the bare flesh of your hips.  

“Next time, don’t bother with the underwear,” he retorts. You giggle, and kiss him again. Next time. Oh, good, a next time… 

You’re too impatient to bother pushing off his jeans the rest of the way, and clearly he is, too. Tossing his belt carelessly over your shoulder, you let his pants stay at his knees. The sensation of his hot flesh against the sensitive skin of your thighs makes you moan aloud, and Bucky wastes no time pulling your top off. His mouth finds your breasts, and you moan again, louder this time.  

“You’re killin’ me,” he rasps, between kisses. 

“Not if you kill me first.”  

“Is this a competition, now?” Bucky’s eyes are glittering.  

“Are you gonna make it one?” you tease back.  

Tangling your fingers into the braids in his hair, you pull his head back to kiss him again. But Bucky pulls away, his fingers ghosting along your jaw to tilt it upwards so he can taste your throat. His lips are hot. Oh...there will definitely be marks there. But right now, you don’t care. Especially when his flesh fingers travel between your legs. Your eyes flutter shut with a moan.  

“I’m ready,” you tell him breathlessly.

“I can tell.” There’s laughter in his voice, and you peek open an eye to see him gazing fondly up at you. That smile. It makes your heart stutter, and carefully he guides your hips to align with his… 

Oh, it’s so good. So, so good.  

You find his mouth again, kissing him for all you’re worth as you grind against him, drawing low groans from his throat. His hands are everywhere; guiding your hips, tracing your waist, stroking your breasts. It’s like he knows exactly how to bring your entire body to life...oh, he is good.  

With another groan, he leans his head on the back of the couch, bracing himself as he thrusts back. A whimper falls from your lips.  

“Baby…” he starts in a husky voice, his breathing short. “I - I can’t call you agent now - ” 

You’re laughing as the pleasure bursts through every nerve of your body. A slower pace and a moment later, Bucky tugs your face close to kiss you deeply as his hips stutter against yours, and stop.  

“That was good,” he says a moment later. His nose is buried in your hair as he breathes deeply. You keep your eyes closed, content just to smell his musky, masculine scent all around you. You pull away to gaze down at him; his eyes are shining warmth and affection, and the tips of his fingers start to trace circles down your bare arms. 

“Really good,” you agree. 

“We should do that again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke.”  

Bucky Barnes is a flirt. A conniving little flirt. You love it.  

“Well, I don’t have any plans tonight,” you tease.

“I do,” Bucky says fervently. “I’m intend to get to know you better than anyone. Even Fury, if you know what I mean.” You laugh - because you do know what he means, however perverted it sounds.  

In the cold grey of dawn, you whisper your name in his ear. 

~ 

“And last order of business…” Tony Stark trails off. The effect of building up to something exciting pays off - Clint jolts awake, and Sam quickly puts away his doodles of Iron Man crash landing into a trampoline. “We will be welcoming Agent 28 as a contractual member of our team. She’s worked well with us, and proven her worth. Fury agreed that we can have her part time.” 

“But can she endure Clint walking around without his socks on?” Sam asks.  

“I once sat in a dumpster for two days just to catch a gangster,” you tell him, before anyone else can speak on your behalf. “I’ve smelled things nearly as bad. I have a strong stomach.” 

“Ha, ha,” says Clint, without humor.  

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Bucky studying your face intently from across the table. He’s not subtle - someone’s going to pick up on him. You straighten your shoulders, and meet his gaze in challenge. His lips twitch upwards. 

“Then that’s all for today. Class dismissed.” 

It had been a long briefing; a summary of the mission you’d completed, upcoming events (mostly galas and charity gigs), and a reminder that as there are no housekeeping services, everyone needs to wash their dishes before any science experiments begin to grow.  

The team begins to file out. Steve congratulates you as he passes you; you thank him with a smile, not blind to the way Bucky is bristling with jealousy. Because Steve spoke to you? Bucky’s going to have it rough, with you. 

You linger all the same, standing slowly until you’re the last one in the conference room. Well, one of the last.  

“Agent,” Bucky says in a clipped voice, standing with his arms crossed.  

“Sergeant,” you reply, with a toss of your hair as you mosey for the door. Natasha is still within earshot down the hall, but you can walk a little slower.

“I’m not done with you,” he growls. “We need to talk about…”

You glance back, lifting a brow. 

“...the way you clean your handguns. It’s not safe.” 

Laughter threatens. “Oh, please. I’ve been cleaning my own guns for years. And no one else has put up a stink about it.” 

Bucky is strolling around the table, his eyes glittering dangerously on yours. You stand tall, unwilling to back down. 

“Why the criticism, Sergeant?” you say in a much quieter voice, as he pauses at the door. Only two steps away. You smirk. “Want me to clean yours for you?” 

He blinks, momentarily distracted. Then a creeping grin grows on his face. “Yes,” Bucky says, and his voice breaks on the word.  

“Come on, then. We’d better find someplace more...private.” You crook a finger in his direction. He obviously nearly melts at this - a shudder goes through his shoulders, and his eyes darken as he stifles a groan. With your head high, you stroll into the hall. 

There’s a janitorial closet two doors down. Perfect. Without even a glance at any security cams (you or Bucky can erase the footage later), you walk straight in, closing the door after he enters behind you. In the dark, his ragged breathing is very audible.  

“Well now, Sergeant,” you say softly, tugging at the front of his jacket. “Let me show you how I do it.”

[mammonsquad]

May I ask how all the brothers would react to their s/o doing cosplay? Like, they walk into their room, and they have a wig cap on and makeup one,,

Cosplay!MC Headcanons

Lucifer

*would be surprise to say the least

*he’d thought the only anime fan in the house was Levi

*so when he walked in on MC in a wig cap and makeup that strangely resembled an anime that Levi was watching

*hed be shocked

*not that he thought it was a bad thing

*just

*it wasn’t what he was expecting

*but he wouldn’t make MC feel bad about it

*if anything he’d be curious about it because it was MC

*and as he said demons do whatever they can to get what they want

*and he wanted to understand MC better

*he wanted to know more about them

Mammon

*ok I can’t break this to you gently

*but Mammom would 10000% laugh if he walked in on MC with a bald cap and makeup

*like he’d be in tears at the sight

*until he saw them start to tear up

*then he’d feel bad

*so he’d have to make something up about how he wasn’t laughing at them he was laughing at something Levi did earlier

*and how the GREAT Mammom would never make his human cry

*so then he would try to help them fix their makeup

*”I’m not helping you because I feel bad or anything, I’m actually into this dressing up stuff”

Leviathan

*Levi would fall for MC in a heartbeat

*he would be so happy if he walked in on them starting to put on makeup of his favorite character

*would join you actually

*”wait let me go get my kit!!”

*like a kid that just got a present that was on the top of his list

*would compliment MC head to toe over everything they were doing

*would take so many pictures of MC for devilgram to brag about them and tell the whole devildom how amazing they are

Asmodeus

*idk how to write this one tbh

*because we all know where this would lead if avatar of lust Asmodeus found out MC cosplays

*like who are we kidding, he’s wait for you to be done and text you to come to his room

*he doesn’t play games, he knows tha cosplay is a thing ya know

*so I mean I’ll leave this one up to your imagination

Satan

*doesnt feel neither here nor there about MC cosplaying

*like he’d think it was amusing walking in on them in a bald cap and half done makeup

*but he wouldn’t care either way about the cosplay part

*unless they made it clear it was a big part of their life, he wouldn’t really give his opinions

*he tries to compliment them about it but just becomes a blushy mess because it’s still MC after all

*not like the make up changes anything

Beelzebub

*unless you were dressing as a food item

*i think he’d be the same as Satan

*but I don’t think he’d care even walking in to MC wearing a bald cap

*he’d just ask what they were doing

*he’d probably sit with them for awhile and talk or eat whatever he had in his hands

*if anything he’d be interested in MC putting on the makeup because it was hypnotizing to him

*hed ask if they could do his makeup because it looked nice

Belphegor

*I think he’d have the same reaction as Mammon tbh

*like he’d start laughing if he saw MC in a bald cap

*buthe wouldn’t laugh in front of them

*hed laugh in private

*hed probably take pictures and send them to MC later as reaction memes

*because he just seems like the type

*hed tell them to not take it as an insult and that he thought they were cute while concentrating so hard

*hed only apologize if he noticed it affected you negatively

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

The Prince and The Pauper Ch.2

The goal WAS to wait. I swear it was. However, I had most of this already typed up and couldn’t just leave it alone. So here it is!

Summary: James Barnes is a prince given everything. He can travel and explore, live a life unlike any other man, and he loves every moment. He can love any woman or man, come and go as he pleases, and gives an opinion on the politics of his kingdom. When the news of his arranged marriage comes about, James finds himself needing only a moment to get away. However, a moment can change everything. What happens when a man identical to James crosses paths with him in this moment of weakness? And what happens when James is forced to live as “Bucky” - a simple peasant whose kept under the stern watch of Clint Barton and his sister, Y/N?

Council meetings were a sight and sound similar to family gatherings. Almost no one got along. Everyone had their own agendas and opinions, often deeming themselves more right than whoever sat to their left or right. Making progress was all about forming the right alliances while also gaining steps in your own plans. And it was a bitter pill to endure such toxic environments.

“Tell me, what actions would you recommend for a prince that has no interest in marriage?”

“He has a duty,” argued a voice.

A third chimed in, “Duty without respect leads to consequences no one anticipates.”

More voices argued, overlapping one another as each man tried to prove their mind was the most brilliant. It was irritating to hear men try to kiss their own asses, but alas, it wasn’t something uncommon in Shield. Rebecca huffed in frustration, watching from the secret room just outside the conference hall. The grate allowed her to hear everything, see the backs of a couple of heads, and actually keep an understanding as to what was occurring within the palace walls. She never understood how James could be so trusting of their opinions. But then again -- he was a man. He was allowed to voice his own. He was actually encouraged to be heard. 

Turning away from the grate, Rebecca pressed her back against cool stone and crossed her arms. She knew about Shield’s laws. She knew the flaws, the loopholes, every in and out that could possible be thrown in his face. Why didn’t he ask her for help with this whole arranged marriage? She knew why. Rebecca just didn’t want to admit that her brother was impossible stubborn and still a little close minded. She knew exactly the type of bride he needed and yet here he was, allowing court to choose that instead. 

But wasn’t he supposed to be here?

Brow furrowing, Rebecca pushed herself off the wall and stepped up to the grate. James usually was on time to these sorts of meetings. Trying to see past annoying wigs and thick-headed, old farts, she was confused to see Brock standing in the center of the room. Why was he there? He wasn’t someone to be trusted.

“What are you up to,” she murmured, tilting her head and straining to get a better look.

“Might we wait for the prince’s arrival before discussing these matters?” Brock’s voice carried, silencing the arguments of others. They barely managed to hold their tongues before the door was opening again. 

Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief when she caught the sight of familiar, short brown hair. At least he hadn’t completely abandoned his duties. 

“My apologies for arriving late. There was some difficulty with my horse and the stable boy.” 

She froze for a brief moment. That…that didn’t sound like James. Turning around, she craned her neck to hear a bit better. Was he getting sick? That wouldn’t look good for the arrival of their guests. But surely someone noticed, right? Someone would comment.

“We don’t need your excuses, Prince James.” That was the Grand Duke Fury. Rebecca remembered the times he taught her how to ride. He was a good man, though a bit impatient with foolishness. It seemed the older James got, the more Fury was under the impression that he was incredibly foolish.

“Nick, be nice. His Highness is facing a marriage proposal. I’m sure you were the same before marrying Maria.” Archduke Pierce. The sound of his voice made Rebecca’s skin crawl. He was two-faced, always putting on a show, but she had heard the stories from servants. How he treated the help was just as important to her as how he treated royalty. And that treatment was not the same. “When you couldn’t provide the name of a woman to marry, we assumed you hadn’t looked at the list we provided.”

She could just imagine James’s sheepish grin. “I had more pressing matters to attend to. Besides, I trusted the judgement of my council. That is what you are here for, correct?”

Rebecca straightened, fingers wrapping around the bronze bars of the grate. Was he mad? Openly admitting that he didn’t do his research? Handing them the upper hand in conversation? Oh, she would be giving him a piece of her mind later. That was certain.

“Your Highness, we’re your council,” Fury reminded. Sometimes she thanked her lucky stars that someone like him was around to keep an eye on James. Especially in moments like these. “But that doesn’t mean our purpose is to dictate the outcome of the kingdom’s future.”

“No, that would be the royal family’s,” another voice added. She vaguely remembered him -- Earl Cage. He was a good man, but she hadn’t seen him much since the Holiday incident. His permanent baldness had something to do with James’s pranks during his younger years. Since then, he was a great adviser, but didn’t exactly make himself join the family festivities. 

“We feel that the next step for Shield’s future would be to join with K.G.B and marry one of the royal family’s many daughters.”

There was silence, but it was overwhelmed by the sound of Rebecca’s heart beating rapidly in her chest. James promised anyone but the K.G.B. He promised he would protect her and that an alliance with them was not in Shield’s best interest. Taking such steps back for the women of this kingdom would be a nightmare. “No, James…” She held her tongue, fighting every urge to barge in and give her own opinions to Pierce’s ridiculous “advice”. “James, say something, damn it.”

“Which daughter did you have in mind?”

“The K.G.B king and queen have offered their pride and joy, the eldest.”

“I’ve heard rumors of Natalia’s beauty and brilliance.” Every word James spoke cracked Rebecca’s heart a little more. “She’ll make a perfect queen for Shield.”

Rebecca refused to let tears fall. She didn’t bother paying attention to the meeting coming to a close, knowing full well that she had her own alliances within that room. For the moment, she needed to catch her breath and formulate a plan. James had betrayed her trust in the worst sort of way, something they had always refused. They had always chosen to support one another despite their disagreements. He wanted her to advance in the world even through his tormenting her as his ‘little sister’. The sinking pit in her stomach refused to leave as she exited the small room. She was supposed to figure out her next steps, but her mind refused to cooperate. All she could wonder was , what had happened to her brother? What had happened to James Barnes?

 ___________________________________________________________

Everything hurt. That was the only thing he could think about. Everything hurt. Especially his head. What happened to his head?

Bucky sat up. THe action caused blood to immediately rush, finding its way to its proper places and causing his vision to go black. Squeezing his eyes shut, Bucky shook his head and tried to clear away that irritating, pounding feeling. “What the hell,” he muttered, trying to piece together the events before he passed out.

Opening his eyes, he breathed a sigh of relief when his vision returned to normal. However, the sight around him wasn’t familiar. He was in a…a tent? Glancing at the sheets around his waist, he didn’t recall how he got here. None of this was familiar to him. And where did his shirt go?

He tossed the sheets aside and rose from the bed. His legs tingled, probably from lack of movement, and he was relieved to find that he still had pants on. But no boots? Glancing around, he grabbed a shirt that was draped over what looked to be furs. He pulled the garment over his head as he stepped outside. The light was blinding. He shielded his eyes with one hand, adjusting the borrowed shirt with the other. However, the relief from the sun was short lived as he stepped on a broken branch. He grunted, instinctively picking his foot up. The sight to behold from his stumbling and twisting was far more entertaining than he would probably ever care to know.

“Whoa! Easy there, big guy. We can’t all take a hit from someone your size.” 

A hand found his back, helping him find his bearings. Bucky turned, wanting to thank the person. His brow furrowed as he tried to place the person. He wasn’t that tall. His scruffy blonde hair and impish smile showed a youthfulness that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “T-Thank you. I think.” Bucky took a step away, not appreciating the fact that he wasn’t sure where he was. Why didn’t he remember getting here?

“You look lost. Come on, Steve will be relieved to see that you’re finally awake.” Finally? Bucky watched the man walk ahead, still so lost and confused. The blonde looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “You coming?”

“Who are you?”

He raised an eyebrow before smiling sheepishly. “That’d probably help, huh? Uh…Clint Barton. Now, you going to move those trunks you call legs?”

Bucky frowned at the comment, but still moved. It only took him two steps to catch up to this Clint man. The two walked past several tents of random shapes and sizes. Most looked on the edge of being utter shambles. A part of him wondered why people chose to live this way. Weren’t there castles around? Weren’t there kingdoms where they could seek refuge?

“You look so confused. Poor guy,” Clint muttered, amusement laced in his voice. How was this man so casual and at ease? Bucky couldn’t wrap his head around it. Everything had him on edge. He was noticing every little thing and this man acted as if he was freaking out. He couldn’t help that he noticed everything. It’s just…that he did. “Steve! Look who’s decided to join the land of the living.”

Steve. He remembered that name. Vaguely, but he did. Allowing himself to focus on the new faces, he was met by the blue-eyed gaze of yet another blonde. He was taller than himself, but about the same size. His face was familiar -- like that of the young boy he used to cross paths with in a village.

What was the name of that village?

Bucky jumped slightly when a pair of hands wrapped around him in an attempt at a hug. He kept his hands at his sides, not sure why Steve was hugging him. Unless…was he the boy from the village?

“You look better than you did,” Steve told him, taking a step back when he realized how confused Bucky was. “Jeez, the last time I saw you, we were just two idiot kids trying to make names for ourselves.”

Bucky remembered that. He remembered the idiotic stunts they used to pull and shook his head. “Been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, I never would have expected to see your face here.” 

Bucky looked around at the trees. They were so empty, cold and practically forgotten. The fog that lingered in the air reminded him of a fire. Was that what happened here? A fire that the forest never quite healed from? Looking back at Steve, his voice was barely above a whisper as he asked, “What happened?”

“One of Hydra’s members.” A new voice. It was oddly familiar. 

Bucky glanced over Steve’s shoulder, recognizing the eyes of the woman that had spoken. She had been staring down at him…Then she had looked concerned, scared even. Now? None of those emotions were there. Clint went and hugged her, ruffling her hair and earning a laugh. For some reason, the sight made Bucky’s heart beat a little faster. She looked happy even in the middle of such a dismal place. How strong did a person have to be to be capable of experiencing life in such a way?

“Buck?” The sound of his nickname caught Bucky’s attention. He looked back at Steve, trying to keep himself from blushing at the idea of staring. Steve chuckled and shook his head. “I can see what kind of man you’ve grown into.”

Bucky didn’t comment. Instead, he looked to Steve and told him, “Something happened in those woods, Steve. I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember why I was there or who found me before you did.”

“Hydra gives their men these ridiculous code names to refer themselves as. It’s to maintain some sort of level of anonymity. That being said, Scarlet Witch was the one we found you with. She studies magic and…” Steve hesitated, not sure what else to say.

Bucky watched him, jaw clenching when he thought about what the woman possibly could have done to him. “Steve, now isn’t the time to hide things. I’m already fucked as it is.”

Steve scratched the back of his neck, knowing Bucky was right. It was just a matter of finding the right words. “Because of the tricks that the Scarlet Witch is known for, Y/N believes she did something to your memories.”

He frowned, his heart dropping to his stomach at the very idea. Someone…someone took his memories? His gaze shifted back to Y/N, wondering how she knew that. And if this was the case - what was stolen from him? Was that why he didn’t recognize Steve? Did he have a family? Was he married? If there was anyone who knew about his disappearance, were they looking for him?

Steve noticed the panic in Bucky’s eyes and clasped his hands on either of his shoulders. “Buck, breathe. We’re going to figure this out together. I promise, we’ll restore your memories.”

Bucky finally met his gaze. The fear was so vivid in his stormy blues, making Steve even more worried for him. “Steve --”

“I promise.”

There was no room for argument. He knew he would have to believe in Steve. It might have been years since the pair had crossed paths, but he believed Steve was right. He believed Steve would do everything he could to get Bucky’s memories and get him home.

“I --” He sighed. “Where do we start?”

Previous

---

Tag List:

Prince and the Pauper:

@hail-ey-sader​ @broco8 @chook007​​

All Work:

@rinthehufflepuff​ @the-captain-bambooty @kakakatey​

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[clansayeed]

Bound by Choice ― Chapter 16: Las Vegas, 2017 (Epilogue)

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

— Las Vegas, 2017. She lost a card game. He gained a friend.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Las Vegas, 2017

In the middle of a glitzy casino-slash-hotel bar he’s usually not the first one to get attention.

He certainly isn’t the last. He’s well aware he’s conventionally attractive and when the big-wigs in their bespoke suits and five thousand dollar leather jackets have both of their arms snatched up he’s not unfamiliar with being the “next best thing.”

But this woman has been staring at him for an extremely intense fifteen minutes and for a man with eternity on his hands that kind of time doesn’t usually register. Not unless it’s important — or in this case extremely unnerving.

“If I’m upsetting you that much why don’t you just tell me to stop?”

She chooses just the right moment to make him choke on his margarita. Cadence splutters, feels the icy burn up in his sinuses but without the need to breathe it’s more uncomfortable than anything. He has to make a show of actually coughing, hacking his lungs out like… like the old man he saw choking on his martini olive an hour ago.

Had he said that out loud? Or worse… was she a mind reader?

But the woman two stools to his left doesn’t answer his thoughts — which is a really big relief for him. She just… keeps on looking. Leering; even. Head tilted to the side so the ends of her purple hair pools on the backlit bartop and makes her look a bit like a movie star. Of which Cadence has definitely seen a few since he started his night.

“Well?” When Cadence pushes up his glasses the woman laughs at him. “You know—I gotta ask. What were you going for there? Because they’re a little too thin to write you off as a nerd but your vibe is more Draco Malfoy than Harry Potter.”

What does someone say to that? “I… Sorry, miss, but I’m waiting for someone.”

“And that means you can’t even have a chat?” She holds up a finger before he can even think up a reply. “Or is that your polite way of saying you don’t want to have a chat?”

Cadence gives himself a moment and a half. “The latter.”

“‘The latter,’ said the insanely attractive tree-tall stud under the delusion he’s playing at subtle and unassuming.” And she laughs and laughs and Cadence can’t tell if he’s insulted or not because while she was possibly the mouthiest woman he’s ever met — her impression of his accent wasn’t all too terrible.

Finally the woman has laughed enough; she looks down at her tumbler and the melting ice cube carved in the shape of the hotel’s signature Cordonian apple. Maybe he can finally be left alone…?

“Cooper said you were an odd client. But I guess it wouldn’t be the first time he’s understated a job.”

Cadence stills like stone. She knows he heard her. He knows she knows because of the sly smirk she doesn’t-quite hide behind her violet curtain of hair.

But it does the trick. She has his full attention now.

His eyes sweep the length of her with a new scrutiny. She’s still in the same skin-tight dress but all the vampire can see now are potential places to conceal a weapon. Wolfsbane in the resin pendant around her neck? Poison on the blade of a small dagger accessible from her thigh? A stake… actually it doesn’t look like she could fit a stake anywhere but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

“You know Cooper?” he finally asks.

“I am Cooper.”

“That’s ridiculous. Jeremy Cooper is a balding middle aged man, and a former United States Marine.”

“Shit—really? We all thought he was joking.”

“Why in the world would someone joke about that?”

Either she doesn’t care to respond or she doesn’t have one witty enough. Either way he respects her getting back to the matter at hand. She sends her drink skidding across the bar in his direction and takes up his neighboring stool possibly a little too close for comfort.

Cadence is always in control. He doesn’t have the luxury of being chained to his hunger — there are other, darker demons that bind him down. But every time he has to leave his office he’s forced to accept the fact that his isolation hasn’t been entirely to his benefit.

In summary: she smells amazing. Once he muddles through and around her perfume, that is.

“Don’t even think about it, Malfoy. Or should I call you Cullen?”

“Perhaps my name might be better?” He swallows down all the screaming parts of him and offers his hand. “I’m —”

“Cadence Smith, yeah yeah you really think I’d show up to this sleaze factory without knowing exactly who I’m looking for?” She leans in none-too-suspiciously. “Or what I’m looking for, for that matter?”

It sounds too much like a threat. Cadence falls back on his old habit of straightening his back and shoulders; owning his height rather than shying from it. “Since you are far more informed than I, then, you shouldn’t have any trouble putting us on even footing. Starting with your name.”

There’s a brief silence where Cadence genuinely can’t figure out if she’s going to answer him. Likely about just as long as she contemplates the same.

Then finally; “Katherine.”

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“Does that particular detail matter at the moment?” Well… point taken.

He nods; a mutual agreement to move on. “Where is Cooper?”

“Dunno. I think he said something but taking his RV up the coast?”

Cadence holds up a finger and takes a moment to wave down the bartender. “Whatever she’s having, but two. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.” And only when he’s safely clutching a whiskey in hand does the finger go down.

Thankfully Katherine doesn’t judge him too outwardly. “You’re looking at your new Nighthunter-on-retainer, buddy.”

“I — what —”

“Take a sec’, let it sink in. I’m sure you’ve never gotten such good news so casually but I’m here to deliver.”

“Not… entirely what I’m thinking about.” Rather Cadence is panicking — wildly. And not as internally as he would hope. “I can’t afford this—here—right now. Kavinsky’s poker tourney starts in an hour and if I miss him before he starts…”

“Phew, okay — the one thing he isn’t kidding about and it’s how neurotic you are.”

Cadence shoots her a glare. “I am not neurotic.”

“Then prove it.” He watches with no small amount of awe as Katherine stands and swiftly downs her new glass, then reaches over and helps herself to what remains of his. “Bottle it all up and let’s get a move on. Where’s this tournament? And are we playing — because poker got me into this mess so I really don’t think it’ll get me out.”

Cadence takes a moment to pinch his brow before joining her. He grabs his jacket from the back of his stool and shoulders it on.

“There’s… a set of private suites solely for shareholder games. Just underneath the presidential suite. That’s where he’ll be.”

“And bullet point this guy for me?” She gives a sweeping gesture for Cadence to lead and he takes it — but ends up doubling back to leave a generous tip.

If only such a thing were possible. In one year the vampire will most likely not be celebrating one hundred years at this pursuit; the search for his identity. A milestone he’s not exactly proud to be reaching. But in his so-far ninety nine years at this never has he met the irksome, selfish, greedy, needling like of Langdon Kavinsky.

Careful stock investments during the technological boom have ensured that Cadence’s life will never end in the penniless way it began. One would think an offer of “whatever amount you deem appropriate, with as many commas and zeroes as you wish” would appeal to Langdon and his sole vice of greed.

Yet still the tycoon denies him. Or had denied him until three weeks ago. It would be irresponsible of Cadence not to be suspicious.

“Well that’s obvious,” replies Katherine — who has listened with rapt attention every step towards the lifts, “and you don’t strike me as the irresponsible type. Even for… one of your kind.”

“And knowing what I am still you’re bound and determined to join me?”

“I can take care of myself.” Which he doesn’t have a hard time believing at all.

They pass the hotel’s usual security with room key cards. Cautionary measures of a very specific type judging by the look he gives Katherine — but with no reason he’s forced to wave them on through.

“That one wasn’t there when I cased the place earlier,” Katherine tries to warn of the much larger secondary guard standing not-at-all suspiciously in front of the farthest elevator back. But he expected this.

He coaxes her to take his arm as they approach. The guard doesn’t bother with so much as a glance.

“Choose another elevator.”

Cadence flips his card between two fingers and holds the back up in what is apparently a very limited line of sight. The bulky fellow moves his eyes without so much as a twitch from the rest of him — he reminds the vampire of a certain stone troll from some years back.

“Mister Kavinsky is expecting me.” And though Cadence finds no small amount of amusement in contradicting the guard he can’t help but squeeze Katherine’s arm ever so slightly when she comes under his scrutiny.

“This isn’t the type of event one brings a guest to, Mister Smith. The lady can wait down here.”

“‘The lady’ is right here,” she snaps; a firecracker at his side, “and the lady can do what she likes.”

“Katherine —”

“Would you be arguing with me if Cooper had shown up?”

She doesn’t glare at him — instead seems rather smug and matter-of-fact. This is because she knows she’s right. A recurring theme in this their play in three acts.

Very well. He rounds on the guard before he can argue. “Mister Kavinsky expects his payment, I’m assuming?”

Silence. “Yes.”

“Then the lady — and all of her fine jewelry — will be joining me. I’m not such a fool that I’d bring it in cash.”

It’s with reluctance that the human finally surrenders. Presses a single ruby-red button different than the normal silver ones. The lift doors open right away, smooth and soundless; waiting at Kavinsky’s beck and call.

“Enjoy your evening, Mister Smith.” The guard pivots on his shiny heel to watch the pair enter all the way until the doors close. It’s rather jarring — such an ugly and brutish face suddenly replaced by Cadence’s own reflection.

They begin to ascend.

“You never explained why you’re here in his stead —” Cadence shrugs off her glare easily, “— you brought him up; you’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

“Yeah yeah yeah…”

By the time the doors open at their floor Jeremy Cooper is no longer in the vampire’s good graces. Hopefully the hunter knows it would be in the best interests of his continued miserable life to never find himself in New Orleans again. A card game — that’s what his identity was worth. A shitty hand at a shitty game.

If his new Nighthunter—Nighthuntress?—senses his frustration she conceals it well; tugs him along via their linked arms and down the brightly lit hotel corridor. “Hey — the means may’ve been weird but I’m not complaining. You’re still paying me.”

A statement, yes, but one she still demands answer for with a mere glance.

“Yes—Yes of course. All of Cooper’s contractual obligations are yours; as are his terms and salary.”

“I’ve already started working on my own terms — but that can wait I think.”

Thank you, he thinks wearily, though he doesn’t really know who to direct it to.

Judging by their pace and the men who appear to be colleagues of their dear friend down in the lobby who come into view around a corner — they don’t have as long as Cadence would like to go over details Cooper would have already known.

Not that it stops her.

“Just tell me what we’re here for and how we’re gonna get it.” She hisses low. But she knows how good his hearing is.

“Kavinsky is an eccentric collector of the occult. I’ve been following his purchases since last spring — some of his treasures are fakes, some aren’t; but they are all worth fortunes apiece.”

“Is he hoarding a supernatural armory?”

“Nothing so insidious that I could find. Rather totems, relics, regalia and the like. A month ago he came into possession of an extremely old and rare antique amulet.”

“Tell me this thing, like, destroys the world or something.”

“What,” thank god he catches himself before his face twists into confusion; that would not look good, “why would you think — no. The Amulet of Nero has long been rumored to contain some sort of powerful essence; the only one of its kind. An essence only of use to vampires. It’s my belief that this essence could help me regain what I’ve lost.”

Katherine stops them before they would be in the doormen’s earshot. Cadence opens his mouth to question her but finds that rather hard to do — what with her hands on his cheeks and her tongue in his mouth.

She kisses wet and noisy — somehow it makes sense for her. She grasps and tugs at his hair, makes as if to pull him aside for his body to pin her against the wall. But that is quite enough, he thinks, and pulls back just far enough to speak. That’s quite a strategically placed hand of hers that covers their lips from the eyes on them.

The vampire tries his hardest not to gag. “What—You—Why did you do that?” he asks with a choking whisper. Katherine remains unperturbed.

“Shush; I’m buying us time. How are we getting this thing?”

Right. “He offered me the opportunity to win it in his tourney. But this close and after all this time…”

Cadence’s eyes flick to the door at the end of the hall; red and bright and thankfully hidden by his mussed-up hair. But when he moves them back to his companion she doesn’t even blink. “I’ll be taking the Amulet whether I win or not. If you have a problem with that kind of work then I suggest you try and get Cooper to take back his contract.”

A strange and almost feline grin spreads on the Nighthunter’s glossy lips. She separates them and makes as if to compose herself; but the longer Cadence finds himself in her company the more he starts to notice what’s a part of her act and what isn’t.

Katherine flutters her eyelashes at him sweetly. Definitely part of the act.

“I don’t have a problem with that at all.”

Cadence, surprised but nonetheless relieved, adjusts his tie and again offers his arm. “Shall we then, Kathy?”

And like with everything else she meets him hit for hit.

“It would be my pleasure, Cade.”

[smolfangirl]

A tricky treat

Surprise! I did a thing, because I saw this post and my brain went wild, so here comes a little Halloween os, with prompts from this post and this. 

It’s also from my secret not anymore neighbourhood au, where - you guessed it - Luna and Matteo end up as neighbours. I hope you enjoy this, even though I barely proofread and with barely I mean I didn’t!  (@sky-girls I know you liked this au when I told you about it ^^)

Edit: @sky-girls mentioned to me that Luna probably wouldn’t really celebrate Halloween. I will keep that in mind in case I’ll write something Halloween related again, but won’t change the OS here, I truly hope I’m not offending anyone.

Luna loved costume parties. Adored, even. Everything about them made her nerves tingle from excitement – picking another set of eyes to explore the world with, the whole process of evolving into a different person, having to guess what her friends dressed up as…

She really loved costume parties. Naturally, Halloween belonged to her favorite holidays. (After Christmas, and Eastern and actually, she loved holidays in general.) Back in Cancún, she used to stroll around the city with her best friend. They’d start at her house where they changed into their matching outfits. Then, they circled the blocks before they inevitably reached the promenade. Sitting down under a sky full of stars as shiny as the wrapping foils of their collected candy, they spent hours and hours there. 

Right now, Luna grabbed a bag of those sweets from her childhood and poured them into a bowl on the dining table. (An expensive designer piece out of wood too fancy for her to remember the name. She had stated the unnecessity of furniture that costed more than her rent, but her aunt couldn’t be stopped.)

“Guys, feel free to eat as many candies as you can”, she announced to her friends standing in the living room.

Gastón was the first to stroll towards her, and he immediately stuffed a small chocolate bar into his mouth. She watched him in amusement. With his fake fangs covered in chocolate and sticky caramel, he looked rather funny than scary. “Gastóncito, you have… something on your fangs. There. And there too.”

He laughed, revealing even more chocolate stains on the fake teeth. “That’s part of the costume! That way, when I bite you, I can inject chocolate straight into your veins and then you will do everything I want.”

“Amazing”, she replied. “I mean, I don’t think this is how being a vampire works but if it does, remind me to” – the bell interrupted her. “That must be Matteo, excuse me!”

Her hand already on the door handle, her eyes wandered one last time to the mirror in the hallway. Her (fake) hair was perfectly in place, her make-up stayed where she meant it to be and her dress… well, her dress still hugged the curves of her body, still showed more skin than she felt comfortable with. (Damn Mora for talking her into this)

“Of course, the one with the shortest way is the only one who shows up too late”, Luna smirked while she swung the door open. Indeed, she found Matteo behind it, just not with the look she expected. “Wait, what? Where is your costume?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, as if she rambled the most useless things. “Is that how you welcome your guests, moon girl?”, he asked, meanwhile pulling her into a hug. His hands settled on the thin white fabric a little bit below her waist, a little bit too firm to keep the blush away from her cheeks.

They stayed like that for a minute, enough for Luna to forget what she’d been so surprised about. Shame on his perfume and it’s stupid effect on her whole stomach. And her chest too. If he only knew that she feel asleep on the couch, lulled in by his scent, every time when he had stayed over for a movie night…

“Also, I have a costume, silly.” A grin, and by now it dawned upon her that this might be one of his games. “Then why didn’t you put it on? The invitation clearly said it was a costume party. You helped me write them, remember?”

“I know, that’s why I dressed up.”

With a deep breath, she mustered him. The first thing she noticed: he looked hot. Hotter than usual, which shouldn’t be possible, hot in the “I’d kiss you right here right now, but I have guests over and we’re just friends, what a shame”-way. Little stubbles covered his normally smooth cheeks, a deadly combination with his glasses. Seriously, it turned into a problem by now. Did he do that on purpose? Blinding her with his disturbing good looks in order to prevent her from complaining about the inappropriate outfit?

“Eh, the shirt is new. And those pants too? But nonetheless, all I see is a chico fresa.” Luna crossed her arms, half done with his jokes, half hoping they got to banter more. “Please, look a bit closer”, Matteo begged, no, dared her.

She refused to look at him closely, however. Their friends didn’t need an opportunity to tease them because Luna couldn’t hold back and jumped him right in the hallway. “Okay, either you tell me what it’s supposed to be or…”, she started, but not getting the chance to finish. “Your future boyfriend.”

If she gave it a second thought, being teased by her friends seemed like the better option. Your future boyfriend. Did he want her to faint into his arms? (He wiggled his eyebrows at her, so the answer was probably yes.)

“Well, at least that gives you a good chance at winning our little competition. That costume is scary”, Luna mumbled, although she meant none of this.

Matteo leaned closer, his perfume lingering in her nose, “Good, because there will be a lot of screaming tonight.”

For the shortest fraction of time, Luna allowed herself to dive into the picture his words painted. His mouth wandering over her skin, along her neck before they found this particular sensitive spot - “Hey, are you okay? Is your neck hurting?”, Matteo asked and only then did Luna notice she rubbed the side of her neck that he was familiar to…

Before she managed to answer, however, Gastón’s voice carried into the hallway. “Matteo, I can hear you, come and show yourself!” Luna turned to Matteo, a sigh sitting on her lips, “Have fun explaining him this”, she gesticulated at his outfit, “I’m sure he will love it. Oh, and one more thing, chico fresa. No alcohol for you tonight. I don’t need more hickeys.”

Under further inspection, he might had been blushing at her words. (Good, she thought. That would hopefully teach him a lesson.)

Gastón loved his costume. Of course. Luna had been right, not that Matteo expected anything else. After laughing for a good minute at his joke, something changed though. His expressions darkened like the summer sky before a storm, and he leaned in with his voice nothing but a careful whisper. “Matteo, we need to talk.”

“What? About my hilarious costume?”

A raised eyebrow, the usual sign that Gastón had no intention to joke around. “Okay, what is it?”, Matteo inquired before the frown got frozen on his best friend’s forehead.

“You seriously need to make a move on her before who ever gave her that hickey two weeks ago does. You remember that hickey?” Gastón poked his finger in Matteo’s chest, something that distracted him enough to keep a grin away. “Of course I do”, he mumbled – just for other reasons than you believe. “Still, she gets to decide who gives her those, don’t you think?”

Gastón shook his head, hands ruffling through his already messy hair. Matteo hoped the constant handling wouldn’t make his best friend go bald before the age of 30. “She has to know you’re an option, bro.”

“She will”, Matteo hesitantly promised, a nervous flatter resting in his ribcage when he thought of explaining Luna the messy effects she had on him ever since she had shown up in his life. At times he wondered if she expected anything, if she felt something was missing despite them growing closer and closer.

Gastón grinned, nodding, and before Matteo realized what happened he called Luna over, “Hey, Luna! We weren’t finished talking when you opened the door for your future boyfriend.” As she walked towards him, Matteo shot his best friend a warning glare, which he naturally ignored. “Honestly, I forgot what we were talking about”, Luna said. Since she looked at Gastón, Matteo took the opportunity to inspect her more closely. She wore a wig that matched her blue-painted skin and made a startling contrast to her eyes, a contrast so stunning Matteo debated over where to look first.

And her dress. He didn’t even dare to look at it for more than a second, too afraid of losing control and his dignity.

“Chocolate, fangs, you wanted me to remind you of something…”, Gastón went on, pulling Matteo back to reality. Luna’s face lightened up, she clapped her hands and grinned widely at Gastón (Matteo loved that grin), “Oh, right! I wanted to say that if you infect me with chocolate, you are totally allowed to bite me.”

Matteo had no idea what was going on.

“Luna, wait, no, I bet it’s a trick to lure you into trusting him!”, he jumped in. Gastón rolled his eyes at him, but the right side of his mouth curled up along with it, so Matteo gave it no attention. “Don’t let him kill you, moon girl – or are you already dead? I can’t tell from your costume…”

With eyes and mouth open in pure disbelief, she turned to him, her wig swinging over her shoulder in what he’d call a dramatic hair flip if Ámbar stood in front of him. “What? Ever heard of the corpse bride? The movie? Tim Burton?” He shook his head. Knowing his little moon, he wouldn’t get out of another movie night with her. “No, you know I don’t watch…”

“Okay, this is unacceptable.”

“Agreed, you can’t look like that on your wedding day, so… dead”, he shot back, much to Gastón’s amusement, who watched them while the smile on his face grew wider and wider. “I’m not kidding, Matteo, we have to watch that movie.”

Bingo.

“Well, if you insist”, he agreed, earning an excited little jump from Luna, “And by the way, I do have another costume, if you don’t like the one I’m wearing now.”

Within a minute, Luna hurried him to change outfits and she not once suspected him for grinning like an idiot.

“A strawberry?!” Everything about the horrified glimmer in her eyes to her arms freezing midair provoked a laugh from Matteo – it took him all his self-control to not give into the desire. “Wanna bite me?”, he asked instead.

“What? No, I mean, maybe, wait, no. No.” All the layers of make-up failed to hide how affected she got by a little bit of teasing. “You’re super cute, by the way”, he winked at her and he’d swear that her hand on the handle began shaking a little bit.

“Cute? Excuse me? This is a scary Halloween costume”, she protested, still unable to return his gaze. Flicking her nose, he laughed and wondered how she would react if he kissed her now. “No offense, but you are way too cute to be scary.”

Luna took a step back. “You’re being extra fresa tonight.” She motioned him to step inside, he heard a little sigh as he pretended to let go of the topic to walk back into the living room. “I’m certainly dressed extra fresa tonight”, he said over his shoulder nevertheless.

“Sometimes I really wonder why I like having you around.”

Matteo won their costume competition with an overwhelming majority.

It took Luna exactly two seconds to wish Matteo and his stupid strawberry costume to hell. Two seconds, which was all the time Jim and Yam needed to storm into her direction, a determination in their eyes that scared her.

“Luna, Luna, can we talk?”, Jim began, a half-empty cocktail glass in her hand and by the way she dragged the vowels, Luna doubted it was her first drink. “Yeah, you never told us something was going on between you and Matteo”, Yam added, luckily sounding less drunk than her best friend. Still, she wished the ground would open so she got to leave this topic, this party.

“I never told you because there’s nothing there”, she answered. Of course, the two girls refused to give up so easily. “Right, that’s why he dressed up as your future boyfriend”, Yam shook her head while Jim added, “And a strawberry!”

“Hey, Yam, we should give those two some punch too”, Jim turned half away, apparently believing she was subtle about it, “Maybe that will help.” They giggled with their foreheads moving closer until they shared a hug that looked awkward, or at least from Luna’s point of view.

“No, you won’t, and”, Luna meant to interrupt, but being too late. “Matteeeeo!”, the girls yelled in unison, followed by another laughter. “Doyouwantsomepunch?”

From the couch, Gastón threw in another bad pun, “Yeah, Matteo, it’s bloody-licious”, before he focused his attention on Nina again. Luna sighed. If Matteo agreed now, she’d be the only sober one, and screwed. Completely screwed.

“Thanks, but my little lady doesn’t want me to drink”, Matteo replied to send Luna a wink. Somehow, he looked hot even with this bloated up strawberry costume.

“Oooh, his little lady”, Jim snickered as she raised her eyebrows and gave Yam a high-five. Meanwhile, Gastón frowned at his best friend. “What?”

Luna’s head snapped towards Matteo, and for a second, he was all she could see, the memory of this one night crystal-clear in her head, like a photograph she studied until every single line got engraved forever. Without a doubt did he live through the same night as her, without a doubt did they have to keep it a secret or their friends would never leave them alone. (Or the opposite, they’d excuse themselves immediately, with meaningful glances and teasing comments that made Luna blush already.)

“Because he gets weird ideas and I don’t want to deal with them again, that’s all”, Luna explained and tried to ignore the confusion spreading on her friend’s faces and the subtle hint of red unfolding on Matteo’s cheeks and the way it made her knees feel shaky.

To Matteo’s own surprise, no one bothered him or Luna for the rest of the party. Well, except Gastón, whose puns got only worse the more punch Jim gave him. At one point, he called Matteo over while Nina sat on his lap, “Strawberry! C’mere.”

He walked over, slowly, hoping that someone got into his way before he reached his evil grinning best friend.

“Have you heard that NASA discovered a moon that orbits around the sun? They want to name it Matteo.”

Matteo blinked. Once. Twice.

Nina began laughing so hard, her shoulders were shaking and if it wasn’t for Gastón’s tight grip on her waist, she’d fall right from the sofa. “Oh my… that was hilarious”, she panted between waves of laughter.

Gastón seemed the happiest he’d ever been.

“That was the worst pun you ever made and I’m deeply regretting choosing you as my best friend”, Matteo replied before hurrying away from the vampire pun machine that Gastón had turned into.

Not too long after that – midnight had come and gone without any spectacular incidents – Luna stood by the door, saying their friends goodnight. A breath of relief escaped his lungs as Luna walked back into the living room, meaning they were alone and he finally didn’t have to feel like their every step and word was carefully analyzed by Jim and Yam.

“Matteo, what are you doing?”, Luna inquired while he tossed the candy foils into the trash can. “Helping, of course”, he said without looking up. (Not a single drop of alcohol was in his veins, yet he felt intoxicated just by being around her. And he didn’t dare to give into these sensations.) “The one with the shortest way can stay the longest, no?”

“But your costume…”

In one smooth movement, he pulled the zipper down and stepped out of it.

“No way! A t-shirt? Where did you steal this from?” The shock tinted Luna’s voice, made it sound a bit high-pitched where usually a sweet calmness reached his ears. “Why did I have to steal it?”, he asked, excitement about a possible banter with her flooding his stomach with butterflies.

Luna shrugged, hands going through her wig to pull it off. She pulled the wig cap off, and the next time he stole a glance at her, her hair fell in messy waves over her shoulder. How come he got to admire something so beautiful from so close, yet so far away?

“Well, you said you only owned one t-shirt and that was the one you borrowed to me the other night and… I just can’t imagine you buying one, okay? Don’t laugh at me!”

“When would I ever?”, Matteo said, fully aware that the grin on his lips told her otherwise. “But believe it or not, I bought this.”

Luna nodded, although he knew she remained with some doubts, she had this little crease on her forehead whenever she questioned something. “One final thing though”, Matteo smirked, strolling behind her when she carried the plates into the kitchen. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“How do you like it?”

She nearly dropped every single plate.

Silence greeted him as Matteo entered his flat. Just 21 steps separated him from Luna’s front door, yet he felt like he had run a marathon after those steps. All he wanted was to crawl into his bed.

The strawberry costume landed next to his boyfriend outfit on the floor, something Luna would endlessly tease him about if she ever got to see it. (Which she wouldn’t, he had a reputation to lose after all.) The shirt followed next, and within ten minutes, Matteo got ready to slide under his warm blanket.

Then, his phone blinked.

Two messages from Luna. He opened them, confused, usually she never texted him this late, and she should be in bed too anyway.

I just heard some weird noises. And from a few minutes ago, No I’m being serious.

His fingers hurried over the keyboard, asking if she was okay at the same time another message came in.

I need you ri

His heart stopped. Matteo cursed, the blood freezing in his veins as a loud bang carried through the ceiling, right from Luna’s apartment. Grabbing the spare key she’d given him, he ran out of his flat, 5 steps, 11, and finally, 21. He opened the door, heart beating fast, all his senses sharpened.

She had to be okay, she just had to, because he didn’t want to live a life without Luna in it.

Nothing seemed wrong in the hallway. Familiar shadows from the furniture, a few rays of the moonlight leaking through the door from the kitchen.

“Luna? Are you here? Are you okay?”, he asked into the silence. Not a sound. “Shit.”

The door to her bedroom was open, not by much, but Luna could only sleep with the door being completely closed, so he slipped through.

“BOO!”, someone yelled, a flashlight shining right at a white mask right out of a horror movie. Matteo screamed, he screamed louder than he had ever screamed and only when he heard a familiar laughter did he feel able to stop.

“Luna! WHY? Why did you do that?”

He groped for the light switch in the dark, his heart still pounding in his chest. As the light chased away the darkness, he found her still laughing. “Your scream… I can’t…”, tears ran over her cheeks, while she laughed and laughed and laughed.

By the time she calmed down, Matteo leaned against the door, calmer but not a bit less annoyed. He’d been worried sick over her texts, after all.

“So, may I ask why you deemed this necessary?”

Luna grinned. “You said I was too cute to be scary, I had to prove you wrong. And that’s what Halloween is all about – tricks or treats.” An idea formed in his head, bold and too tempting to be ignored. It sharpened when Luna’s eyes rested on his chest, realizing that he’d been about to go to sleep and hadn’t grabbed a shirt before he checked on her.

“In that case”, he whispered and took a step closer, “You owe me. That was a very mean trick.”

She cleared her throat, barely able to break her stare away from him. “But if you trick me now, it won’t be a surprise.” Her voice became nearly inaudible towards the end. “Who said I want a trick?”

Bridging the last centimeters between them, she lifted her chin and then their lips touched and something inside Matteo exploded, releasing a whole zoo in his stomach and a firework where once his heart was. Luna wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him so close not even the smallest particle would fit between them. He let his hands wander down her back while his lips savored the taste of hers – he had imagined this moment many times, at daytime, at night and every moment in between, but as he learned, no fantasy lived up to the reality of kissing Luna.

“So, I take it you meant that costume?”, she asked, voice so soft and warm it felt like a kiss made for his ears. “What do you think?”, Matteo replied.

Luna simply kissed him again.

[bangtan-insfired]

Snake Eyes | Mafia AU (12)

Pairing: reader x jimin | Mafia/Gang AU

Genre: angst x some occasional fluff

Summary: You were assigned to protect, watch over, and defend him. Falling in love with him was just an inevitable side effect.

Word Count: 4,110

A/N: So sorry that it took forever to update this!!! I was away from home for a week & struggling with writer’s block for a bit. Not so fond of this chapter but it had to be done so I could get on to the next one. Anyway, hope you all enjoy! 

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13.1] [13.2]

Jimin kept an eye on you while you slept, waiting for the moment your expression would turn sour and a name would plague your mind along with your nightmares. But the moment surprisingly never came and soon enough, he found himself falling asleep with you in his arms.

In the morning, however, he woke up alone in your bed.

The sun was glaring through your windows and he frantically looked for his phone, relief washing over him when he realized that it was Sunday morning. He scrolled through his phone to keep himself occupied rather than to actually check his emails. There was a message from his uncle but he chose not to read it, dreading the moment he would have to.

He felt so out of place.

He didn’t know if he should go look for you or for Taehyung or if he should just wait in your room. He chose the latter but after a while, he sucked it up and headed downstairs. Hearing noises coming from the kitchen, he decided to head that way. He came to a stop when he recognized one of the noises as your voice, peeking his head out from behind the wall to see you, Hoseok, and Yoongi in the kitchen.

Hoseok was rummaging through the fridge while Yoongi leaned against the kitchen counter and you stood in front of him, your back facing Jimin.

“You stress me out so much, [Y/N].” Yoongi complained as he made face and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m going to go bald because of you!”

Jimin was going to walk in but found himself rooted to his spot when he heard you giggle. You reached out for Yoongi’s hair, ruffling it and making it a hot mess. “Don’t worry. When you do, I’ll be more than happy to buy you a wig. A mint green one so we can all call you Mint Yoongi!”

“Why you little—“ Yoongi hissed in a playful manner as he slapped your hands away and wrapped his arm around your shoulders to put you in a headlock, making you squeal.

Hoseok shut the refrigerator and pried Yoongi’s hands off of you, rolling his eyes as if he did this often. “Don’t be so rough on her. Can’t you see she’s in pain?”

Jimin’s gaze fell on to you and saw that Hoseok was right. You tried to smile but the cut on your upper lip was making it painful for you along with the bruise on your side. Yoongi pulled away with a chuckle. “Whatever, she can handle it.”

“I am sorry for causing trouble.” You spoke quietly—all teasing and jokes aside.

Jimin watched as you leaned against the kitchen counter right beside Yoongi, face contorting with a hesitant expression before speaking again. “Do you think Namjoon will forgive me?”

Hoseok frowned and looked to Yoongi for an answer. Feeling all eyes on him, Yoongi sighed and looked at you. “He’ll come around.” He reassured you. “Just give him time. He’s still hurt from Seokjin’s betrayal and your little endeavors were like adding salt to the wound.”

Since your back was no longer facing him, Jimin saw the way the hopeful gleam in your eyes faded away and your composure fell apart. You nodded your head and Hoseok patted your back in a comforting manner, handing you a bottle of water along with painkillers.

“Why don’t you make some of your spicy soup for breakfast?” Hoseok said to Yoongi. “Taehyung is going to need it after the night he had. I had to carry him all the way to his room after I almost tripped over his knocked out form in the middle of the stairs. He was cuddling a lamp!”

“Ah, so that’s why I woke up with Namjoon’s desk lamp in my arms.” A sleepy Taehyung came into view, startling Jimin.

Taehyung grinned at him, knowing very well that he had been eavesdropping. He pulled Jimin along with him by the sleeve of his shoulder before he could come up with an excuse. “Good morning, Nosy-pants.”

You turned your head to see a shy Jimin and a hungover Taehyung, an amused smile—well your best attempt at a smile—on your face as you noticed Taehyung wearing sunglasses inside the house. “What’s up with the sunglasses, loser?”

Taehyung pursed his lips, releasing his grip on Jimin. He spun around so he could be facing you. “The eyes are the windows to our souls. You wouldn’t want the wrong person to look into them, would you?”

“Get out of here with that deep shit.” Jungkook laughed as he walked into the kitchen. He stopped right in front of Taehyung, pushing his sunglasses up to reveal Taehyung’s eyes only to let them fall back with a mortified look on his face. “Never mind, keep them on. You look hideous.”

Taehyung sneered at Jungkook’s comment, mumbling about how he was the best looking one out of all of you and Hoseok burst into laughter as he began to argue with Taehyung. Yoongi shuffled about in the kitchen to make breakfast while Jungkook joined in on the ‘handsome’ argument and you sighed deeply into your hands at their nonsense behavior.

“Are they serious?” Jimin chuckled as he settled beside you on one of the bar stools.

You lifted your head up to look at him. “Unfortunately, yes.”

You thought living with nothing but boys— and you say boys because although they are men, the very minute they’re done with ‘work’, their behavior drastically changes—would be easy. You were wrong. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve fallen into the toilet because they always forget to put the seat back down or the amount of times they’ve argued with each other because their laundry always gets mixed up and they end up wearing each other’s underwear. You weren’t even surprised when Taehyung brought you into the argument as they always did because as the only girl, you had the ultimatum in most of their childish debates.

“Who’s the better looking one out of all of us?”

“In this room?”

“Yes.” Taehyung nodded and as an afterthought added: “But don’t vote for yourself, otherwise we’re going to get nowhere.”

“Fine.” You huffed, knowing that he was right. As much as you liked to mess with their huge egos, you didn’t feel like adding more to their argument.

You hummed as you looked at each and every one of them, including a vaguely interested Yoongi. They all looked at you with their best ‘handsome’ faces so you pretended to look completely and utterly bored with it, earning a scowl from Taehyung.

You let out a deep sigh as you slowly turned to face an unsuspecting Jimin.

“It’s totally Jimin.”

“What? He wasn’t even included in this!”

“You said among everyone in this room, except for me!” You defended yourself, laughing at all of their expressions. You especially enjoyed Jimin’s flustered yet flattered one as his cheeks tinted a light pink.

“Ah, I see how it is.” Taehyung said, raising his eyebrows at you with a certain gleam in his eyes that made you suspicious. He was up to something and before you could stop him, he added: “Is this why he slept in your room?”

All—except for Jimin’s—eyes turned to you, drilling holes into your skull.

“He slept where???”

Jimin’s eyes grew wide as a disgruntled Yoongi and flabbergasted Hoseok turned to the both of you and the blood drained from his face as he felt Jungkook’s gaze harden on him. Both you and Jimin knew what they were thinking. It was written all over their faces.

“First, you fraternize with the enemy and now with your assignment?”

“Oh my god,” you breathed, both embarrassed and annoyed with the situation. You turned to glare at a smug Taehyung and threw the closest thing you can find at him, which just so happened to be a wooden soup ladle. “Why are you smiling? Haven’t you heard the phrase ‘snitches get stitches’?”

“So you’re not denying it?” Yoongi pointed out, crossing his arms against his chest as he stared Jimin down, going into full “dad” mode.

“Yes, he slept in my room. Key word: slept.” You said with a sigh as you turned to Hoseok. “Because someone forget to unlock the guest bedroom.”

Hoseok’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and he giggled to himself. “Oops.”

You had been bluffing all along, knowing that turning the blame to Hoseok would make them get over the situation quicker. Luck must’ve been on your side because in an instant, Yoongi turned to him and began to scold him about how he should always show hospitality to our ‘guests’ and Jungkook’s expression relaxed.

“I’ve got my eye on you, Rich Boy.” Taehyung warned as he pointed his fingers at Jimin, entertained with the drama he instigated.

A tense smile formed on Jimin’s face. He then tugged at your shirt, leaning in to ask: “When can we leave?”

You turned to him—a frown beginning to form on your face as you remembered the words that were said to you yesterday. You opened your mouth to speak, only to falter, and you averted your gaze as another voice cut in.

“She’s not going anymore.”

Everyone grew quiet as Namjoon stepped into the kitchen—all eyes glued onto him. His attention was fixed onto you as he spoke to Jimin. “[Y/N] is no longer your bodyguard.”

Taehyung let out a loud and dramatic gasp and you resisted the urge to glare at him, deciding it was best to keep your gaze low. You and Namjoon weren’t on the best of terms at the moment so commenting on his decision or acting out in any way would only make it worse. You just had to accept it, even if you didn’t like it.

“As of today, Jungkook is your new bodyguard.”

**

Worry always found a way to invade your thoughts so you were more than happy when Namjoon assigned you on missions to keep yourself occupied. He was still upset with you but the fact that he trusted in you to deal with collecting debts and overseeing trades with allies had to mean he would forgive you eventually. It was when you had no assignments to be done and was under what Yoongi called “house arrest” that your mind drove you crazy.

After following Jimin around everywhere for weeks, it felt weird not being around him. Empty almost. You’d argue that you missed the freedom that came along with being Jimin’s bodyguard but you knew you’d be lying to yourself if you did.

You didn’t realize how much you enjoyed being with him until he left. Taehyung was still around to mess with but it wasn’t the same. Taehyung would fight you back meanwhile Jimin would brush it off with a laugh, smile or that flustered look that you found strangely adorable or sometimes, he would surprise you with a sassy comeback.

You shook your head as if that’d get rid of your pesky thoughts and this time it worked because as soon as you walked into your room, your gaze landed on the crumpled clothes on the floor from the night you were interrogated.

Jin’s note! Your mind screamed at you.

You rushed to grab your jeans, hoping that the stupid piece of paper was safe and still in there. After all the trouble it had caused, you couldn’t believe that you’d forgotten about its existence. You dug into the pockets and was careful as you pulled out the torn paper, scared that it would rip since it had been water damaged.

Dread began to build up in your stomach at the thought of what your brother had possibly written. What if it said something that’d leave you with regret? Your fingers trembled as they worked to open the small piece of paper and you felt your heart drop down to your stomach. The words were smeared but still legible enough to be able to read the short hastily written message:

Promise me you’ll be a good girl and stay put, okay?

You clenched your fist, your nails digging into your skin as you crumbled the paper in your hand. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. It’s been years since your brother last said those words to you but the meaning they held was unwavering and fresh as the memories that came along with them would often haunt you at night.

But if he wants me to stay put…

A gasp escaped from your lips as you were overcome with an epiphany. The puzzle pieces in your mind slowly began to put themselves together and you got up and ran.

Seokjin was never looking for you and he wanted to make sure you knew that.

**

You didn’t bother to knock as soon as you reached Namjoon’s office and barged into the room. Namjoon looked up from his computer screen in alarm, staring at your out of breath form curiously. “I’ll call you back later and when I do, I expect the shipment to be delivered,” he spoke into his phone in a calm manner before hanging up and giving you your full attention.

“You were right.” You blurted out as soon as he set his phone down. “And I’m sorry for not believing you.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He leaned against his desk chair, motioning for you to sit. It was clear to you that he was still upset with you but was willing to hear you out.

“Care to elaborate?”

You sighed as you sat down, throwing the crumbled piece of paper onto his desk. He stared at it dumbfounded but reached out for it anyway. “That’s what I was doing at Jackson’s. It’s a note from Jin.”

“And now she speaks.” Namjoon retorted, sending you a disappointed look that made you squirm in your seat. His eyes skimmed through the short message and judging by his expression, you knew he didn’t make sense of it.

“Jaebum lied when he said Jin was looking for me. He did it because he knew you’d be apprehensive about it and that I would foolishly seek out for him. And this,” you began your explanation, digging your hand into the pocket of your jacket. You pulled out your snake necklace and placed it onto the desk. “This was Jaebum trying to encourage me even further so I can meddle into his business for Jin’s sake. He wanted—“

“To turn us against each other.”  Namjoon finished for you, eyes widening as he understood what you were trying to say. “What better way to take us down than to divide us all?”

**

The days that passed felt like weeks until a week had actually passed. No matter how much work he consumed himself with, Jimin’s thoughts revolved around you. He wondered if you were thinking of him as much as he thought of you. He doubted it. You were probably relieved to finally get a break from babysitting him, right? After all, it was a job that had been forced upon you.

That still didn’t stop Jimin from missing you terribly. You weren’t there to engage in playful banter with anymore or to surprise him with very much needed cups of coffee. He tried befriending Jungkook but it seemed that Jungkook was still set on hating him.

He sighed into his hands as there was a knock on his door. “Come in!”

“Mr. Park, I just scheduled—is everything alright?”

Jimin lifted his head up from his hands to see a concerned Secretary Choi. “Yes, everything is alright. Just stressed, that’s all.”

“Having trouble with Miss [Y/N]?” Secretary Choi asked and then quickly added: “Sorry, it’s not my place to ask.”

“It’s okay.” Jimin brushed off his worry as he leaned back into his chair. Was he really that obvious? “I guess you can say that. I haven’t seen her in a week.”

“Send her flowers.” Secretary Choi advised with a sympathetic smile. “You can never go wrong with flowers.”

“I’ll try that.” Jimin replied just for his sake.

He knew flowers wouldn’t fix anything with you. There wasn’t anything to fix in the first place. He just no longer had a reason to be with you and was facing the moment he was dreading the most—the one where the two of you would have to part ways.

He never thought it would take such a toll on his heart.

“Oh! That’s right!” Secretary Choi said more to himself than to the younger man. “I came here to inform you that the meeting where the voting will proceed is scheduled tomorrow morning at nine. Also, your uncle wants to see you.”

“Tell him I’ll be in his office in five.”

 **

 Congrats to the official new CEO, Park Jimin!

Jimin let out a breath in relief as he felt Secretary Choi pat his back in a congratulatory manner. It was his name that had appeared on the big screen in front of him and all of his colleagues. He felt great pride and joy when he saw that they had all trusted in him and voted for him to step up to the CEO position unanimously.

The men and women in the room stood up in their seats, applauding for their new CEO.

“Congrats, son.” Seunghyun smiled as he pulled Jimin into a side hug, patting his back the way a proud father does. “Your father would be so proud.”

Jimin returned the smile, looking out at one of the windows and up at the bright sky and at the heavens where he imagined his father to be watching him from. It made him sad not to be able to celebrate this moment with him as they had always spoken of this moment. But Jimin still had his uncle to support him like his father did and for that he was grateful. He wasn’t alone.

“I believe this calls for a celebration!”

“You don’t have to go through all that trouble.” Jimin replied bashfully.

“Nonsense!” Seunghyun exclaimed and soon after, a few other co-workers agreed. “I’m already working on planning it. How does this weekend sound?”

Jimin nodded, reluctantly agreeing to the party. He was never fond of business parties but since this was in honor of his new position at the company, he figured he could make an exception for it. His uncle parted, promising he’d text him the details over it soon.

After thanking each and every one of his colleagues, Jimin stepped out of the meeting room. Jungkook, who hadn’t said a word—not even to congratulate him—followed after him, keeping a respective distance between the two. He stopped when they reached his office and chose to stand guard outside.

The first thing Jimin did when he sat at his desk was call you. You had given him your number when this had all started to use in case of emergencies. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to call you these past few days. What would he have to say to you? But he was so happy in this moment that, that no longer mattered to him.

You were the closest thing to a friend he had.

You picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“[Y/N], it’s Jimin.”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Where’s Jung—“

“I’m the new CEO!”

Jimin didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect from you but he definitely wasn’t expecting what he got.

“Congrats, Jimin!” You exclaimed through your phone. You knew just how much he had been worrying about it and how much it meant to him. “We should celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“Yes! I’ll see you in an hour.”

“What? I thought you were under house—“

You hung up the phone, leaving Jimin a confused but happy mess.

**

You grinned as you spotted two familiar faces stepping out of the elevator. Both were just as surprised to see you, except one was happy about it and the other was suspicious. The happy one quickened his pace and threw his arms around you, catching you off guard as he engulfed you in a big hug.

“Missed me?” You teased as you returned Jimin’s hug, feeling your own heart hammering in your chest. You feared it would jump out any moment as you weren’t expecting for Jimin to hug you nor were you expecting to feel this way at the mere sight of him. You were relieved when Jimin let go and pulled away.

“You have no idea.” Jimin breathed as he leaned in to you, keeping his voice low and quiet so Jungkook wouldn’t hear. Little did he know that his very voice and proximity was making your knees feel weak. “Grumpzilla over there isn’t pleasant to be around.”

You glanced over Jimin’s shoulders and let out a snort, stepping forward to the one he called Grumpzilla, your grin never wavering, despite Grumpzilla’s cold demeanor. “Are you not happy to see me? I’ve missed you, too, you know.”

“Please tell me you didn’t escape.” Jungkook sighed—a ghost of a smile creeping onto his face. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t missed you.

“I wouldn’t call it escaping since I literally walked out the front door.” You replied with a shrug of your shoulders. Yoongi had been in the living room lazing around and you were sure he had seen you yet did nothing about it. Although now that you think about it, he was probably sleeping with his eyes open—a trick he had recently learned how to pull off…

As if on que, Jungkook’s phone rang. His eyes narrowed with suspicion at you as he dug into his pocket for his phone. He already knew who it was so he didn’t bother checking his caller i.d before answering and held his phone to his ear with pursed lips as he listened to the caller.

“Yes, she’s with me.” Jungkook spoke, nodding his head and reassuring Namjoon that everything was okay. You smiled coyly at him as he hung up. “God, I hate you so much.”

“I love you, too, Jungkookie.” You cooed, playfully pinching at his cheek, knowing very well he hated all the nicknames you’d come up for him.

Jimin watched in disbelief as the man who had given him the cold shoulder for the past week turned soft in less than a minute and it was all because of you. He felt a small pang of jealousy but brutally pushed the feeling aside. He didn’t have a right to feel that way.

Instead, he smiled at you when you turned back to look at him.

“So what would the CEO of Park Pharmacy and his loving bodyguard say to going out for dinner?” You asked, holding out your hand to Jimin.

“I’d say lead the way.” He replied, taking your hand.

When the both of you turned to Jungkook, he rolled his eyes. “I’m obligated to follow him around so it’s not like I have much of a choice.”

**

Jimin’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he frowned as he pulled it out to read the message—your laughter and Jungkook’s voice easily becoming background noise along with the current pop song the restaurant you three were at was playing.

Saturday at the Frey Hotel at 8pm. We’ll hold your party and use the social gathering to our advantage to hand the files over to Jaebum. Don’t be late.

“Everything alright, Jimin?”

Jimin jerked in his seat, startled by your voice. He nodded his head and mustered up the best reassuring smile. “Just thinking about company stuff,” he mumbled. He was glad you didn’t press him further about it, not knowing what he’d do if he had to dig himself deeper into his lie.

He knew things would be over soon. But the countdown for it just began.

You continued on with the story you had been telling but if you asked Jimin, he wouldn’t be able to answer a single question about it. It was hard for him to pay attention when his mind was whirling with thoughts that only stirred up more worry in him.

 Little did he know that you were speaking nonsense to Jungkook, watching Jimin from the corner of your eye. You didn’t buy his act one bit. The conversation you had with Namjoon last night resurfaced in your mind.

“What’s this?” You had asked, eyebrows furrowing as you grabbed the red envelope from Namjoon.

Without saying a thing, he urged for you to open it. You didn’t waste another second, turning the envelope over, eyes widening when you recognized the seal. You pulled out its content to find an invitation.

An invitation for a party honoring Jimin’s promotion to CEO addressed to you…from Jaebum himself.

A/N: so [Y/N] has always known Jimin was hiding something from her but now she has an idea of what that could be...

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13.1]

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “The Bucket List” part 3

Two months after breaking up with The Joker, you found out the bad news. You didn’t have a choice but to ask for his help and J didn’t even show up for the meeting. Of course he didn’t care, but now that he heard why you wanted to see him so badly, it might be too late for any amendments.

Part 1: http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/161143650396/the-joker-x-reader-the-bucket-list

Part 2: http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/161379886591/the-joker-x-reader-the-bucket-list-part-2

J is sleeping with his head against your chest, completely out of it. He likes to do this lately since a lot of times he can’t really tell if you’re still breathing or not. Even if your blood pressure gets really low, he can at least hear your heartbeat and knows you’re alive.

Suddenly, he yanks at your waist so hard it wakes you up and you start coughing in a frenzy, startled.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you ask, trying to calm down and J gasps for air, opening his eyes to look at you.

“I dreamed that you died,” he snuggles to your body even more, panting.

“It was a nightmare; I’m here,” you kiss his forehead and manage to stop coughing. You peek at the clock: only 6am. “We should sleep in, it’s very early.”

The Joker just growls and rubs his eyes, uneasy for a few more moments.

“I’m gonna miss you…” you whisper in his ear.

“I’m not going anywhere, Pumpkin,” he yawns, exhausted.

“But  I am…” you sadly smile and he frowns, watching you attempt to get comfortable in his arms.

“NO!” J utters, covering your mouth. “You’re staying with me, OK?”

You don’t reply and he lets go. You feel the need to get it all out before it’s too late:

“I really wanted a baby…with your eyes and my hair. Remember how pretty my hair used to be?”

He doesn’t know what to say and you continue:

“I know you wanted a boy, I’m sorry I can’t have children in the state I’m in…” and you take a deep breath, struggling not to cry.

“Don’t worry about it, Princess, I don’t care,” he grumbles and you peck his lips, getting more and more upset: “I don’t want to die…” you finally bring it up for the first time ever and bite on your tongue really hard so you won’t start sobbing.

“Jesus, kid, I won’t let you die, OK?!” J strives to comfort you and squeezes you in his arms harder.

“Do you think I’ll make it to my 37th birthday?” you whimper, worried about the gloomy future.

“For God’s sake, of course you will! And then you’ll make it to another one, and another one, and another one… I promise!” he lifts your chin up so you can look at him.

“Really?” you gulp, staring in his blue eyes.

“Yes, I promise!” he insists and you bury your face in his neck, wanting to point out the truth:

“You’re such a shitty liar…” and you sniffle, quietly crying on his skin.

J would like to say more, but decides it’s better to change the subject since he feels flustered himself.

“Did you just wipe your nose on my shoulder?!”

“M-maybe…” you stammer, snorting.

“That’s just gross, Doll. I put up with a lot of stuff, but I have to draw a line here, alright?” he elbows you and you retreat to your pillow so you can see him better.

“You should let your hair grow,” you suggest, stroking his shaved head, actually wanting to talk about something else too. “I don’t want to!” he huffs, tracing your jawline with his fingers. “I miss your green hair, you know that?” you admit, playing with his diamond earring.

“Meh, I don’t,” he grumbles, stubborn as always.

“You think I should wear wigs?” you crinkle your nose, not excited at your own proposal.

“Nahhh, I like you bald, I got used to it. This way we match, hm?”

“That’s good,” you sigh, relieved,” because I don’t want to wear wigs. If it’s not my hair, I don’t want it.”

“Wise decision, Pumpkin. I mean, you look decent enough, especially with makeup on. I have high standards and I had to lower them for you. The sacrifices I make…I’m so selfless and altruistic, a true gentleman and an exemplary boyfriend.”

You watch him with your mouth open, intrigued. You don’t even notice you’re not crying anymore.

“What?!”

“You heard me, you naughty minx. You’re suuuuch a lucky woman,” he eagerly mentions. “Do you know how many girls are waiting in line to get a piece of this?” J scoffs with an attitude.

You turn around towards the glass sliding door, glaring outside at the deserted back yard, not even a bird this early in the morning.

“Wow, so many women willing to take on The Clown Prince of Crime,” you pretend to be surprised. “We do have a huge line on the patio. Which one do you want?”

He snickers and you giggle, finally amused.

“Shut up, Y/N,” he shifts you towards him again, locking his arms around your neck.“Let’s sleep in so zip it. Oh, and for the record: this was the worst pillow talk we ever had!”

You indifferently blink, liking the idea of having a lazy morning:

“It wasn’t that bad…What worries me though is all those women waiting to get you; we should give them numbers, I don’t want them to fight about who goes first,” you kiss him and he purrs, annoyed.

“I am a very wanted man!”

“Yeah, by the cops and Batsy…” you mutter and J smirks, victorious:

“Still counts!!”

“If you say so…”

After 10 minutes

“J…?”

“Hm?”

“After I die, can you please get a girlfriend that’s not as pretty as me?” you beg, anguished.

“Shush!” and he slaps your butt; The Joker absolutely hates it when you bring this up.

“At least you’ll be able to have children…” you ignore his warning, sensing another wave of hurtful feelings washing all over you.

“Cut it out, Y/N!”

“I…I hope your kids are ugly!!!!” you have an outburst while he rolls his eyes, irritated. But he knows you’re depressed and he knows the reason why: yesterday, your blood tests came back bad (again) and the weekly doctor visit didn’t go to too well either. All after you tried 3 new drugs that supposedly worked OK in the experimental phase but didn’t do anything for you and it’s discouraging.

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

After waking up, you are both hanging out in the kitchen. You are looking at the breakfast food that Frost dropped off, not wanting to eat one single item; you’re already nauseated. A bunch of your favorites and it almost makes you gag. You study the lab results, sulking, wishing for once there was some kind of improvement.

“Eat something, Pumpkin,” J urges you, taking a bite out of a fresh bagel.

“I’m not hungry,” you sigh, reading without seeing anything but demoralizing news.

“You have to eat, that’s why you’re so skinny,” he gives you a cup of coffee and you take a sip to please him.

“I’m not skinny because I’m not eating and you know it…” you speak in a low voice, licking your lips. He decides not to reply. “J…?”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t mean it when I said I want your kids to be ugly…”

“Drop it, Kitten!” he pouts, moving some strawberries on a small plate.

“But…how can they be cute if I’m not their mom?…” you swallow your tears and take deep breaths, trying to cool down.

“I said drop it!” J barks and you gaze at the yummy goodies he put together for you, nibbling on a muffin, this way he won’t complain you’re not eating. He watches how much you struggle to pretend you’re alright after he cut you off and doesn’t like it.

“Did it hurt, Princess?” The Joker winks, getting your attention.

“Huh?”

“Did it hurt?” “What baby?” you inquire, confused.

“When that portal from hell opened and you spawned through it right into my life,” he grins, very confident in his seduction technique.

Your eyes get big and you chuckle, then actually start laughing, entertained.

“You have the worst pickup lines, but I actually like this one! Do you have more?” you suggest he keeps going, placing your elbows on the counter and checking him out in those gray sweatpants that keep on sliding down every time he moves. J never bothers to tighten the string.

“Excuse you, Doll,” he huffs, “if my pickup lines are horrible, then why are you blushing?!”

“I’m not blushing, I have hot flashes from my pills,” you defend you rosy cheeks, flattered.

“Nonsense! You’re all worked up about it, don’t lie!”

You hop on the counter and crawl on his side, eager to touch your boyfriend. He drags you in front of him and you sit up there while holding his hands, curious to hear what’s next:

“Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?” he roars and you bounce your legs, excited.

“Hehehehe,” you giggle on his chest and he tries not to laugh.

“Is there a mirror in your pants, Doll? Cause I can see myself in them,” he pulls on your bottom lip and you bite his finger, feeling your cheeks getting warmer.

“It’s the hot flashes,” you try to defend yourself and he is not buying it.

“Don’t think so!” he tugs on your tank top, preparing his lethal weapon: “Princess, you turn my software into hardware.”

You snort so loud it echoes all over the place.

“Oh my God, this is terrible!” you shake your head, though fascinated at how bad it sounded.

“No, for reals, you do!” J hums in your ear and you look down at his crotch.

“A-ha, I can tell!”

“You’re such a perv, Pumpkin; my eyes are up here,” the cocky answer comes without hesitation. You kiss his Jester tattoo and walk your fingers down his abs, anxious to do something about this new spin on your morning. The anti-nausea meds you took are starting to work so might as well take advantage; who knows how many times you’ll be able to sleep with him before…

The Joker gets you out of your daze:

“Wow, Y/N, you seem so desperate to get me naked; don’t you have any pride left?!”

“Not really,” you brazenly admit and moan when you feel his hands all over you.

“You’re a good kisser, kid,” J parts from your lips and takes off your tank top, tossing it on the chair.

“For sure,” you approve, sliding back more so he can get on the counter too. He starts kissing his way down your waist and you scream.

“You’re starting early, I like it…Daddy’s  gonna make you…”

You scream louder:

“Spider!!!”

“Huh?!”

“Spider!!!!!” you point behind him and he turns his head to look: there is indeed a little creature crossing the wall on top of the sink. “Do something, baby, I hate spiders!!!” you shiver under him, getting goosebumps.

“For God’s sake, woman, I’m trying to have sex here!” he mutters, aggravated at the interruption.

“I hate spiders! Please kill it!!!!” you implore, digging your nails in his back.

“All the stuff you use to do before you got sick and you’re still afraid of spiders?!” J gets off the counter and you cling to him, stiff as a board:

“I detest these insects; so nasty, ewwww. Please kill it!” you beg once more, choking the life out of him. He grabs a tissue from the box, heading over to grant your wish while your legs are squeezing his waist with a strength he didn’t think you have left in you; both your arms are wrapped around his neck super tight - you definitely are tense and disgusted.

The Joker smooshes the culprit and now it’s resting in peace in the trashcan where it belongs.

“Happy now?” he grins, heading back towards the counter.

“Thank you, baby, I really can’t stand those beasts! You really are my knight in shining armor.”

“Told ya’!” he puffs, full of himself. “Any more crap I have to kill before we get down to business?”

“No, I think we’re good now,” your body finally relaxes when you are placed back on the countertop and he can finally breathe normal again.

“You still have a mean grip, you know that? You certainly have your skills Doll,” J praises you, actually surprised on how powerful your clasp was.

“Of course I still have them, just didn’t use them in forever. I’m not completely useless, OK?” you smack your lips and he is fast to push you on your back, smirking.

“Less talk and more action, Princess! The only word I wanna hear you scream is my name, understood?”

“Spider!!!!” you shout, teasing, and then surrender under his weight.

“Ha! Funny!” he growls, yearning to have you once more.

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

When the night comes, you can’t sleep at all. You keep on tossing and turning, somber thoughts flooding your mind. You decide to go in the backyard and walk it off because you don’t want to keep J up with your restlessness. He isn’t actually sleeping, just pretends and watches as you march out there in your sheer white nightgown, deep in meditation. Just like a ghost, he catches himself thinking and his heart aches but doesn’t want to pay attention to the feeling.

Your frail shape stops in the front of the roses you love so much and you drop in the grass, not feeling the chill, staring at everything without seeing. The Joker sneaks outside, aware you are probably freezing and drags you back in, while you silently follow his steps.

Once you’re in bed under the covers, he’s trying to get you warm and for the first time he’s not telling you to shut up when you speak up about things you really want to get off your chest. All your dying wishes, the most personal and intimate emotions meant only for his ears are whispered in a soft, low voice. You keep on going, relived you got such a heavy burden off your shoulders.

“I left you everything. After I die, all the funds from my estate will go into that account that belongs to the mysterious Jack Green we both know,” you caress his face and he grinds his teeth in denial.

“I don’t want your money…”

You disregard the words.

“It will come from Mrs. Emily Green, you know how much I always loved this identity. So when you see the wire transfer with that name, it will be from me. I already made the arrangements, I’m not changing my will; it’s signed. I can’t take the money with me, might as well give it to someone I care about. Keep this house and use it, yes? I really love it, nobody will bother you here, it’s a very good hideout. And try not to get yourself killed, ok? You’re so impulsive…”

“You’re more impulsive than me!” J sneers because for the first time in his life he’s at a lack of words.

“Used to be. I didn’t do anything crazy in so long it actually makes me the mellow one. Go figure!” you joke, not even sad for the moment being. It’s just so natural to let it all out.

“I really don’t want your money nor the house…I’m not gonna let you die, so there’s no need for any of this, Doll,” your boyfriend studies your reactions, intrigued.

“That’s nice… it almost sounds like you love me or something,” you tease, cozy on the fluffy pillows.

“I doubt it,” he furrows his invisible eyebrows, uneasy.

“Tell you what, baby: after I die, if you miss me so much it hurts it means that you loved me; if not, you should be fine,” the simple explanation is fast to follow and the abrupt reply makes you whimper:

“It already hurts…”

“Well,” you manage to stay strong and not burst into tears,” now that we both found out the answer to this crucial problem, I think we can rest, hm?”

“I’m so tired…” is the only thing he says before electing to inform you: “I have a meeting with him again tomorrow night.”

“NO!!!” you jump up, shaking J to show your disapproval. “NO!! Don’t go!! Stop meeting him! Stop going! It will be an ambush or something, you’ll get captured and locked away and I will die alone! …I-I can’t die alone!!!” you scream, alarmed.

“We are meeting on neutral ground, he won’t try anything. Never did before. And Princess, I’ve set forces in motion you can’t even imagine,” he tries to calm you down while you shake with anxiety. ”I know he might have something for you that I can’t get my hands on. This time, he’s the one that requested the meeting so I think he’s going to use that as leverage to negotiate some kind of terms about his precious Gotham and all the poor souls he has the audacity to believe he protects.”

“No, no way! He’s bluffing, he has nothing for me! Don’t go! Please! He just wants to catch you and take you away and I… just can’t die alone…” you nervously bite on your nails, hopelessly trying to make him change his mind.

“Kitten, you know I don’t leave anything to chance. I’m going and you can’t stop me!!”

“No, please don’t go!” you keep on imploring, scared for this new plan he seems very decided to carry on. “What if it’s a trap? I can’t afford to lose you, I can’t…I just can’t die alone…please?”

“There’s no trap, and even if it were, I’m prepared. Don’t worry, I got it all covered. When do I ever put myself in danger for no reason?”

“Like…all the time!” you gulp, scratching your arm in denial. “Don’t go…”

J signals you to place your head on his chest and you comply, being so worked up you’re wheezing; it’s so difficult to breathe and this doesn’t help.

“Don’t stress out, Pumpkin…I won’t let you die!” The Joker reinforces his declaration, wishing you would unwind and go back to sleep.

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

He’s been gone all morning and you have no idea where he went; no answer to your texts or calls, probably getting ready for tonight. You hear the sliding glass door and turn towards the patio, guessing it’s him. You take a few steps and freeze, confused: he walks inside holding a girl’s hand. She is very pretty, well dressed and seems nervous.

“Who is this?!” you narrow your eyes, baffled.

“This Doll, is my future girlfriend. After you die, she’ll take your place. Wanna look around, honey?” he winks at the girl and you resentfully gasp. “All this will be yours after Y/N is gone from the picture. Lovely home, you’ll enjoy it,” he gropes her and you crack your neck, walking towards them with a menacing demeanor.

“Get her out of my fucking house!!” you mutter through your clenched teeth, grinding your jaw so hard it’s painful.

She tries to escape J’s hold but he keeps her near:

“Don’t move!” he commands, pissed when she whines:

“Mister J, I don’t want to be here…Please let me go…”

You are getting closer.

“Get out or I’ll break your neck! I might be weak but I can still do it! GET OUT!!!” you shout at the woman and J tightens his grip on her.

“Don’t move!” he warns and as she struggles to escape. “My current girl here,” the Prince of Crime nods his head towards you,” has it ALL figured out for me: she plans to die and I’m supposed to get a new girlfriend, have kids and leave happily ever after. I’ll even inherit her fortune, which is substantial, I assure you,” he turns his icy glaze towards you and you almost can’t hear: your heart is beating so fast and loud it’s deafening.

“Get out or I swear I’m going to kill you!!!” your voice alerts in such a threatening way she finally uses all her strength to yank her hand away from his and backs out, taking advantage of the fact that you stopped in front of J as the perfect moment to escape the house.

“What the hell are you doing???” you yell at him on a verge of a nervous breakdown; this is the last thing that you need.

He smiles in such an eerie way and has the nerve to pretend it’s the most normal question when it comes out of his mouth:

“Are you jealous?”

“Wha’……????” you are taken aback, not understanding what’s going on. “What is the meaning of all this ??”

“ARE. YOU. JEALOUS?” J pronounces each word in a strange manner and you can tell he’s mad. And so are you.

“Yes, I’m jealous!” you blur out, wanting to slap him so badly. “What games are you playing??!! What’s wrong with you?!”

“You know why you’re jealous?” he continues, disregarding your justified tirade.

“???!!”

What’s going on? you think, completely out of it.

“Let me enlighten you, Princess,” he grumbles, annoyed. “You are jealous because you’re still alive, do you even understand what it means anymore? Stop making plans for me, stop talking about dying and give me a break! I’m sick of listening to all of it! You’re still here!” and him charging at you and kissing you passionately like he didn’t see you in years takes you by surprise. You respond to the kiss, unable to hear your own thoughts or react in any other way.

“Did you feel that?” he breaths on your lips and you moan a faint yes. “Great! It means that you’re alive!” he pushes you away, annoyed and heads over to exit the backyard, not before kicking a few bottles with your meds on the floor.

“Who’s that girl?” you raise your voice and he is already out, barely bothering to satisfy your curiosity:

“How the hell should I know?! Just a dancer at the club!”

You have no clue about what got into him, but you stood there petrified for a good 30 minutes.

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

11:30pm- neutral ground located behind the abandoned highway 205

“Finally! You’re 6 minutes late!” J jumps off the hood of his purple Lamborghini when he notices Batman emerging from the shadows. “Do you have it?” he stretches, pretending to be indifferent but in fact very alert.

“I do,” the distorted voice lets him know as his nemesis stops at a safe distance, only a few feet away.

“Does it work?” The Joker wants to know right away.

“It does. And I’m the only one that has access to it. Experiments showed amazing results, not certain if it will ever reach the medical market. If it does, it will be at least 5 more years,” Bruce Wayne explains as fast as he can.

“My girl doesn’t have 5 years!” he barks, straitening his back. “I assume you wanted to meet because you want to bargain? What do you want in exchange?”

His silver teeth glisten under the flickering neon light, the shaved head giving him even a more psychotic aura.

“Every month you stay put and don’t cause trouble, you get a month worth of the medication. Plain and simple,” Batman replies.

A vague cackle, then a louder laugher followed by full blown temperamental outpouring of lunacy:

“Awww, such a good deal!” The Joker claps his hands, faking his happiness. “But I have even a better proposal !” his blue eyes get big with anticipation. “I’ve been reeeeeally busy in the last 2 months; let’s say Gotham may or may not be under an imminent attack. Certain people may or may not have placed explosives all over the place: residential homes, bridges, schools, hospitals, anything you can think of. You will never be able to find all of them!! Something happens and I don’t get the med, it all goes to shit ! Would you prefer your precious city goes down in the same time or piece by piece?” he snickers with an evil grimace.

“Don’t push it !” Bruce Wayne snaps, tossing a vial containing your much needed remedy towards his adversary and J catches it mid air, placing it in his pocket.

“Don’t make me!!!” he growls, retreating back into his car and driving away into the night while The Batman debates if The King of Gotham is bluffing or not. Knowing him, probably not.

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

“Go tell your mom she’s needed for important paperwork in the master bedroom after you fall asleep tonight, OK?” J urges his 4 year old son to go outside in the garden where you sit on a blanket under the tree, reading.

Kaden runs over, stumbling with anticipation, eager to give you the news:

“Moooommm!!!!” he screams up a storm and lands in your lap, excited: “Dad said you have paperwork tonight!”

You and The Joker love to use him as a messenger; he’s absolutely adorable and even if the poor kid doesn’t remember everything he’s supposed to say when he runs from one parent to the other, it’s still awesome and it makes your day.

“Go tell Daddy that’s fine,” you smile, kissing his cheek and he gets up, rushing inside to communicate the update:

“Daaaaddd!!!!!” he almost staggers and falls on the carpet, “Mommy said OK!!!”

“Goody!! Hey, com’ere!” J signals him and Kaden giggles, jumping up and down until he gets picked up and sat on the table. “Now go ask your mom if she wants another baby, don’t let me down, alright?” The Joker puckers his lips, winking at the little boy. He reaches for the nearby drawer, takes out a piece of paper and scribbles on it, then hands it over to his son. “Give her this too, ok? Us, guys, have to help each other, hm?”

“Yes, dad!” the little boy passes his fingers through his father’s green hair, enthusiastic he has such an important task. 

Once he is put back on the ground, Kaden races over to you:

“Daddy wanted to know if you want another baby,” he sniffles, covering his mouth with his small hands.

You roll your eyes and look down at your 4 month pregnant bump, mumbling:

“Soooo funny… Anyway, mommy’s too old so after your brother is born, that’s it.”

Your son snickers and pulls on your hair that now reaches down to your shoulders, making you pay attention to the paper he’s giving you.

“From daddy,” he explains and you take it, unfolding the note. You gasp when you realize it’s your old Bucket List, now having a “check mark” symbol by “- a family” wish. You take a deep breath, looking towards the house to see if J is in sight but you don’t notice him. You get teary and fold back the paper, hiding it between the pages of your book. The Joker is actually behind the curtain, sipping on his whiskey, savoring your reaction.

“Go tell daddy I already have 3 kids, so we’re good,” you whisper in Kaden’s ear and he darts inside, yelling:

“Daaaaad, she said she already has 3 kids!!!”

“What??!! 3 kids?!” he frowns, aggravated. “That’s rude! Tell her she’s rude!” The messenger runs for it.

“Daddy said you’re rude,” the little one pants, snorting when you start laughing.

“Whatever,” you make him sit down, struggling to keep him still in your lap so you can apply the purple hair mascara on a few strands of his hair. J goes crazy for it so you try to do it daily since it’s being washed at night. “Go show your dad how cute you are! And tell him he’s my favorite poison. Give me a kiss before you go!”

“Muahhh,” he pecks your lips and flees. After a few moments J shouts:

“Hey Doll, is that a pickup line?!”

“Yeesss!!!!” you yell back so he can hear you.

“That’s a good one!”

“I know!!!!!”

You read for 5 more minutes when they both come out: Kaden is holding a bottle of water and you know what it means: time to take your med.

“Here Princess,” The Joker opens the vial, giving you one tablet. “It’s that magical time of the day.”

You swallow the pill and he crawls on the blanket, resting his head on your tummy. Your son is playing around with his toys, preoccupied with a butterfly that landed on his bike.

“I thought the magical time of the day is going to be tonight when we have to fill out all that tedious paperwork in the master bedroom,” you elbow him and he purrs.

“Certainly; so much paperwork, that’s why I need your help,” he softly bites your wrist and you pinch his arm. “Hey, Y/N, besides being sexy and pregnant, what do you do for a living?” he turns on his side, facing you. “Wow, are you blushing?!”

“No way, hot flushes from my treatment,” the defensive answer comes.

“Lies, lies, lies,” J bickers, kissing the bump.

“You have the worse pickup lines,” you shake your head, teasing him.

“Got you pregnant twice, didn’t I ? So if you have a complaint, you should file one tonight with the rest of the paperwork,” the smug reply follows.

You stare at each other for a few seconds before smiling:

“Shut up, J,” you kick him with your knee and go back to reading while he closes his eyes, relaxing in the shadow.

Definitely her knight in shining armor, The Joker thinks before snoozing. No other losers in line for the job…which…makes me the loser, I suppose. Oh, well, could be worse, he reckons, snuggling by you even more.

Also read: MASTERLIST

http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

[leoninapelliolovesconchitawurst]

ENGLISH TRANSLATION (Sirkka Laitinen)

SEITENBLICKE magazine 24/10/19

Conchita about image, Wurst, Bond and love.

"I don't care if you understand me or not."

Q: With whom are we speaking with exactly: Conchita, Wurst or even Tom?

Conchita: At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter, it's all wurst. That's my motto. Really I'll answer to all of those names. But these days I identify most with Tom.

Q: On Friday, your new CD as Wurst will be released. Is this the much quoted "end of Conchita?"

C: When I started this project, I actually made the resolution to put an end to the past. But I should have known myself better, the fact that I really cannot restrict myself. I found Conchita again, she looks great, and will certainly come back. And as for me, I really don't care if people understand me or not, I'm like this, take it or leave it. And it is such a great freedom!"

Q: Freedom? As in knowing no more boundaries?

Conchita: Exactly, no more of those any more! For too long I thought that I had to do what was expected of me; that only that way everything would work out. But that's rubbish!

Q: Which autograph do you use nowadays?

C: I had a survey online asking which autograph was prefered, and "Conchita" won, just. But I’ve been signing "Tom" as well and that feels very amusing too.

Q: Sorry, but all that seems a little schitzophrenic...

C: Don't know about that. How many personalities must one have for Schitzophrenia?

Q: Some say an infinite number of personas..

C: As I feared, so now we have a diagnosis! (Laughs)

Q: You still wear dresses...

C: And I just loved that. And please, didn't I look utterly gorgeous!

Q: But still, your look is distinctly more masculine.

C: I feel a little uneasy with all this labelling of masculine and feminine. Because, frankly what is all that at the end of the day? Probably it is more masculine now than with the evening dresses and long hair. Or the bald head, let's not forget the BALD!

Q: Were you able to foresee all that fuss about the bald?

C: I rarely think ahead about the consequences of what I’m doing. That time I shaved my head for Grazer Tuntenball because its theme was "scandal". And I thought to myself that to shave my head would be scandalous enough.

Q: Well it was ok for Tuntenball but you also went to the Opernball with a bald head...

C: Afterwards the hair wasn't growing back fast enough, and I didn't want to wear a wig, so I reshaved my head. Of course I knew that everyone would talk about nothing else but me. But I love nothing more than being the center of attention. That is why I do these things.

Q: From bald head to latex-look to nude photos - all this to stay the top topic of every conversation?

C: For me that's not important, I just don't know it any other way. Since I was little, I’ve always been talked about. And so I’m used to being the center of attention.

Q: But how and when do you take a break from all this?

C: That's a good question. My biggest challenge really is peace and quiet. Even when it's peaceful, in my skull there's always some rattle going on. I try relaxing with meditation, but in fact I can truly only chill with my friends around me. With them I’m not a star, but simply Tom.

Q: ARE you a star?

C: In my own head I’ve always been a star, even when I was just six years old.

Q: Soon you are going to work with a real worldfamous star. What was it like with Heidi Klum?

C: I loved it. I'm so happy when "Queen of drags" comes out, because we laughed together, we cried together, and we are offering unbelievably great entertainment. I've belonged to a sisterhood before now, but now my family is vastly enlarged.

Q: What does one learn from Heidi Klum?

C: Well everything, everything! That's Heidi Klum! If anyone knows anything about TV entertainment, it's this lady. I observed everything and made numerous notes.

Q: There's a rumour going around that you'd like a role in a Bond movie.

C: That's no rumour! I think that Bond deserves some variation. I think musically I have already succeeded in graduating with the Song Contest. And if they don't yet know that I can act, I’ll show them. (laughs) I would act with Bond straight away. That would be fun! Me, the worst driver in the world, can you imagine? But that kind of Bond car surely has automatic transmission or what?

Q: Lastly, you caused some "love alarm" with a kiss photo.

C: Oh how amused I was by that, rather how amused WE were by that. I’ve known Courtney Act for forever, she's my drag queen friend. We'd been drinking and celebrating on the rooftop terrace, then took some photos, and they looked so good that I simply had to post them. We were so locked in an embrace, as we always are with my friends, that naturally I wrote "I love you" on the post. Then I thought it was so funny when the press took it like that, at face value.

Q: But weren't you provoking on purpose?

C: Quite honestly I wasn't. I thought everyone knew we were friends. And I say to all my friends that I love them.

Q: But a friendship can turn into love...

C: That is true. But we are only very good friends.

Q: Does this mean your heart is still there to be taken?

C: It would be very brave to do that. Because relationshipwise I’m not such an easy piece to take.

[sinedras-snippets]

Snake-Charmer

I couldn’t help myself. This short game has consumed my life, the art is gorgeous and the story is so intriguing. I’ve been consuming the asks about the characters on their main tumblr @thearcanagame. I’d like to just say I own none of the characters and I know there’s much to be revealed, but I couldn’t help myself. So, since I can’t make beautiful fanart like everyone else, have my trash fanfic instead.

Also I know little of tarot, but this is a great researching experience. So if I get it completely wrong please do tell me.

A Young Apprentice:

The air was thick and almost heady. Lavender was sprinkled around the room, warding off the smell of wormwood and drying star flower. Covering the lingering aroma of brews she’d spent hours mixing just that morning in the back of the shop. The herb helped make the space more pleasant for guests. Maisynira flipped the card over, the bracelets on her wrist clanking together to form the only other sound in the room. The client watching with bated breath. “The Two of Wands,” she said almost autonomously, the words dripping from her tongue like honey. “Your business venture is to be a fruitful endeavor.”

“This partnership is a good one then?”

A smile tugged at her lips as she let the minor arcana speak through her. More muddled that those of the major figures, but clear enough in their meaning. Though that was not always the case. “It is. The boon coming is yours by right and will be generous.” She could almost feel the flicking of Faust’s tongue, tasting the air as magic danced across it. Even perched as she was, just out of reach on Asra’s shoulder. Then again, such was the wonder of the magic itself. So utterly alive.

The man shifted again, licking his lips and leaning forward. Greedy eyes meeting her entranced blue. The minor arcana was fickle and though fate favored him now, the major arcana was quick to bluntly remind you of the reality of life and consequences that choices have. “What else?”

Maisynira flipped over another card. Blue eyes darkening before looking back up at the man. “The Inverted Chariot.”

“W-what’s that mean? Why is it upside down?”

The major arcana spoke to her in such clear voices, powerful. Some gentle like the High Priestess and soft like the Magician, Death’s reedy whisper being the quietest, but the Chariot spoke in a voice of thunder. One that made her wince as his words echoed through her whole being. She took in a shaky breath until-… Eyes lightened upon her lap to find Faust there, staring at her contentedly. The throbbing of the words were gone and her head was clear once more. Mai desired, not for the first time, for a familiar of her own. “The path ahead of you is long and arduous. Your reward will not be easily obtained, you will have to put in agonizing hours. Days. Perhaps even years. You will face betrayal and sleepless nights, days filled with hunger, but you must persist. Inversion does not mean you will fail, simply the reward you crave must be fought for. Will be all the more sweeter for your efforts.”

He seemed to deflate, but Mai reached a hand out as the magic surrounding the arcana left her. Placing it on his hand in a hopefully comforting manner. “You saw the Two of Wands, it is in your future. If the arcana says it will pass then I have faith that it shall. After all, there has never been someone successful in creating a worldwide demand for fake hair-”

“Wigs, they are called wigs. Only the most dignified shall wear them.”

“…Right. Of course! Anyway, your wigs shall be the pinnacle of this trend.”

Her answer seemed to mollify him. He stood, adjusting his ridiculously powdered mop of fake hair covering his bald head, before reaching into his pocket to drop coins on her table. “Thank you miss, your voice is the clearest of any other’s. Sensible instead of other poppycock and drivel being spewed in my ear by charlatans. Those tellers do not have a lick of talent.”

She blushed and stood abruptly, pushing the brown waves of her hair from her face. Faust curled around her arm. “Thank you sir!” When he left she collapsed back into her seat, giggling as Asra settled in the chair the man had recently occupied. An amused grin on his face, violet eyes bright with amusement. She felt Faust’s cool scales on her cheek as the snake returned to her master, settling in her usual spot. “I never would have believed there would ever be a demand for false hair hats.”

Asra chuckled and scratched under Faust’s chin. “The arcana know something we don’t.” Maisynira had to force herself not to push his white hair out of his face, to reach out and touch him. To see how his laugh felt, if it was as magical as it sounded. If the warmth of it sparked on her fingers, such as when he cast spells around her. Her face flamed. “You are improving, the voices are clearer now?”

“Yes master,” she did not miss the way his smile faltered. She longed to call him by his name, yet to wish for more was… inappropriate of her. “If I think too much on their words it sounds like gibberish again, but it’s getting easier to just let them come to me.” She pulled at imaginary wrinkles on her blouse, hearing him gather the rest of his tarot cards. “Why does the Chariot have to be so loud?”

A soft chuckle followed. She almost looked up; focusing instead on her cracked nails. “He does not hand out favor lightly. He demands respect for his boons and wants people to remember that something cannot be earned from nothing. His intentions are good, albeit forceful.”

Mai’s nose wrinkled and she looked back up to find Asra studying her. Not for the first time. “He could do so with a softer voice.” Faust almost seem to smile, Asra grinned in a way that made her heart skip. “Why can I hear them much clearer with your deck?”

“Ahh, mine is old. The arcana have spoken through it for many years. New decks must be broken in.” She frowned, sensing again he was not telling her everything. “You are doing well though, kitten, I am impressed at your progress.” Kitten, she loathed the nickname as much as it made her body flush. His praise was not lightly earned, but it made her happy nonetheless.

“Only because my teacher has been so excellent!” Finally, Asra blushed this time. Bright across his tan cheeks. Mai had missed these days, days where he stayed and slept on her couch. Where she walked quietly on her toes in the morning so as not to wake him. When he helped her with customers during the day and taught her more magic when they closed. She missed seeing his clothes piled in a heap to be washed and the dirty dishes he left after eating. Every scorch mark left from times he’d been drunk and managed to set himself or something on fire made her smile despite the anger. “I rather think that we would be a great team when I learn more.”

He was silent and she worried she stepped out of line. His apprentice did not mean partner. “You could do many great things in your future Maisynira. Practice more when I’m not here, perhaps you’ll even surpass me one day. Move on to better things than this tiny shop.”

She scoffed and stood up. Blowing out the candles and pulling the curtains open. Snorting as Asra cursed from the sudden onslaught of light. “Come on, I have sugared dates and tea ready. Tomorrow I have a better lunch planned, I promise. Then it’s wine or brandy for tomorrow night.” She wanted to move on. The less talk of her finishing her training the less likely it was for him to make plans for her to move on.

“I’m afraid I can’t kitten,” he smiled ruefully and Mai stopped, let the last curtain fall out of the fastenings. Looking down as his words cut her. “I have to leave. There’s something I must do.”

“Surely it can wait another day,” she said quickly. Not missing the shame on his face. Good, good he should feel something for leaving her so often! “Please, I was going to make a fabulous dinner, close the store. Give us a chance to relax. Master, you leave so often. Rest, please, you’ve only been back for two days.”

Asra’s silence was deafening and she had look away once more. Afraid to see the disappointment there. So she busied herself with collecting the empty tea cups and plate with muffin crumbs. Returning them to the main room where she would get to them later.

“Kitten?” Kitten, for when she jumped and bristled upon meeting Faust for the first time. “Mai?” For when he knew she was cross, because somehow it made her smile. It didn’t this time. Her hands kept moving. If she stayed busy she would hardly notice he was gone.

The sound of clothe rustling sounded from the room. His boots were muffled by the rug yet she could recognize that gait anywhere. She turned and found him standing by her side. His face unreadable. Asra took her chin gently; the warmth of his fingers made her feel safe. Comforted. Maisynira met his gaze at his prompting, surprised to see the emotion buried in his eyes. There was a deep sadness in them. They looked so much older, wiser, more exhausted than she knew him to be… then again, there was much he didn’t share. “If it wasn’t urgent I would,” would he? “I will return soon, so save that dinner and know I look forward to it. Alright kitten?”

Hurt, angry, Mai pulled away and started wiping down the front desk. “Leave your dirty clothes, I’ll take care of them. There’s extra food in the pantry. Your hat is on the floor where you left it.” She heard him gather his things and fill his satchel, but said not a word. Ignoring her challenge to argue… Faust slithered up the counter, watching her clean as her master prepared for another journey. Without her. What good was she as an apprentice here? “Stay safe… please.” Her voice was too soft and not angry enough. Did he ever realize how this hurt her? How abandoned she felt? She would have loved to go with him. Just once.

“Take care of yourself, Maisynira.”

Her eyes clenched shut and her hand fisted around the cloth she’d been using. Listening as the door shut behind him. Leaving her in an oppressive silence she usually found comforting. “Why couldn’t you stay for my birthday?” Her words echoed through the store with no reply. The loneliness hurt and she missed how Faust hadn’t moved. Studied her with unblinking eyes, before finally slipping from off the counter and out one of the windows. There was nothing left for her to do except finish setting up the room for the Tarot readings. Finally put up that curtain in the doorway for more privacy. Get that lamp hung up in there instead of candles. That new glass cabinet was still pretty empty too, she had to have extra charms and potion vials to fill it. There was no time for a day off, there was work to be done.

[montmartre-parapluie]

Mini-Wigs and Be-Yarned...

I have discovered one of my pet peeves recently, and that is: wig making for tiny people. Sculpting faces and hands? fine, no problem. Sewing period accurate stuff, down to tiny Watteau pleats? No biggies, it’s a breeze! But then we come to the hair and I just… ugh.

So, for your amusement and interest, have a record of M-P’s wigging exploits!

1)Mohair

Back in the days when I was making Mini-Simcoe for the lovely @rapid-apathy​, I briefly tried an experiment with mohair, in a lovely auburn curl. Minicoe was originally going to have the finest most realistic hair since Merida!

Pros of Mohair: looks like real hair! very soft and pettable.

Cons of Mohair: I don’t know whether it was just me being an idiot, but the tutorial I used made it sound so easy,just gluing hair to the wig cap and then styling. HAH! I ended up with a bald wigcap and very hairy fingers, having managed to glue most of Mini-Simcoe’s hair to my hands.

Mohair is also expensive. I paid about £10 for something like 20grams of the stuff. Which I then had to peel off my fingers into the bin to a snarling internal monologue of ‘FML’. Something to practice with, but given how expensive it was - eh. Can’t afford to waste £50.00 on something that will mostly end up in my bin.

2) Fabric

This worked out pretty well on 9-inch Mini-Simcoe! I used some reddish brown linen fabric scraps that I previously made a short jacket out of.

Pros of Fabric

It was using what I had, easy to sew to the little muslin stiffened wig cap, and could be made into curls around a pencil with hairspray! In this case, it worked like a dream and I was very happy with it.

Cons of Fabric

This wasn’t actually a con in this case, because as you can see in the picture above, it looks a little like loose hair - but the fabric frayed like mad. This isn’t a problem for 9 inch figures, but anything smaller and the proportion isn’t right. I tried this with mini Anna and it looked like tentacles were attacking her head.Argh. Not a good look.

3) Yarn

Which leads me to option 3! Plain old wool yarn. I wasn’t sure how this would look at first, especially on mini-Anna, but unravelling the thick strand gives you lots of little bits to work with, and makes it loook more realistic. Mini-Anna was my first go, but I think she worked out rather well:

It’s also working out really well now I’ve tried a few more tricks and techniques out on my current BIG FEBRUARY SURPRISE PROJECT, more of which soon.

Pros of Yarn

It’s affordable, yay! Cotton yarn works super well for hair, and there’s so many different varieties you can play around with different textures, just like for real hair

You can style it really easily into ringlets by knitting, spritzing your knitting with PVA glue, and then unravelling your work. You get perfect little corkscrew curls, which made me very happy for the February Project. In fact, there aren’t really any cons to yarn except when it comes to sewing it to the wig cap.

Cons of Yarn

This is definitely something you need to have a thimble for. Attempting to sew without it gave me hardened fingertips like leather, pinpricks and a desire to put off making wigs for as long as possible. Doesn’t help that the wig cap has to be coated in glue to keep the shape of the doll’s head, so the resulting cap is like sewing through roofing felt.

Fleece:

Fleece is great for short-haired male characters, especially that very soft stuff! You just shape it and stick it on. Wig angst? Solved!I gave up my original idea of having a removable white wig for mini-Hewlett due to bleeding fingertips and calluses from Mini-Anna's It would work on a larger figure, but a tiny five-inch like Hewlett ? Uh-uh. So, compromise. The major has lovely soft black fleecy hair, and he's actually quite pettable. I'll have to give him a little black beret for Astronomy Date accessorising . Maybe even a miniature telescope.... so sorry, @calamity-bean! The godawful season 1 wig never happened on mini-Hewlett...

[mousedetective]

Sherlolly, Mythea and Warstan. The girls shave their heads for charity. How the boys react is up to you.

And finally, I am answering this! (It feels like forever, I know). This I think was supposed to be gifted to @ladyofdragonflies for some reason and I forgot, so I hope you enjoy it as well, m’dear!

For A Good Cause (A “nongentorum” Story) -The women shave their heads for Little Princess Trust and the reactions that their significant others have aren’t quite what they expected.

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Anthea/Mycroft Holmes, Mary Morstan/John Watson

Characters: Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes, Anthea (Sherlock), Mycroft Holmes, Mary Morstan, John Watson

Additional Tags: Charities, Shaved heads, Haircuts, For A Good Cause, Hair Donation, admission of feelings, Going Out For Coffee, Angry Sherlock, Hurt Molly, surprised Molly, Amused Anthea, Enamoured Mycroft, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Flirty Mary, flirty john, workplace flirting, Banter, Established Anthea/Mycroft Holmes, Established Mary Morstan/John Watson, Married Mary Morstan/John Watson

Read @ AO3 | Send Me A Prompt | Buy Me A Coffee?

“I am not crying, okay?! I’m allergic to jerks!”

Sherlock felt his blood boil at the sight of his Molly, her long hair gone, given to a charity he couldn’t be bothered to remember, pulling down the tight cap on her head as tears streamed down her cheeks and the callous laughter of the interns echoed in the lab. He, personally, thought she looked beautiful no matter whether she had hair on her head or not, and he was not about to let this stand, especially when she had done what she had done for a good cause. He pushed away from his station and stood, fists clenched. “Excuse me.”

The look on her face changed to one of alarm. “Don’t do anything!” she said, reaching out to grab his arm and instead grasping a fist. He stopped, looking down at their joined hands. “It’s not worth it. They’re prats.”

“But they’re harassing you,” he said. “They need a lesson in manners.”

She looked up at him, surprised. “You’d give them one?” she said.

“You donated your hair to a worthy cause,” he said. “And you still look quite beautiful regardless.” He could see red dotting her cheeks as he said that. “Had I not told you that before?”

“No, Sherlock, you hadn’t,” she said. She slowly eased his hand out of the fist and then threaded her fingers between his. “You really think so?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Not having any hair changes nothing about how beautiful you seem to me. You were always lovely from the inside out.” He looked up at her. “Perhaps, if you would like, we could go out? Together? Have a coffee?”

“I would like that very much,” she said with a wide smile. That smile was all she needed to be beautiful, really.

—

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Anthea smiled into the mirror as she reached for another wig. She had a vast collection from her times going out and collecting intelligence for Mycroft when studying CCTV feed was not enough, so she could easily find something that suited her mood. It was time for a change, anyway. Being bald was a good motivator to allow herself a change. “Only you would say that,” she replied.

“But you know I don’t lie,” Mycroft replied as he moved closer to her. “The organization will make good use of your hair.”

“I hope so. I feel better about some little girl having a beautiful wig than some charity chucking it in the rubbish bin,” she said, selecting a ginger wig. She studied it, then put it back for a black one. She never dared dye her hair black because it was too complicated to deal with growing it out. This might be perfect. She settled it on her head. “It was a good idea of Mary’s.”

“Yes, I suppose it was.” Mycroft leaned over, resting his chin on her shoulder before she started adjusting the wig on her head. “You should simply wear scarves to the office.”

Anthea laughed. “Oh, that would be a sight.”

“Well, it was done for a good cause. Show it off to the world. Save the wigs for formal events.”

She looked at the wig, then at Mycroft’s reflection in the mirror. “Are you sure?”

He lifted his chin off her shoulder and placed a kiss at the nape of her neck. “As your superior, I encourage my underlings to do good works. As your lover, I find this look enticing and would enjoy looking at you like this.”

She set the wig aside and turned to him. “Done, then.”

—

“I saw that. You just checked me out.”

John grinned. “Course I did. You’re still the most attractive woman in the office,” he said before looking down at some paperwork. “Can’t help but flirt with you.”

“Keep flirting with me and you may just get lucky tonight,” Mary said with a laugh, adjusting the bandana she was wearing around her head.

“Now see, that’s the kind of thing I like to hear,” he said with a chuckle. “Are we ready for our next patient?”

“He’s running a bit late, so we have a little time,” she said, shutting the door and coming into his office more. “You really like the look?”

“Well, I admit the long hair was nice, but I fancied you with short hair and curls and I still fancy you with a shaved head,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “And besides, I can’t think of a better reason than that for you to have a shaved head than to donate your hair to the Little Princess Trust. A beautiful wife with a large heart. A man couldn’t ask for much more than that.”

She gave him a wide smile and walked over to him, leaning over his desk. “You, John Watson, are not so bad yourself.”

“I do try,” he said, leaning forward more to kiss her. She grinned against his lips before pulling away. “Wouldn’t mind doing a bit more of that, you know.”

“Oh, but duty calls,” she said, giving him a mock pout. “I can only do so much snogging at work when I have exam rooms to get ready. We can pick that up when we get home.” She winked at him before leaving, and he shook his head. He loved his wife, and he’d make sure to show her tonight.