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redgumshoe · 9 months

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This tragic tale is a story of Vile’s Bonnie and Clyde.

A couple of bandits who thought they could steal the world—a girl who isn't afraid of dying and a boy who’s always by her side.

The roles are reversed, but it's the familiarity of Bonnie and Clyde, A couple of criminals, and their glamorized crime spree across the united states of America. This story is not for the weak-minded, as real true life crimes of Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow inspire this.

June 9th, 2023: 6:34 am

Laverna smiled as she watched Devlin sleeping on the king-sized hotel bed. They were in Las Vegas, Nevada. Her long hair was dangling over her face as she watched him. The two troublemakers were on summer vacation.

Their fake IDs sat on their nightstand under the aliases of Bon Park and Chestnut Burrows—a newlywed couple spending their honeymoon in the city of sin.

Yesterday, they spent all day at the mob museum, a highly educational experience for the pair. Laverna had a habit of checking out any museums on the topic of crime, prisons, spies, and death. Devlin found quite a few of the displays on chemical warfare fascinating, as his medium is mad science. He’s the type of guy who should be working with the OSS, CIA, and FBI on how to tranquilize their targets without barbaric measures,

Laverna kisses Devlin's cheek. His unshaven stubble rubbed against her soft skin.

“Wake up, chestnut,” she commanded before playfully nibbling on his ear.

He laughed as this brought him out of his deep slumber. “Good morning, Bon Bon.” He answered as his eyes opened in the sun-filled room. He yawned as he rolled over with a bad idea in mind.

He pinned Laverna to the bed. Her tiny wrists perfectly fit in his moderately sized hands

He held her hands above her head as he observed her beauty.

“It’s time for your medication. Then we can get breakfast. Do you want room service or to go eat out?” He explained as he eagerly watched Laverna’s smug reaction to being restrained first thing in the morning.

“I hate my medication. Let’s go out today,” The dark-minded thief sarcastically answered as Devlin climbed out of bed to fetch the medical bag.

After a few hours and one pesky injection later;

Laverna and Devlin were exploring the city. Hand in hand, they walked as they eagerly eavesdropped on every conversation.

“Al Capone’s bulletproof car was so cool.” A man excitedly said to his wife

“It’s a shame Bonnie and Clyde’s car didn't have a chance..” Replied the wife as they hurried down the street.

Laverna’s eyes lit up as she overheard the names of Bonnie and Clyde. She was working on her collection of stolen goods, and the death car would be the most treasured piece in her wicked little collection of death and torture devices throughout history.

Devin Crooks watched Laverna’s eyes light up with hellish delight. This facial expression doesn't scare him at all. “I know that look. You found a sweet treat you won't leave without.” whispered devlin into Laverna’s ear.

They spent the next few hours hunting down that piece of American history. Finally, they found it was not in the casino, that it was listed when they searched online. It was on another casino floor; Laverna imagined her car called black magic, locked up on display in a casino if she died. Her name goes down in history. The concept of casinos owning infamous late criminals’ cars confused Laverna. Was her mother’s car on display in a museum? Laverna shook that messed-up idea out of her head. She wasn’t a Saylor anymore; she was a Heist, A subdivision of the sandiego legacy.

Laverna tilted her head sideways; She imagined the pain of being shot by a firing squad. Her body shivered as she bit her red-painted lip. Another part of her mind was formulating a plan to take this car home. It had no engine; It looked like something you bought off a police department auction lot. Now, she thought about it; The poor thing was bought from the police in Louisiana, and it could certainly use a loving touch.

Devlin found himself observing a blue western shirt; The shirt was ripped up; as the last person to wear it was Clyde Barrow. Devlin noticed the shirt size was the same as the one on his back. Devlin looked down at his button-up shirt; it was surreal. It was the same color as Clyde's last taste in fashion.

His hands tugged down at the hem of the woven fabric as he faced deja vu. A feeling of nausea filled his stomach as the implications were evident. He wouldn't admit it to Laverna; his gut screamed not to steal that car.

Unlike Laverna, He didn't believe in ghosts, sixth sense, and fortune telling. Yet, he promised to start thinking about it; If history repeats itself.

Laverna felt the opposite; She felt this was an outrage, despicable and horrific to make a cheesy tourist attraction out of the short lives.

She wanted to make the world pay for its crimes against the young lovers. She stomped her right foot angrily.

She would bring the legend of Bonnie and Clyde back to life.

She wanted to paint these states red as her plan was finalized.

Yet, stealing a car like this in a busy casino will not be an accessible fleet

Laverna and Devlin felt quite cocky after stealing Bonnie and Clyde's death car from the buffalo bill hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Laverna spent her time fitting the old car with a new engine. “Let’s bring this legend back to life.” She chuckled as she slipped under the hood of the v8 Ford, littered with bullet holes.

Devlin was happy to help the pintsized lawbreaker in her mechanical work.

Laverna didn’t care that she was ruining the car’s price of five million dollars. It was her belonging now, and she felt like the Underworld was smiling.

Devlin, on the other hand, was feeling a bit concerned as he could swear he could hear the phantom sounds of gunshots as Laverna wired up the car.

They were hiding out in Arcadia, Louisiana, USA, approximately 11.8 miles away from the town of Gibsland, where Bonnie and Clyde met their demise.

The one thing Devlin knew about Laverna; she wasn’t afraid of anything. The same dangerous, reckless, and criminal behavior that Bonnie and Clyde were infamous for.

He was the more stable of vile’s criminal lovebirds. His job was to keep Laverna alive and away from her many enemies who had a vendetta against her. He was considered her bodyguard despite only being five foot 6 inches tall. He was strong and displayed a sense of self-preservation that Laverna merely lacked on her own.

The press excitedly labeled Laverna and Devlin, the 21st-century Bonnie and Clyde. It thrilled Laverna to death, and for Devlin, it was a mediocre reaction.

And for Carmen Sandiego, it was as if three black crows hung on the telephone line outside the window she sat in front of as she read the newspaper detailing the infamous car’s disappearance made by her determined pupil. It was a bad omen; she could feel the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

Laverna climbed out from under the hood. She was confident that she would be driving this thing for a ride very soon. A genuine smile tugged on her face as she wiped her grease-stained hands on the front of her black vest. “Well, does Devlin desire to ride this bad boy back to our hideout?” She asked, although she wasn’t expecting him to disagree.

“It's past midnight; Let's head out in the early daylight. We don't want to cause a stir after dark. We might find a couple of bandits who won't appreciate us.” A worried devlin explained calmly, not to anger his beloved.

She rolled her green eyes at his unusually cowardly response to her command disguised as a polite request to ride the car through Gibsland and out through Shreveport, Louisiana, and return home to their underground bunker in the Ozark mountain countryside in northwestern Arkansas

“We don't have time to wait like that; the police are already on our tails since we stole this car three days ago. We will land behind bars if we change the schedule I have created for us.”

“That’s a fourteen-hour drive. We gotta pedal to the medal.” She continued as she stepped behind the wheel. She sat in the place where another famous criminal died. Her hands were on the steering wheel of the eighty-nine-year-old getaway car.

“We should have waited eleven years. “. Devlin explained as he climbed into the passenger seat.

“So it will be exactly a hundred years and 12 days after their massacre?” Laverna gruffly said as she turned the makeshift key in the Initiation.

The replica engine bought from an acquaintance of Carmen Sandiego hummed to life.

Laverna could care less about the dirt, oil, and nearly century-old blood stains she was sitting in.

Devlin felt shivers down his spine as he closed the passenger side door.

It was June 12, 2023, at 12:58 am, as they set off onto Louisiana's roads; this was the state Laverna grew up in. Devlin noticed one thing; the car had no seatbelts as Ford started the addition of seatbelts in 1955 which is twenty years after this car’s manufacturing date. The inquisitive Devlin Crooks loved historical facts; however, at the moment, He’s stuck riding down dark country roads in a shattered car with holes that made a slice of Swiss cheese jealous. It's just that with Laverna, the daredevil behind the wheel, having no seatbelts is like being thrown around in the dryer on the fastest spin cycle. His redhead banged on the back of the seat as she skillfully Maneuvered In and out of obstacles.

His knuckles grabbed onto the leather seat beneath him as they drove into the night.

“Laverna, slow down.” He commanded as a deer jumped in front of their car.

Laverna skillfully skidded the car around the deer. “Ya know, We aren’t doing Bonnie and Clyde a favor by going slow, “ She answered as she looked in the rearview mirror.

Laverna turned her night vision contacts on, which allowed her to see perfectly in the dark.

Devlin couldn’t see a thing; Laverna��s night vision contacts gave her perfect vision allowing her to blaze down the road in Clyde Barrow’s signature style.

The hours went by quickly; Eventually; they arrived at Gibsland exhausted from nearly forty-eight hours without sleep

Laverna backed the car into a wide area of the woods for an hour or two of sleep.

The time was 4:01 am as Laverna rested her head in her partner in the crime’s lap. He kissed her forehead as the coyotes howled and the crickets chirped under the light of the waning crescent moon.

Devlin could barely make out the moon’s shape behind the tall trees they hid behind.

“A waning crescent moon, Laverna taught me that means ending.” He said as he watched the four-foot-eleven bandit sleep peacefully in his lap.

He decided to rest, too; The worst-case scenario in his position was not to protect Laverna from harm.

He set the alarm on his gray smartwatch for 6 am, and the couple dozed off briefly.

It was a disturbed sleep; they lived out of the car like its previous occupants. The sounds of their breathing filled the vehicle.

Laverna's snores comfort Devlin as he sleeps lightly; He knew Laverna wouldn't listen about what she dubbed his well-trained overprotective nature. His left hand was wrapped around her chest as they slept.

Her knees were pulled up in a defensive position. The girl whimpers from her nightmares. Devlin hugged her a little tighter as they rested.

She stirred a little as her leather boots kicked the seat

His hand rubs her side to soothe her as they sleep.

Beep, beep. The alarm went off, causing Devlin to stretch his arms and legs.

It was a bit startling; for a moment, he had forgotten he was in this situation with Laverna. He shook her awake. She rubbed her eyes as she adjusted to her surroundings.

She looked at Devlin and smiled. “Good morning, sugar.” She said, allowing the southern accent she usually disguised to come out for a rare moment

It wasn’t a typical Southern accent; it seemed mixed with several other accents.

“Morning, Vern,” Devlin said before stealing a kiss from Laverna.

Laverna closed her eyes and allowed herself to get carried away.

She didn’t want to break the kiss, yet it was time to get back on the road. However, it would be wise for them to waste their limited time.

Devlin tried to stall Laverna; he yanked her tie, causing her to fall off the seat into the floorboard.

She quickly recovered to her position and restarted the engine. She backed out of the woods and onto Highway 154, unaware her brother and the maniacal association of underhanded evil-doers, aka the mauve, were setting up their fun.

They wore vintage detective outfits and hid among the shrubbery and bushes. The six men held loaded automatic rifles and eagerly awaited Laverna's arrival.

It’s unknown who tipped Charles off; perhaps he knew his twin sister better than she knew herself.

Maybe; the knowledge of history repeating itself brought out the gang to end the spree of a cocky eighteen-year-old girl who enjoyed the Adrenaline high from her life of crime.

Her twin brother didn't care that another person would be annihilated in this firing squad. He loved the smell of gunpowder and the smoke his pistol. More than he cared about protecting innocent bystanders.

He was already licking his lips in anticipation; the girl survived his last assassin attempt. How can she survive what the legendary Bonnie and Clyde couldn’t? Only a true goddess of thieves will escape this vendetta.

Laverna smiled softly as the sun rose overhead. Her eyes adjusted to the natural light as she slipped a peppermint into her mouth.

It wasn’t long until the car rolled into the area.

A shot went off, alerting Laverna to the danger.

She tried to exit the car only to find the doors wouldn’t open; This caused her to panic.

Her brother walked over and pointed an automatic rifle in her face. There was a sinister look on his face as he yelled at his men to fire.

It wasn’t long, yet it felt like forever as the bullets burned through Devlin and Laverna’s flesh.

The silence as Laverna and Devlin fade out of consciousness.

Time of death: June 12th 2023 6:34 am

The fog rolled in and the car vanished.

A poem was left

The trails end by bonnie parker

‘Someday they will go down together

They will bury them side by side

For a few, it was grief

For the law, a relief

But it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde ‘

It was signed with the initials c.s

(( p.s they didn't actually die))

#where in the world is carmen sandiego #woeics #90s carmen #classic carmen sandiego #where on earth is carmen sandiego #bonnie & clyde #oc #alternative universe #oc story #fanfic #carmen sandiego #fan fiction

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thotbugatti · 6 months

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The Audra Diaries

Hi so I’m doing the second episode so soon after the first because I watched the pilot yesterday and just finished episode 2. Only just got around to posting it here a little while ago. It won’t always be like this, I want to try to just do one per day at most.

Season 1 Episode 2

* so if Stefan is over a century old, what are the implications of him being attracted to a high school girl

* The way they’re not afraid to use blood as liberally as they do for a show made for teens on cable tv is fascinating to me

* How old is the aunt? She looks like she’s only a few years older than Elena

* Some of these teachers are fucking dicks man

* Nice faux hawk bro nice deep v bro

* Bro said dick on cable tv

* I feel a little bad for Matt but also like you might need to get over her man

* I hate this teacher so fucking much oh my god GO TO HELL

* if she’s deeply traumatized from almost being murdered why would you just grab her like that

* A vampire walking into a room with so much blood must be like an alcoholic walking into a bar during happy hour huh

* Jump his bones? What is that, stoner talk?

* Jeremy is a freshman?? How

* “You get high? 😏”

* So if she survived a vampire attack does that mean she’s going to turn into a vampire too?

* Kiss him girl he wonts u bad

* Now idk if you should be walking into this creepy old house girl

* Sotheby’s auction?

* YOUNG MAN KILL YASELF (old man?)

* She’s got…spunk…

* Nice deep V douche

* Jeremy is trying so hard to be the cool rebellious teen but man he sucks at it

* I thought vampires didn’t have reflections how did Damon show up in the mirror

* The way these guys just randomly disappear all the time must make these girls think they’re schizophrenic sometimes

* Where is Jeremy getting all these pills

* “You seem to spend a lot of time apologizing” me

* Why is she so hung up on his supposed ex he’s into YOU girl

* Okay, now this is epic

* What is her problem why is she mad at him he’s into you girl

* “Are you dealing?!”

* The way she treats Jeremy it’s almost as if she forgot their parents are dead and very recently too

* KILL YASELF YOUNG MAN

* I took some pills mannn

* Damon’s a little goober trickster weirdo (and an evil freak)

* Caroline is a BITCH wow

* “She kinda wigs out it’s kinda her thing” CHECK ON YOUR FRIEND

* Don’t talk about your dead sister like this to her daughter Jenna why is everyone so strange in this show

* I’m sorry but there’s no way this kid is 15

* Don’t attack Caroline Damon she wonts u bad

* Elena and Damon have known each other for three minutes why does she act like this

* It was EPIC

* So are you gonna tell her that you’re a vampire since you guys like to pretend that you’ve known each other for so long cause it’s kinda important I think

Right, so, I’m not sure how to feel about this episode honesty. It doesn’t really feel like much progress was made in advancing the plot. In fact, they just kind of did more of the same from the pilot. Elena and Stefan do some more of the “will they wont they” dance, Jeremy wanders after Vicki like a wounded dog; Damon attacks some more people, Stefan struggles around blood, the episode ends with another girl getting attacked. I’m also kind of realizing that most of the people in this town are terrible people. Nobody seems to know how to talk to each other like normal people. In reality, it’s probably just CW writing, but it’s making it hard to like a lot of the characters. I’m not really sure who I’m meant to be rooting for aside from Stefan and Elena. This is only the second episode though, so I wont be too harsh and actually give them a chance to get it going.

#the vampire diaries #review #show review #tvd spoilers #trans

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ghost-flakes · 3 years

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liminal

summary: you decide to sign up for what you think is a date night auction for some spare cash.

pairing: kurogiri/reader

word count: 2,665

notes: AU, no specific setting. not beta read and different than how I’m used to writing. hope you enjoy!

★ written for the Citrus Dome Collab - check out other entries here!

★ also posted on AO3!

warnings: mentions of sensory overload (not related to bedroom activities), intimacy, no smut.

The stage lights were blinding and hot. They seared into your skin and made the edges of your vision fuzzy.

You felt like the very act of existing was generating sweat and you prayed that your makeup would hold.

Not that you really wanted to be in this situation, now that the reality of it was setting in, but it was a matter of principle.

You were looking for some extra cash on the side and a friend of a friend had mentioned an auction night that was coming up that paid handsomely. You had thought that it was a date night type of auction, but once you saw the auction location (a revamped warehouse), you weren’t so sure.

You miiight have glossed over the details the event organizer had told you about in favor of speculating about where, how, and why he chose to go around in a purple suit. But somehow, he made it work?

Before you knew it, you had found yourself trussed up in sparse but elegant clothing, just this side of revealing. A hint of skin here and there, enough to catch the eye but not so much to compromise your modesty. (However much you had left at this point, anyway.)

You tried not to think too hard about how efficiently you and the other participants had been prepped, but trepidation clung to the edge of your senses like stubborn cobwebs.

As the auctioneer introduced you, you let your gaze travel across the room, taking in your potential companions for the night. They were a strange assortment.

The mildest seemed to look like salarymen - one man with a very long, pointed nose that was oddly familiar. A man wearing an accordion mask, whom you guessed must have had some sort of yakuza ties, as he was flanked by three others and the whole group was given just a little extra space. A couple of other masked men (seemed like there was a theme tonight), a lizard man, a stapled patchwork man.

A rainbow of hair colors scattered far and wide.

Golden wisps streaked across the back of the room before your attention was stolen by a couple of women who were sharply dressed and no less intimidating than any of the men.

The room’s overall vibe was barely restrained anticipation, but underneath that was a strong warning: fuck around and find out.

Oh boy, did you not want to find out.

If their quirks were half as exotic as their looks, you’d be torn to bits in minutes. What a morbid thought for what should have been a lighthearted, wallet-fattening evening.

Sure, the house took a hefty cut, but the hope was that the winning bid would be high enough to make it worth it.

Depending on how this turned out, you’d either start buying lotto tickets weekly or swear off gambling for life.

You saw the auctioneer gesture toward you with a flourish of his hand. Showtime!

You smiled demurely and ducked your head coyly in an attempt to hide your expression. Paired with a measured bow, hands in front, held for just a little bit longer - you felt the air in the room shift as you put yourself in the care of the audience.

The display of vulnerability was like blood to sharks. The room exploded into action, with a near constant fwip of rustling material as guests raised their paddles to bid and the auctioneer egging them on further.

You quickly became dizzy from the thought that so many people would be bidding for your time. The room suddenly felt far too small for the amount of activity going on, and you could only wait for the final bid to land.

The room was getting louder as the bidding became more heated. You heard the clatter of a chair as someone scrambled on top of a table as if it would help them bid harder. Other patrons cried out in protest, only to be quickly put in place by a sharp reprimand from the auctioneer.

This didn’t do much to keep the room from steadily approaching a fever pitch.

The higher the numbers, the more pressure you felt.

You were still stuck in place, sweltering under the stage lights, praying that the highest bidder at least had a kind heart so you didn’t have to spend your earnings on therapy. Or a hospital visit.

It was slowly dawning on you that the crowd seemed more than a lil’ shady but it was far too late to back out now.

The auctioneer’s voice got louder as the bid got higher. Everything was moving too fast and you stopped actively listening in order to try not to get overwhelmed.

You heard what sounded like the bang of a gavel against a podium (how absurd, this wasn’t a courthouse), before a disgruntled hush fell across the room. Looks like bidding was over. You saw the man who had climbed onto the table drop to an unhappy squat as he tossed his paddle on the floor in disgust. You would have laughed if you weren’t afraid.

You turned toward the auctioneer and watched his face as he spoke. You only caught part of his sentence “-- come up and collect your date for the evening, you lucky man.”

You saw someone cross the room, followed by glares from the rest of the patrons. As he got closer, you could see that he seemed to be made of fog. Or was it mist? Either way, it was a rich purple, constantly ebbing and flowing to an unknown rhythm.

He stopped at a polite distance and introduced himself, his voice calm and low. He already knew your name, thanks to the auctioneer.

He offered his hand to you and waited. You hesitantly approached, and placed your hand in his. It felt cool, but broad and firmer than you expected. You couldn’t place the texture - something between velvet and mist.

While you were mulling over the feeling of your hand in his, he opened a warp gate and guided you both through it.

What a way to reveal a quirk.

On the other side was the inside of a small house - traditionally built but with some modern accoutrements and a little worn around the edges - but most importantly, quiet.

It was a wonderful reprieve after the cacophony of the auction.

You both shucked off your shoes before entering the living room, where he guided you to sit at a low table. A teapot and cups were already waiting for you.

You watched curiously as he served you before himself, unsure what to make of any of it.

The auction, the man, the house, the tea. The sheer amount of money he had spent on a night with you. You could easily be set for a couple of years with how much he had shelled out, and yet here he was, hosting you with patience and care.

You still had no idea what he wanted from you.

The steam from the tea lazily floated into the air. Kurogiri’s mist undulated at a different pace - a little faster - the plumes of his fog curling into each other at the edges, like small whirlpools.

Was he nervous?

You looked at his eyes, and saw that he had been watching you just as intently.

Somehow, the connection was comfortable. It was rare to find someone you could sit in silence with without needing to fill the space.

You watched him curiously as you sipped your tea, waiting to see what would happen next.

He excused himself for a moment and left the room. Even the sound of the shoji door sliding shut sounded gentle.

You let yourself sink into the peace of the room while you waited.

Whatever would happen, would happen, but you could try to get some enjoyment out of it. Your practicality combined with your bouts of recklessness certainly landed you in some odd situations. Your good fortune let you slide out of potentially nasty situations just as easily as you got into them and you were sure someone out there was watching over you.

Some time later Kurogiri returned to the room and walked around the table to your side. He extended a hand to you again. You unfolded yourself from your sitting position and accepted his aid.

He led you out of the sitting room, down a short hall and to another room. You could smell moisture in the air as you approached, but couldn’t see past Kurogiri’s frame.

Once you got to the room, he stepped out of the way and gestured for you to enter.

You did so, and once you had crossed the threshold of the room, you heard the door close behind you.

You looked over the shoulder just to reassure yourself that the door was closed, before looking around at the rest of the room.

OK, there was a sink and a toilet, no surprises there.

You moved into the adjoining room to discover a shower, accompanied by a large bathtub, filled with warm water and beckoning to you. There was a light fragrance wafting through the air, something earthy yet soothing.

There was a fluffy bathrobe laid out to the side.

Alright, you got the hint.

You disrobed and quickly showered, not wanting to waste any time that could be spent soaking in the tub. Once you settled in the tub, you felt your muscles warming up and all tension (and reason) escaping. You leaned against the back of the tub and let your eyes flutter shut.

You thought you heard Kurogiri enter and exit at some point (his passing only revealed by the sound of the opening and closing of the doors) but you couldn’t be bothered to look.

When you finally deigned to open your eyes, you noticed that your clothes were gone. Was he really going to wash them for you? Man, this guy’s hosting skills were above and beyond.

By now, the water had cooled off, so you slowly rose out of the tub, as if wishing could warm up the water. The tub had been the perfect size - no need for bathtub gymnastics or body parts sticking up out of the water like mountain tops, laid bare and chilled by the wind.

You reluctantly left the tub and dried yourself off before wrapping yourself in the bathrobe, which was the softest thing you had felt in your life. Would it be a faux pas to ask him where he had gotten it?

You saw that slippers had been left out for you and ignored them. You preferred to feel the polished wood of the floor underneath your feet.

You made your way out of the bathroom, and wandered out into the hall. Before you could venture too far out, Kurogiri approached from the opposite end. The streaks of his eyes were curved up a little. Was this his version of a smile? Combined with his vest, tie, and neck brace being gone, it made him look surprisingly vulnerable.

You got the impression that this was a rare sight and were both flattered and honored.

As he led you to yet another room, you noticed that you could feel no dust or debris underneath your feet. He or whoever had cleaned the house had done an impeccable job. The amount of attention that went into the care of the house and the graciousness that had been shown to you during your stay made something in your chest stir. Sure, this was an extremely odd situation to be in, but not a bad one, so far.

He stopped in front of another shoji door and slid it open carefully. You felt as if this would be your final destination for the night. Kurogiri bowed his head and then gestured for you to enter first. You beamed at him and then stepped into the room, wiggling your toes against the tatami. You heard him close the door before feeling his presence behind you.

A quick look across the room revealed an austere bedroom. A bed, comfortable and low to the ground, a couple of lamps, your clothes neatly folded and resting by the side of the bed. Somehow, seeing them there made you feel reassured.

“You may change if you like.”

You turned around and looked up at him as you thought about what you’d like to do.

“I’m okay like this.”

He nodded, and you suddenly felt shy. Was it bold to stay in a bathrobe? Somehow, you didn’t want to change into your clothing - it felt like things would suddenly become more formal and distant.

He moved toward the bed and waited. You realized he was waiting for you to get in first. Your stomach clenched as you felt a bolt of fear pass through you and you took a slow breath in to steady yourself.

You climbed into the bed and moved towards the center at the side farthest from the headboard to give Kurogiri room to maneuver and knelt. You watched him climb into the bed. The sight of him looming over you for a brief moment changed the fear at the bottom of your stomach into something else.

Kurogiri reclined against the headboard and patted the bed next to him. You noticed that the cuffs of his shirt were unbuttoned. His shirt was still buttoned up all the way.

You crawled up the bed toward him, careful not to let the bathrobe slip and reveal anything, and gingerly settled down next to him. You tentatively leaned against him, and he wrapped the arm closest to you around your shoulder. You settled in closer to him and your head ended up in the crook of his neck. The casual intimacy made your heart race.

You looked at the curve of his neck, watching his mist slowly form and rise up into the air before seeming to disappear. Could you disappear into him if you got too close? But no, that was a silly thought. His body, though lacking clearly defined edges, was definitely solid beneath and around you. He was both warmer than you expected and slightly cooler than you wanted.

You leaned a little bit closer, careful not to brush your nose against his neck and breathed in. He had a pleasant smell - it reminded you of a shrine in the forest. A hint of incense and trees, refreshing and sacred.

You felt his head lean against yours and did your best to relax despite the strangeness of the situation. His mist tickled against your hair. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the gold streaks of his eyes almost disappear. He slowly shifted to angle his body more toward you, and caressed the side of your body with his free hand. He was careful not to stray too high or low.

You felt something inside of you shift with the tenderness of the gesture. It asked for nothing more. You felt the edges of reality become a bit fuzzy, like you were somewhere between the waking world and a dream. You sunk deeper into this feeling and felt Kurogiri relax next to you, as if he were going through the same thing.

He continued to touch you gently - how much time passed, you did not know. You began to feel streaks of desire light up through you, like shooting stars passing gently across your body. You did your best to ignore them, not wanting the moment to end or change. Kurogiri’s hand stopped moving and settled against your hip. You knew his hand was bigger than yours, but it felt even bigger curled around your hip. You felt the warmth of his touch as it slowly bled through the bathrobe. You took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled as you willed yourself to settle down.

You felt Kurogiri shift as something in the air changed, but all he did was place a tender kiss on your forehead.

#citrus dome collab #bnha #kurogiri x reader #ghost.writes

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jui-imouto-chan · 3 years

Text

Ouran High School Host Club AU (Inspired by this post)

Yes, I used everybody they offered as the characters (and more!), it’s just a really big club.

(It will 200% get bigger if I keep writing this, don’t test me)

Ship Tags: MiyaHina, AtsuHina, OsaHina, OiHina, KurooHina, BokuHina, AkaaHina, TsukiHina, UshiHina, AoHina, HyakuHina, NishiHina/NoyaHina, Hinata Harem aka Hinata/Everyone.

Loosely follows plot, but a few things have been changed to match Haikyuu more, such as:

•Hinata isn’t an honor-student, he’s on an athletics scholarship (and while there are plenty of decent athletes there, they’re all rich enough to not need a scholarship)

•Hinata wears blue-light glasses often. He has good vision but having the glasses framing his vision helps him focus in class instead of getting (as) distracted.

•Yachi and Hinata switch off on some Haruhi stuff but Yachi isn’t the one the guys are all simping for.

•Yachi is an actual honor student but she’s not on the kinda full-ride scholarship Hinata is on. She’s like, partially rich, but not enough for Ouran (so she gets bullied or at least teased.)

•Hinata and Yachi got to be really good friends at orientation since she can sympathize with him better than all the actual rich people, and she helps him with his studies so he doesn’t completely flunk his classes.

•The Twins, like Hikaru and Kaoru, have the same color hair (brunette) atm

•Hinata’s mom is a drag king to parallel Haruhi’s dad’s sitch

•Oikawa doesn’t let Iwaizumi into the club because he kills his eccentricity and egotism. None of the others can vibe check him the way Iwa-Chan does so that’s why he seems even more unbearable and thus more Tamaki-like.

••

Hinata tried to figure out where Yachi disappeared to, peering down halls and into classrooms through small openings of the doors. “Yachi-saaaan...”

He barely registered the vague scent of roses and sweets saturating the air as he pushed the door softly.

The wood swung open as though pulled, Hinata stumbling through with a shout. A breeze and rose petals drifted by his face as he opened his eyes, head whipping up to view the silhouettes of the boys not too far from the door.

“Welcome to the Harukou Host Club!”

“Th-The... --What’s a host club?”

Hinata watched as all of the boys’ faces fell into befuddlement.

“W-What a funny joke,” a brunet, sat upon a throne-like chair, commented, his fingers interlocked beneath his chin. “Isn’t that cute? Trying to win our hearts with humor.”

“But--”

“So, what kind of guys do you like? We’ve got plenty of types to spare, and I don’t think any of them have any problem attending to a male--ah, sorry, what’re your pronouns? That was rude of me to assume.”

Hinata’s instinctive, “He/him,” came out before he could attach his protests at the services offered, his stress elevating as the brunet hopped out of his chair and sauntered over to him, hands extended in shows of eccentricity.

“We haven’t gotten a boy, yet, huh, ‘Tsumu?” one of the guys still in the group commented, his arm draped over the shoulder of his exact copy (sans the parting of the brown locks).

“No, but that’s because the only boys we’re involved with are each other,” the copy, ‘Tsumu(?), said, grabbing the other’s chin to hold his gaze. They stared into each other’s eyes for a second before their faces got a little green, the two of them separating to mime vomiting whilst laughing.

Hinata had to tune back into the brunet approaching him, who seemed to be going off on a tirade about beauty and elegance. He tuned back out almost immediately, finding even schoolwork to be more interesting.

“’Tsumu and ‘Samu are awful at the twincest-schtick, don’tcha think?”

“Right? I thought so, too. We’d be ten bajillion times better at it if we were identical twins!”

The ravenette rolled his eyes, although he drew in the other smugly. “Identical or not, the reason we work is because I’m a good actor.” Then, placatingly, he amended, “And you’re not hard to tease and smother with affection.”

His silver companion’s eyes lit up. “Man, you’re so cool, Kuroo.”

“Make sure to call me Tetsu when there are girls here.”

“Oooh do I get a nickname? Like, Kouta instead of Koutaro?”

Kuroo grinned, “Don’t give me an offer like that. I’ll call you Honey or Beloved, and while we’re raking in the cash, Akaashi’ll sell a bunch of merchandise with it.”

Another ravenette, probably Akaashi, nodded calmly as he penciled into his notebook. Beside him, a tall blonde smirked, his glasses flashing menacingly as he tapped away into a calculator. Kuroo and the silveret both paled and protested at him, which he seemed to ignore.

Speaking of ignoring things...

“You’ve been talking a long time, haven’t you?”

The brunet, knelt on the floor near a table, glanced over at him like he forgot who he was talking at. “Is that praise of my oratory skills? I’ve always been told that people get lost in my speeches, and it’s no surprise that you’ve gotten so enthralled with one!”

Seems like I wasn’t the only one who got lost, Hinata thought, noting the despondent, glazed eyes of some of the occupants. A short guy with a patch of blonde hair jumped up into a handstand on the shoulders of one of the taller guys in the back with white hair, and it was made evident that, no, some of them just always appeared completely detached from reality.

“So, anyway, what kind of guy is your type, Mr. Athlete? Maybe you like the cool type? The boy lolita?”

“—I AM NOT THAT SHORT—”

“You are quite that short,” the brunette continued, “Or maybe you like the strong silent type? —We have three of those. We also have twins—identical and fraternal— if you’re into the taboo kinda stuff. We don’t kinkshame here.”

“Maybe we should,” muttered the blonde guy with the calculator. His mouth was covered by a silver-haired guy with black ends, whose face betrayed no emotion even as the blonde fought against his palm irately.

“I’m not into this kind of thing,” Hinata said quickly, “Besides, doesn’t it cost money? I don’t think I’d be able to afford something like this, anyway.”

“Speaking of not being able to afford things... Shouldn’t we check up on her?” Probably-Akaashi motioned to a corner of the room with a piano and a familiar blonde girl hiding beneath its bench, sobbing meekly into her knees.

“Yachi-san!”

Hinata raced over to her, her head whipping up at his call. Her teary eyes let loose some sparkling droplets as she leapt at him, although the rope binding her ankles to the bench prevented her from fully reaching him. He thankfully was close enough that he saved her from a tumble to the floor.

“Hinataaaa,” she whined into his shoulder, “I’m going to have to sell my organs!!!”

“What!?”

“She came into our clubroom earlier and broke the vase we were supposed to sell at an auction,” explained one of the twins.

“It was worth eight million yen, and she told us she doesn’t have enough money but that she’ll sell her organs in order to pay us back, which is impressive in the dedication but very concerning.”

“We had Wakatoshi-kun put her on the bench to calm down, but she tied herself to it because she thought she would be our prisoner as a punishment.”

Yachi clearly tuned them out, too busy crying and hiding in Hinata’s arms. The redhead patted her on the head, wondering how things could get this weird in less than twenty minutes of her being out of his sight.

“Yachi-san.”

No response. Her blubbers were even less coherent now.

“Yachi-san!” He shook her by the shoulders until she blinked up at him. “I’ll help you, okay? Just promise me you’ll be more careful. And help me with my homework again!”

“Hinata...”

He grinned at her and patted her head. When he turned back to the group of boys, he could see they parted somewhat to allow the brunet to be visible whilst lounging on his throne that was turned to face them.

“I’ll be taking on Yachi-san’s debt,” he declared. The brunet rested his cheek on his fist and peered down his nose at him, smirk drawing his lips.

‘Kuroo’ spoke up, “Hoh? All eight million? Are you sure you can make it up, Chibi-chan?”

“You couldn’t even afford a school uniform; how do you plan to pay us back?” said the blonde guy, eyeing his white-and-pink tracksuit with no lack of judgment.

“I’ll...” Hinata glanced back at Yachi, her eyes glistening, and steeled his resolve, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Then, Chibi-chan, from here on,” the brunet guy’s voice, initially dropped, lilted upward as his amusement mounted, "You’ll be our bitch.”

“What.”

•

Hinata frowned at the smudges all over his lenses, ignoring the twins (both sets) measured him for his uniform.

He almost didn’t notice when Kuroo bent down to meet his eye-level and gently grasped the frames of his blue-light glasses. “Alright, Chibi-chan, we’ll be taking these. Though it doesn’t even seem like you need them, huh, since these lenses don’t really have any magnification?”

“Well, no, but since we have a lot of work on laptops here I thought they’d be better to have.”

Kuroo hummed and slipped them off his ears and nose, and all of the twins gawked at him as he blinked up at them.

“What?”

Osamu kicked Atsumu’s calf, and the Miyas dragged Bokuto away with them.

“Nothing,” said Kuroo, “Maybe they just forgot you’d have a face behind these.”

“Oh, I’ve done that before! Like when people are sick for a long time and they wear a mask, I kinda forget they have mouths!”

“Yeah, just like that.”

•

“What kind of coffee is this?” The brunet, now known to be Oikawa Tooru, asked, beckoning Hinata over with the most obnoxious “come-hither” motion to ever exist.

“Instant. I don’t really understand coffee, but this is what my mom buys. It’s just cheap enough that I still have money for lunch.”

Oikawa sputtered at Hinata’s lackluster funding for his nutrition, although his mind finished processing what was said about the coffee itself before he could really express any amount of disbelief at the former.

“What do you mean ‘instant’? Are the beans already ground or something?”

Hinata blinked. “Coffee’s made of beans?”

Oikawa sighed heavily and drew up to his full height, holding the coffee container skyward as a few girls approached for their hosting appointment.

“Alright, you know what? I’m up for a challenge! I’m going to try some commoner’s coffee!”

The girls in the clubroom gave shrieks of surprise, Oikawa’s announcement drawing the attention of the entire room. Hinata longingly and despondently stared outside at the people running around the track and beginning practices for their various sports, allowing himself to be dragged away by the club president.

“Darn rich people,” he mumbled.

•

Oikawa was very clingy, Hinata found. Every spare second he had at the club was spent with the other nearby, coddling him and encouraging him to learn up close. It was so draining that the Miya Twins and the Fraternals dragging him into their games was infinitely more appealing, but that could also be his bias for Bokuto coming into play.

Kuroo was cool, too, yes, and the Miya Twins gave him food, but Bokuto’s energy was so perfectly aligned with his that Kuroo whined about his brother being snatched away on multiple occasions.

This time, with Oikawa monologuing as dramatically as ever, Hinata had no sets of twins to free him from the absolutely boring speech. He spaced out so hard, he didn’t notice Oikawa coming closer and hugging him to his chest excitedly.

He shouted, the fright sending tears into his eyes, and he reached desperately at the tall trio nearby. “Help!”

All three of them instinctively drew closer, but it was the white-haired eyebrowless one who pulled him out of Oikawa’s grasp by the armpits, Hinata’s legs dangling in the air while the brunette sat stupefied.

“A-Aone-kun, you didn’t have to go so far...” Oikawa tried.

Hinata smiled at Aone in thanks and patted his head gently to express further gratitude. Whence he was placed down, Aone bowed to him, and he bowed back.

•

Nishinoya was a very fun person to be around, although their interactions were sparse. He shone under the attention from the girls, and if Hinata didn’t know the girls were paying for his time, he’d have assumed the reverse was true. But it made sense, you know, since Noya-san was just such a cool dude.

The girls cooed at him and giggled at his jokes, and his dorky personality coupled with his small-but-wild looks made him a charmer. He also offered Hinata cake on a frequent basis, and often accosted the others to make sure they ate up--especially Tsukishima, who seemed prickly enough that Hinata didn’t want to get near him with a ten foot pole.

Unfortunately, Tsukishima was also the one mostly in charge of handling his debt, so he could not actually be avoided. Hinata was assured by Akaashi that he’d remove any undue charges Tsukishima would add to the debt, although Hinata would’ve preferred he hadn’t said anything about those undue charges and just did the removals with Hinata none-the-wiser, as then he wouldn’t be paranoid about the things Tsukishima would charge him for.

•

Hinata hadn’t meant to attract the attention of one of Oikawa’s most attached clients. She gave off a weird vibe and when he mentioned her to Yachi, the blonde girl went a little paler than usual (which, while a frequent occurrence, didn’t fail to raise alarm bells in the redhead’s mind).

“She’s territorial,” Yachi managed, eventually, and Hinata had to go through all of the lessons the girl kindly drilled into his head in order to remember what that word meant.

“Oh. So why would she be interested in a guy at a host club? Isn’t he, like, one step from prostitution?” Yachi choked at that, shaking her head to fight down any amusement.

“I don’t think she thinks those other girls are a threat.”

Hinata hummed, “Well, she keeps glaring at me, so maybe she’s just a little dumb and confused.”

Yachi pursed her lips, barely able to keep her laughter contained.

•

Hinata wondered why Yachi’s schoolbag was tossed into the pond. Alongside it sat his, and as he began running through the halls to go attend to the issue, he spotted that client.

Hinata quite pointedly ignored her, continuing down the halls and stairs. He felt a small flame of rage light up in his chest at seeing Yachi’s notebooks scattered across the surface of the water, covers just buoyant enough that the papers were only starting to soak in water, and he prioritized getting her items out and organized before he could even ponder grabbing his own.

He’d been in the pond for twenty minutes, thankfully having managed to salvage most of her things, before a voice broke through the quiet of the grounds. “What are you doing?”

Hinata didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know it was Oikawa, his voice light and airy, with a hint of playful exasperation.

“I can’t find my wallet.”

“You’ll get sick with your clothes all wet. Can’t you just let it be?”

Oikawa didn’t seem to understand the necessity of what he’d likely consider pocket change. “I need the money for food. I’m not going to get paid for a couple days and I don’t want to starve in the meantime.”

There was a lengthy period of silence. He wondered if Oikawa left, trying desperately to make out the shape of his coin pouch amidst the colorful pebbles lining the bottom of the pond. He nearly growled in frustration as a series of ripples tore through surface, though as he heard the telltale sound of someone wading through water, he spotted the brunette with his pants rolled up and bare feet gingerly resting on the stone.

“What are you doing?” Hinata quarried, eyebrows drawn up in confusion.

Oikawa’s face was concentrated yet somewhat peaceful as he copied Hinata’s searching motions, fingers gliding across the smooth pebbles. A few strands of hair caught the water and were left with shimmering drips that occasionally fell back into the pond.

“I’m helping.”

He never turned to look away from the bottom, focused mostly on the task at hand. Even his distant, deeper, and yet airier voice conveyed how little attention he was giving his words, and Hinata could only wonder if this was the most genuine he’d ever heard the other in their past week of interactions.

“Why?”

“Well, why not? I mean, everyone tells me I’m dripping with good looks,” he chuckled, the breathy quality sending something through Hinata that made him duck his head down and resume seeking his funds.

The two sought it out for over ten minutes before getting any results. The small coin purse, shaped like a small black crow, sat cradled in Oikawa’s palm. He proffered the item to Hinata with a wink, the redhead unclasping it and sighing in relief at the dryness of its interior.

“Thanks, Grand King.”

As Hinata beamed up at the other, the reflected light from the water seemed to hit Oikawa’s eyes harder, as though a flare traveled across the distance between the earth and the sun solely for this moment. He held up a peace sign and smiled back at the other, wondering if such luminance could ever be reproduced.

(If it could, then he’d love to bottle some up and save it for a rainy day, but maybe there was a hint of greed in that thought.)

•

“Oh, dear, I can’t believe someone would do such a thing!” the client across from him cooed. Her face tilted down a bit, and shadows draped across her eyes and cheeks. “Still, I can’t believe you got Tooru to scrape through that filthy pond for you. He always has been excessively charitable.”

“Yeah,” Hinata mumbled, stuffing a bite of cake into his mouth. The sweetness was significantly dampened by the presence of the girl. What was her name, again? His focus shifted to trying to recall it.

“I couldn’t imagine having so little shame that I’d be a charity case, though. I mean, doesn’t it embarrass you to have Tooru waiting on you hand and foot?”

Yachi, who’d been standing just within earshot, turned to their conversation just then, a disgruntled look on her face. Despite the anxiety that spread quivers across her body from her sternum, she frowned heavily and managed to inquire, "Aren’t you just jealous?”

Something flashed across the clients face then: anger, most likely. Hinata was drawn out of his attempt at recollection by her hand shooting across the table to yank him over to her, a scream escaping her as they toppled to the ground. Teapots and cups burst apart upon contact with the pink tiles, some of the tea soaking into the knees of his gifted uniform pants as it puddled.

Hinata’s palms and wrists ached from the way they slammed against the floor, on either side of the client’s head. People were quick to crowd them, murmuring and gazing in horror.

“Help!” she cried, “He attacked me! He just jumped across the table, I--” she scooted out from under him, and he slowly sat back on his haunches before accidentally falling onto his bottom. The discomfort of his soaked clothing did little to distract him from the confusion welling within.

She crawled over to Oikawa whence the brunette stepped closer to the scene. He was the first one over, ever keen regarding the club’s new pet, but only after surveying the situation did he close the distance.

Her fingers clutched at Oikawa’s pant leg, creasing the fabric as she shivered with tears in her eyes. Hinata’s jaw was slack. Did he do something? Did he try to do anything to her while he was spaced out? He was sure she pulled him, but should he have been expecting such a thing and made to avoid it?

He slowly turned his eyes over to Yachi, whose face was creased in an anger he’d never quite seen before. Her meekness took a sideline to the frustration and disbelief drawing together her brows and tugging her lips downwards.

“Tooru, please, you have to do something. He was like an animal, I--”

Her desperate face fell into shock as warm water rushed across her face and scalp, soaking the top of her uniform dress. Her panting became a squeaking staccato, and she blinked as her brows drew up steadily.

“Tooru?” she whispered, before whipping her head around to the Miya Twins, who glared down at her, unimpressed. “What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me?! I--”

“God, you pigs sure like to squeal, don’tcha.”

Osamu glanced down at the jug in his grasp. “I oughtta grab another one at this rate.”

“Why did you--” Hinata startled as Yachi stepped in front of him.

“You pulled him to you! I saw it! You were envious that he got Oikawa-san’s attention and tried to frame him!” she blurted.

More whispers and gasps spread across their audience easily. Oikawa’s face was steely and impassive as the client stared up at him with a cocktail of hurt and anger. “You can’t believe her, Tooru, I--”

“You really are beautiful,” Oikawa interrupted, his fingers gliding under her chin.�� “But nothing more than that. It seems you’re not classy enough for our club, my dear, and so I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks, Hinata’s heart clenching with a mild bit of sympathy, before she got to her feet and took off, her broken shout of, “Tooru, you idiot--!” echoing through the clubroom.

“I’m sorry, ladies; regrettably, we’ll have to cut our time short for today.” Tsukishima said with his paper-thin smile. It dropped as Akaashi continued for him,

“All of you will receive a full refund of the costs for today’s appointments. You can also use those same funds to reschedule, if you’d like to. We deeply apologize for the inconvenience.”

The girls cooed and cheered, and Tsukishima barely kept his frown from forming.

Eventually the clients filed out of the clubroom, exclaiming their farewells to the hosts. Hinata and Yachi silently stared after them, not wanting to look back to the hosts surrounding them.

“So, what should I do about you?” Oikawa said, drawing Hinata’s reluctant attention. The appraising look and grasp of his own chin were not reassuring at all; Hinata and Yachi glanced at each other and gulped. “Hmm, Tsukki-chan?”

“Don’t call me that,” the bespectacled blonde groused, before pushing up his glasses and smirking. “Since our guests had to leave and receive refunds, our profits for today are at a zero. And because of the drama earlier, we have a few broken teapots and cups from one of our specialty sets, as well as a table that needs to be repaired. To make up for all the damages and overall loss... Akaashi?”

The ravenette typed into a calculator quickly. Bokuto hid behind a sinisterly-grinning Kuroo with his fingers half-heartedly covering his eyes from fear of Akaashi. Akaashi presented the calculator screen within a second.

“Approximately one hundred thousand yen.”

“H-Hundred...”

“Thou...-sand...” Yachi’s eyes swam. Hinata caught her as she half-fainted, both of them shaking with tears welling in their eyes.

“That’ll be added onto your debt, you two. You’d better hope one of your descendents pays it off.” Tsukishima’s smirk shaved additional years off their lives, and Hinata had to pull Yachi’s soul back from the air to shove it back into her body.

“Darn rich people,” he whined. Kuroo cackled.

••

That was fun ngl. Like, some things go slightly different than in OHSHC, but overall it has some of the same vibes I think

I feel like Bokuto and Akaashi as Honey and Mori respectively would be funnily fitting despite the roles I have them in here, but I think I’m gonna be fluid and loosey-goosey about who is which OHSHC character most of the time (since Noya isn’t entirely Honey-like and there are lots of people who can fit different roles). Kenma and/or Kuroo can fit Kyoya and Tamaki roles too, now that I think about it. Damn this show for having so many characters.

Also this is a nightmare to tag since a lot of characters have multiple spellings for their names and there are so many characters. Heck, that’s why I wrote all the ships at the top!

Anyway, I hope y’all liked it! Might write more if asked

Also, should I cross-post some of this to Ao3?

#akaashi keiji akashi #tsukishima tsukki kei #nishinoya yu yuu #aone takanobu #ushijima wakatoshi #hinata shoyo shouyou shouyo shoyou #oikawa tooru tohru toru #hyakuzawa yudai yuudai #bokuto kotaro koutaro kotarou koutarou #kuroo tetsuroo kuro tetsuro #tetsurou #miya osamu #miya atsumu #miya twins #yachi hitoka #ouran hs hc au #haikyu haikyuu hq

73 notes · View notes

eldianlyra · 3 years

Text

haikyuu!! as incorrect quotes from brooklyn99

kuroo: i’m not gonna let late night practise win. me and my main man bo are about to get a service ace. isn’t that right, kou?

bokuto: oh you know we will. we’ll call ourselves ‘the night boys’!

kuroo: ..kinda sounds like a male escort service

bokuto: the midnight men.

kuroo: even worse

bokuto: the dark stallions!

kuroo: looks like we’re going with the night boys!

kuroo: the plan is to lure them into the fun zone and ambush ‘em. any questions?

bokuto: yes! did you miss us? quick follow up, did you ever look up at the moon and wonder if i was looking at it too?

kuroo:

kuroo: yes.

bokuto: i knew it!

kuroo: you know what is tight? us practising together again *high fives daichi*

daichi : swerve!

kuroo: whoo!!

bokuto: ... yeah, we say ‘noice’ not ‘swerve’ ... look i’m so sorry but i don’t think there’s room for a third person.. kuroo we should practise solo

kuroo: oh hey now bo let’s not be hasty, i mean, daichi’s been practising for longer than we have. and three people are better than two!

bokuto: three’s a crowd everybody knows that...

kuroo: well what about in the lion king, hmm? when jimone and purr boy become friends with steamboat

bokuto: that’s not the names. it’s simba, timon, and pumbaa, but i appreciate you trying, it really is the perfect analogy... all right, i’m in. daichi can practice with us

yachi: i’m worried you don’t find me interesting.

kiyoko:

yachi: i’m going to pretend someone texted me. bloop! *checks phone*

this one is so long and I don't even think it's that funny

suna, standing on stage at an antique auction: hello everyone, my name is suna rintarou and i will be your guest auctioneer this evening.

atsumu, walking around, looking for kita to prank him:

suna: so many faces to look at...

kita:

suna: i won a radio contest and i’m so excited to be here tonight to sell you all some of these cool old greek things

suna: our first item up for bid is lot number 344, it is this old vase, vase (pronounced differently) if ya nasty

suna: it was made in the year... five

suna: and depicts the classic Greek fable... uh... *leans down to look* boy meets girl, boy has goat legs, and on the back *turns vase around* just a whole bunch of wheat. so let’s start the bidding at... ten dollars *everyone’s hand goes up* okay... started way too low

*later at the bidding*

suna: i have 85, do i have 90, i have 90 from the man *points* with the face at table four

atsumu (mouthing): not kita

aran: this is terrible, you don’t know what you’re doing

suna: aran...?

aran: yeah, that’s right, i collect antiques. i’m a serious person. i’m writing a movie right now about the russian revolution.

suna: oh really? who does kita-san play in it?

aran: haha, it’s a serious movie... trotsky

atsumu (mouthing again): hurry it up

suna: all right, back to this plate please, i think you could use it for a variety of things-

aran, now standing on the stage: new item up here, how much you guys want to pay for me to stick my socks in this morons mouth?

osamu: i will!

suna: did volleyball legend miya osamu just bid a thousand dollars to put a sock in my mouth?

osamu: you bet.

aran: but let’s get it going a bit higher-

suna: seriously, back to the plate-

*both talking over each other*

aran: boom! sold to miya osamu! *to suna* congratulations, you’re getting a sock in your mouth. 13000 dollars. miya osamu.

osamu: can i stick the sock in his mouth? i’ll play extra

suna: yes you can because i just sold my item to the man *points at kita* in the grey shirt at table eighteen! congratulations, you’ve been pranked

yamaguchi: alright listen up! what you’re about to see if highly disturbing but please no comments. this man is in pain so above all else, be kind.

tsukishima, wearing an all black outfit:

ukai: good morning, tsukishima

tsukishima: let’s just get it out there. akiteru left for college last night. this is what i’m like now. life is a pit.

noya: excuse me? i don’t understand , did you already have a matrix get up at home, for some reason?

tsukishima: no noya-san. i bought this with the money i was going to spend on a bunk bed for our shared bedroom.

bokuto: i’m so sorry, tsukki

tsukishima: don’t be. i’m settling into the darkness nicely. *looking at kenma* i definitely get you now.

akaashi: what you got there, tsukishima?

tsukishima: earplugs in a bag. nothing brings me joy anymore, not even music. now i only hear for conversation.

#send help #this is a cry for help #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#kuroo tetsurou #bokuto koutaro #sawamura daichi #yachi hitoka #kiyoko shimizu #suna rintarou #miya atsumu #miya osamu #aran ojiro #kita shinsuke #yamaguchi tadashi #ukai keishin #akaashi keiji #nishinoya yuu

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

One Shot- To The Stars And Back

Intro: Steve and Katie receive a message which Tony left before his death.

Warnings: “Language!”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: This was originally a full chapter, however I as I ended up publishing Stark Spangled Man I stripped out the flashback, and it left me with this little mini. It always sat in my head that Tony would leave personalised messages for Katie and Steve, along with the rest of his family, not just the generic one we saw at his funeral so here we are.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“Happy?” Katie frowned momentarily as the man strode into her kitchen, followed by Steve. “Wasn’t expecting to see you today, not that you’re not welcome, of course you are.” She hastily added.

“It’s okay, Kiddo, I know what you meant.” He chuckled softly “The kids not here?” “Jamie’s gone to the park with Bucky and Sam, and Emmy’s taken Lucky for a walk.” She answered. “Why, do we need them?”

“No, I was just gonna say hi but I’ll see them tomorrow I suppose.” He smiled sadly at the thought of the funeral. “But, anyway, I came to deliver this. It turns out even, well, even when he’s gone your brother has me running errands.”

Katie smiled softly as he held up the box in front of her.

“He left three. One for you and Steve, one for Pepper and Morgan, and one for his Funeral….so…”

“His Funeral?” Steve frowned, as Katie opened a drawer and retrieved a knife before she walked over to the table. She had a feeling she knew what was in there, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she carefully slit the tape on the cardboard box and took a breath as she realised she was right.

Inside was an Iron Man helmet, one of his many spares from his suits over the years.

“He’s erm, ” she took a breath as she instantly recognised which suit this had come from. “He’ll have left a message or something, like he did all those years ago from Tennessee.”

Happy nodded. “He did. The boxes arrived at the house today. Along with instructions that if he had, you know, then they were to be distributed accordingly.”

“Thanks.” Katie set the helmet on the table and glancing into the box. There was another, smaller package inside, to which an envelope was attached. She smiled as she read her brother’s handwriting on the front. It simply said ‘Spangles’.

“We were just about to get lunch.” Steve tore his eyes away from Katie as he looked to Happy. “Do you want to join us?”

“Thanks but I should be getting back.” Happy declined the offer politely. “Stuff to do before tomorrow.”

Katie gave him a small smile, placing the smaller box on the table “Can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me neither.” Happy swallowed, dropping a hand to her shoulder “But we’ll get through it. We always do, huh?”

“I’ll see you out.” Steve said, as Happy gave Katie a hug before he nodded and the two men left the room.

Katie looked at the helmet which now sat on the table, and she took a deep breath before she picked it up and looked straight into the eye sockets. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, resting her forehead against the cool metal she held in her hands. She had no idea which suit this was from, but then again Tony had made so many of the damned things, it could be Mk500 for all she knew. The tears began to fall down her face as she screwed her eyes shut, head pressed against the helmet, before gently hands pried it from hers.

“Hey,” Steve spoke softly, dropping into the seat next to her, placing the helmet on the table. “Come here.”

She turned into him, pressing her face to his chest as she shook with silent sobs. His hand gently rubbed her back as he soothed her, waiting for her to calm down.

“Sorry,” She pulled back. “Stop apologising.” Steve shook his head, wiping her tears with his thumbs. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Katie took a deep breath and glanced at the helmet, before she remembered something. “Oh, here.” She reached out for the smaller box, and nudged it towards him. “This was in there for you.” Steve frowned and took the box, looking at the envelope. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes “That fucking nickname.”

“Open it.” Katie urged. “I wanna see what it is.”

Smiling at her ever impatient nature, Steve tore the envelope open. His eyes scanned the writing and his brow furrowed slightly, before his lips turned up in a soft smile and he handed the note to her.

Hey Old Man. My dad once told me that no amount of money can buy a second of time, yet he had a hell of a lot of expensive watches, so go figure. This particular one, however, I couldn’t auction for charity. I always intended to pass it to you, one way or another. And if you’re reading this note you’re getting it after my demise…so I best explain.

I did a bit of digging and it turns out that most of the guys involved in ‘Operation Rebirth’ and the Howling Comandos got one of these post the War. It’s a Wartime Rolex Oyster, probably worth a fair dime or two but the sentiment makes it priceless as you’ll see when you look at it. (Here’s a clue- check the back!) It only feels right that you have it. I had intended to pass it to you for your 40th,or your 107th, whatever you wanna call it, but again, as you’re reading this I won’t be there for that.

I know Jamie’s surname is Rogers but there is half Stark in him so he’s not a complete lost cause, and maybe when he’s older you can pass this down to him. Or if you have any more kids that are boys, I dunno, maybe you can give them a strap each or something. Whatever.

I’m also assuming you’ll be reading this before watching the message I left as we both know Kiddo is an impatient brat so I’ll leave it there, I don’ t wanna spoil my heartfelt speech too much.

Whilst Katie was reading, Steve opened the box and he gently took the watch in his hand. It was silver, with a black leather strap and a simple, classic face. He studied at it before he turned it over and he instantly felt a lump in his throat. Engraved on the back was the Howling Commando emblem- they had adopted the wings from his helmet which had adorned their uniforms in whichever place they chose- with the words ‘To The Captain’ arched over the top in copper slate writing.

He gently handed it to Katie and she glanced down at it, turning it over to read the inscription, her fingers running over the writing.

“Wow.” She whispered, wiping her eyes “I’ve never seen this before.”

“It’s erm, ” Steve cleared his throat, his voice thick, “it’s pretty…”

“Awesome.” Katie smiled up at him.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded as she handed it back to him, and he placed it back in the leather box, setting it to one side. Seeing that had brought a wave of emotions crashing back over him. Nostalgia, slight sadness at the loss of not just Tony but his other friends, and pride.

Pride that even after he was gone they’d remembered him in such a touching and genuine way.

Shaking himself out of it, he looked at Katie and then nodded to the helmet. “Do you wanna do it now or…” She nodded and picked it up in a shaking hand, before she put it on.

“Retinal Scan authenticated” FRIDAY’s voice spoke “Greetings Mrs Rogers…accessing Stark Secure Server, hologram projection activated.”

Katie removed the helmet and placed it on the table, pointing it away from them as the footage beamed out from the eye sockets. She took a deep breath as the hologramatic form of her brother appeared and he smiled at them.

“Hey Kiddo.” He spoke, “Cap…”

Katie wanted to speak back, so badly, but she knew it was pointless, he wasn’t actually there. Steve gently reached for her hand and she linked her fingers into his.

“So, I thought I better record a message, you know just in case it all goes sideways tomorrow.” Tony sniffed, sitting down on a chair. “I’ve left one for Pepper and Morgan too and the gang, but I wanted to leave you your own. I hope that you’re watching this back and our plan worked, that everyone came back and we did it,” he took a deep breath, “but there’s a couple of things I wanna get out of the way before we get into the soppy shit. So, first off, I’m leaving half my shares of Stark Industries to you, the other half goes to Pepper who will more than likely keep it for Moo once she’s old enough. If you both come to the decision to sell then, that’s cool. It’s probably run its course anyway. If not then good luck taking it in whatever direction you choose, not that you need luck, you’ve proven yourself more than capable of running it pretty much singlehandedly over the last five years.”

Katie took a deep breath and wiped at her eyes with her spare hand, the one that was entwined with Steve’s tightened around his fingers.

“Second, most of the cash assets I have pass to Pepper, but I’ve left instructions that there’s some for you as well. I know you don’t need it but I want you to use it for the kids, however many you end up with. Tell them Uncle Nee wanted to leave them something. And thirdly, the house in Malibu. I knew we never got round to rebuilding it but I still own the land and I want you to have it, Kiddo. That was our home for years and I watched you grow up there into the strong, beautiful woman you became so it only feels right. Plus it’s where we buried that fucking turkey too so it’s probably haunted by the evil bastard anyway. There’s a fund set up as well which should let you rebuild it however you want.

I know you probably won’t want to move from Brooklyn, I mean Cap’s lived there pretty much all his life, well, maybe, if you don’t count the sixty-five years doing time as a Capsicle or the time in DC and then wherever the hell you were when, well, you know,” Tony waved his hand, “whatever, the point is you can rebuild it how you want and use it how you want, nice little holiday home maybe.” Katie took a shuddering breath as now her tears were falling thick and fast. She’d forgotten all about that house, their home that had been destroyed. The fact that Tony had never sold the land so she could have it back in some form was astounding and overwhelming at the same time.

“So now that’s dealt with, onto the good stuff. First off, Spangles.” Tony spoke and Steve shifted slightly “I know we’ve had our differences, but I just wanted you to know when it comes to Katie I trust you implicitly, I think I always have done in a way. I never really had any doubts in my mind since that day I spoke to you in DC. To be honest you’re such a straight guy I trust you with pretty much anything, well, maybe not quite, I’m still not sure about our driving but that’s a different story.” Tony winked and Steve spluttered a chuckle. The fact that Captain America was a bit of a speed demon behind the wheel and been a long running joke amongst the Avengers since the beginning. “You’re a good man with a good heart, everyone knows this, I mean that’s the reason you were chosen for the serum anyway isn’t it? Because it makes the good better. I know I’m leaving my girl in good hands, but just so you know,” he raised his fingers to his eyes in the familiar ‘I’m watching you’ sign and Steve smiled, “and that won’t stop now, because if you ever do let her down I’ll make it my mission to haunt you for the rest of your life.” Tony smiled “But I know you won’t. And because I know you probably still don’t believe me I wanted to tell you once and for all that I don’t blame you for any of the shit that went down. I Love you buddy, Take it easy.” Steve took a deep breath and wiped his tears with his spare hand as Katie gently squeezed his other again as hologram Tony shifted in his seat and his attention turned to Katie.

“Kiddo,” he sighed, “I don’t even know where to start. I know I’ve said it and said it again, but my biggest achievement in life will always be how well and good and honest and…amazing you turned out, even with me as a role model. If Moo turns out to be anything like you when she’s older then…” he trailed off and shrugged, “well, I only wish I was gonna be there to see it, oh, and that reminds me, Spangles I’m counting on you to be there to vet all potential boyfriends for suitability.” Both Katie and Steve let out a watery chuckle at that.

“But yeah, where was I…oh, right…I watched how you took Emmy under your wing, then when you had Jamie and how they’re both growing into spectacular people, it’s awesome and I really couldn’t be any prouder of the woman you became. Never lose that will to do the right thing, never lose that Stark stubbornness, never lose that streak of ferocity that leaves everyone quaking in their boots. After everything you’ve been through, I’m just sorry that I’m bringing more shitty times to your door by meeting an untimely death, but I know you’ll get through the other side, you always do. Just remember, this was my choice to fight, my choice. So I don’t want anyone thinking they’re to blame. You know, I think, deep down, I’ve always known it would end this way ever since New York. And rather this than some crazy old bastard rattling round in a home not knowing what day it is.”

Katie took another deep breath as Tony wiped his hand down his face.

“Anyway, please make sure they don’t play any soppy shit at my funeral. AC/DC, Queen or Led Zep will suffice, maybe some Train, I dunno.” He winked and Katie smiled through her tears “And if Ross is there, give him this from me.” He raised his middle finger of his right hand before he chuckled. “But I don’t know why I’m recording all of this anyway as I’m sure it’s gonna work out. I’ll probably be sat here watching it back and grimacing at how ridiculously stupid I sound and look, but just in case…I want you to remember that I love you to the stars and back my girl, I always will, and I’m beyond proud of you.”

And with that the message cut off, leaving the kitchen quiet bar Katie’s shaking, soft sobs. Steve gently turned towards her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in for a hug. She pressed her face into his chest, her hands sliding around his back where she gripped at his shirt her brother’s final goodbye to her echoing in her head.

**** Chapter 60

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #Katie Stark #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #mcu #mcu fanfic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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prorevenge · 4 years

Text

Veteran Mechanic taking advantage of active duty military and retirees messes with the wrong person and his buddy goes down with him.

When this started all I was trying to do was get out of paying for something I didn’t need and never asked for. By the end I was going for blood as someone else enacted their revenge.

This happened back in 2002 on Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego. I was stationed down the way at 32nd Street Naval Base for my MIlitary Occupation Specialty school and was a new Lance Corporal (E3) at the time. I had a 1994 Dodge Spirit with 180K miles or so and I’d just driven it across the country. I bought it a few days before leaving KS at an Auto auction. A couple weeks into my school it died, at the gate, next to the sentry.

After an initial freak out that I was a suicide bomber and the subsequent search of me and my car everyone calms down and they help push my car to the top of the hill so I can coast down the other side and into the auto repair shop parking lot which thankfully went without incident.

Before I go in I call my dad and then his cousin. My dad knows a ton about cars and his cousin is a mechanic with his own very successful shop (like a dozen work bays and they handle everything from regular cars to farm equipment to semis). I know a fair bit about cars on my own but he knows everything. Between us we decide it looks like the distributor or the distributor cap is the issue. My dad’s cousin says it’s a common issue on Spirits from this time and recommends I get it fixed here by a real mechanic. Now at this point it’s important to note his shop did a very thorough once over for me after I bought the car and gave me good notes on the condition of the car in writing, from his shop.

I go in and talk to the guy at the counter. They’re not too busy and pull it into a bay and run their diagnostics, same thing. Distributor cap. Cool. I get the services agreement saying they’ll replace it and call me if they find anything else. I hear nothing until the end of the week when they call and say my car is ready. When I get there they present me with a bill for like $1400!

Wow. Just wow. Now my heart has stopped beating and I say something about that being a lot for a distributor cap. The guy who owns the place (I find out he’s a veteran from way back) breaks off talking to a Master Sergeant (MSgt - E8) and comes over to talk to me. He starts telling me about how it was much worse than they originally thought and they ended up having to replace my radiator (plus hoses) and my timing belt and a head gasket. I’m still in shock and say something like the head gasket was fine two weeks ago and so was the radiator and the timing. He puts his hand on my shoulder and tells me I don’t know what I’m talking about bc they’ve been waiting to fail for a long time now.

I’m confused now and say that’s not possible. I bought it two weeks ago and... He cuts me off and says I was sold a complete lemon and I should have had it checked. He says he felt bad for me and this should have cost over $2000 but he cut me a deal and he can work with me in an installment plan but will have to charge me interest. Now I’m suspicious and starting to get pissed and I say the only repair I authorized was a distributor cap and they should have called me before doing anything else and I start to explain I’ve got paperwork from the inspection I had done that said those other things were fine. I’m going to get it from the car and the MSgt grabs me by the arm and starts telling me I’m being ungrateful and disrespectful to a respected mechanic and business owner and asks me if I’m implying he’s cheating me. Every time I try to open my mouth he cuts me off and keeps telling the owner not to worry, he’ll make sure this young pup pays what is owed. He’s threatening to take me over to admin and have my pay docked.

Now I’m angry and a bit scared. Another Marine intervenes and says that’s a little extreme and to let me say my piece. I get permission to get into my car to get my maintenance history which includes an oil change, the inspection documentation and the original quote for the distributor cap work. At this point there’s a crowd of customers and some other passers by. The owner of the garage and MSgt are in full theater mode talking about how I’m not appreciating the huge help they’ve been and I’m trying to get out of paying for work I asked for. Now I’m mostly just pissed.

I come in and the MSgt cuts me off and tells me to be careful how I talk to his friend. I ask the MSgt if he’s going to let me speak or keep interrupting me while I’m in a private conversation with a business owner. I ask him if he owns part of the shop (no) and ask why he’s so interested in not hearing a Marine out. Then I get out the original statement of services and say the distributor cap is all I agreed to. I also ask why he didn’t call me and he says he called my barracks several times and left messages including ones telling me the car was undrivable until the repairs were made so he went with the lowest cost option to get me back on the road. Oops. I say, that’s interesting, the only number I gave you is my cell phone and I don’t have any messages or even attempted calls until the previous evening when they left a message that my car was ready. I show everyone my call history (including a Captain who’s very interested and standing quietly by). The MSgt has backed off and the Capt is quietly talking to him off on the side.

Now the owner is backpedaling a bit and saying he was thinking of a different customer but he’s already made the replacement and has to charge me for the work. Then I pull out the stuff from the inspection and it has some fun little statements in it. Statements like: Timing belt good, timing good. Check again in 30K miles. Radiator, appears to be recently replaced. All hoses new in last 6 months. Nothing on the head gasket but there’s a statement that there are no leaks in that area which was why he said he had to replace it. I say he can put all of my original stuff back on because all I’m paying for is the distributor cap work. He gets red faced and starts demanding I pay for the labor and he can’t put things back on because they were too badly damaged in the removal process.

Now some old retired guy chimes in from the back and asks “what kind of mechanic damages things when they take them apart?” The owner drags out my radiator and there is a giant hole in one side that looks like it was stabbed with a crowbar. Now a couple other people (locals) are questioning past situations where he ‘helped them’ out with repairs they didn’t know they needed. The MSgt tried to walk off and a Colonel and a Sergeant Major in civilian attire post him to the side for a later conversation. The Capt pulls me aside and asks to see the info I have and to see my phone again and steps behind the counter to photocopy it all. He has a truly evil grin. Turns out he’s a prior Enlisted former infantry Marine who became an Officer after going back to college. He has suspected this shop of being crooked for a while but never had enough proof. He’s on the commanding general’s staff and they were looking into complaints from permanent personnel and retirees in the area. The owner is sweating bullets now. I only pay for the distributor cap and get a statement that says my balance is zero so he doesn’t try anything in the future.

The Capt takes me to dinner and gets my info and basically a statement from me of what happened. After dinner he takes me back to his office while he types up something for me to sign about the whole incident and I call Verizon to get them to fax over the incoming / outgoing calls from my number from the past week. He explains that the MSgt has been steering a lot of customers to his buddy and they suspect he’s getting kick backs. The Capt and several others have been taking their cars there for months to try to catch the guy doing what he did to me. The MSgt sealed his fate when he started threatening to take my pay. They suspected he was getting kickbacks or favors in exchange for hooking up his buddy. Now he has the justification he needs to formally look into the MSgt. The Capt was thrilled and bought me a 6 pack for using up so much of my Friday evening.

I wasn’t around long enough to see the outcome but when I left there were auditors from base services going through the business with a fine tooth comb and it was a legal matter. Once something like that gets started it probably means a business and the owners will get kicked out of the on base location (the base owns the building and the owner leases it). He and his business would also end up blacklisted as a place known for taking advantage of service members. Most commands give this out to people who check in so no one patronizes them.

It still boggles my mind that one veteran would try to use that status to take advantage of others. Or that a senior Marine would do that to other Marines. I know there are people out there like that but having the shared common background we do, I expect better.

(source) story by (/u/earthrogue)

#prorevenge #by /u/earthrogue #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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1989dreamer · 3 years

Text

FTH-2020-Seventy-Five Percent

For @fandomtrumpshate‘s 2020 auction, big thanks to @evanesdust for bidding on me and for being so patient.

AO3 link

Summary: Stiles and Derek are roommates at college, and living together is going well considering Stiles is harboring the hugest crush on Derek. When Derek needs an emergency date to his sister's tenth anniversary dinner, Stiles agrees. He doesn't expect it to get messy. He's kept his feelings in check for three and a half years. Spoiler alert: it gets really messy.

From this prompt. “We’re fake-dating and I’m supposed to publicly break up with you but you’ve been irritating me lately so instead of dumping you I publicly proposed to mess up your plan and now we’re getting married, fuck” au.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Fake Dating, Pining/Mutual Pining, Minor Misunderstanding, Human AU (full tags can be found on AO3).

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“I need a date,” Derek says apropos of nothing, and Stiles carefully sets down his brush, leans across the aisle, and stares at his friend. Derek flushes. “I mean,” he all but spits out between gritted teeth, “that my sister is having her tenth anniversary dinner, and I am the only single one in the family. If I don’t have a date, I’ll spend the whole time being accosted by my relatives.”

“And that’s my problem how?”Stiles asks. He goes back to his painting. The life model flexes just a tiny bit, and Stiles rolls his eyes at him.

“It’s your problem now because I will pay you to come with me,” Derek says, an undercurrent of threat in his voice. Or tears. Could be tears. Derek sounds mad when he’s about to cry sometimes.

Stiles sets his brush down again. Of course Derek would hit him where it hurts the most. All of Stiles’ meager earnings from his part-time job go toward keeping his Jeep running so that he can make the trek back up north to visit his dad when he’s on break from school.

“How much?” he demands, hating himself for being this easy.

Derek looks relieved. It’s a good look for him. Although, Derek looking good is any day of the week. “Thanks. Like three hundred for the day of? Maybe fifty for each additional thing that comes up?”

“And how often will things come up?”

Derek shrugs. “Maybe once or twice. I’m sure at least some of my family will want to call you to make sure that you’re real.”

Stiles claps a hand to his chest. “You haven’t told them about me?” he asks, pretending to be scandalized.

It’s Derek’s turn to roll his eyes. “I have told them about you, but in the context that you’re my best friend at college and we live on opposite sides of the state.”

“So they don’t think I’m real?” Stiles asks, not sure if he should be insulted or not.

“The most common thing I’m asked about you is ‘What is a Stiles?’” Derek grins, private and sort of cheery. “I’ve kind of stopped referring to you by name now. Just easier that way.”

“Hardy har har.” Stiles pokes Derek. To be completely fair, their freshman year, when Stiles would go home, he’d complain to his dad about his unfairly attractive, selfish, loud, attractive roommate. His dad had been convinced that Derek didn’t exist until he met him when Stiles was emptying his dorm room.

Now he and Derek have an apartment off campus, and Dad keeps trying to get Stiles to invite Derek to Beacon Hills because he claims he should at least get to intimidate his son’s future husband before their wedding.

Never mind that Derek has never even been seen with any dates, much less given Stiles any hope that he could possibly have a chance with him.

Until now. Except not really, because Derek just needs a pretend boyfriend, not an actual boyfriend.

“Why me?” Stiles asks, squinting suspiciously at Derek as he tries and fails to draw the absolute lounge of the life model. Stiles is recommending that Isaac never model again. It’s too much ego and not enough clothes, although Isaac did keep his scarf draped artfully around his neck when he dropped trou. “Why not Boyd or Erica? I’m sure either of them would be pleased to play Derek Hale’s date for a night.”

Derek shakes his head. “Both of them have already met my family. And so has Isaac. We were all friends in high school. You’re the only one I talk about regularly. It’d seem too weird if you weren’t the guy I was secretly pining after all these years.”

Stiles intensifies his squint. “Am I?” he asks bluntly.

“Are you what?” Derek refuses to make eye contact, making quick lines with his charcoal across his drawing of Isaac.

“Am I the guy you secretly pine after?”

“No…?”

Stiles throws his brush at Derek, not even a little sorry when it smacks against his chest and Derek complains that he’s wearing his favorite shirt. It’s not his favorite shirt. Stiles stole that a year ago and has yet to return it.

He’s a bit of a stalker. It’s a habit he’s trying to break. He will break. When he and Derek have graduated and gone their separate ways. When all they’ll be in a few years is the occasional drinking buddy, living too far to justify visiting more than once every couple years, work and life getting in the way of their friendship.

Stiles shakes himself. “So don’t make it a question.”

Derek sighs in defeat, handing Stiles his brush back. “Look, Laura already thinks that you’re my secret boyfriend.”

“I thought they thought I didn’t exist,” Stiles says, bitterly. He takes the brush and lays it down, turning to face Derek. Then he gives Derek a tissue to at least wipe off most of the paint. Too bad it’s oil and will stain.

“Laura helped me move in this year. She saw you and your dad from a distance and I pointed you out.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “I could have met your sister?”

Derek squirms. “Yes?” he hedges. “But she was asking all these weird questions like our first kiss, where we go on dates, if we’ve gone all the way yet. I didn’t want you to deal with that, so I distracted her until she had to leave.”

“So I get to meet her now?”

Derek nods. “It is her anniversary after all.”

“Cool.”

Then Stiles ignores Derek in favor of finishing as much of his painting as he can before class lets out.

~ * ~

Lunch is leftover chili with homemade cornbread that Derek made earlier. Stiles taps a pen on some paper, thinking over all the things he knows he should put into a contract of sorts for his and Derek’s arrangement.

Stuff like pet names, PDA, just what they’ve “done” as a couple, how long they’ve been dating, and just how long they are supposed to be together before they break up.

Derek sees the list, scratches out pet names—“Trauma,” he mutters as explanation—and adds the terms of payment as well. He also writes down that the breakup should be public so that Derek can take time to “recover” without his family breathing down his neck.

Overall, there’s nothing really objectionable to pretending to date Derek aside from the fact that Stiles would much rather actually date Derek, but how to tell your presumably-straight roommate that you wanna suck his dick and kiss his lips?

Derek gathers the dishes and starts washing them. “Hey, so, my lab is today, so I’ll see you after 5:00. We can talk more when I get home.”

“Sure thing.” Stiles has to run himself or he’d stay and watch Derek clean up. It’s almost like a dance when Derek really gets into it. Stiles likes to park his butt on the couch and watch him while he pretends to do his homework. If Derek’s lab runs late, it explains why he’s cleaning now. Which means that not only will Stiles miss it because he needs to go to class, but it will be his turn to cook and clean tomorrow.

Ugh.

Stiles had considered Derek selfish freshman year because Derek hadn’t known how to share a room. He’s not sure why though, it’s not like they were each other’s first roommates either. Now Stiles feels selfish because he doesn’t mind cooking or doing chores but he had enough of that at home and was hoping to relax at college.

“Hey, see you tonight?” he asks, Derek waves in response.

Stiles goes to class, the pit of his stomach rebelling with every step. Why are things different now? Derek doesn’t want to date Stiles. He just wants to get his family off his back.

Concentration is out the window, so Stiles just spends all his class time thinking up the various scenarios that his and Derek’s plot could go so, so sideways.

By the time he makes it back to an empty and sparkling apartment, he’s nearer to a panic attack than he has ever been in the last three years including the whole fiasco with his first roommate during freshman year.

Stiles goes to wash his face, hoping that the cold shocks his system enough for him to stave off the attack, but Derek finds him there a few hours later, and Stiles has no memory of it.

Derek gentles him through the remainder of his attack, sets him up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate and his favorite movie, and then just sits in silence while Stiles tries to process the fact that he just had a goddamn panic attack over pretend dating his roommate.

After another movie, Derek moves onto the couch, letting Stiles snuggle into his side.

“All good?” he asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “I will be though.” He waits for a few minutes, long enough for Derek to lean against him and start drowsing. “Tell me about your family.”

Derek yawns. “Well, you know Laura, the one who’s celebrating. She’s older than me, by like a million years. Made her insufferable growing up. And then there’s Cora, who’s about four years younger than me. We were rivals growing up. Every crush I had, she had too. And she’s kissed about half of them. I have a couple older brothers who are even older than Laura and even more insufferable, but in the way that us younger Hales are the dirt under their shoes. Especially my youngest sister. She’s the baby of the family and the most normal. But I guess it’s because my parents were tired when they got around to raising her.”

“Hmm, so many Hales to meet.” Stiles’ heart beats extra hard at that. Not only does he have to pretend to date Derek, but he has to pretend to date Derek in front of—Stiles counts on his fingers—seven Hales that aren’t Derek. Five sibling Hales and two parent Hales.

“And my uncle Peter,” Derek adds, drowsily. “He’s a dickhead. He’s also as old as my brothers but he was far more invested in causing drama with the younger Hales.”

“Laura too?”

Derek nods. “Laura especially. He almost wasn’t invited to her wedding. I will be very surprised if he doesn’t do something that gets him kicked out of her anniversary dinner.”

“And you want me to meet them?”

“Well,” Derek hedges, and that hurts so much and so viscerally that Stiles climbs off the couch and goes to the kitchen to pretend to drink a glass of water from the tap. Derek follows him after a minute. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want you to meet them. You’re my best friend. It’s just that they don’t have the greatest track record with people I bring home.”

“What, like I’m not good enough for you?” Stiles fans the flare of anger growing in his chest. Anything but another panic attack is preferred.

Derek sighs. “It’s a dumb test. I think everyone goes through it, but I don’t know because I don’t participate. I mean, it’s dumb to make your sister’s boyfriend hate her family when before he wanted to be with her, right? It’s like we’re trying to scare them off.”

“So like they’re not good enough for the family,” Stiles repeats.

Derek’s shoulders fall. “I guess. I always hated it, so I wouldn’t bring anyone home so that they couldn’t do that to them.”

“Partners,” Stiles points out.

“What?”

“You said ‘sister’s boyfriend,’ so this assholery only happens with potential partners. Is that it?”

Derek frowns at him before nodding, understanding dawning on his face. “Yeah. That’s it.”

“So, I’ve never met your family because…?”

The absolute look of panic that flashes across Derek’s face is in parts thrilling and heartbreaking to see.

“I understand,” Stiles says. “Well, it just means that I truly am the right choice of friend to take home to mother.”

Derek barks out a strangled laugh. “Yeah, sure. Please don’t call my mom ‘Mother.’ It makes her unreasonably angry. I think she thinks it makes her sound old. I think she sounds older when my nieces and nephews call her grandma.”

“How many nieces and nephews do you have?” Stiles asks, suddenly, acutely aware of just how much he doesn’t know about Derek. It makes him feel like a chronic over sharer and like Derek doesn’t fully trust him.

Derek shrugs. “I think Laura has three kids and my brothers each have two, but that was last Christmas so they could all have more on the way. I have five nieces and two nephews that I know of.”

“And we’re driving down to Chula Vista, right?”

Derek looks relieved, grabbing at Stiles’ floatation device of a conversation change. “Yeah, yes! Definitely. I mean, it’s about seven hours. We could take a flight down, it’d probably be quicker, but more expensive. And besides, this means that we can leave whenever either of us want to.”

“Yeah, how’s that going to work?” Stiles points, and they head back to the couch. Derek sits, angled so that his knee is brushing Stiles’. “Do I just say, ‘Laura insulted me, I want to go back to college now’?”

“Absolutely yes. If any of my family makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, let me know, and we’ll leave as soon as possible.”

It’s a nice reassurance, and Stiles hopes to assuage all his fears as easily, so he and Derek spend the rest of the night, until Derek falls asleep, discussing the finer matters of how to “date” a Hale.

~ * ~

The rest of the week until Derek’s sister’s tenth anniversary dinner blurs by. Lots of packing for what is essentially just a day and a half, getting Boyd to agree to look in on the apartment even though they have no pets or plants that require sitting, and arguing over whose car they’re taking. In the end, Derek agrees to allow Stiles to drive his Camaro for a short stint, and they depart, happily, on Friday after classes.

The drive is uneventful, even when Derek oversleeps the first leg and Stiles ends up driving two thirds of the way to their destination. Derek doesn’t even grump about it, just smiles dopily until he notices Stiles looking at him, and then he steps on the gas.

They pull into the drive of an enormous house at about 11:00 pm. The whole house is lit up. Stiles snorts awake to stare at it.

“That’s your house?” he squeaks.

Derek shifts, uncomfortable. “My parents’ house,” he says. “They’re rich. I’m not.”

“It’s a big house.”

“Yeah. That’s because my uncle and his family live with them, and I think Cora still lives at home and so does Laura and her family.”

“And you? Are you going to live at home when we graduate come spring?”

Derek doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens his door, shuts off the engine, and pops the trunk.

Almost immediately, the door opens and a very pregnant woman waddles out to stare at them, her hands fisted on her hips. The light from the porch illuminates her perfectly.

Derek hands Stiles his suitcase and then starts up the stairs. When he reaches the woman, he takes a step back.

“Cora?”

“Yeah, dumbass. Who else would it be?”

“But aren’t you dating what’s-her-name?”

“Lydia, and yes. We decided we would use sperm donors.” Cora rolls her eyes. “You would know all this if you talked to us more than just at the holidays.”

Chastised, Derek ducks his head. “Sorry.”

Stiles thinks it’s been awkward long enough, so he sticks out his hand. “Stiles Stilinski. Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hale.”

“What kind of a name is Stiles?” Cora asks.

Derek clears his throat. “He’s my boyfriend. And Stiles is a nickname.”

Cora gives Derek a flat look. “Your boyfriend?”

Derek nods. He looks so nervous. He hasn’t looked this nervous since he and Stiles were paired together after the first rooming fiasco.

“Well,” Cora eyes Stiles with a disapproving glare, “I guess you’d better come in and meet the rest of the family. The ones that are awake anyway. Be extra quiet: the kids are asleep.”

Inside is just as opulent as the outside, perhaps more because inside is completely lit up and doesn’t have to battle the darkness of night.

There are portraits of what must be the Hales and their families everywhere, tasteful crystal décor, and polished marble floors.

It’s very austere, and Stiles understands why Derek said his parents were rich but not him. Stiles has seen how Derek chooses to decorate, and it’s in warm tones with soft surfaces and very limited bits of chrome.

Twin sweeping staircases stand guard at the end of the foyer, leading up to what presumably is more austere marble and crystal, severe lines of cold.

Two handsome people, the woman is an elgant black gown, the man in a black suit, Windsor knot in his silver tie, stand in front of the staircases. Cora stops next to them, says something lowly, and then heads upstairs. Nervously, Stiles clings to his suitcase and follows as Derek walks, spine straight, face blank, toward what must be his parents.

His mother lifts her head, and Derek stops in his tracks.

“Wonderful of you to join us, Derek,” she says, like she’s a queen surveying her subjects and finding them very lacking. Stiles had thought his clothing, a dark t-shirt covered with an open blue flannel shirt and khakis, was fine in Berkeley. Here, it’s completely out of place. Derek’s outfit of a maroon shirt and dark slacks looks a little less out of place, but far too casual for this foyer.

“Mom, Dad,” Derek returns, and it is so incongruous with the image they’re presenting that Stiles has to stifle a hysterical laugh.

After a few more moments, Derek’s parents break, and smiling, they all but run to Derek and hug him at the same time. Derek’s father disentangles himself first, turning to Stiles and offering his hand for a shake.

“So this is the man who’s caught our little Derek’s heart?”

Derek flushes at his father’s words, but he doesn’t disagree.

Mr. Hale grins, using Stiles’ hand to tug him into a quick hug. “Welcome to the family, Stiles.”

“Uh, thanks?” Stiles doesn’t wriggle free, but it’s a near thing. Derek must realize how out of place he’s feeling, still reeling from the complete change in demeanor, because he laces his fingers through Stiles’, grounding him.

Talia nods at their hands. “And how is the relationship? Single rooms?”

Stiles coughs to cover another laugh. He and Derek share a bedroom in their apartment—it was cheaper than two bedrooms—so they should be okay sharing a room. A bed might be another matter, but they’ve been living together at college, so if they’re dating, they should already be comfortable with seeing each other naked, having morning erections around each other, and all those other embarrassing things no one ever talks about happening when people start having sex with each other.

Derek blushes. “It’s a little new, the relationship, but it’s strong. We can be trusted to be in the same room.”

“It’s late,” Derek’s father says. “Let’s get you boys settled, and then we can all talk tomorrow.” He looks at Derek with kindness in his eyes. “I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to.”

The room he and Derek are deposited into is medium sized. Stiles would have thought all rooms in the house would be enormous. Derek watches him studying it before explaining, “I went through a phase where I didn’t want anything from my parents, so they moved me in here. It used to be a closet, but it was the smallest they were willing to let me be without me moving out.”

“How old were you?”

Derek shrugs. “I was ten.” He frowns at Stiles’ sudden chuckle. “I was very self-righteous. I thought we were bad because we were rich and I didn’t want to be.” Quieter, he adds, “I was very bullied in school.”

“So was I,” Stiles reveals. “I always pretended that it didn’t bother me, but it did. It’s why I chose Berkeley. Close enough to go home to see my dad, but far enough away that I didn’t have to see my tormentors again.”

“I’m glad we found each other,” Derek says. He points at his bed, a single twin. “You can have the bed. I’ve got an inflatable mattress around here somewhere. I can get that blown up and sleep on that.”

Stiles is too tired to argue. It’s only a little after 11:00 pm, but they’ve been driving for most of the day, and he just feels under stimulated and uninterested in anything except brushing the gnarly taste of garlic pretzels out of his mouth and collapsing into a deep, refreshing sleep.

“Bathroom?”

Derek points down the hall, and Stiles takes his travel bag with him. He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he opens the door, but it certainly isn’t a soft coral pink bathroom with matching rugs, toilet cover, and shower curtain. It’s hideous. Stiles loves it.

Everything was getting a little too marble for his liking. This shows a human side to the Hales.

Because he’s Stiles, he snoops a little. Finds magazines in a holder on top of the toilet. Gross. Finds extra soaps and feminine products hidden in the cabinet under the sink. Cool. Other spare products and towels are kept behind a closed door. Good.

Overall, the bathroom passes muster enough that he feels comfortable scrubbing his teeth clean, scraping his tongue, and washing all evidence down the rose quartz-colored sink.

Derek comes in before Stiles finishes drying his hands on the fluffy, rose-scented towel.

He does a double-take at the room, digs under the sink for a little while, and stands up. “We’d better leave no evidence that we were ever here,” he says, ominously. “The bathroom’s been redone since I was last here at Christmas. I think that means, especially because her favorite color is pink, that this bathroom is Lydia’s and we shouldn’t ever be caught in here.”

“How unhygienic,” Stiles replies, pointing at the magazines. Derek claps a hand over his mouth to stifle the sudden bark of laughter.

“I agree. But honestly, it’s probably a lot more hygienic than your phone.”

Stiles bumps shoulders and then heads back to the room. Derek has indeed found and inflated an air mattress. Stiles crawls onto it to test the bounce, and oh, there’s his pillow. For some reason it’s on Derek’s bed. He grabs it, tucks it under his head, and just like that, out like a light.

~ * ~

Stiles wakes up to a warm body next to his, someone’s leg wound around his, someone’s head on his shoulder. He blinks up at the ceiling, watching as the sunrise fills the room with a lovely, rosy glow.

Then he remembers where he is and what’s supposed to be going on and sits up, arms flailing as he tries to dislodge himself from a very deeply asleep Derek.

He hears a clicking sound, and his head snaps around to find an elegant strawberry blonde in very tight blue wrap dress aiming a phone at him.

“Whasit?” he grumbles, glad that both he and Derek apparently decided to sleep in their clothes. Usually, they’re both strip down to boxers kind of guys. It makes it hard for Stiles to sleep sometimes when he just really wants to lick Derek’s abs or jerk off over him. And apparently there goes his morning wood.

“It’s just payback,” the strawberry blonde says, loud even though it’s obviously early. Derek jerks awake, snorting, and gasping like someone doused him with cold water.

It doesn’t help Stiles’ inappropriate boner at all.

“Payback for what?” Stiles asks. He’s never met this woman. Why does she need payback?

“Oh hey, Lydia,” Derek says, gruff. Sexy morning voice alert. “What brings you to our room today?”

“Someone used my bathroom.”

“Didn’t used to be your bathroom,” Derek responds. He turns to Stiles. “Stiles, this is Cora’s fiancée, Lydia. Lydia, this is my boyfriend, Stiles.”

“Hmm, so he is real,” Lydia remarks. She snaps another picture, says, “Stay out of my bathroom or I’ll expose your sleeping arrangements to Mom and Dad.”

Derek yawns, lazily slipping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and using the lax grip to tug him back down. “Mom and Dad already know we’re sharing a room. It stands to reason that we’re comfortable sharing a bed too. After all, we’ve been living together for almost four years now.”

Lydia huffs and flounces out of the room, but Stiles saw on her face; she lost and she knew it. And she didn’t mind.

Derek adjusts his grip, nuzzles into Stiles’ neck again. “Hope this is okay?” he murmurs.

Stiles swallows hard. “Yeah,” he grits out. “This is perfect.”

Still, Derek rolls away from him. “I’m going to get up now. It’s the perfect time for a quick run. There’s a bathroom down stairs, third door on the left. Ask my mom or dad if you can’t find it. Don’t trust anything Lydia or Cora tell you.”

He grabs a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from his suitcase and heads out.

Stiles flops back on the bed, wondering if he’d done something wrong. Derek’s leaving feels like dismissal and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s because he was being a little too enthusiastic, i.e. the boner, or not enthusiastic enough.

It feels horrible, like a pit is growing in Stiles’ stomach, and he realizes that he won’t be able to maintain the charade of being Derek’s boyfriend without someone on his side.

But he’s in Chula Vista, not Beacon Hills. His dad is a whole ten hours away, and Stiles hadn’t realized that he only has one friend in the whole world.

How Derek is more sociable than him, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that if he doesn’t spill to someone, he’s going to break down, and the public breakup won’t be public nor a breakup.

He’s sort of saved when Cora knocks on the door and comes in before he can do more than say, “Yeah?”

“I just wanted to apologize for Lydia,” Cora says. She sits on the bed, cradling her stomach. “Mom and Dad are humoring her because her parents just got divorced and she’s not taking it well.”

Stiles studies her. “You weren’t this nice last night,” he says, hoping that she isn’t offended. When she throws her head back and laughs, he lets out a little sigh of relief.

“No. I’m not a night person.” She rubs at her stomach, catches herself, and sits on her hands. “Look, the baby likes to tap dance on my bladder, and whoever said morning sickness was only morning or just in the first trimester lied their fucking head off. I was startled when Derek brought you home. He’s been talking about his roommate nonstop. I actually thought you were dating before now, but he never said your name, always claimed we’d think you were imaginary if he did that.”

“I get it,” Stiles says. “Whenever someone stumbles over my real name, I tell them I go by Stiles, and every time, I get, ‘What kind of a name is Stiles?’ instead of ‘Cool, something easier to say.’ It’s discouraging.”

Cora’s hand comes up to pat at her belly, and she frowns down at it. “I swear I’m not usually this tactile.”

“It’s okay. It’s your body. Hormones and all.”

“Tell me why you decided to date my brother. Did he finally get his head out of his ass and ask you?”

Stiles coughs. “Uh, sort of?” He winces. “I mean, yeah, he finally asked and we made it official, but I mean, I haven’t dated anyone since high school, and Derek’s never been with anyone else as far as I know.”

“That’s it exactly.” Cora points at Stiles and he looks down at himself. He’s not bad looking—if his dad can be trusted—and he’s been making more of an effort with even his casual clothes since he and Derek began living together. “Derek doesn’t date. So why you? No offense.”

“Some taken,” Stiles replies. He shrugs at her. “I don’t know why.”

“Oh, I think you do.” Cora hauls herself up, shakes her head, and sinks back to the bed. She pats next to her, and Stiles hesitantly joins her.

She leans in close. “So, how much is he paying you?”

“Wh-what?”

Cora has a gleam in her eyes that makes Stiles entirely uncomfortable to be trapped here with her. “I’m guessing that you and he aren’t really dating, but since it’s Laura’s tenth wedding anniversary this weekend, he doesn’t want to be bothered by the copious aunts and grand-aunts that like to pinch his cheeks and ask when he’s bringing home his bride. Ergo, you, because my brother may be many things, a coward, spineless, and utterly useless at getting dates, but he does have a soft spot for you.”

Stiles stands up. “Derek isn’t spineless or a coward,” he says, angry at her. “Why would you even say that? Do you even know your brother? He was terrified to come to college. I don’t know why. He hasn’t shared that with me yet. But when I needed a roommate after my first roommate turned out to be the biggest bastard on campus, he stepped up. We’ve been friends since. It was a natural progression of our relationship because, yeah, we fell in love with each other.”

Cora grabs his wrist. “Don’t leave. Not yet. I’m sorry.” She tugs, and he sits. He’s breathing hard, heart beating a little too fast. He doesn’t know why he got so angry except for the fact that he knows the true Derek, the one who likes cooking and cleaning and studying microbiology and taking life art with Stiles just so he’d know someone in the class.

Cora takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I said that about Derek. I just needed to know.”

“Know what?”

“That you love him too.”

Stiles blinks. Derek doesn’t love him. Not like that.

“I can see that you don’t believe me, but it’s true. Derek loves you. He won’t admit it but it’s in his voice when he talks about you. It’s in the way he won’t let anyone call you imaginary but also won’t reveal your name, because he’s trying to protect you. I don’t know. I do know my brother, and I know that he loves you, and you love him too.”

Stiles doesn’t even know where the tears come from, but he finds himself sobbing on Cora’s shoulder as he confesses that Derek did actually hire him precisely for what Cora accused.

She listens patiently.

Then. “You’re both the biggest idiots.” She throws a roll of toilet paper at him. “Kleenexes get a little rough on the nose when you’re prone to hysterical fits,” she explains to his raised eyebrow. “Quadruple ply is a Godsend.”

Once he’s dried his face and blown his nose, Cora takes his hand again. “Look, I get it. I do. Our family can be overbearing. It was hell keeping them off Lydia’s and my backs long enough to have the discussion about children. And we’re not even married yet. But trust me on this: Derek does love you.”

“So how do I get him to ask me?” Stiles asks. “I mean, after all this. We’re supposed to have a public breakup after this weekend.”

Cora laughs. “Mom and Dad are going to be so pissed they let you sleep in the same room if you do that.”

“I’m serious. I’m supposed to break up with Derek so that he can, I don’t know, save face with his family. I guess because they’ll never see me again.”

She nods. “Makes sense.” She tilts her head, chewing on her lip. “Okay, I’ve got it: instead of breaking up with him, you propose to him. Confuse him. If he really likes you, he’ll probably say yes, and you can be engaged for however long you like. If he still wants to break up with you, then he can’t do it without a little shit sticking to him.

“Oh, I know! You can do it when we go to the mall!” To Stiles’ confused face, she explains, “It’s a tradition to do a scavenger hunt in the mall after a celebration. After we celebrate Laura’s anniversary, we’re going to the mall. It’ll be the perfect place to propose. Or breakup.Whichever it ends up being.”

“One problem: how am I supposed to live with Derek if he says no?”

Cora shrugs. “I don’t think he will, but you could make him move out if he does.”

“Another problem,” Stiles says. Cora rolls her eyes. “I don’t have a ring. I don’t even know Derek’s ring size.”

“That’s easy enough. I have everyone’s ring sizes. I’m the official jewelry expert in the family. That’s why.” Stiles nods. The Hales are so weird, but he finds it endearing. He supposes the Stilinskis would be just as weird to the Hales with their traditions. “Anyway, I’ve got the perfect ring for you to use.” She struggles up and then waddles toward a room three doors down the hall from Derek’s closet room. Stiles waits for her at the door. When she comes back, she tosses a small black box at him.

He flips it open and stares down at the silver band set with a single black cubic zirconium stone. Cora’s right, it’s perfect. It’s neutral enough to go with Derek’s wardrobe full of warm tones and dark pants, but also enough of a statement to bring attention to the fact that he’s wearing an engagement ring. Classy but not overstated.

Derek does have a few bright shirts mixed in, but he doesn’t wear them anywhere but around the apartment. Stiles thinks it’s because they’re gifts from him and Derek likes how soft they are. It makes Stiles unreasonably happy whenever he catches Derek wearing one of them.

“Are you positive he’ll say yes?” Stiles asks. He really doesn’t want to destroy his and Derek’s relationship. Although, he has a feeling that they’re already way past that.

“About seventy-five percent,” Cora says, and because they’re at her room, she shuts the door in his face before he can complain about those odds.

Stiles wanders back to Derek’s room. He keeps staring at the ring. It’s too soon to propose, right?

They’ve only just started dating, right?

They’re not really dating. It won’t be a real proposal. Right?

He closes the box and hides it in his pillow. Then, he grabs a change of clothes and his travel bag and heads to the downstairs bathroom for a quick shower.

~ * ~

Over the course of the day, Stiles is introduced to far more people than he ever expected to meet, and is frankly exhausted by the time they all pile into vehicles, he and Derek riding with Derek’s frankly frightening Uncle Peter and his partner, Freddie, to go to the restaurant.

The ring box is secure in his pocket, and he does his best not to touch it, aware that as the “new” significant other, he’s being subjected to a lot of interrogations, hugs, and all around suspicion. Through it all, Derek stays by his side, directing him away from the more prying of the aunts, or having him hide in an empty room until someone can make an announcement that makes Derek’s boyfriend seem like old news.

Finally though, they all sit at six tables pushed together, a buffet against the back wall of the room. The restaurant is owned by a pair of great aunts who insist on Derek and Stiles sitting next to them so they can gossip about the changes at California University-Berkeley.

“You know, Marsha was a co-founder of the first LGBTQ organization,” the more wizened one states. “How’d that go for you, dear?”

Marsha rolls up her sleeve to show off a large scar. “Thirty stitches and an expulsion.” She winks at Stiles. “And I’d do it all over again because it’s how I met the love of my life.”

He smiles politely. “I’m glad times have changed,” he says. “I don’t think I could scar as neat as that.”

“Well, that’s Diana’s doing. Such steady hands even as she berated me for putting my life in danger.” Marsha sighs wistfully. “Some things don’t change.” With sharp eyes, she pokes at Stiles’ soul, and he shudders at the sensation of being seen and known. “You may think you’re not scarred, but you are.” She turns to Derek. “Make sure you treasure this boy, eh?”

Derek nods almost frantically. He grabs Stiles’ and his aunts’ glasses. “Refills?”

“How long have you been together?” Marsha asks, and Stiles knows he should stick to the script he and Derek came up with, but he can’t. So, he leans in, like he’s telling a big secret, and whispers, “Three and a half years.”

Diana whacks at Marsha’s shoulder. “That means they’ve been steady since they met,” she excitedly exclaims. Stiles flushes at the sudden eyes on their end of the table.

“What I meant,” he stutters out, under the heavy, heavy gaze of, like, a million Hales, “is that we’ve been dancing around each other for years. We’ve only just decided to make it official.”

Derek plops down the glasses. “Don’t scare him,” he chastises his aunts, and by extension, all the nosy, nosy relatives. “I actually happen to love him, and I’d appreciate not having to find him again when you all chase him away.”

As if practiced, all the Hales go back to their own plates and conversation.

Stiles leans into Derek, gratefully sipping at his Sprite. Derek leans back a little, and they balance nicely. Until Stiles remembers what he’s planning to do during the after-dinner excursion. Then, he just sits there while Derek chats amicably, offers to refill Stiles’ plate, and almost holds his hand whenever he gets up from the table.

After the meal, Peter and Freddie give them a ride to the mall. Surprisingly, Peter hadn’t done anything to get kicked out, like Derek had predicted. Stiles thinks it’s because whenever Peter opened his mouth, Freddie squeezed his leg. Someday, Stiles thinks, if things work out, he and Derek could be like that, communicating with just a touch.

At the mall, Laura and her husband, Jordan, hand out a sheet of paper with things to find, and the Hales disperse, a literal army of at least thirty people, led by Marsha and Diana on their motorized wheelchairs.

Stiles allows Derek to hold his hand as they follow along more sedately. Stiles isn’t going to participate in the scavenger hunt, too nervous and afraid that if he uses it as a distraction, he’ll forget why he’s really here.

They get to the second level, and Derek points out a few things on the list, but Stiles has had enough. He sees Cora and Lydia in the crowd and makes his way toward them. Cora catches his eye and nods.

Stiles takes a deep breath, drops Derek’s hand, and then kneels down before he can think about it.

Derek turns to see what’s up and claps his hands over his eyes, like that’s going to make Stiles stand up again.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. “Derek, love, can you look at me?”

Derek shakes his head. He’s blushing, hard. Probably because they’re in the middle of a crowd. Apparently neither of them quite care for the public spectacle. Good to know.

Stiles pulls out the ring box. He takes another deep breath, teetering on the edge of backing out and letting Derek think it was a prank.

Behind Derek, Cora and Lydia both stand, hands clasped together, staring wide-eyed. Cora knows it’s not fake, so why does she look so invested?

Faintly, Stiles hears someone say, “Go for it!” So he gathers his conviction and opens his mouth.

“Please open your eyes,” he says, softly. When Derek does, Stiles is surprised to see tears there. “Derek Hale, I love you. I know we haven’t been dating for very long, but I already know I want to marry you.” And suck your dick, but Stiles doesn’t say that out loud. There are children present for God’s sake. “We go together like two things that you wouldn’t think would be good, but then they end up being the perfect pair. And I don’t ever want to give that up. Please say yes?”

Derek is already nodding, his expression goes from obviously embarrassed to fond and soft, in a way Stiles is entirely unused to seeing from him, even after living together for most of three and a half years.

Behind Derek, Cora and Lydia begin jumping up and down, squealing. Startled, Derek glances back at them before quickly focusing on Stiles again. He helps pull him to his feet and then wordlessly extends his hand. Stiles slides the ring onto his finger. Cora was right about the size and about the style. It fits perfectly, and Derek smiles at it.

Something warm blooms in Stiles’ chest, and it’s because he put the ring and the smile on Derek.

And oh fuck. Oh fuck, he just proposed to Derek fucking Hale and has gotten a yes. Fuck seventy-five percent. Fuck being unsure if his love is unrequited. Stiles leaps into Derek’s arms and is met with a completely off-kilter, totally unbalanced, completely perfect imperfect mashing of lips and noses, and they tumble to the ground, Stiles on top.

Derek is laughing, patting at him, but he also isn’t saying get up.

That’s Lydia, tugging at them. “Do you know how many germs are on this floor?” she grouses, but despite the hard edge from this morning, she keeps smiling at them like she actually likes them.

The rest of the Hales appear suddenly—probably summoned by a text—and all of them, not a one of them looks angry, they all look happy, pleased, already singing congratulations.

Cora raises her phone to show them that she recorded it all, everything, including what was their first kiss.

Oh shit. He’s so fucked. But he’s so happy too.

Cora’s right that they can be engaged for however long they need. At least they are engaged.

~ * ~

The rest of Saturday passes in a whirlwind, and Derek never stops smiling. The whole drive back to Berkeley on Sunday is spent in contented bliss, and when Derek isn’t driving, he just stares at the ring.

About an hour from their apartment, Derek pulls over, and Stiles jerks awake.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Derek says, but Stiles can hear it in his voice. Something’s wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asks again, gentling his tone.

Derek takes off the ring and hands it to him. “Thanks for that. I really liked it.”

“Liked what?” Stiles stares at the ring. It looks wrong in his hand and not on Derek’s finger. It’s only been there about twenty-four hours. It shouldn’t look wrong, but it does. “Is this about the agreement?”

“Yeah.” Derek clears his throat, a clear sign that he’s about to start crying. He looks heartbroken. “The agreement. I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this.”

“Do what?” Stiles asks. He turns the ring over, grabs Derek’s hand, and slides it back on. “Your sister already told me that you’re in love with me. I’m in love with you. I proposed-proposed to you. If you really don’t want to marry me, at least wait until we’re home before you break my heart.”

Derek just stares at him.

Stiles waves his hand by his head. Maybe he’s just too tired of this damn charade that they never should have done. Maybe he just wants something for himself for once and he’s willing to fight for it. “I know, you told me don’t believe what Cora says, but she also said you talked about me incessantly ever since you met me. Dude, we’re in love with each other, and yes it sucks that it took making up this fake dating thing for us to realize it, but if you think that I’m going to just roll over and say, ‘Hey, that was great, let’s never do it again,’ then you’re sorely mistaken.”

Derek covers the ring with his other hand, watching as it peeks through his fingers. “You’re in love with me?”

Stiles feels like snapping, but doesn’t. “Yes.”

Derek nods. “Thanks. I-I love you too.” He puts the Camaro in drive.

The rest of the drive is spent in silence. Stiles doesn’t feel relief at things being in the open nor at the sight of the ring on Derek’s finger where it belongs.

Instead, he feels dread rising. Something is going to happen when they get back to their apartment, and it might just be the end of them. Stupid, stupid, they just confessed their feelings for each other. Things should be looking up, not down.

Derek parks and immediately goes to grab their suitcases from the trunk. Stiles heads up the stairs to unlock the front door.

“So, I want a redo,” Derek remarks suddenly, his tone forced into easy and cheery.

Stiles pauses where he’s unlocking the door. “Redo?”

Derek moves closer, shoves the suitcases aside, and brackets Stiles’ head with his hands. He leans in until their faces are just an inch apart. “A redo.” And he kisses Stiles, and even though the doubt is still there, warring in Stiles with the warmth of knowing he has Derek’s love, it gets a little smaller when he falls back against the door and Derek follows him in.

“I am gonna suck your cock so good,” he murmurs against Derek’s lips.

“Not if I suck yours first,” Derek returns.

And that is the story of how Stiles and Derek finally stopped pining and started boning.

Cora tells the story of how they got together at their wedding five years later, conveniently leaving out the part about being seventy-five percent sure that Derek was in love with Stiles, but Stiles forgives her because while she may have been only seventy-five percent sure, he and Derek are both one hundred percent in love and getting married.

~ The End ~

#FTH2020 #evanesdust #Teen Wolf Fanfiction #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale

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queenjunoking · 3 years

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Wolf Taming pt 42

CW: Noncon - Pain - Abuse - Torture

This particular entry is a bit more violent than most of the other ones so I thought I should give a heads up.

Sonja doubled over my knee, seemingly surprised at what I did. I really couldn't imagine why. I pushed her over and onto the floor as I decided to go check out what items she had laid out on the table nearby.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Sonja yelled as she got back to her feet, glaring at me. “If you want your stupid slave back you better fucking listen to me you worthless bitch!”

I looked over the items available and picked up one of the flip knives. “You’re very stupid, you know that right?”

“Excuse me!” Sonja was livid, her face had gone a deep red.

“I read the stupid contract. The parts that mattered anyway. You cannot maim or kill me. Unsurprisingly those conditions don’t apply the other way around.” I pressed the button on the knife and the blade flipped out to accentuate my words. I watched her look at the knife, then back at me. “Your job is to break people. Targets don’t cooperate right away. I am your target and you were dumb enough to just approach me and asked what I wanted. It’s your job to secure the person you’re breaking.”

I threw the knife at her as hard as I could and heard her scream as the blade sunk into her shoulder. “You are a barrier between me and what I want. If you want to break me you’ll need to get me to submit.” I picked up another knife off the table and turned back to Sonja, watching as she yanked the blade out of her shoulder.

“Oh, you’re going to submit. You’re a washed up has been. I was just trying to be nice to you before I felt sorry for you. I was trying to give you a bit of dignity. But if you want to be humiliated I am more than happy to oblige.”

“Sonja, you might think you’re in charge of this room. That this is your chamber. But it isn’t. I’m not locked up in this room with you right now. This isn’t your special little chamber in the auction house.” I looked at the table one more time and picked up a taser sitting there. I pressed the button and watched the electricity arc between the prongs.

I walked slowly towards her with a smile. “No Sonja. You’re currently in a locked room with me. You decided to stand between me and Sasha. You will understand your mistakes. Unfortunately you aren’t going to get the chance to learn from them.”

I watched Sonja back up to the door and try turning the knob. Subtly at first, but it quickly became desperate. “Someone open the door!”

No one answered her prayers.

I kept walking towards her and she decided to finally take a stand. She held the blade she had pulled from her shoulder in front of her, acting like it was some kind of threat. After I walked a few more feet she lunged at me with the knife.

Everything Sonja did betrayed her. She talked big, but she was obviously very new to all of this. I moved out of the way and tripped her, sending her face first into the ground.

I slipped my foot under her and kicked her over. She tried to reach for the knife so I stomped on her hand. She yelped, pulled it back and looked up at me, I could see the glint of fear in her eye. This was the real Sonja, not the big talker that had entered the room. Little by little I was pulling away the facade.

I decided to just get this over with. I stood over her and sat on on her stomach, listening to her gasp as the air left her. She tried to talk but there was nothing left in her lungs to form words with. She desperately tried to push me off, so I punched her. First with my left hand. Then my right. Then with the left again. She covered her face and I took the opportunity to take the taser and place it against her neck and press the button.

I could feel her convulse under me, my weight the only thing keeping her in place. I gave her a second jolt for good measure before I got off of her. I looked around the room to decide what to do next when I spied a chair sitting off to the side. It would have to do.

I grabbed Sonja’s convulsing body by her hair and started to pull her across the room.She desperately tried to regain control of her limbs to stand back up, but was doing a poor job of it. I pulled her over to a chair, a nicely shaped chair that looked like what you might find in a gynecologist office. Though the ones in the office probably lacked locking straps for the head, legs and feet. I picked her up and dropped her none too gently onto it before strapping her down.

“You’re going to l-let me go or I’m going to make you a bloody smear on the w-wall.” Sonja managed to stammer out, but it was too late for her to save herself. We had reached the point in the process that the victim had no chance of escape.

I ignored her for the time being. If anyone was going to stop me they were taking a while to get here. I began looking through the items in the room to see what all Sonja requested. Mostly torture instruments, not much I typically used. But eventually I found the kinds of things I was looking for.

The first thing I found was a small spray bottle of liquid. I made an assumption about what it was and hung it around my belt loop. I found a powerful vibrator meant to be attached to the edge of the chair. I began to set it up as Sonja suddenly started to struggle more. “Get that thing away from me! If you don’t let me go this instant I will make sure you won’t ever see that stupid slave of yours again!”

After I got the vibrator in place I got up and stood behind her. I whispered into her ear. “Don’t you want to feel good, Sonja? Just let me do my thing and soon you’ll never have to worry about ridiculous things like being a breaker again. You’ll get to be where you truly belong.”

“Someone stop her! This wasn’t part of the deal!” Sonja screamed at the window that Rayne and Flora were likely sitting behind. But no answer came.

“Just say ‘Please Miss Z, make me feel good’ and I won’t inflict any pain on you.” I whispered into her ear again.

“Fuck you! You can’t do this! I’m-” I lifted the bottle off of my belt loop and sprayed it into her mouth as she spoke. There was a small delay before she screamed and began to thrash around. I smiled to myself, glad I was right. It was the same kind of thing I used to use. The contents were made of the Hellfire Kiss pepper.

While her attention was on the horrific burning sensation in her mouth I got to work on her clothes. I found a pair of scissors on the table that were sharp enough to cut through cloth. They sliced through like a knife through butter, interrupted only when I needed to move them because of the chair restraints. I had removed her pants and her shirt before she could concentrate on anything else but her burning tongue.

“O-one m-more ch-chance Z.” She tried again with the tough guy act despite the tears that were streaming down her face. “You s-stop now and I’ll forget all about this.”

“Oh, sweetheart. If I had my way with you, you would never forget anything I was about to do. I want it burned into your mind for the rest of your life. That’s the point of this process.” With a swift movement I cut off her bra, then her panties and threw them aside. Her face turned a deep red as she was bound naked to the table. I doubt she ever thought she’d be subject to something like this.

I grabbed the back of the chair and pulled it down, moving her from sitting in a recycling position to laying backwards at a small angle. I could see her crying and I gently wiped away the tears. I looked around the room and saw a small water spigot and a hose in the corner. “That big strong person who entered earlier isn’t you. This is you. How about I get you something to cool you off?”

I attached the hose to the spigot and grabbed a cloth before I walked back to her. It took her far too long to catch onto what I’m doing. “Wait. No. No, no, no, no, you can’t do this to me! I- the contract said I couldn’t maim or kill you! I was just doing what the contract said I had to do! Please, there’s no need for you to do this! I’ve failed! I’ll leave! I’m sorry!” The facade was gone. All it took was the threat of torture and the strong exterior was gone. She was just begging for freedom like any other person put through this process. It just proved that this is where she belonged.

I wiped away a few more tears and gave her a gentle smile. “You’re pathetic.”

Her eyes went wide as I tossed the cloth over her head, flipped on the vibrator and turned on the water.

Flora

“Apologise, Master Rayne. Lady Flora. We… never really expected this possibility or we’d have added it to the contract.” Molly was nervous, shuffling through papers.

Rayne held a hand up, signaling to her to be quiet. “If Z went quietly then it would b-”

“Someone stop her! This wasn’t part of the deal!” Sonja screamed as the cloth was momentuarily removed from her face, interrupting Rayne. It was a dumb decision seeing as it would just leave her with less air for the next round.

“It would be boring. That’s what I was going to say.” Rayne said once there was a gap in the screaming.

“I suppose in an odd way Z is following both sides of the contract. Technically waterboarding doesn’t maim. I suppose it could kill Sonja if she isn’t careful, but I’d like to think Z is better than that.”

I watched the scene in front of me play out a few more times. Sonja convulsed wildly as Z poured the water over her head. Z would lift the cloth, give her a few short breaths and then repeat the process. I could see Sonja fighting the restraints with all of her might, but she wasn’t stronger than steel.

It was wonderful to get to see Z actually work. She only had one recorded session and I had watched it to death already. She was ruthless and apathetic to her victim, but at the same time seemed to be doting over them.

I turned to my raindrop and noticed she was upset. “What’s wrong stormcloud?” I rested my head on her shoulder and looked up at her, giving my eyelashes a flutter.

“I wanted Z to be a gift to you, lilac. The scene we’re watching is fun, but every moment that it’s happening is one less moment Z is being pushed to breaking.” Rayne was agitated. I couldn’t really blame her because she made a good point. I did want my gift. “I chose Sonja because she is one of the few people I could find that did straight up torture. I wanted to see blood and pain. Instead I’m just watching Z asphyxiating someone while making them orgasm over and over. A fun spectacle for sure. I’m not saying we shouldn’t try this on one of the maids. I just feel we’re wasting precious time while Z just sits around and tortures another member.”

“Former member, dear.” I looked away from Rayne and over to Molly. “Molly, once your team is finished getting Z’s doggy back please begin paperwork to submit to the auction house to let them know Sonja probably won’t be fit for work anymore. Make sure that it shows everything happened to her was done by contractual agreement but leave out who it involved. Also, have her tracked, I want to buy her.” I looked at Molly and smiled. She just nodded and took some notes. Molly was dreadfully boring but at least she was good at what she did.

I looked over at my brooding stormcloud and decided to make a suggestion that might make everyone happy. “Rayne, may I suggest you go have some fun? You are so strong and Z isn’t going to go down without a fight. In the meantime I can look for another breaker to come in that might be fun for us to both watch after Z has been knocked down a peg.”

I felt her hook her finger under my chin and tilt my head up. She kissed me passionately and deeply. It made my stomach flutter. After a few moments she pulled away and smirked.

“I think I will.”

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living-dead-parker · 4 years

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Day 2: Charity Event - P.P (12DOC)

Summary: The big Stark Charity Event is here. Along with it comes big confessions of love, more annoying and entitled men, a new unlikely friend, and more background on when the reader and MJ dated? Also, Morgan is a lil badass in the making.

Warnings: Fluff, so much fluff. Cussing, plenty of it. Entitled rich men, because why not? Creepy skeevy dudes, we’re trying to make this realistic y’all. BAMF Stark reader, a bit of violence, but it’s not graphic nor bad.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: I know this is late, but I did have a gap in my scheduling for this, so I replaced it for this last update. I’ve been busy, but I should be more present now. Also, this gif is not mine!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

"So, run through the schedule?" Tony asks you. Pepper is too busy on the phone at the moment.

"Soundcheck the stage at 4:00 PM. Doors open at 5:00. Start the event at 6:00," you say as you pull your phone out, already having memorized that far into the night. "Commencement speeches from Pep, Dad, and myself until 6:30. 6:45, a message from the Avengers, live music from 7:00 to 8:00 while everyone grabs food and drinks from the buffet and bar," you read off. "Then from 8:00 to 9:00, we have the choice dances. 9:00 t0 9:30 we have the auction. 9:30 to 10:30 we have the socializing hour to allow everyone to talk and do as they please. 10:30 we have the final big tree auction and the closing speeches. Everyone leaves at 11:00. Shut down at midnight."

Everyone takes an audibly deep breath at the same time. Then, in sync, you all let it out. It's gonna be a long day. It's barely 9 AM, but there's still so much to do ahead of time. So, with that, you all run around like headless chickens getting shit done. It's not till 2 PM that you're all done. So that means, it's time to start getting ready. Like always, you had to help Morgan get herself ready. However, now that she's older, she sort of knows how to do most of it. So, you throw her in the shower and let her hang out for a while as she gets herself clean. In the meantime, you and Peter begin getting all your stuff ready.

It's 3:30 when you jump out of the shower and rush to put something- anything- on. You throw on a face mask and let it sit for a few minutes before taking it off. Then four o'clock comes around and you run to the venue to do soundcheck and test the mics. You're only there for ten minutes, testing the mics and the speakers, greeting the live musicians, and checking in with the staff. However, you make a run back to the tower and up to your room to really start getting ready. When you get back, you see Peter has laid out all your stuff. Your makeup, your hair stuff, your dress is still in the bag but that's fine.

"Thank you, babe!" you exclaim as you take a seat at your vanity and start on your hair. You manage to straighten out your hair, you do a toned-down, subtle, red and green look. Then, you put on a long, dark green, velvet dress with long sleeves. You throw on a white coat with faux fur. By the time you're all done, it's 5:40.

"How do I look?" you ask Peter, turning to look at him and smiling. He's in a black suit with a green tie. His hair is slick back except for the two unruly strands that always fall to his face. His face is clear and he looks so good. Then, you two look at yourselves in the mirror, standing proud and tall together. "We look really good," you tell him. You both take some pictures together before deciding to go to the venue already. You wait in the backstage area with Pepper and your dad. Peter and Morgan went to go sit at your table. Then finally, the time came and all three of you came out.

"Good evening!" you three say excitedly into your mics. Pepper is the first to step up and do her speech, followed by Tony. Then after fifteen minutes, it's your turn. You greet the crowd, earning cheers from everybody. It's obvious you're the most liked Stark. Then it's Pepper. But most of it has to do with the fact that you did no wrong to anyone in the room, besides the Wesley's who happen to be here again this year. Besides that, everyone thinks you're the cool young Stark kid who is taking the business in a fresh direction. "It's been my dream as a kid to make a name for myself. Yeah, I have the Stark name to thank and there's no denying that. But, I wanted something of my own. Something I made, so having made my Charity event was a huge deal for me. Combining it with Pepper's event was a no brainer. It was easily the best decision I've made," you explain before diving into the thank you's.

Then you sit down next to Peter as a video the Avengers made begins to play. It shows home footage of the Avengers helping people out and saying thank you to all the donors. It ends in time and Pepper announces that the buffet and bar are open and to enjoy the first live band of the night. You go wait in the line of the buffet so you can grab some food while Peter goes to grab his friends and bring them with you. In the short amount of time you're alone, a very familiar set of faces stroll up next to you. You almost visibly roll your eyes.

"Y/N Stark!" Jeremy Wesely exclaims as he holds an arm out. With a fake smile, you take his hand and shake it. "Ah, you've grown so much in the past year!"

"Mr. Wesley," you speak out loud, pulling your hand back. "Adam," you acknowledge, taking his extended hand and shaking it. However, he has another idea when he pulls your hand close to his lips and presses a kiss to them. The action takes the woman next to him by surprise. She seems older than him. Not by much, but she seems older.

"Y/N, this is my girlfriend of six months, Anette," Adam states, revealing a beautiful redhead with a gorgeous white dress. Her green eyes stand out. "Anette, this is Y/N Stark, the 20-year-old taking the business world by storm," he states. Your brows furrow confusedly, finding his wording so weird. Who just says that totally unwarranted or without needing to? Nonetheless, you hold your hand out to the woman and her hand loosely and without any care shakes your hand. She doesn't like you for some reason.

"It's so nice to meet you, Anette," you tell her, being genuine nonetheless. "I love your gown, it's so gorgeous and festive," you tell her. Adam steps in and his father does too, pushing Anette to the back.

"So, Y/N, Wesley Inc. has an offer that Stark Industries just cannot turn down," Jeremy states. "It's a moneymaker for sure!"

"That's great, Mr. Wesley-"

"Call me Jeremy, otherwise it feels way too formal!" he states. Adam chuckles, keeping his eyes glued to you. It's kind of weird, he was already 20 when you were 17, he'd been crushing on you since then. It's gross and weird. "But seriously, we think it'd be interesting if Stark Industries used our massive textile portion to create your clothing line!"

"Clothing line?" you ask, not sure what he means. "Do you mean our line of protective gear?" you ask.

"The cool neon jackets and the stylish coats," he states.

"Yeah, that's not a fashion line, Jeremy. It's protective gear for extreme weather and for people who work or live in extreme conditions. The thought is nice, but we have a group of people who work hard to ethically source and produce these items as much as possible. Plus, we've already moved ahead with our partnership with Princess Shuri of Wakanda on adding Vibranium to improve the gear. It'd be a loss to us at this point, but I'm sure we can collaborate on other ventures," you explain. Halfway through that explanation, Peter, MJ, Ned, Harley, and Morgan show up behind you.

"Well, maybe we can set up a meeting to discuss," Adam cuts in, trying to be subtle as he glares at Peter. "There are so many ideas, it'd be criminal not to collaborate."

You chuckle rather fakely as Jeremy and Adam burst out into deep belly laughs. "Oh, haha, the only thing criminal here is your tax evasion," you say through fake laughter, but it goes unnoticed by the two men. Adam stands straight and looks at you. "Well, it was a pleasure to speak with you again, Y/N," he states as he reaches for your hand and kisses it again. "Yeah, real pleasure speaking to you again. Have fun and enjoy yourselves," you state before turning around to face your friends.

"Have they left?" you ask them as you grab Peter's arm and wrap it around your shoulders. Peter chuckles, pressing his lips to your temple. MJ nods, laughing a little. "God, they are so annoying!" you explain. "He thinks he can talk to me like nothing and convince me to be with his predatory son after he attempted to threaten me last year. Ugh, Adam Wesley is the epitome of entitled frat brat who likes to prey on younger girls."

"He sure looks like it," Harley states, looking over at the two men at the bar. "Isn't he the one who invited you to the frat party when you were 15 and tried kissing you the whole time and you called me all angry because he was mad you punched him?"

Through a giggle, you nod. You remember that night so vividly. You didn't feel like you were in any danger, and this was before you'd met Peter. You had always been able to take care of yourself and you really showed Adam that night. Since then, you'd pretended not to know him.

"Adam Wesley, is the least of my problems tonight, alright? I'm here to have fun with you guys," you state as you pick up Morgan and hold her on your hips. "And to collect money for charity. So let's get some food and eat."

After another ten minutes, you finally grab some food. At one point, Pepper snuck you a drink or two to help loosen you up a bit and make you feel more comfortable. It worked, as you felt more fluid and not as stiff by the end of your second drink. You even took a shot and called it a night on the drinking. It was just enough to get you to stop being on edge and stressed. However, eventually, nine rolls around. Pepper jumps on stage and announces the choice dances.

As per usual, your line was pretty long. The longest. Longer than Tony's. You won this year. But as you look at the line, did you really win? It's full of old men, teenage boys, and the occasional girl who you're sort of friends with. Are you really winning? It's kind of weird, in retrospect, but you ignore it because you can take on anyone in that line if you have to and it's all in the name of charity. So, Adam steps forward, being the first in line. Looking over, you see his girlfriend, Anette, first in line to dance with your dad. That makes you cringe.

"Y/N, fun dancing with you again," he states rather smugly, handing you some money for the dance.

"Sure is, Adam," you state, rather fakely. You put the money in your bra.

"So, how are things with that boy of yours?"

"Why do you constantly feel the need to disrespect my fiance?" you ask. Your eyes widen at the slip and you're so glad your head is on Adam's shoulder and he can't see your face. "Every time we see each other, you're always saying something. about him. I'm not leaving him for you."

"Fiance?" he asks. He pulls away slightly, still dancing with you. He grabs your hand and doesn't see a ring. So he grabs the other one and sees the small gold band with a small diamond on it. "Oh sweetie, that's merely a promise ring. Unless itis the engagement ring, which if it is, I can do so much better. I can buy you a whole rock with smaller rocks sprouting from it, babe."

"Don't call me babe," you nearly growl. Adam's eyes widen. "Plus, is it any of your business how I wear my ring? The size of the ring doesn't matter anyway, it's the thought that matters. Peter loves me and he bought the ring with that love in mind. He may not be some rich tall guy, but he's my best friend and he loves me for me. Not just for my looks. He loves me for my imperfections and my flaws. He's sweet and he's caring and he understands me in ways you wouldn't even begin to understand. Plus, he's not a creep. Try as you might, but Peter is my soul mate. He's the love of my life and that's that. So if you're gonna keep talking about him, we're really gonna have a problem-"

"You're so cute when you get angry-"

"Don't make me fucking punch you again," you tell him sternly. You lean in closer to him, bringing your lips close to his ear. "I will make your life hell if you keep attacking my Peter. I will make you eat the shit you talk, I will make you worship the very air I let your breath because you'll miss it, I will make it rain hellfire over your for the rest of your life if you keep talking your shit," you tell him, adding emphasis to every threat. The song nears its end and you press a kiss to your hand and slap him with that hand. "You're so cute when you're angry, but your song's up, Adam. Merry Christmas, doll."

He walks away and is quickly replaced by Peter. You giggle as he hands you two dollars. He giggles when you put the money in your bra. "So, how's my girl doing after dancing with the devil himself?"

"Oh after that dance," you speak as you pull away enough to look at him. "He probably thinks I'm the devil," you finish. Peter laughs, pressing a kiss to your jaw. "But on a more serious note, I may or may not have told him you're my fiance. A Freudian slip of sorts, but just expect that to get out soon," you say. Then you press a kiss to his cheek before sending him off so you can give an actual donor a dance. You didn't even get to see his reaction.

The dances go on for some time before they're over. Pepper announces the auction portion and you see an easel being placed on the stage. Then there are ten covered paintings in total being placed on tables on the stage. There is also one of the trees, the smaller of the two, and a pair of custom made gloves of yours you wore when fighting and taking down a Hydra base. Your dad realizes the creeps in the industry and he plans on capitalizing off of it for charity. Obviously so long as you're okay with it to some degree. You don't care, because you can take any of these men down if you really wanted to.

In the distance, you hear someone exclaim a curse word, but you think none of it. That is until Morgan is running up to you right as you're about to get on stage to help Pepper and Tony auction off some items. She tugs on your dress, catching your attention and trying to climb you.

"I heard the creepy Adam guy talk about you and how you were being mean because he was being annoying," she states. You giggle as you hold your little sister close to you. "So I kicked his leg because no one is mean to my big sister but me," she continues. Your eyes widen and you interject loudly with a call of her name. "And he looked mad, so you gotta hide me."

"Thank you, Morgan," you tell her sincerely as you try not to burst into tears of laughter. You set her down and kneel in front of her, grabbing her shoulder. "But you don't have to kick people for me. That's not very nice," you tell her. "I appreciate the thought, and that's really badass of you, but you don't have to fight everybody who says something bad about us, but I'll teach you those battles later okay?" you ask her. She nods, looking down at her hands. "Look, M, he's not gonna hurt you. I promise he will not hurt you. He's too scared of me to do that. Plus, I think you showed him how you can take care of yourself. Now go with Peter and the others for now, okay?" you ask.

Morgan hugs you before running off to where Peter and all your friends are sat, talking amongst themselves. A big smile tugs at your lips when you see Morgan tap Peter's shoulder and Peter's expression turns into such a big smile. The slip earlier feels like it shouldn't be a slip. The sight makes you feel warm inside as Morgan climbs onto Peter's lap and snuggles into him while Peter holds Morgan close.

With that, you walk onstage and greet everyone. Then you stand by the painting that sits covered on the easel, center stage. There's a screen the projects it bigger into the room. "This first painting," you state as you uncover it, revealing a painting of a scenic Winter Wonderlandesque scene. "By local artist, and one of my dear friends, Michelle Jones titled Mid-Western Winter Wonderland begins at 100 dollars," you state. Someone yells 1,000. You repeat and the numbers get higher and higher. "20,000 going once...going twice...sold to bidder number 52!"

The painting gets carted off and set aside to be labeled for the bidder. Your dad takes over, revealing a picture you'd taken of a very busy and Christmasy New York City. The bidding started at 100 and two men kept drawing it out. Adam and some guy you barely recognize named Scott. Tony grows tired, but goes on and lets them fight it out. Then Scott calls out, "200,000 dollars," nearly 4 times as much as what Adam previously called out. Adam screams, "300,000!"

Scott stays quiet and your dad finally calls it an end and sells it to Adam. The auction continues with selling four more of MJ's paintings, two fo Steve's, and two more of yours. The Scott guy took home the other two, which personally, you felt were better than the first picture. Oddly enough, the Scott guy also took your gloves too. The Christmas tree was sold off for a hefty 900,000. It makes you really hopeful about the outcome of the other one.

Now that the auctions are over, it's time for the socializing hour. In an attempt to get to Peter, you run into the Scott guy. He's a tall and lean man, almost like Steve but less bulky. Black hair, sharp green eyes, well-groomed facial hair. He's a gorgeous man, but not your type. Not your Peter.

"Y/N Stark," he calls out, a smirk on his lips. Nope. Definitely not. You and Tony are the only ones who can approach people and smirk at them. He holds his hand out and you courteously take it, shaking it firmly. "I'm Scott Stephens, soon to be CEO of Albright Enterprise. It's so nice to finally get to meet you," he states as he gets a good look in.

"It's nice to meet you too," you state softly. "Surprised my father hasn't kicked you or any of Hammer's men out," you joke, earning a laugh from the man. Hammer Industries and Albright Enterprise are your Stark Industries' rivals. Thought the truth is, SI is hard to dethrone as number one at this point. Well, unless Shuri decided to get into the field, but instead, she's offered her allegiance as a third party entity to help SI rather than totally capitalize on it. How nice of her.

"Well, it's all for charity, right?" he asks, to which you nod. "I wanted to hand you these," he says as he pulls out the gloves he'd bought for nearly a million dollars. "It was creepy to see all those men bidding so high to get your gloves and I know any of them, especially Adam Wesley would have kept them. I find that wrong and creepy, so I want you to keep them."

Your eyes widen, a genuine and dumbfounded smile taking over your features. You grab the gloves, "Thank you, that means a lot," you tell him softly. He shrugs, and you pick up on the first wave of nervousness. He's getting shy and the big cocky guy facade begins to fall bit by bit.

"Look, I know that to others it can seem I might have ulterior motives talking to you, and I'm sure you thought so too," he states, shrugging his shoulders. "The tabloids love stating I have this huge crush on you, and while you are beautiful, that's not it. I've been watching this share of power between your father, Ms. Potts, and yourself for the past four years like everyone else, and although I am like two years older than you, you're someone I look up to. You handle this life with grace and honestly, I'm terrified to be CEO of the company. I'm so scared, but I see you in world stages and conferences and you hold your head so high, despite being a woman in this field and you don't take shit from anyone. It's a sight for sore eyes and I'm in love with it. Basically, I see how lonely being a CEO can be and I see how you have it all and you give it all too, and I hate the idea of having to compete with others. I was thinking, maybe we can be actual friends. Not just for pictures, but actually get to hang out and talk to each other and be in each other's lives. I just think you're amazing and I know you have a boyfriend, and I respect that a-"

"Hey," you cut off his rambling at this point. You giggle, resting a hand on his arm to calm him down a bit. His face is red and he's not as composed as he was before. He takes a deep breath and chuckles. "I get it, It's tough. I read up on you and saw that you stopped pursuing art just for this and I get it. But you shouldn't have to quit your dreams for this. You can indulge in both, I promise. Plus, I'll be more than glad to be your friend and help you navigate this whole business thing. Admittedly, I'm still learning things too, so I'll be happy to share this journey with you. We can definitely squash all this fake beef because honestly, I think it's stupid too. I should get back to my friends, but you can join us if you'd like," you offer.

"Maybe later?"

"It was nice meeting you Scott," you tell him before walking away. You're left utterly surprised but totally happy. You just hope he's as real as he came off because, in this industry, nothing is off-limits. When you arrive at your table, everyone greets you and they notice the gloves in your hands. "I was just talking to the bidder who won these and he gave them back because he thought it was creepy, to begin with. He turned out to be the soon to be CEO of Albright and we really hit it off as friends. He was so nice and not creepy."

You notice Peter's face, slowly forming into one of confliction. "And he wasn't flirting with me nor was he interested in me in that way, so it was a breath of fresh air," you add, giggling as you press a kiss to Peter's cheek. "Plus, totally not my type."

"And what is your type?" MJ asks, teasing Peter by sticking her tongue out at him. You giggle, looking between her and Peter. Remembering that at some point, you dated her. "Apparently," you being. "People with brown curls, brown eyes, and soft skin," you say. The two look at each other, bursting into laughter. "You do have a type, huh?" MJ asks.

"Oh shut it, we only dated for like two months. Anyways, he was nice and wants to be friends because and I get him. So, expect some guy to come around a bit more often. Platonically!"

The final tree eventually gets sold for a million dollars and then everyone left. Now it's midnight and the only people left in the hall are Peter, a sleeping Morgan, Harley, Tony, Pepper, and yourself. Tony walks up to you and hugs you, holding you so close to him. "You did amazing tonight sweetie," Tony states. "Plus, I hear tensions between SI and Albright might be coming to an end in the near future?"

"I think people just like me better," you tell him. He pinches your arm playfully, causing you to giggle. "But in all seriousness, Scott is a great guy and I really do see myself in him. But I know to take it with a grain of salt too, dad."

"I trust you and your judgment," Tony tells you. "I just want you to be careful in this world. By the way, I totally feel like I've been pimping you out tonight especially with the glove thing, so apologize for that. It felt wrong," he states. You smile at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Thanks, father. I appreciate that."

He bids you a good night and walks over to Pepper, pulling her into his arms. You walk over to Peter and Harley, seeing Harley carrying a very tired Morgan. Tony walks over and takes Morgan with him and with that, you all exit the hall.

"So, fiance?" Peter asks you as the two of you walk through the snowy pavement. "A slip?"

"Freudian, if you will," you joke. Peter wraps an arm around you, smiling when you wrap an arm around him. "But I mean, that's what the promise was for, right? That at some point, we will be engaged because we do see ourselves getting to that point. I can't deny that I have strong feelings for you, Pete. I know that we don't need each other. Realistically, we don't. We want each other, and I think that's more romantic than needing each other. Needing implies we have no choice, but we do. We chose each other and we continue to choose each other despite the fact that we don't have to. You're it for me, you're all I want."

Peter stays silent, but at the moment, he doesn't need to speak. Just the way he pulls you in tighter, the way he holds you close. The way he rests his head on yours. It all speaks for him. So, the two of you walk in silence and he carries you to your bedroom, where he sits you on the cabinet in the closet and undresses you again, helping you into your pajamas as you grow more tired. He changes into his and carries you into bed and the two of you doze off with dreams of kissing under the mistletoe and dancing to the nutcracker or some Christmasy shit. Holding each other close and indulging in each other's warmth.

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dresupi · 4 years

Text

The Man of My Dreams

For: @ibelieveinturtles Ship: Brock Rumlow/Darcy Lewis Sweetheart Prompt: Heart Throb Word Count: 4,641 Rating: E Other tags: SHIELD Agent Darcy Lewis, Dreams, Crushes, Bachelor Auction, Snark, Companionable Snark, Flirting, Smut, One Shot, POV Darcy Lewis, POV Brock Rumlow, POV Alternating

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DARCY

“So, like… I was having this dream, right?” Darcy began, reaching over to steal a chip from the bag Bobbi had in front of her. “Like, you know I don’t normally have dreams that make any kind of sense. Or that I even remember usually.”

“Right, yeah…” Bobbi nodded, snatching her chip bag out of Darcy’s reach. “But judging by your tone, this one was neither nonsense nor forgettable?”

“Correct,” Darcy said. “It was neither of those things. It was a…” She lowered her voice for the next part. “Sex dream.”

Her friend had no reaction. “So? I have those all the time. Me and Timothy Olyphant tear up the sheets on a regular basis. Sometimes Uma Thurman joins us.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t about a celebrity though. It was about someone I know.”

Bobbi’s eyebrow twitched an almost infinitesimal amount. “Someone you know?”

“Someone I see on a regular basis. Someone who comes into my office on the regular.”

“You’re about to say it’s me, and then we’re going to find out this has been some straight dude lesbian porno the whole time, aren’t we?”

“No,” Darcy sighed, kicking her under the table. “It’s Brock, you goober.” She’d meant to whisper that last bit. But it all came tumbling out without preamble. “It’s Brock, and I think… I think I’m having feelings.”

Bobbi’s jaw dropped, which was a helluva reaction to get from her assassin-friend. She also scooted the bag of chips back over for Darcy to reach. This was chip-sharing news. It was serious.

“You’re not. You can’t have feelings for Brock. You said it before. He’s hairy and icky.”

“I only tell him that in order to keep his ego in check. Do you know how impossible he’d be if he found out I thought he was attractive?”

Bobbi groaned. “Only too well.”

“Okay, so you know this obviously has to stay between us, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Okay, well…” Darcy chomped down on another chip.

“So you’ve got the full-on hots for Brock now?” Bobbi teased. “Not just an aesthetic appreciation for how long he spends in the gym?”

“I don’t care if he’s shredded like a bag of cheese at a Taco Bell, the most aesthetically pleasing thing about him is that fucking jawline.”

Bobbi inhaled sharply, nodding. “That jawline’s what shreds the cheese at Taco Bell.”

“Okay, so I thought the feelings I got after the dream would go away, but it’s been like two weeks, and they haven’t.”

“You want me to ask Hill to send you to Hawaii or something? You could get a suntan, forget about old whats-his-name. Find yourself a cabana boy. To mix your drinks and toss your salad.”

Darcy had to admit, the offer sounded tempting. But she was happy with what she was doing now. Which was training with Bobbi to become a better field agent and get sent out on more missions. She had the brain for hacking, but she needed the strength so SHIELD would actually send her out to do it. If she asked for a fluff assignment just because she was all gaga over a sex dream where Brock went down on her like it was his job, then well… she probably needed to reevaluate what she wanted out of this job.

There were far worse reasons to ask for a fluff assignment. Hot and horny for Agent Rumlow wasn’t one of them.

“Nah, I should be fine. I might need to go get a massage or something. I could be stressed. They say that sex dreams are never about sex, right? It’s about… something else I’m lacking.”

Bobbi stifled a laugh, but not very well since Darcy could very well hear it. “Yeah. Something you’re lacking.”

“Stop it,” Darcy grabbed the last chip. “I’m gonna book a massage, wanna come with?”

“You know I won’t say no to a spa day.”

“Didn’t say anything about a spa day.”

Bobbi shot her a look. “You’re just gonna get a massage and not get a wrap and a facial?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Darcy pulled out her phone to book appointments on the spa’s app. “Under the usual pseuds?”

“You know it.”

“So, uh… speaking of people upon which we have crushes…” Darcy said, dragging it out in a sing-song way that was annoying Bobbi. She reached for her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

“Just say it, you know you want to.”

“How many bachelor raffle tickets are you buying now that Lance is up for grabs?”

“Zero,” Bobbi said with a smirk.

“What?” Darcy followed her out of the cafeteria. “What do you mean, zero? Are you guys over again?”

“Again. For good. Good riddance. I heard Simmons is selling a romantic picnic. I might go for that,” Bobbi said with a shrug.

“Oh? You and Simmons?”

Her friend smiled and mimed zipping her lips. “Nothing to talk about yet, so…”

“Fine, fine. I guess I’ll just languish away in the land of the unknown gossip.”

“Guess you’ll have to,” Bobbi replied, linking her arm with Darcy’s to hurry her up towards the parking garage.

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RUMLOW

Rumlow knew he probably should have either made his presence known or somehow left the cafeteria before Darcy got started in on the meat of her story. But every time he started to move, his chair would squeak, and he knew she’d hear him. Then she’d turn around and be embarrassed. Because, by the time he figured out he should leave, she was already spilling to Morse about her sex dream. About him.

Did it make him a pig if he preened a little because of her dream? Her dream about him? He couldn’t imagine any man in his position could hear Lewis talk about her nocturnal fantasies and not square his shoulders a little. That didn’t make it okay and he knew it. Most men were not the type of person anyone should aspire to mimic. He probably shouldn’t be taking the easy way out and using them to gauge where he was on the dickhead meter.

He stayed stock-still like his years of training prepared him to do. His back was to the two of them, but he could see their reflections in the shiny mirrors placed all over the lunchroom. Probably due to some rule that served to make everyone a little less nervous. Ever since that whole Hydra incident, everyone had wanted eyes in the backs of their heads. Everyone had also given him dirty looks for an entire year after he’d come back to the organization. Even after he’d been outed as a triple agent, they still didn’t trust him.

It didn’t seem to matter if the logistics of him being a quadruple agent were close to nil. But he was digressing.

The task at hand was to wait until Lewis and Morse were finished with their discussion and keep both of them from seeing him folded into a table at the corner, trying to look smaller than he was and blend into the wall.

He was far from the only other person here. In fact, one could wonder why Lewis chose such a crowded room to talk about her little clandestine crush on him.

“So you’ve got the full-on hots for Brock now?” Morse teased.

Rumlow couldn’t see it, but he was fairly certain Lewis was rolling her eyes now. He would be.

They talked for a while longer before they left for a spa day. He had to say, he was relieved Lewis wouldn’t be transferring. He very much doubted a sex dream would account for a transferral across the country like that. Plus, SHIELD allowed inter-company relationships. As long as they were disclosed to HR.

What, did she not think he’d reciprocate? Did she really not know how much he’d give to have her return one of his heated glances? Just one?

He picked up his fork again, swirling it through the leftover mashed potatoes on his plate. Before he could do anything, he’d have to come clean to her. After years of lying to everyone he knew, being truthful was very important to him.

So he’d have to tell her the truth, then he could gloat all he wanted about Darcy liking his chiseled jaw. She liked it a lot, apparently. Even more than his abs. Which he kind of thought was one of his better features. But whatever. He wasn’t about to argue with a lady he found one-hundred-percent fuckable in every single way. Hell, he’d even call her pretty if she asked. How’s that for a supposed dickhead.

Yeah, that didn’t really change anything, now that he thought about it.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

DARCY

Darcy was minding her own business while losing a staring contest with the vending machine because while she was indeed focused inward, it wasn’t on what snack she wanted. Because truth be told, she didn’t really want a snack at all.

Well, she did want a snack, but the snack she wanted was obnoxious and conceited and knew he was a snack and who wanted a snack that knew he was a snack, right?

He is not the snack you’re looking for… she thought, her mental-voice wavering and her mental hands shimmying. She’d make a good Jedi, dammit.

“Hey, you got a second?”

She turned, halfway through assuring the person standing behind her that she’d almost made her selection when she realized that wasn’t what they’d asked at all.

And besides, the snack she wasn’t looking for was behind her. Brock Rumlow and his should-be-illegal jawline were standing there, looking at once lickable and slappable in that confusing way he had.

Sighing, she nodded. “Yeah, I got a few. Whatcha need, Stallone?”

He smirked a kind of a half-cocked, half crooked sort of expression that made him even hotter. If that were possible. Which it apparently was. “Stallone’s looking pretty rough these days, can I choose another actor?”

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “You don’t get to pick ‘em, sorry bout it.”

“Yeah, whatever. Listen… I need to talk to you about something,” Brock began, lowering his voice in a way that both made Darcy have to lean forward, and also tickled her in places she wasn’t about to admit to being tickled by a voice.

“What’s up?” she asked, leaning against the side of the vending machine.

“Look, I saw you in the cafeteria the other day… with Bobbi?”

Alarm flared immediately, her skin heating up and cooling just as quickly. “Oh?” Maybe he hadn’t heard it. Or at least hadn’t heard the whole entire thing.

Oh please Thor, let him not have heard the entire thing. Let the sound of air whistling between his ears have drowned it out or something… please?

“Yeah, I, uh… I should have told you I was sitting there, I’m sorry…” he said, reaching up to scratch the back of his head in a way that at least felt contrite.

“Sitting where?” Darcy asked, her voice sounding shrill and a touch panicky.

“Behind you. I couldn’t see you, so I didn’t even know it was you and what you were talking about until it was too late. I didn’t want to embarrass you so--”

“So you just sat there and listened? Dude! Not cool!”

“I know, I know… I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I’ll bet you had a good little laugh at my expense didn’t you?” Darcy asked, her tone icy and cold. “So funny how I’m all warm for you, isn’t it? Well, suck a dick, Rumlow! You’d only be so lucky.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Are you done? Because I wanted to have an adult conversation about this and--”

“And nothing. I am done. Do you know? Because it’s not a real crush. It’s just because of the dream. That’s it. It’s going to go away.”

“Oh, is it?” he asked, sounding very much like he didn’t believe her.

But Darcy didn’t really care. Anything was better than having him make fun of her, or worse… having him ‘let her down easy’ or whatever it was he was trying to do.

“Yup. It’s gonna be gone by Valentine’s Day, I can guaran-damn-tee it.”

“By Valentine’s huh? You’d better go out and snap up a date then,” he sneered.

“Maybe I will! Hell, you know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna buy ten of those bachelor raffle tickets they’re selling around here. I”m gonna buy ‘em, hope and hope and cross my fingers, and if they call my name, I’m gonna hook up with a hottie. You know anyone who’s selling them?”

“I am,” he said smugly. “I’m one of the bachelors being raffled.”

“Awesome. Put me down for ten. I’ll Venmo the money to wherever.”

“They set up a fund. I’ll message you the information…” He pulled out his phone and swiped around until Darcy had a link in her DMs. She immediately sent the money, not looking up at him once. “Thanks. I’ll see you there,” he ventured.

Darcy chuckled. “Not if I see you first, Stallone.”

She wasn’t sure what that was, exactly. But she was embarrassed and had just spent a thousand dollars on bachelor raffle tickets. Someone should take her debit card away when she was like this.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

RUMLOW

The raffle took place the week before Valentine’s Day, and Rumlow had worn his formal wear, like he’d been instructed to. He thought he looked pretty good. He’d even spent extra time on his hair. Well, more time than usual, and that was saying something because he was not born with this volume naturally. It took work.

Raffle cards were drawn by Agent May. With her smirking face, she drew card after card. Some men, some women. Some were people he knew, some weren’t.

And one by one, the bachelors and bachelorettes were chosen, until there were only about five of them left. Himself, Lance Hunter, Mack, May herself, and Simmons.

May drew the next raffle card, and her eyes widened, grinning as she read the name.

“Darcy Lewis.”

Rumlow’s stomach dropped down into his gut. She’d said she wouldn’t choose him. That’s what she’d said.

So why was he so nervous? He shouldn’t be nervous.

Except he didn’t want to see her pick any of the others up here. He could see her picking Simmons just so Fitz wouldn’t have a conniption. Simmons wasn’t a threat per se.

If she picked Hunter, though. Or Mack. Or May.

Rumlow’s stomach settled like a stone in his gut as he watched her make her way up from her seat to the stage to take her pick.

May was grinning between him and her like she was expecting something to happen. He was almost sorry to disappoint her. But it would also be fun to watch Darce subvert May’s expectations.

Darcy was looking between the five of them up here. Rumlow subconsciously reached up to straighten his collar and someone catcalled. At him? He couldn’t be sure.

And when she opened her mouth to speak, he was dreading what she’d say.

“Agent Rumlow, I guess.”

His eyebrows raised in pure surprise, but he was the only one who seemed surprised.

“Certainly seemed to deliberate on that decision,” May teased and nodded in his direction. “C’mon, Rumlow. Tell her what she’s won.”

“I uh… I’ll take her out dancing and for a five-star dinner. I’ll be the perfect gentleman,” he added at the end, to another round of catcalling. He wrinkled his nose. People were gross. “I mean it,” he added. “No sarcasm.”

Darcy tilted her head and held out her hand. Realizing belatedly that he was supposed to take it and vacate the stage, Rumlow stumbled a little as they left the stage and walked back behind the makeshift curtain they had up.

“I thought you weren’t going to pick me,” he said, smirking a little as Darcy rolled her eyes.

“Don’t make me regret my decision. You promised to be a gentleman.”

“On the date.”

“Fine, but no funny business or I’ll cancel the date. I don’t mind donating a thousand bucks to charity.”

“That you didn’t have to bother, I’d have taken you out for nothing.”

“Yeah, I know. But at least this way, you can’t make fun of me for falling for you.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he countered.

She shot him a look.

“I’d barely do that.”

“I’ll see you on Valentine’s, Rumlow.” She turned to leave. “You’ve got my number.” It was a statement, not a question.

He did have it. And he’d have complained more about their short convo if he hadn’t gotten to watch her walk away. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a ruffled blouse.

Fuck, she was pretty.

There. He was getting better.

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DARCY

Darcy shifted in her seat after Brock had pushed her chair in behind her. The food was already ordered, she’d just come back from the bathroom to find out it had been served.

Prime rib and sweet pea risotto.

Hers was untouched, which… was kind of a given considering that even at his worst, Brock wasn’t an animal who would steal his date’s food. But his was untouched too, which meant he’d waited for her to return.

He’d just taken his seat and scooped up his fork and steak knife, holding them poised as he looked at her expectantly.

“You want me to say grace?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow expectantly. He was Catholic. Or he pretended well. He had that saint on the dashboard of his car. Why did she know that?

He chuckled and shook his head. “Not unless that’s your thing. I was just waiting for you. It’s the polite thing to do.”

“Yeah,” Darcy agreed. “Yeah, it is.” Her voice sounded sour, but she wasn’t sure why.

The date was everything he’d promised it would be. And maybe that’s what was wrong. He was being a total gentleman. And this wasn’t what had attracted her to him. This weird Ken-doll approach to a romantic evening. Hell, she half expected him to have a hot pink Jeep Wrangler when he picked her up. Everything he did felt forced and plastic.

Dancing had been fun, but he had held her a respectable distance away, the only heat she felt was from his hands on her waist. He had this way of looking at her sometimes. The heat barely contained behind those dark eyes of his, and she felt like she was about to combust.

That look was gone. Or hidden, at the very least.

And now they were eating dinner. Well, they were about to, and he was waiting for her to start before he even so much as cut his steak? This was weird. Too weird. She didn’t like it.

“Eat when you want, dude. No skin off my nose,” she reached for her steak knife and began to slice through the prime rib.

It was good. It wasn’t like she was expecting aged prime rib to be bad or anything, but it was really good. She ate too much. But she still tried to eat some of the dessert. It was chocolate lava cake with vanilla ice cream and some kind of cherry cordial on top. They lit it on fire before bringing it to the table.

And as she and Brock shared it, she caught his eye, their spoons clinked, and she saw an inkling of that heat she’d been missing. He was looking at her like he usually did, not like Date-Brock had been. “You wanna go back to my place?” she asked.

“Well, the date officially ends when I take you to your door,” he said warily.

“Okay, so the date ends and then my good friend Rumlow comes in for coffee at eleven at night for no reason other than I have coffee to make and he’s in the neighborhood? Sound good?”

She happened to know she was fresh out of coffee, so she really, really hoped he’d either settle for tea or realize this wasn’t actually coffee she was asking for.

He swallowed visibly, his throat bobbing before he nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

They left after he paid for the meal. He offered his arm after they put on their coats. She hung on with both hands and could feel his muscles flex even through his coat and suit jacket. The cab ride back to her place was kind of quiet, except for the occasional throat-clearing sound from their driver, who looked as if she was about ten minutes past ready to be home.

Darcy kind of knew how she felt. But for different reasons.

Brock joined her on the ride up to her apartment from the lobby, standing a respectable distance away from her in the elevator and pressing his hand against the doors to allow her to exit first. They arrived at her front door and he held one hand out to kiss the back of hers. She gave him a sweet smile, thanked him for the lovely evening, and disappeared behind her door.

She counted to ten and opened it again. “Heya Brock, wanna come in for coffee?”

“Absolutely.”

She reached out to close her fingers around his tie and drag him back into the apartment after her.

Her heart was thrumming, beating hard and fast as she pulled him close enough for his lips to finally crash over hers. “I promise I wasn’t trying to do this tonight,” he whispered between kisses and shrugging out of their coats.

“Why not?” she asked, grinning against his lips when their teeth clacked once.

“Was trying to be polite,” he replied, kicking off his shoes and following her lips first into her apartment, never breaking the kiss even to talk.

She was working her fingers in his tie to loosen the knot when she spoke again. “I didn’t like Date-Brock, so I hope he’s gone for good.”

“Oh thank god, I didn’t like him either,” he murmured, following her towards the stairs. “Holy shit, your apartment has two floors?”

“Yes, I bought the one above me when it vacated. Now shush and stop being so polite, Rumlow.”

“Look, sweetheart, I’ll manhandle you if that’s what you want, but I ain’t ever gonna shush.”

“Ah, so you’re a screamer?” she teased, inhaling sharply when his hands fumbled at her back for her zipper, found it, and slid it deftly down her back.

She stepped away, her dress pooling around her feet as she stepped back up the stairs, turning at the last second because falling on her ass wasn’t the way she wanted this evening to go.

Maneuvering the stairs was kind of tricky, especially when Brock couldn’t keep his damn hands to himself. He kept running his palm over her ass when she turned to climb up a few steps, popping the elastic in her black lace panties and saying shit in that raspy, sex-drunk voice of his.

“Fuck, honey, you look even better going than you do coming…”

Darcy arched her eyebrow at him. “You haven’t seen me coming yet, don’t get ahead of yourself…”

They were finally at the landing on her second floor. Brock laughed and she tugged him by his waistband into her bedroom. She made quick work of the button and the zipper on his suit pants, and he slid out of them like he was made to do it, crawling up after her on the mattress.

Okay, so his abs were definitely something she’d write home about. Grammy Lewis would have some words about Mr. Brock Rumlow, and none of them were fit for children to hear.

Grammy Lewis wasn’t the mental image she really wanted in her head right now, so she laid back on the pillows and watched Brock’s muscles ripple as he moved above her.

She’d like to climb on top of him, but he never let her get that far, hovering over her and rutting against her hip while his lips did absolutely sinful things to hers. And then down the column of her throat. And then down over her collarbone and then…

He pushed one hand under her breast until the nipple just popped over the lacy edge of her bra. He licked it roughly, wetting the lace in the process and making it rasp over the sensitive peak. Her hands tangled in his hair and he grunted. Growled. Rocked his hips against her until she could feel the stiffness of his cock sliding against her mound.

“Fuck,” she whispered, yanking on his hair and causing him to release her breast. His dark eyes searched hers and she reached down to shimmy out of her panties.

He followed suit, pushing his jockeys down over his hips and kicking them off.

Brock ran his fingers over her pussy, tucking two fingers inside and wriggling them in a very pleasing way. “Fuck me, you’re soaked…”

“I’m trying to fuck you,” she whispered, biting her lip when he pushed one of her legs up at the knee and lined himself up. He was thick, so he pushed in slowly, but when his hips met hers, Darcy gasped.

“You okay?” he asked, his eyes scanning her face.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just fuck me,” she commanded, reaching around to sink her nails into his ass cheeks, relishing the hiss that resulted.

He sat back and extended her leg up so her ankle rested on his shoulder and leaned forward again, his hips setting a grueling pace that rocked her so hard, she had to moan. She couldn’t not moan at this point. One hand snaked between them to her other breast, to push it up out of the bra as well. Once they were both out, they bounced, nipples brushing over lace and making her breath catch as his hips hammered into her.

Their skin slapped and the bed hit the wall, her headboard rattling in time with his hips. He was hitting that spot inside her, the one that made her toes curl and that she couldn’t reach herself unless she had some sort of toy. But this was… god it was so much better.

“Brock,” she hissed. “Please, please, babe… I’m--”

“Almost there?” He grinned and slid his hand down between them to thumb over her clit and push her right over the edge without hesitation.

He must have finished soon after because he was pulling out and ducking down between her thighs to flick his tongue over her clit and make her back arch. His tongue dove down into her opening and when she realized what he was doing, it just made her clench her thighs all the more tightly around his head.

“Jesus, Brock…”

Her second orgasm wasn’t nearly as intense as the first, but she was shaking when he pushed up on his elbows and leaned his head against her bent knee.

“You want one more?” he asked, licking his lips in an obscene way that made her want to say yes, even if her clit couldn’t possibly do anything else without hurting.

“Maybe later,” she said with a sigh, falling back on the pillows as he crawled up beside her.

“You’re right, you know.”

“What?”

“You look better coming than going.”

She would have swatted him, but she had no energy, so she just rolled over and cuddled against his side.

“You’re gonna stay, right?” she asked, jutting out her bottom lip when she looked up at him.

“Not sure it’d be polite,” he teased.

“Definitely stay then. Because your rudeness turns me on.”

“Was I rude in your dream?”

“Yes,” she said with a giggle. “Not as rude as you were just then, though.”

“Sorry, I’ll always ask before oral.”

“You’d better not,” she warned, hiking her leg up and over his hips before settling down.

#Taserbones #Darcy x Rumlow #Rumlow x Darcy #Darcy Lewis #Brock Rumlow #lemon #Sweetheart Prompts #ibelieveinturtles #My writing

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xo-707-xo · 4 years

Text

MC’s tragic backstory

a/n:Mystic Messenger fanfic? also pardon the spelling mistakes my first writing a fanfic

by xo-707-xo

707 : why don’t young people these days learn arabic

Yoosung : why would i need to learn arabic it is not like i will use it in my daily life

707 : tut tut such a shame

Mc : yep

Yoosung : so i guess you know arabic seven

707 : haha of course i do why the hell would i make a password that i don’t know the answer to

Yoosung: right...

Mc: true dat fyi lucky for you i speak arabic hahha

Yoosung : ... you do... why?

Seven : what do you mean why people communicate using different languages and arabic is one way

Yoosung : okay then mc why did you learn arabic?

Mc: oh umm that is because.. umm well my parents speak arabic so I learnt it bu default or (tragic story)

Mc: Well you see i was abandoned by my parents when i was 2 years old and then fortunately a nurse went walking by and boticed me, she took care of me and taught me the language she spoke which was arabic, when she took me to the hospital she found out i had severe asthma and a very rare heart disease and as i didn’t have a family i lived my whole life in that hospital, when it became my tenth birthday she died in a car accident i was heartbrocken the only person who took care of me died. That was the last time i cried for any reason. As I mentioned before i had asthma and a heart disease meaning everyday i hade to take a lot of medication. I did not even go to school when i became 17 they told me my estimated life time they told me the most i will live was 20 i then decided to run away and took everything i needed i started doing everything on my bucket list which were make a manga, voice an anime character, make a song, act in a movie the last one i did was make a song i then decided as i was dying anyway why not end it now i was on the rooftop of the building i was in ( i earned money working part time jobs too ) i took my shoes of and was about to jump when i got curious on what people were saying about my song, when i checked the comments i was happy just happy i then decided to continue on what i started until the time i was supposed to die, that is when i made my stage name Silver, A year later i met Haruka my now manager or momeger as i call her ( she is just like the mom friend in your friend group) i done this for 4 years now.

Yoosung: oh cool mc *or* i am so sorry... wait did you just say Silver THE SILVER.

Mc: nothing or yeah my real name is MC but my stage name is Silver

Yoosung : i am such a fan but you lived such a hard life... hey seven why are you so quiet.

707 : not to brag but i knew that she was Silver but i never knew her past...

Yoosung : wait how

707 : did you forget i did a backround check on her

Yoosung: oh right

Mc: honestly i thought seven told you guys but i guess i got to tell you.

707 : of topic but can i get an autograph for me and my friend Tom

Mc : you mean the auction.

707 : uhm... maybe

707: so that i can get my babies

Mc: your over estimating how much one of my autographs cost i would say not even a pound

Yoosung : are you kidding your autographs are soooo special you are amazing for all the things you did and went through.

Mc: thx for saying that.

707: anyway i gtg i can hear my maid coming

707 left the chat

Yoosung: what is with his made?... anyway i got to play LOLOL hearing what you said i want to contact my family.

Mc: go do that Yoosung

Yoosung: yeah laterz

Yoosung★ left the chat

Mc left the chat

{ A few hours later }

Jaehee: oh my i didn’t know that was MC’s life.

Jumin Han entered the chat

Jeahee : hello Mr. Han

Jumin : Hi Assistant Kang

Jeahee : did you hear what MC said?

Jumin : yeah i did.. she had a rough past.

Jaehee: yes she did but i can not believe we were talking to THE SILVER.

Jumin : You know who she is?

Jaehee : of course i do she is famous for her acting singing and viice acting

She brings energy for everything she does and is a kind but cheeky character.

Jaehee: just like Zen she works hard without any connections

Jumin: is that so...

ZEN has entered the chat

Zen : omg... no way

Zen : MC is THE SILVER

Jumin : i see you know who she is

Zen : of course i do she is praused by lots .. i am actually quite a fan

Jaehee : me too

Jumin : i see so i should make her the model for our new project then

Jaehee : new project ?

Jumin : yes we are going to make a chair company just for cats

Zen : i am so sorry Jaehee

Jaehee : it is fine i expected this

Jaehee : sigh well i got to go work.

Zen : okay take care

Jaehee Kang has left the chat

Jumin : i have to go for a meeting to so i will take my leave if you excuse me.

Jumin has left the chat

Zen : i will go to rehearse since i got that new role.

ZEN left the chat

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shy-magpie · 4 years

Text

RQG 146

[Author’s note: Sorry about the long break! I caught a bug and haven’t been able to edit for love or money. I have been writing the live blogs as the episodes come out but I suspect I will have to edit the stuffing out of them to get something that is both coherent and not twice as long as the show. Also I’m going to try to remember to toss a cut at the top of these things so it doesn’t take up so much of the dash etc.]

I love when they go auctioneer because they want to get to the content faster. Ooh reminder that the party have slightly conflicting goals. I almost spaced that Zolf's priority is the info to save the world while Cel is more narrowly focused on taking out the threat to their village.

Final bets on whether: 1) the timelines are simultaneous 2) its the same room 3) who(or what) is in the chair ~Hamid time~ Another stealth check and I think Alex rolled something secret. I love these nerds, I don't think they even noticed they slipped into the more precise language of math to describe the place, always makes me feel trusted when people don't hide that kind of thing. Bulk head doors are a good sign. Alex might be trying to build up to it but Bryn wants to get a description of the figure in the chair as badly as we do if not more. Full blank-masked male, cables from the chair to the organ. Ben, sweetie, we aren't going to shoot-first-ask-questions-later, or even take that as your serious suggestion moments after you reminded us Zolf is aiming for capture. "Could be another one of the dead bodies" Pardon me while I glitch on the idea that it being another member of the doomed party is the only thing that I can't recall being proposed over the last week. Am I forgetting or did Figgis actually come up as a suggestion but not that? Alex adds a ladder, to save Hamid one of his last spells "Tension, tension, tension" I can't parse how many of them are chanting but who ever that is, know I adore you. I should be vibrating from stress and instead I'm grinning like a fool. Thats my boy! Hamid's spell slots might be running scary low but his mind is sharp as ever, he remembers his potions! Oh dangerous game, but the extra time invisible as he gets closer sounds worth it. Picked up a few things from Sasha. "Think" Alex is actively trolling. The lights are bad? You choose to do that, Alex, put away the "victim of circumstances" tone. Oh the organ! I needed a better description of that. Lydia might be the only one who loves this description more than me. A pipe organ that makes potions instead of music? Bryn has heard of one where each key is an alchemical symbol. I might need to hunt down art for that if its a known pathfinder thing. Hamid recognizes it but is the wrong school to understand this, both by training as a wizard and as sorcerer. The pipes are actually full of various fluids and powders. Yes Cel needs to see this. Thank you Helen! How much money has he spent on this? Where is he getting the money? I need that clipped! (tension chant evolved) Oh hell of a bet Hamid Sasha would be proud. The table is so proud of him. FTR I think that was Ben not Bryn saying "I stroke his cheek", because Bryn wouldn't risk Alex making that joke canon and using it to hurt Hamid. (naturally there was such no risk if Ben made that joke) Cable to the back of the neck, in clerical robes (crap I remember a “Shoin the healer painting”(?) but I thought he was an alchemist? Is this an assistant? Mini boss? Or is he multi classing), a party mask? Back to that theme. Its a prop corpse and its not the same room, I'm going to scream. Hamid don't you dare! Dollars to donuts its going to stand up and be some kind of creepy corpse robot Hamid waves Skraak in Speaker time, Shoin sounds worse maybe off script. ~~party time~~ Oh Cel has to lose most of the beast voice. Never mind! Smaller pencils acquired! I love this description even better the second time around. Oh bless Lydia for giving the fuller description. 55 HP! 14 Con! Comfort beard. Ooh Azu has a potion to make her even further stronger than Zolf. (iirc she had 1 point over him already) Yes he is in fact lawful evil and no he doesn't ever let them rest. Wise Cel/Lydia! I love Azu's auras! Aura of courage sounds especially useful. Yes yes Azu is good, brave, and resolute. Oh poor Zolf can't prep without either sleep or knowing for sure the fight is coming. Cel actually has 59 HP thank goodness! Another hall? Its circling the dome Hamid is in. It better be the same dome! I feel a bit like I'm betraying the party to enjoy the set design when the set is designed to kill them. They go as fast as they can while checking for traps. I refuse to parse that any other way. Oh poor Alex, we appreciate the set design even if the characters don't. Next door has a porthole to look through. Bless Helen/Azu for reminding them to check for traps. Cel can still disable it! It was a hand buzzer? Oh, to waste spells. Missed an in laid wood image of Shoin as a saint. This guy has too much ego and money. Anyone else thinking of that old joke where a guy has to become a monk to be allowed to find out what is behind a ridiculous number of doors and the punchline is you have to become a monk to find out what he saw? Ok it is a good thing its not the right door ~Hamid time~

Alex you troll! I refuse to concede we needed something to bleed to the stress levels. Shoin’s voice officially probably not a pre recording. I love Hamid! Hangs a handkerchief over the corpse's eyes. Poseidon? Couldn't be any god other than Zolf's ex? Ok doesn't seem in good enough shape to be a necrobot, but the organ might change that. Metal chairs sized for the party bolted to floor. I think Hamid is officially having fun not following Shoin's suggestion to sit at the table. Look at the leader in him collecting the paperwork Official connection between blue veins and the simulacrum! Also a spot for the power source Liliana was working on? Red string joke! ~break~ He Acid Blasts a speaker and it pisses Shoin off. Yeah "young man" was exact wrong thing to try. Were you trying to hit his daddy issues? I love one troll and 1 Kobold! Minion this! If Hamid speaks up? Shoin’s sense are fallible, might come up later Hamid is the best! Might die of being the best, but if he has to go its fingers up. Halfling, Dragon and troll, not a damn inch of leverage except what he gets Shoin to give him by refusing to follow orders. Pretending to attempt to comply is so much more frustrating (and better listening) than if he simply went "shan't". The party comes in! A swear! Not really another way to put it. The corpse explodes! Is Shoin the organ itself? A hug! A Cel & Hamid hug! Zolf backs Hamid's play, and joins in Shoin baiting. Hamid hugs Azu and Zolf! Finally a proper Zolf hug! Cel finally gets to check out the organ. It prioritizes looks over efficiency and isn't just a potion maker. Some of it goes over Cel's head. Cel blocks the outlet. Lydia still thinks slightly sideways like me, and I love it. The cylinders are near boiling. Hamid orders Skraak to safety! Cel tries to hug Skraak, but Skraak doesn't recognize them. Poor brave little guy tried to attack before they can explain. Cel takes chatty!Skraak well and they have another little bonding growl exchange. They get ready to skip Shoin's game and go to the next room. Bad sounds. Fist sized drops of luminous green liquid from the top of the room that don't act right. Zolf attempts open the door to the next room, Hamid sprints towards it. Thank goodness someone wants to live. Natural 1? But its initiative, so that shouldn't hurt too badly right? Right? No effect thank goodness Homing blobs? I am torn exactly between that being cool and not something I want the party to deal with. How many fire balls does Hamid have left? I think Cel is out of bombs, and if we remember nothing else from Kew its that swarms require explosions. Zolf! Its the big brother of the buzzer door and is locked to boot. Azu attacks the goo nearest Zolf. Helen is too wound up to remember how to roll. Bryn and Ben couch her through it in that RQ way. Cleave! More blobs and the existing ones move towards people. Magic missile! 4 pews! 2 at the nearest to him, 2 at the one nearest Cel. I'd say squishy solidarity but Cel is pretty tough for once. Cel shoots the nearest 3? Then flies up 10 feet up and towards Skraak. Zolf blesses the party! Fair Alex! Not everything has to have a mechanical effect. Azu attacks again. It explodes, if Azu hits it it will die. At least one person should be safe. Skraak! He froze! Worth a shot Ben You'll see? It tries to blob Skraak and isn't big enough to hurt them. Is Skraak safe from collateral damage? Hamid and Cel both protect Skraak. Hamid tells Skraak to use his spear, Skraak runs instead. Thank god he might not die trying to be a hero. Something drains into the pipe organ and the pipe organ attacks! OMG it is a 50ft tall brain soup drinking electric monster! Yes Ben! Perfect! Shoin Mr Ceiling-ed himself theory has player buy in! Bye! Also I will eat my hat if the drop blobs aren't able to merge into something more dangerous.

#Rusty Quill Gaming #RQG spoilers #live blog thingy #RQG season 4 #RQG 146

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