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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 7 years

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The Lost Treasure - Uncharted AU

Off the coast of Panama, treasure hunter Stiles Stilinski and historical journalist Derek Hale uncover the coffin of the infamous Sir Francis Drake, only to find it is empty and the only thing inside is a journal that will lead them to the legendary El Dorado.

Chapter One

"There must be a beginning of any great matter, but the continuing unto the end until it be thoroughly finished yields the true glory." - Sir Francis Drake, 1587

The barnacle-crusted case has hoisted onto the ship, hitting the deck with a thundering boom. The old metal casket was covered in clusters of bulbous barnacles, small pipis, and coral that was entangled with strings of seaweed, old fishing nets and various other flotsam. A small red starfish clung to the top of the case, it’s frail limbs stretched out as if it were framing the crest that was carved into the metal of the casket; the crest of Sir Francis Drake.

The camera whirred quietly as it zoomed in and on the coffin and the man behind the camera—Derek—spoke up. “I’m here off the coast of Panema, where we’ve just uncovered what we believe to be the coffin of the legendary explorer, Sir Francis Drake, who was buried at sea over 400 years ago.”

A young man stepped into the shot, wearing a sleek black wetsuit that hugged his slender figure and accentuated the surprisingly firm curves of his body. It was half undone, hanging around his hips while a baggy grey shirt covered his chest.

He raked his hand through his tousled brown hair—some of the strands still clinging to his damp face—and smirked, his dark brown eyes catching the light and shimmering like gold as his cheeks dipped into small dimpled. He shook his head slightly and tightened his grip on the crowbar in his hands.

He swung the crowbar and slammed the end into the side of the casket, wedging it between the lip and the lid and shoving down on it with enough force to break the old seal slightly.

Derek lowered the camera for a moment and eyed Stiles with curiosity. “Are you sure you want to be defiling your ancestor’s remains like that?”

“You make it sound dirty,” Stiles replied with a soft chuckle. He rounded the coffin and sized up the casket before swinging his crowbar into the gap. He grunted as he pushed down on it, breaking the seal but not quite lifting the lid. “Anyway,” he said, panting as he pulled back the crowbar and straightened his back. “I thought you didn’t believe me.”

“I did my research,” Derek replied, lifting the camera again and filming Stiles and the casket. “According to the records, Sir Francis Drake didn’t have any children.”

“Well, history can be wrong,” Stiles offered, a hint of apology in his voice. He turned back to the coffin and wedged the crowbar back into the gap, pushing down on it with all his might until the seal gave way and the lid was pried open. Stiles straightened his back again and shoved at the lid with the heel of his thick leather boot. “Besides, I’m not defiling his remains; you can’t defile an empty coffin.”

He kicked at the lid again and knocked it clear of the casket.

Derek couldn’t help but gasp in surprise as he looked inside the casket.

Stiles was right: it was empty.

“What the hell?” Derek uttered, shocked. “How did you know…?”

All that was left in the coffin was a soft silk lining that had darkened with age and rotted away in spots and a small polished wood box that Stiles picked up. He flicked open the small brass latch and lifted the lid to find a small leather-bound journal inside. He took the leather journal from the box and flipped through the pages; the paper browned and stained with age but still dry, the notes and illustrations drawn upon them undamaged.

Stiles chuckled to himself as he flicked through the pages that had been thumbed smooth, muttering, “You son of a bitch, Drake.”

“What is it?” Derek asked. “Hold it up.”

“No, no, no,” Stiles said, holding his hand up and blocking the lens of the camera. “No way. The deal was for me to show you the coffin and that was it.”

“Wait a minute, if my show hadn’t have funded this expedition, you wouldn’t have—“

“You got your story, big guy,” Stiles replied. “You’ve just uncovered the coffin of Sir Francis Drake and you’ve even got the bonus of the mystery.”

“Mr Stilinski, you signed a contract,” Derek said through gritted teeth. “And part of that contract is that I have a right to see everything that you—“

Stiles’ eyes wandered over the man’s shoulder, looking out towards the sheets of rippling azure water. His eyes grew wide and he held up his hand, interrupting Derek’s spiel as he said, “Could you… Could you hold that thought?”

He turned and scurried over to a nearby crate, picking up the small walkie-talkie.

“Erica? Uh, we’ve got trouble. Hurry it up,” Stiles said, his eyes focused on something in the distance.

There was no reply; Stiles didn’t wait for one. He set down the walkie-talkie and picked up a solid metal case.

Derek hurried over to his side, setting down the camera on the crate.

“What’s going on?” Derek asked, unable to hide the hint of tense fear in his voice.

“Uh…” Stiles flashed Derek a charming smile as he said, “Pirates.”

“Pirates?”

“Yeah, the modern kind,” he answered, flicking open the locks on the metal case and tossing the lid back. He pulled two pistols out of the case, loading one and sliding it into the holster strapped to his chest. “And they don’t take prisoners.”

Derek spun around, looking out past the waves that lapped at the hull and towards the approaching silhouettes of boats. He stood there, stunned, for a moment, watching the foaming ripples that the ships left in their wake. He glanced over at Stiles, who had pulled the second gun out of the case and was loading a clip into the handgun.

“Shouldn’t we alert the authorities or something?” Derek asked.

“That’d be a great idea, except for the fact that we don’t have a permit to be here,” Stiles replied.

“What?” Derek growled.

“So, unless you want to end up in a Panamanian jail, we should probably handle this ourselves,” Stiles said, cocking the handgun. “And, trust me, you don’t want to be in a Panamanian jail.” Derailing the conversation, he held out the gun to Derek and asked, “Do you know how to use one of these?”

Derek took it from him, feeling the weight settle in his hand. “It’s like a camera, right? You just, point and shoot.”

“Pretty much,” Stiles said with a kind smile, picking up the other gun he had loaded. “Just stay away from the railings, take cover and watch your back.”

“How'd they find us out here?” Derek asked, crouching beneath the large crates that were stacked in the middle of the deck.

“These guys have been tailing me for weeks,” Stiles explained, his voice taking on a hint of irritation as he added, “I thought I lost them.”

“What did you do to piss them off this much?”

“It's kind of a long story,” Stiles answered. He flashed the man a smile as he said, “It doesn’t help that I have a naturally irritating personality.”

Derek opened his mouth to say something when he was interrupted by the rumbling engines of the ships that drawing closer like a predator closing in on its prey.

Stiles stood proudly in the centre of the deck, his eyes fixed on the approaching ships. The dark depths took on a dangerous glint as he cocked his gun and whispered, “Here we go.”

The first boat rammed into the side of their ship with enough force to rock it. A few of the lighter objects slid across the deck, but Stiles held his ground, raised his gun and fired.

The air filled with the sounds of rumbling thunder as metal sheets buckled and screeching as they ground against one another and pulled away from the hulls.

The engines revved and the pirates pulled away, circling around before pulling up alongside the ship.

Stiles raised his gun, took aim and fired. The bullets tore through the pirates, hot lead tearing through their hands and disarming them. He fired again, shooting them in their chest.

The boat pulled away as another one approached.

“Come on, Erica,” Stiles uttered under his breath. “Hurry it up.”

Stiles fired at the pirates but they dove over board before his bullets hit their mark.

“Stay low,” he shouted to Derek, his eyes scanning the railing.

One man hoisted himself onto the deck.

Stiles spun around and fired, the bullet lodging itself between the man’s eyes and knocking him back overboard. His body hit the water with a loud crack, the foaming waves pulling him beneath the tide.

A large arm caught him from behind, coiling around his throat and pulling him off balance. Stiles dropped the gun and pulled at the arm trying to get leverage. Tears trickled his eyes as he choked, his lungs filling with fire. He reached for his ankle, pulling the small fishing knife from the sheath and swinging it back into the man’s side.

He felt blood spill over his hand as he pulled his arm back, the man crying out in pain as he let Stiles go.

Stiles spun around, tightening his grip on the knife and readying himself for a fight when a gunshot split the air.

They both froze, staring at each other for a moment before the pirate’s body collapsed to the deck, blood spilling from the hole in his chest.

Stiles spun around to see Derek standing behind the crate, his gun raised and his eyes focused on the body. His hand was trembling slightly and he didn’t seem to be able to look away from the blood that pooled across the deck.

“Hey,” Stiles called, catching Derek’s attention. He smiled as he said, “Thanks.”

Derek nodded.

Another pirate vaulted over the railing, nimbly dropping onto the deck.

Stiles charged at him, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt and hurling him aside. He threw the man back against the metal scaffolding of the winch before dropping him to the deck, pinning him against the rough metal as he clenched his fist and slammed his knuckles against the man’s jaw.

There was a loud crack as bone broken beneath his fist and the man’s head hit the deck with enough force to knock him out.

“Stiles!”

He looked up at Derek.

A pirate had grabbed him from behind, pulling him back in a chokehold. Derek thrashed about, slamming his elbows into the man’s gut and wrestling against his grasp, but it wasn’t enough to break the man’s hold.

Stiles leapt to his feet and drew the gun from the holster strapped to his chest and fired. The bullet tore through the pirate’s shoulder.

Derek stumbled free, ducking out of the way as Stiles fired again. The man’s body jerked as the bullets hit his chest, spilling blood across the deck as his body fell back against the railing. His lifeless body hit the deck with a solid thump.

Stiles glanced over at Derek, opening his mouth to say something when a thundering boom split the air.

Stiles was thrown back, slamming into the ground with a solid thud. He laid still for a moment, staring up at the swirls of smoke-filled that clouded the blue sky. He felt the skin prickle his skin, a searing pain crawling over his body as he watched the dancing embers drift about above him.

Stiles winced as his ears filled with a painful ringing and an endless shriek. He blinked away the haze in his eyes as he looked among the smoking ruins of the wooden crates.

“Derek?” he called, his voice dry and scratching at his throat. He rolled onto his front and pushed himself upright. He looked across the deck and shouted, “Derek?!”

Stiles felt sick, his gut churning as his blood ran cold in his veins. He felt a wave of bile rise into his throat, burning him from the inside out as he scrambled to his feet. “Derek?!”

There was another thundering book. The bow of the ship erupted in flames as the small cabin was destroyed.

“They’ve got some kind of rocket launcher!” Derek shouted from somewhere among the smoking mess.

“Ah, crap,” Stiles hissed. He turned around and watched as the pirates’ ship turned about and circled around them. “That’s no good.”

“Stiles?” Derek called.

“Stay down,” Stiles shouted, grabbing his gun and bracing himself.

There was a loud rumble as a sea plane soared overhead.

“Alright, Erica,” Stiles cheered. He turned and shouted to Derek, “Cavalry’s here, let’s go!”

Derek stepped out from behind the cindering boxes.

There was a loud crack as the flamed enveloped the front of the boat.

Stiles looked over to where Allison pulled the plane up and landed on the surface of the water. His eyes darted from the plane to the raging fire. “The ship is going to blow. We’ve got to jump!”

Stiles grabbed the leather journal from where it lay on the deck. He wrapped it in a sheet of plastic and shoved it down the leg of his wetsuit. He ran to the far edge of the ship, grabbing the railing and looking back at Derek. “Come on!”

Derek grabbed his camera and ran to Stiles’ side. He vaulted the railing and dropped down into the water. Stiles watched as he hit the water and swam towards the seaplane before climbing up onto the railing. He dove into the water.

The water crashed around him, the waves drawing him under as he dove down into the water. He heard a muffled boom as the ship exploded, the water around him glowing orange as the shockwave radiating through the water as debris rained down around him.

Stiles swam towards the plane, surfacing beneath the wing and grabbing at the float.

He turned to look at Derek who was swimming over to the plane, trying to keep his camera above the water as he waded forward. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Derek muttered. “Nothing years of therapy won’t fix.”

Stiles chuckled, reaching out and holding onto Derek to keep him in place.

Above them, there was a quiet click as the latch was pulled back and the door was pulled open, the top panel pushed up until it clicked into place and the lower half swinging open to reveal a young woman. Her thick blonde hair pulled back in a braid as she looked down at Stiles with soft brown eyes and a kind smile. “I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?”

“I had everything under control,” Stiles argued, wading closer to the door. “Well, until they blew up the boat.”

“Sure, you did,” Allison chuckled as she pulled a small ladder from inside the plane and hooked it into place on the lip of the doorway. She reached out and took Derek’s camera from him, setting it aside inside the plane before turning back to him with a charming smile as she said, “Well, if it isn’t the devilishly charming and wonderfully talented Derek Hale.”

“Flattery won’t get you screen time,” Derek chuckled as he grabbed the rung of the ladder. “But that rescue will.”

She held out her hand and helped Derek into the plane, smiling sweetly as she said, “Thanks for the offer, but I’m more of a behind-the-scenes kind of gal.” She held out her hand. “I’m Erica Reyes.”

Derek shook her hand.

“Here.” She passed him a large backpack. “There’s a towel and a change of clothes in there.”

Derek nodded and shuffled towards the back of the plane.

“Erica.” She spun around to look at Stiles as he hoisted himself out of the water and into the plane; his grey shirt darkened and clinging to his slender body. “What do you say we get out of here before we attract any more unwanted attention?”

Erica nodded and crawled back into the cockpit while he unhooked the ladder and pulled the door shut, locking the latch into place.

The plane rocked slightly as it too off, the engine rumbling quietly as Stiles gained his balance and grabbed another backpack. He pulled the towel out and patted his face dry before running it through his tousled hair. He pulled the plastic bag out from his thigh and unwrapped it, checking that its contents were dry before setting it aside.

He pulled his shirt off and wrestled his legs out of his wetsuit, bundling his wet clothes up in a plastic bag and tossing them aside.

He patted himself dry and dressed quickly.

He dared to glance over at Derek. He froze, his eyes transfixed on the gorgeous man; he was wearing a pair of tight black jeans, the denim stretched tight across the curves of his body and his chest left bare. His dark hair was still damp, a few strands sticking to his face while his glittering aventurine eyes were focused on his camera, rewatching the footage.

Small beads of sweat and droplets of water lingered on his olive skin, running in small rivulets through the seams of his muscles and through the mess of hair that covered his chest.

Stiles couldn’t help but lick his lips as his gaze fell upon the man’s firm abs and the thin train of hair that teasingly disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. But what really caught his attention was the swirls of dark ink that formed a triskelion, nestled in between his shoulder blades.

Stiles dragged his eyes away, tossed his towel aside and crawled into the cockpit with Erica, sitting down in the plush seat beside Erica’s and looking out over the vast expanse of rippling blue water below them.

“Well?” Erica prompted.

Stiles smirked and held up the small leather journal.

Erica chuckled. “So you found the coffin? Wait… Is that what I think it is?”

“Francis Drake’s lost diary,” Stiles confirmed. “He faked his death, just like I said.”

“That means he was onto something big,” Erica said. After a moment, she lowered her voice and added, “Let's just keep that between us.”

Derek leant into the doorway that divided the cockpit of the small seaplane from the rest of it, holding out a gun to Stiles.

Stiles took it, checking it over before sliding it into the holster strapped to his chest.

“I think I’ve earned a look at that diary when we land,” Derek said as he sat back in the chair behind Erica’s.

Erica shot Stiles a dirty glare.

Stiles flashed her a smile and shrugged.

The breeze rolled across the beach, the wisps of wind curling into a ball as it rustled the leaves of the palm trees and stirred the pale sand that that was stretched across the beach. The soft waves lapped as the shore, caressing the pale sand before fleeing back into the ocean.

The seaplane had landed ashore, tied off to the thick posts of the old wooden pier. On the other side of the pier was a boat, anchored to the shore while Stiles and Erica stood inside the small wooden cabin.

Stiles watched as Derek paced back and forth on the pier, talking on the phone and growing more and more irritated the longer the conversation drew on. He turned his attention to the mess of maps, notes and leather-bound journals that were strewn across the table before them.

“When Drake sailed into the Pacific he took the Spanish fleet completely by surprise. He captured their ships, he took all their maps, their letters, their journals, and he recorded everything in this diary,” Stiles explained, holding up the journal they had found in the coffin. “But when he got back to England, Queen Elizabeth confiscated all of his charts and logbooks, including this one, and then swore his entire crew to silence. You see, Drake discovered something on that voyage—something so secret, and so valuable, they couldn't risk it getting out.”

“Alright, Stiles,” Erica interrupted. “Let’s just pretend for a minute that I don't really care about any of that stuff and cut to the chase.”

Stiles couldn’t help but smirk at her bluntness.

“A woman only interested in the climax,” he teased.

She smiled and winked at him.

He rolled his eyes and said, “Okay, I’ll jump to the good part, just for you.”

He flipped through the pages of the journal, opening it to the final page and holding it out before Erica.

Her jaw hit the floor as she muttered, “El Dorado.”

“You were right, he was onto something big,” Stiles said.

“Does it say anything else?” Erica asked, reaching for the journal.

Stiles snatched it away before she could grab it, holding it teasingly out of her reach as he lifted his eyebrows and said, “So now you’re interested, huh?”

“Yes, I’m interested,” Erica snapped.

“Well,” Stiles started slowly, closing the journal and dropping it back onto the table. “There’s nothing else. The last page has been torn out. But I’m telling you, Erica, this is it.”

“Only one problem,” Erica whispered, looking out the window at Derek.

“He can hold his own,” Stiles replied. “You should have seen him.”

“Alright, you go on out there and you tell her ‘We just found the lost city of gold’,” Erica dared him. “Maybe her producer can get it on the air tonight.”

“Oh, come on, Erica.”

“Stiles, do you trust me?” she asked.

He shrugged. “More or less.”

She shot him a dirty glare and opened her mouth to reply. She bit into her lip and composed herself. “We’re going to have every two-bit scumbag in the world racing us to this treasure unless we ditch now.”

“You’re the love ‘em and leave ‘em kind, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and it sucks,” Erica admitted. “But he’ll get over it.”

Outside, Derek paced back and forth on the rickety pier, his footsteps echoing beneath the withered wooden boards. He raked his hand through his hair as he said, “Yes, it blew up. It sank… No, that’s why we have insurance, right? … No, the camera’s fine; the footage is still there and there’s no water damage… Yes, I realise we’re pushing the budget, but do you realised that this could be the story of the year?”

He let out a heavy sigh, glancing over his shoulder at Erica and Stiles inside of the ship, discussing something.

“No, I don’t trust them. That’s why we need to move fast. Just get me the funds and a crew and I promise you—”

He was interrupted by the revving of an engine as he spun around and watched the boat pulled away from the pier. Pulled the phone away from his ear and shouted after them, but it was too late; they were already gone.

He rolled his eyes and hissed, “Son of a bitch.”

He let out a heavy sigh, standing still in defeat as he watched the boat drive away, the foaming waves of its wake crashing against the supporting beams of the pier.

“I should have seen that coming.”

[~AO3~] [~Support me through PayPal~]

#the lost treasure #the lost treasure update #teen wolf uncharted au #sterek uncharted au #sterek #sterek fa #sterek au #chapter 1 #please excuse typos #i write quickly and don't have time to go back over it and edit it #and i don't want to bother my betas becasue they're both super busy with final assignments #so sorry about all the errors

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jadehqknb · 7 years

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Okay! For the crossover, could I get a reader insert where the megane boys (Midorima and Tsukki) have a crush on the same girl?

Thanks for the request, I actually had quite a bit of fun with this one and can only hope I captured their personalities well enough.

Stepping up to the counter, Midorima is just about to openhis mouth when you say, “Tall latte, triple shot, dark with no foam and extrasugar.” He blinks at your cheeky expression, suppressing a grin when youwhisper, “I won’t tell anyone you like it so sweet,” then wink. The wink isenough to get his cheeks heating up but he quickly recovers, thanking you andpaying.

“Strawberry short cake shake,” the next customer orders simply.

Midorima spares a sideways glance at the male, eyesnarrowing slightly. This kid is always here at the same time as him. He noticesthat he drops a rather sizable tip into your jar, waving away your protestsand saying, “Like I don’t know you need it.” Appalled at his candor, Midorima looksat you but you’re chuckling, playfully whipping the towel from over yourshoulder at the teasing male.

Tsukishima moves on, taking a seat at his usual table nearthe window, opening his homework and getting down to business. Midorima,meanwhile, sits at his normal location ensconced in a wingback chair set in thecorner facing out towards the room, a book in one hand and his perfectlyprepared latte in the other. His eyes follow over the edge of his book as youwalk out the blonde’s order, smiling down at him and placing a piece of chocolatecake on the table.

He’s close enough to hear you explain, “You gave too muchtip, this is my way of saying thank you.”

Gritting his teeth, Midorima tries to focus on his book,startled slightly when you suddenly appear before him. Since when were peopleable to sneak up on him?

“Excuse me? Sorry to bother you, but I made just a littletoo much of another latte and wondered if you’d like a top up?” He looks to thecoffee carafe in your hand. At his nod, you lean forward, pouring the contents ofthe pot into his cup. Standing back up, you offer a bright smile and nod ofyour own before going back behind the counter.

The following week, Midorima surprises you by offering yourlucky item for the day. He covers his embarrassment with a slightly terse, “It’ssimple really, I mean, it’s a coffee cup after all.” But never the less, youbeam at the fact that he brought you a unique one, covered in cats (yourfavorite animal).

As he leaves the line he hears, “Tch, you know she doesn’tbelieve in that nonsense, right?”

Green eyes meet gold, narrowing as the basketball playersays, “How do you know? Have you asked her?”

The volleyball player rolls his eyes. “No, but you onlyhave to speak to her for a few minutes to realize she’s far too intelligent to goin for such ridiculousness.”

Midorima clenches his fist, saying lowly, “Intelligence andfaith can co-exist, only someone truly ignorant would not be able to see that.”

Tsukishima scoffs but says nothing in return, electing insteadto spin on his heel and head to his normal seat.

After a few more weeks of both males obviously garnering foryour attention, they tire of each other, each believing the other to besimultaneously annoying you and hindering the other’s progress. It comes to a head one afternoon as Midorima smacks his hand on Tsukishima’s tablebefore taking a seat across from him.

Cocking one eyebrow, the blonde asks, “What do you want?”

“Your incessant unwanted pursuit of ______-san needs tocease,” Midorima says testily, “It’s blatantly obvious you’re not her type, sowhy don’t you find another café whose doorstep you can darken?”

“Heh, like you’re one to talk, I don’t see her exactlyfawning over you, you overgrown weed,”Tsukki snarks back.

“Are you kidding? She always knows my drink, always makes itperfectly and typically bringsrefills, only claiming they are because she “accidentally” made extra because she’sshy since there’s no way she is frequently thatcareless.”

“As if that matters. She remembers every regular’sorder, so yours is nothing special. Also, I don’t see her taking her lunchbreaks with you,” replies Tsukishimasmugly.

“She only does that because you help her with her homework,”Midorima fires right back, “Don’t think I can’t hear your conversation, it’snot that far from my seat to yours.”

“I’m not leaving,” Tsukki says crossing his arms and fixinghis opponent with a firm glare. The two males stare one another down, each unwillingto back down.

Finally, Midorima says, “This is getting us nowhere, let’ssettle this here and now.” Looking up he catches your eye, indicating he’d liketo speak with you. Holding up one finger, you nod. Turning back to his unwantedcompany, the green-haired male smirks. “Now we’ll see,” he says as you makeyour way towards them. This is not how he’d wanted this to go but he’s tired ofthis waif impeding the peace of his favorite café.

“Funny, I didn’t think you two were friends,” you remark reachingtheir table.

“We aren’t,” Tsukki confirms, cheeks tinting pink because heknows what’s coming.

“Ok,” you say drawing out the letters then look back at Midorima.“Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes,” he says looking up at your face. “We’re in a bit ofdebate and hope you can clear something up for us.”

“I’m intrigued, how can my infinite wisdom assist yougentlemen?” you ask smiling.

“We were wondering who-“ Midorima begins but is cut off bythe sound of you squealing in delight, attention out the window. Turningaround, his teeth clench at the sight of Imayoshi Shoichi, one hand shovedcasually in his pocket and the other out with his finger crooking in a come-hithermotion to you.

“Sorry guys, one minute,” you say hurriedly running out thedoor. Both males watch as you fling your arms around the third-year pointguard, lips planting on his in a swift kiss of greeting. As he hugs you,Imayoshi sends a wide smirk to the occupants inside, clearly understanding the situationhe came upon.

Both males eyes widen when you grab who is clearly yourboyfriend by the hand and pull him in with you.

“Sorry,” you say a bit breathless, “I just got so excited.Shoichi-kun, this is Tsukishima-san, middle blocker of Karasuno’s volleyballteam and this-“

“Oh, I know who he is sweetie,” Imayoshi comments, his armsnaking around your waist, eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses.

Unaware of the tension among the three males you turn yourattention back to the seated basketball and volleyball players. “I’m sorry, whatdid you want to ask me, Midorima -san?”

“It is of no importance,” he says brusquely, standing up andwalking to his seat. Gathering his book bag and lucky item (for all the good itdid him today) he strides out of the café, unsure he can come back given yourtaste in men.

“Is everything ok?” you ask worriedly as Tsukki also makeshis way to leave.

“Yeah, sure, see you in class,” he says then quickly makeshis own exit.

“I hope I didn’t offend them, I was just so excited to seeyou Shoichi-kun,” you say softly, eyes full of worry.

“Don’t sweat it sweetie,” he says kissing your temple, “they’rejust poor losers.”

“What did they lose?” you ask confused and he just smirks,finding it so funny that for being so intelligent, you can be so oblivioussometimes.

#midorima #tsukishima #knb #haikyuu #vball-baes-bball-baes #admin jade #500 follower celebration #crossover #imayoshi #sfw #hq-hq-headcanons

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