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seakicker · 1 year

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☆ My Next-Door Neighbor is an Annoying Older Woman Who Constantly Bothers Me

☆ between: college au!scaramouche x milf!reader

☆ synopsis: scaramouche insists he doesn’t want to fuck the milf living next door, but all his friends think he doth protest too much.

☆ word count: 10.5K words

☆ a/n: like with my venti x milf!reader fic over on ao3, this is supposed to give a sort of doujinshi vibe, hence the embarrassing title and the lunacy of some ideas like milf!reader going outside in a super sheer shirt. hopefully you feel the doujinshi vibe i was going for as i have a lot of fun trying to replicate the style, themes, and flow of doujinshis using only text!

☆ contents: fem + plus-sized reader (reader is explicitly described as chubby, busty, and taller than scaramouche), age gap obviously; scaramouche is a senior in college and reader is in her early 40s, degradation, a couple insults (such as scaramouche calling you a hag/loose/etc.), degradation, exhibitionism (scaramouche fucks you in front of a glass sliding door), sexual frustration, and unprotected sex + scaramouche pulls out

also posted to ao3 with the same title and under the same username!

Scaramouche has a problem.

Well, a problem slightly more irritating than the approximately nine hundred other problems he deals with on a daily basis. These issues include, but are not limited to, the consistent problems he has with the hot water heater in his apartment, his obnoxious group project teammate Ajax who insisted upon being the group’s leader despite his complete and utter lack of intellect, his annoying circle of friends that always seem to find ways to poke their noses into Scaramouche’s business, his frustratingly-dull history professor that always goes off on tangents completely unrelated to the class’ subject matter… and so on and so forth. It’s one issue after another; there’s always something when it comes to Scaramouche.

A matter more pressing than all of those other nine hundred issues put together, however, comes in the form of his next-door neighbor— you.

You’re a divorced woman in your early forties who lives by herself, works during the daytime while Scaramouche is on campus, and always seems to leave and return home at the same times he does. He moved in next door to you a few months ago at the start of his junior year, but you’ve never really gotten the chance to get to know him beyond the curt responses he gives you when you ask how he’s doing or what he did over the weekend. His coldness towards you doesn’t make too much sense— have you somehow offended him without knowing? You like to consider yourself a good neighbor: you don’t party (like a woman your age would ever do such a thing), you don’t blast loud music long into the night (or at all), you take good care of your things and avoid causing trouble for Scaramouche or your other neighbors, and you’re very, very tidy. When you’re in the mood to brag a little, you’ll say that you have the nicest balcony in the entire apartment complex.

…Avoid causing trouble for Scaramouche, huh? He’d beg to differ.

If Scaramouche has nine hundred problems in his life, then maybe it’d be more accurate to claim that you’re the cause of at least seven hundred of those problems rather than claiming that you’re one single, self-contained issue separate from all of those other problems. Maybe it’s the way you insist upon butting your way into his life and, in what must be your way of expressing it, “taking care” of him that irritates him more than anything else. Really, if he had to sum up your advances in one word, he’d have to go with aggravating.

At first, he bitterly wondered if you’re just some senile old hag using him as a replacement for your son, who’s surely moved out by now given your age. All you are is a woman looking to cure her empty nest syndrome by doting on someone her son’s age according to Scaramouche— he viewed your kindness as underhanded and delusional because he can take care of himself, you know. He’s an adult man living on his own; he knows how to navigate the trials and tribulations of young adulthood without some old lady insisting upon knocking on his door and gifting him home-cooked meals, bringing up his mail from the first-floor mailroom, or helping him with chores where you can. It’s not like Scaramouche would ever let you into his apartment, but that hasn’t stopped you from finding ways to help outside by sweeping outside his front door or washing the outside of his front window while he’s not home.

Okay, maybe it’s a little creepy to wash your neighbor’s windows without him asking you to help out, but it’s not like he’s going to do it. You would know— you had once waited a week to see if he’d clean up a spilled drink stain on the walkway in front of his door. As you expected, he never got around to it, so you happily cleaned it up on his behalf. Cleaning up for him doesn’t really put you out of your way either— whenever you sweep his doorway, it’s because you were already outside tidying up in front of your place; why not help out your neighbor in the process?

When you bring him meals you prepared yourself, it’s out of the goodness of your heart and because you can’t help but worry about a college boy’s diet— fast food, pizza, frozen microwave meals, and instant ramen don’t have all the nutrients a hardworking man needs. When you bring him his mail, it’s because he has a tendency to forget about it until his mailbox is, quite literally, overflowing. Whereas you check your mailbox every single day, Scaramouche seems to forget about his until the end of the week, which is certainly no way to live— what if he misses an important bill or notice? As a result, you took it upon yourself to check his mailbox for him whenever you go to retrieve your own mail.

Again, maybe it’s a little creepy to gather your neighbor’s mail, but it’s not like you’re hurting anyone, right? You certainly don’t root through his mail or open any of it. Even though Scaramouche rolls his eyes and mumbles a halfhearted little “thanks” every time you hand him his mail, he doesn’t really seem to mind. Despite his initial reluctance to accept any of it, he still eats the food you prepare for him if the empty containers he returns to you a few days later are any indication of that fact. You figure maybe he’s just a little shy or tired from his long day on campus— it does your heart well to know that he’s working so very hard.

On the flip side of things, Scaramouche considers your… activities a total inconvenience. He’ll admit that your meals taste very good— though he’d never say it to your face— but he doesn’t like feeling indebted to you or thinking that he owes you something even though you’ve told him multiple times that your favors don’t need any payback. You’re just happy to cook for someone other than yourself, you had told him once, confirming Scaramouche’s suspicion that you live alone. It’s not his fault you’re bored enough to make food for someone you barely know, so do you have to rope him into your wiles? He already has groceries and though he doesn’t really know how to cook, what’s wrong with having a bowl of cereal for dinner? It’s none of your business, is it?

Between your constant insistence on involving yourself in his life and the fact that he’s never seen anyone else leaving or entering your apartment, Scaramouche was able to correctly guess that you live alone… a realization that can’t help but annoy him. He figures that if you had someone, anyone else in your life like a spouse or another child living with you, you’d stop pestering him and stick to involving yourself in the lives of your family instead of your neighbor.

Would a pet do? Should he find some stray kitten and leave it on your doorstep? Is that what it’d take to make you mind your own business?

“Hey, Kuni, tell me about your little neighbor lady again,” Venti coos, accidentally knocking over his—thankfully— empty beer bottle when he leans forward to grab his phone. He’s drunk, but that barely makes a difference; he’d still make this request sober.

Glowering around the mouth of his own bottle, Scaramouche rolls his eyes in Venti’s general direction. “Why? If you want to know that hag so badly, go talk to her yourself.”

Venti busts out laughing, an action that his drunken body clearly can’t handle seeing as he falls sideways into Aether’s shoulder, making the latter grimace in response. Venti’s already a handful sober, but when he drinks… it takes the entire friend group to get him home and/or in bed safely. “Don’t threaten me with that, ‘cuz I really will do it— I’ll go steal your hot older girlfriend.”

Glaring up at him from his spot on the rug, Scaramouche has half a mind to shove that empty beer bottle into Venti’s eye for suggesting such a thing. Hey, wait a minute— why is Scaramouche the one sitting on the floor when this is his damn apartment?

“She’s not my fucking girlfriend,” he barks, turning to direct his glare at Kazuha too when he hears him chuckle.

“The more you deny it, the less convincing you are— you talk about her all the time, so I’m inclined to believe you really are dating,” Venti chirps, reaching for a bottle of beer that is most certainly not his.

“That’s mine,” Aether protests, watching as Venti takes a sip from his bottle anyways.

“Oops, my bad.” He doesn’t sound sincere.

“Well… get me another whenever you stand up.”

Venti waves his hand dismissively before redirecting his attention back to the more important matter at hand— Scaramouche’s complete and utter inability to just admit that he has the hots for his hot MILF of a neighbor and that any protest otherwise is a feeble attempt at hiding the truth.

“They say you’re attracted to things that make you mad,” Venti says. “…Cuteness aggression. Yeah. I saw a video about it once.”

“That’s not what cuteness aggression is, and ‘they’ say that you attract the things you fear,” Kazuha corrects him from his spot in the nearby armchair— again, why is Scaramouche the one sitting on the floor?— before he goes to take another hit off his blunt.

Venti repeats what Kazuha said in a nasally voice in an attempt to mock him, but the gesture only makes Kazuha chuckle again. It’ll be hard to draw any response more eloquent than a single laugh or a sigh out of him for the rest of the night— it’s a very, very stark difference from how he usually is.

“Why the fuck do I ever invite any of you over here?” Scaramouche sighs, taking a long swig from his own bottle. He doesn’t even really like the taste; it’s something Venti found on sale and decided to bring over, but Scaramouche has decided it’s better than spending his Friday night sober. Besides, it’ll take at least four more of these to deal with the impending conversation that he’s been trying so hard to pivot away from since Venti first brought it up.

“Because we’re best friends forever, next question. Why do you deny how much you wanna fuck your sexy neighbor, Kuni?” Venti asks again, pouting when Aether snatches the bottle Venti stole from him. “It’s super obvious. Xiao and Heizou agree with me, and I’m not just saying that because they’re not here tonight and can’t contest me on it. It’s true.”

Kazuha nods, and Aether simply shrugs. Christ alive, do they all think the same thing?

“And why on Earth do I— in theory— want to fuck her? She’s probably loose or something,” Scaramouche argues.

Venti busts out laughing again.

“It’s the opposite, really,” he starts, glancing between Aether and Kazuha when neither of them laugh along with him. “What, have you guys seriously never been with an older lady? They’re the best; the reason I know Kuni wants to get with that lady next door is because I got with the lady next door to me a couple months ago. It takes one to know one, or something. Trust me, Kuni, I know what you’re going through and we are seriously gonna get through this together.” Why is he making it sound like a relative died or something?

“They’re experienced,” Venti sighs longingly, blindly reaching out again for the bottle Aether’s holding, who moves it further away and out of Venti’s reach. “They feel really, really good. They actually know what they’re doing… sometimes the girls—and guys, mind you, I’ve gotten with plenty of both— our age clearly don’t know they’re supposed to be doing, but getting with somebody’s mom…”

“You’re gross!” Aether gasps, though his pink cheeks tell a different story.

“Not as gross as the guy who’s told us the same story about seeing his neighbor lady braless like four times now,” Venti replies, glancing over at Scaramouche with a grin. “Really left an impression on you, huh, Kuni?”

Just like that, Scaramouche finds himself instantly reminded of, well, the time he saw you braless first thing in the morning. A few months ago on some random Saturday morning, Scaramouche was out smoking a cigarette on his porch when you stepped outside to water the plants you keep on your balcony. There were so many of them: a small tomato plant, a pot overflowing with basil that you took to trimming after you finished watering everything, a couple of hanging baskets field with flowers, and a few other vegetable plants and potted succulents. More glaringly obvious than the abundance of plants occupying your balcony was your complete and utter shamelessness— even a quick glance in your direction was enough to draw Scaramouche’s attention to the distractingly sheer fabric of your white camisole.

It’s not like Scaramouche was actively staring at your tits— really, he wasn’t, he swears— because anyone would notice something that egregious. The low, low sweep of your camisole around your ample bust, your nipples beading up against the thin fabric, the constant fucking movement of the top as you shifted and bent over to water the plants sitting on the ground, moved, and walked, all of it. He complained to his friends about your complete and utter shamelessness— What kind of woman steps outside practically naked? he spat, much to the amusement of Venti, who had said that wearing a thin shirt does not, in fact, make one naked.

Worst of all, you had actually fucking caught Scaramouche staring, an action that made you grin wickedly and run your hands down the sides of your soft, plump body as if to try and draw his eyes down along with your hands. Instead, Scaramouche had only whipped his head to the other side, busying himself with tapping the ash off his cigarette as if it were the most important task he’d ever complete in his life. Jesus Christ, he was only staring because he couldn’t believe you’d be so shameless as to wear something like that outside, not because he was genuinely aroused by how low your camisole sat on your chest, how big your tits are, how soft they look…

He thinks he shuddered then, and he insisted to his friends that it was because of a sudden chilly breeze and absolutely nothing more. It was either that or because he was just so shocked by your display that a shiver went down his spine— he can’t even remember the exact reason he gave anymore.

Either way, none of them really believed him.

“Ah, he seems distracted,” Kazuha notes simply, raising a hand to point at Scaramouche before grinning. His words pull Scaramouche from his little daydream, and he groans at the realization that, yes, he spaced out remembering yet another instance of your abhorrent shamelessness and perversion.

“Spaced out thinking about cute MILF boobs, I get it,” Venti affirms, nodding. “Nobody gets that more than me. Not only that, but you’ve also, uh, ‘complained’ to us about seeing her in her swimsuit. Really, Kuni, it’s like you’re biding your time and waiting for her to take her clothes off so you can tell us about it.”

…That’s a story for another time. Scaramouche has had enough of thinking about you for one day; it’s bad enough that you brought him his mail today just mere moments before Venti, Kazuha, and Aether arrived to hang out— what if they saw you?— but to be reminded of the image of your tits underneath that pathetic excuse for a top…

He shakes his head and takes a long, long sip from his bottle.

“And they’re so soft, Kuni,” Venti says, slumping over further into Aether for support. “They feel like absolutely nothing else. I feel like firmness or perkiness or whatever is really, really overrated— the softness of a cute MILF’s boobs is unrivaled!”

“Can you not say things like that right into my ear?” Aether mumbles bashfully, making Venti laugh.

“Why? Am I gonna put the mental image of MILF boobs in your brain, too? Are we gonna become an entire friend group full of MILF chasers? That’d be hilarous. I already know about Xiao’s little crush on his English professor.”

Jesus, Scaramouche has got to steer this conversation somewhere else or he’ll go mad. “Anyways,” he beings, “Where is that pizza you ordered ages ago?”

“I thought Kazuha was taking care of it,” Aether remarks, glancing over at him. Kazuha goes to reply, but nothing comes out— yep, he’s gone for the night. He won’t be able to get out any more than four words max until morning.

As if the universe heard their request, the doorbell rings to signify the arrival of dinner. Before Scaramouche can go to pull himself up off the floor—he really should make Venti move; it’s his couch in his apartment— Venti’s already in the process of skipping towards the door. Aether takes the opportunity to kick his feet up over the other couch cushion, making Scaramouche wonder if the three of them formed some secret pact to ensure that he stays on the floor the entire evening.

However, what stands on the other side of the door is not, in fact, the pizza delivery boy. It’s you, aluminum foil-covered glass casserole dish in hand, leading Scaramouche to believe that while the universe did hear their request for food, the devil answered by sending you to his doorstep while he has three of his friends over.

“Oh! You’re not the pizza guy,” Venti beams, putting on his best ‘polite’ voice possible. Scaramouche groans and looks over towards his other two friends just so he doesn’t accidentally make eye contact with you, but neither Aether nor Kazuha look back at him. They’re looking at you.

Christ, he’ll never live this down. Not only do they know who you are, they now know what you look like.

“I’m not,” you giggle. “I live next door; I bring food to Scaramouche sometimes whenever I get a little too excited in the kitchen and make too much. I can’t eat the leftovers fast enough before they go bad, and I would hate to waste food, you know?”

“You can call him Kuni,” Venti offers. “We all do. It’s less of a mouthful, don’t you think?”

Scaramouche decides that Venti will be leaving his apartment in a body bag tonight.

His cheeks burn with equal parts humiliation and anger, and the realization that his friends’ teasing is only about to get worse now that they know who you are and what you look like more than motivates Scaramouche to devise a plot to kill the three of them.

After introducing yourself to Venti, he smiles and replies that “the pleasure is all his” when you tell him it’s nice to meet some of Scaramouche’s friends. Venti has half a mind to invite you inside for a moment, but he decides that’d be unnecessary— he figures he’s already done more than enough to inspire Scaramouche into action. If Scaramouche won’t act on his feelings himself, then maybe a little shove from his friends will help him along.

“That’s sweet of you!” Venti praises, taking the dish from your hands. “I’m glad Kuni’s eating properly these days. One time, he told us that the only thing he survived off of during finals week was a sleeve of Saltines and some peanut butter. You’re so kind, miss.”

You giggle sheepishly, a sound that Scaramouche would like to claim grates his ears. Miss? Can’t Venti see that you’re, well, old? “Well, I’m glad that he has such kind friends to support him. You all take care, okay? You too, Scara— Kuni!” You call out past Venti’s shoulder, making both Aether and Kazuha chuckle.

After bidding farewell to the four in what has to be the most mortifying moment of Scaramouche’s entire life, you leave, allowing Venti to close the door behind you and make his way back to the others. “Those boobs are huge,” he sighs dreamily, looking up at the ceiling. “If I got suffocated between those, I would die a fully satisfied man.”

“Then go die,” Scaramouche mutters in agreement, cheeks still burning with humiliation. Why does the universe insist upon tormenting him so?

Eyeing the dish in Venti’s hands, Aether pipes up too “She cooks for you? Kuni, you have it so good.”

Scaramouche is amazed that, after all this time, his friends still find it in them to be jealous of him despite all of his attempts at framing you as annoying, invasive, and overbearing. Can’t they see that you’re doing this on purpose?! Scaramouche has half a mind to wonder if you’re psychic— what other explanation is there for your obnoxiously perfect timing? He asks about food and suddenly you appear on his doorstep, dish in hand as if you had heard him through the walls. There’s no way they’re that thin, are they?

Venti moves to set the dish down on the kitchen countertop before turning around to look Scaramouche square in the eye. “Kuni, I’m saying this because I respect you as my longtime friend,” he asserts, tone and gaze both deathly serious in a way that’s genuinely almost out of character for someone as flippant and carefree as Venti. “But you better fuck that lady the first chance you get because, if you don’t, I’m taking her for myself.” That should do it.

Scowling in response, Scaramouche crosses his arms over his chest and sighs bitterly. “Why would I stop you? I don’t care what you do with her. For the last fucking time, I’m not into her.” Despite his words, Scaramouche can’t deny that there’s something… unsettling about the idea of Venti getting with you. Does he really want to watch his friend take four A.M. booty calls in order to fuck the woman living right next door to him? Can Scaramouche truly stomach the idea of his friend fucking the brains out of someone just a few walls away from where he lives? It’s hard to put his finger on why, but something about Venti getting with Scaramouche’s neighbor, despite his insistence that there truly is nothing between the two of them, really, really irks him.

Well, it’s probably just because a lot of Venti’s behavior tends to irritate Scaramouche in the first place, right? Yeah, it’s probably just that. He doesn’t need to hear every last gritty detail of his friend’s sexual trysts.

That characteristically smug grin of his finds its way back to Venti’s face as he reaches over Aether’s shoulder and snatches his beer bottle again. “Fine, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. How about we forget the pizza and eat what she brought over?”

“Oh, I see now,” Kazuha interjects after having been silent for the past twenty minutes. He turns his phone around to show Scaramouche, Venti, and Aether the check-out screen on the pizza chain’s website. “It seems I failed actually submit the order; it was still waiting for me to pay.”

Scaramouche doesn’t have a hangover the next morning, a blessing he owes to the fact that he only ended up drinking two beers last night. He probably would’ve consumed more if he had the chance to, but Venti blew through the rest of the box quicker than the other three could try to stop him. It took both Kazuha and Aether supporting Venti’s hardly-conscious body to get him down the stairs to the parking lot so they can drive him home— there’s no way Venti would be able to safely get himself home amidst such an awful hangover.

As he pokes through his apartment scooping up empty beer bottles and stained paper plates to toss into a trash bag, the glass casserole dish sitting out on the kitchen counter catches Scaramouche’s eye. Save for a few scraps shoved into the rounded corners of the pan, it’s practically been picked clean— the four boys tore through it easily with Venti, Kazuha, and Aether all fawning over just how good a home-cooked meal tastes after months of campus cafeteria food, fast food, and instant ramen. Venti mentioned that there’s just something about a MILF’s cooking that makes it so much better, leading to a conversation about how, in Venti’s educated opinion, older women just do everything better: sex, cooking, cleaning, caretaking, all of it.

Scaramouche scoffs at the memory. “She’s nothing special,” he mutters to himself, still failing to understand Venti’s obsession with somebody he’s never even met until last night. Scaramouche is the one who’s actually been living next door to her for months now— as his friends know by now, he has plenty more to say about her than Venti does.

Shouldn’t he be the one to comment on things like the size of your bust, the softness of your legs, the plumpness of your ass and belly, and the flavor of your cooking? He’s the one who’s actually seen you lounging in tiny string bikinis by the apartment complex’s pool, watering the plants out on your balcony in a pair of shorts that certainly break publicly decency laws, and retrieving your mail in a shirt so thin he can make out the little bumps of your nipples up against the fabric.

“Christ, what am I thinking?” Scaramouche stops himself and second-guesses whether or not he’s actually hungover. There’s no way his sober mind would drift to thoughts of you, right? Clearly something must be wrong with him— he blames Venti for putting all these thoughts in his head with his never-ending discussion of what makes older women so utterly sexy.

He’s then reminded of what Venti told him right before they all sat down to eat your cooking: that if Scaramouche won’t hurry up and fuck his neighbor, Venti will do it for him. Even now, the idea still bothers him for reasons he just can’t quite put his finger on— Venti’s been with tons and tons of people; why does he want Scaramouche’s neighbor too? Can’t Venti see how awkward that would be?

Setting the trash bag down on the floor, Scaramouche takes to the sink to wash out the casserole dish you brought over for them last night. His mind concocts disgustingly vivid images of you as he scrubs at a particularly stubborn piece of dried cheese, and maybe he’d be shocked by how little effort he’s putting into warding those thoughts away if he weren’t so utterly immersed in them. His mind conjures up the image of you in that tiny black bikini he saw you wearing by the pool while he was out smoking on his balcony— he remembers the little number being so small that you had to readjust it every single time you simply sat up or lied down because every last motion was enough to threaten a nipslip. It makes him wonder if you dress like that on purpose or because you’ve deluded yourself into thinking that clothes and swimsuits you used to wear still fit you despite clear evidence otherwise— are you actively vying for the attention of any man who’ll give it to you, or are you brainless enough to throw something on without caring about how poorly or not it fits?

It’s probably a mix of both; you’re just that shameless.

Scaramouche grits his teeth at the mental image of you straddling him while adorned in that tiny little bikini that seems to only get tinier and tinier the longer he allows his imagination to run wild. Of all the fucking things to imagine you doing…

He pictures what you’d look like with your thick, plump thighs enveloping either side of his hips as you run your hands up and down your ample chest and soft stomach. God, he can see it all now: the little bumps of your nipples beading up against the thin fabric of your swimsuit, the soft hang of your tummy spilling over the tiny, flimsy string keeping your bottoms secured around your wide hips, the way your tits would bounce as you ride him…

“Something’s wrong with me,” he grumbles, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. The clump of cheese he’d been scraping at finally separates from the pan, and he realizes that if he wants to rid you from his mind for good, he should take matters into his own hands before Venti does.

No, wait, this has nothing to do with Venti— this isn’t about staking claim over you before any of his friends can, this is solely about him finding ways to release the grip you have on him as if you’re some kind of wicked succubus. Scaramouche glances downwards after setting the dish aside to dry and, much to his chagrin, finds that the mere thought of you was enough to fucking get him hard. The eager press of his cock against the confines of his briefs moritifies him solely because of the very reason why he’s like this in the first place; how the fuck did the thought of you in a bikini so tiny your areolas peek around the sides reduce him to such a state? He’d like to believe that he’s only this hard because it’s been a while since he’s jerked off, but that would be an excuse less believable than any of the ones he’s ever given his friends.

He knows that he’s too dignified to jerk off to the thought of you— if he’s feeling horny, then surely he can find things more deserving of his attention than some hag next door. He refuses to give you that kind of satisfaction (despite the fact that you’d never even know unless he told you, so how could you be smug about it?), so he decides that an ice-cold shower is in order before venturing out to settle things with you.

After a shower so cold Scaramouche swears he saw his fingers begin to turn purple, he dries off, gets dressed in something other than the clothes he fell asleep in last night, grabs your clean casserole dish, and leaves to go to the one place he wouldn’t have ever imagined himself stepping foot in— your apartment. If this is what it takes to sever the connection between you and his mind…

God, this is going to be annoying, Scaramouche thinks as he knocks on your door using his foot, casserole dish supported safely by both of his hands. He feels the need to steel himself because he just knows you’ll answer the door in something sheer, skimpy, or some combination of the two and he needs to be ready for that.

Why? Are you hoping for that to happen, Kuni? Venti’s voice whispers from the back of Scaramouche’s mind.

He really is losing it.

“Good morning— oh, Kuni! This is a surprise,” you greet him upon opening the door, flashing him a smile so bright it nearly makes him cringe. Can you spare him the pleasantries so he can just get to the point?

Fucking Venti— why teach her that nickname? Turning his head to look at a faraway bird instead of you, Scaramouche scoffs. “I need to talk to you.” Straight to the point, emotionless, and rude, it’s all so in-character for your neighbor that you can’t help but giggle.

You grin wider. “Of course. Come in; I’ll put a pot of coffee on.”

Scaramouche waits until you’re a good few steps ahead of him before following you inside, glancing around the living room of your apartment as he makes his way to the kitchen table. Your apartment’s clean, impeccably so at that— every book on your bookshelf faces the same direction, the blanket draped over the back of your couch doesn’t have a single crease, and he can’t see even an ounce of dust on any inch of your tables and countertops.

He snorts a little. Rather than viewing the cleanliness as impressive or inspiring, he bitterly interprets it as a testament to your overabundance of free time and lack of other hobbies or pastimes.

“I’m not sure how strong you like your coffee, so I’ll just make it how I normally do,” you pipe up from the kitchen, pulling Scaramouche away from scrutinizing the titles of the books on your shelf. Restless Summer Nights? The Devil’s Mistress? They all sound like bargain bin erotica novels.

It was a mistake to direct his attention away from your novels and to you instead, he figures, because only now does he get a look at what you’re wearing— if one could even call that clothing. You’re dressed in something he wants to call a workout outfit, but anyone leaving the house in an outfit like that surely has goals other than simply exercising— they want to attract attention. A sports bra that sits so low on your chest that a single bounce on an exercise ball would expose you combines with a pair of spandex leggings so tight they reveal the lines of your panties to comprise your “workout outfit,” and to say that Scaramouche is mortified would be an understatement. He can’t help but find the combination of your manner of dress and your collection of novels completely pathetic.

And despite his apparent disgust… he’s been staring at you long enough to pick up the most minute details about your outfit. The indifferent passerby likely wouldn’t notice your pantylines— a certain amount of staring is required to actually notice them; they’re really not obvious from a quick glance. Actually, why can’t he stop looking at you? He writes it off as a simple morbid curiosity at how someone can be so completely and utterly shameless— one could almost liken his sick, cynical fascination with your ample curves and soft body to rubbernecking.

Scaramouche instead stares down into the cup of coffee you’ve set in front of him like it’s the most fascinating object in the entire world. He’s half-inclined to just close his eyes entirely, seeing as the slightest glimpse of your bust still occupies the uppermost part of his peripheral eyesight when you sit down in the chair opposite of him.

“So,” you start, sliding a porcelain dish with a small bowl of sugar cubes and a saucer of creamer his way. “What can I help you with? It’s rare for you to talk to me first, Kuni.”

He adds “drop that nickname” to his mental list of topics to bring up with you. Scaramouche plucks a few sugar cubes from the bowl before him and drops them into his coffee before absentmindedly stirring the liquid with a serving spoon.

“Last night,” He clears his throat. “Why did you come over to talk to V— to my friends?” Why are you always in my business? he really wants to ask, but he feels like you’ll start crying if he presses you too firmly.

And that’d just be obnoxious.

You giggle. “That makes it sound like I came over on purpose because I knew you had people over, and that’s not true. Haven’t we been in the habit of food delivery and acceptance for months now?” Scaramouche’s eyes follow yours to the squeaky-clean casserole dish he placed on your counter.

“I’m glad your friends seemed to enjoy the food just as much as you do,” you add sweetly, pursing your lips and blowing on your coffee to help it cool down.

“It was humiliating,” Scaramouche counters, a statement that prompts you to look up from your coffee and make eye contact with him. “They wouldn’t— they wouldn’t stop fucking talking about you after you left.”

Wait, that’s not the point here, is it? Surely Scaramouche’s main complaint isn’t that Venti practically sweet-talked you right into his bed, it’s that Scaramouche is tired of you invading his business and his space, right? He doesn’t care about Venti’s comments about your soft tits or your wide hips, he doesn’t care about Aether’s bashful confession that he exclusively jerks off to older women, he doesn’t care that he has competition because there’s nothing to compete over and he’s really, actually, truly angry that you always find a way to worm your way into his days and his mind and his free time and his wet dreams and his—

“Oh, I’m flattered,” you reply simply, sipping your coffee and smiling around the rim of the cup. “They’re such nice boys. I’m glad you have such sweet friends, dear.”

What’s warmer: the tips of Scaramouche’s ears or his untouched cup of coffee?

“That’s not— what? That’s not the point I’m making and you know that,” he grimaces, clearing his throat again. “My friends shouldn’t have to put up with a shameless old hag the way I have to.”

You set your cup down. “That’s not very nice. I look good for my age— that charming boy down at the corner mart always asks for my ID whenever I pick up some wine!”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “That’s his job. Anyways, I’m telling you to mind your own business.”

“Oh, is that all? Of course I can do that for you.” Your reply comes without a single skipped beat.

“I mean it, that means don’t touch my mail and— what?” Wait, there’s no way you’re making this this easy. A shameless, conniving, lustful, lewd seductress of a woman like you agreeing to just… fuck off at the first request? Scaramouche doesn’t buy it— this is just another phase of your plan to throw him off guard and pull the rug out from under him so you can sink your claws deeper and deeper into him.

“I like cooking for you and cleaning for you, and I was very happy to meet your friends yesterday, but if you want me to stop, of course I will,” you explain. “I wonder who’ll help me eat my leftovers now… your friend from last night gave me his phone number; does he like potato soup? I’m making that tonight.”

Scaramouche almost, almost feels a shiver tear down his spine. He’s starting to believe that Venti’s just as much an antagonist in this situation as you are.

“Why the fuck did you accept his number? Delete it,” he grumbles, crossing his arms and glaring over at you. His coffee’s surely gone cold by now, but that’s alright— he was never much of a coffee drinker anyways.

You shrug, a sly smile forming on your lips. “Oh, I don’t know. He was so sweet I didn’t want to say no… it’d give me someone new to talk to, if nothing else.” Why do you need to talk to Venti when he barely knows you and I’m right fucking here?

“It’s not like you talk to me much despite all my best efforts, Kuni,” you offer him the subtlest of pouts, an action that would look out of place on the face of a woman your age if you weren’t so… if you weren’t so…

Forget it, he’s not saying anything about you that could be interpreted as a compliment. “…Especially now that you and I have agreed to leave each other alone.”

Oh, Scaramouche doesn’t like this feeling. He hates feeling like a situation has spun out of his control, and that’s, unfortunately, exactly what he feels is happening here. You’ve agreed to his terms and you’ve promised to stay out of his way, so why does he feel so… angry?

Yeah, you must have some underhanded motive here. Why else would you be making this so… easy? That’s not like you at all— he was expecting you to fan your eyelashes, pout your lips, push your tits forward, and whimper that you’re sorry and that you’d love to keep talking to him, so will he please give you a second chance?

I’ll do anything, he was sure you’d say.

You clear your throat. “Well, is there anything else you’d like to discuss now? If not, I’ll get back to my yoga. It’s good to be active, right?”

What the hell? You’re ending the conversation? No way, no how— this ends on Scaramouche’s terms, not yours. Who do you think you are?

“No, that’s not it, actually,” he blurts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Staying out of my business means staying away from Venti— from any of my friends. Don’t talk to them, don’t text them, don’t— I don’t know. Don’t be around them.”

You smile a little wider. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sound jealous, Kuni.”

He scoffs, staring you directly in the eye as if to challenge you. “Seriously? Shit joke.”

Of all the adjectives you could have picked to describe him… “It’s just that the thought of you getting with Venti is nauseating, alright?”

You hum. “And why him specifically, hm? You had other friends over last night— are they single?” Jesus Christ, what is this, an interrogation? And where the hell are these sorts of questions coming from— did you already send Venti an invitation to hook up?

Sneering so hard his nose scrunches up, Scaramouche can’t help but feel appalled. “Did you decide I’m not good enough or something? Who do you think you are?”

You go silent.

Scaramouche, somehow, goes even quieter than silent when the weight of his words finally sets in. There it is— the culmination of your grand plan to humiliate, embarrass, and utterly demean him in your own home. You had this outcome planned from the start, didn’t you?

“I didn’t say that,” you stammer, attempting to correct yourself. “Why do you think I’ve been vying for your attention all this time? Of course I like you, Kuni.”

God, how you piss him off. Who do you think you are— some bashful schoolgirl confessing to her first crush?

“I know that I’m just an old woman and that you could certainly find a cute, young, perky college girl whenever you’d like to, but if you’d ever like me…”

Of course Scaramouche could get someone his age from one of his classes— he doesn’t need to settle for some loose old hag— and yet… the thought of you getting with anyone else, Venti or not, pisses him off in a way he can’t quite describe. Maybe he views himself as some kind of hero protecting everyone else from your shamelessness, maybe he views himself as the only one worthy of your attention as the one who has to put up with you the most, maybe he views you as someone actually, genuinely worth being with…

He sits up a little straighter. “You have no idea how obnoxious you are,” he mutters. “Taking up my time and attention even when you’re not around.”

“What a forked tongue,” you reply, leaning forward and, much to Scaramouche’s chagrin, pushing your breasts together with your hands. “You know that’s why I like you, right? Mean boys have always been my favorite— ever since high school.”

“You’re not worth the time,” he spits. So fucking annoying. So fucking shameless. What kind of woman your age behaves this way, anyway? So obnoxious, so pathetic, so intoxicating, so impossible-to-keep-out-of-his-mind—

“Venti sure seems to think I am,” you offer with a smug, self-satisfied smile as you rise from your seat. Hooking your thumbs up under the straps of your sports bra, you quickly snap the elastic fabric back against your shoulders to give your tits a little bounce, an action that, of course, does not go unnoticed. Slapping his hands down flat against the perfectly-ironed lacy tablecloth covering your dining room table and standing up so quickly he nearly knocks his knees against the table’s hardwood underside, Scaramouche laughs.

What a time to finally, finally accept that he has the hots for his neighbor— the same neighbor who’s supposedly the cause of so many of his bad days and sour moods. You’ve prompted many a disdainful mutter from Scaramouche after catching a glimpse of you through your drawn curtains, you’ve been the subject of many a snide comment made in the presence of his friends, and, most frustratingly of all, you’ve inspired countless, countless inappropriate thoughts that he cannot believe you’ve been the subject of.

And all it took was one of his friends hitting on you for him to realize that.

“Constantly flaunting a body like this,” he chides in a way that he wants to come off as insulting and condescending rather than sadistically flattering, but the little grin you offer in response gives him reason to believe you interpreted it as the latter. Seriously?

“Other boys your age seem to enjoy the flaunting,” you counter, slipping your thumbs into the waistband of your spandex leggings. As if to tease the act of pulling them all the way down your legs, you flip the fabric of your waistband over its seam to expose the majority of your soft lower belly.

Anger burns hot behind his pale cheeks. “Is this some kind of pathetic hobby of yours? Fucking guys half your age?”

“I like to consider it a lifestyle,” you reply, shimmying your leggings further and further down your thick thighs until your thong’s completely exposed. A black lace thong— how becoming of a nymphomanic like yourself. “I’m fine with trading experience for virility and stamina; do you know how many men my age finish in thirty seconds and call it there because they’re ‘just so tired’? College boys either go until they can’t hold themselves upright or until they have nothing left to pump into me.”

There’s that vulgar nature that’s both irritated and (subconciously) aroused him for months. He wants to believe that your disgusting nature doesn’t make his cock twitch, but the time for pretending has clearly passed. You don’t believe he finds you ugly or unappealing and neither does he anymore.

“And do you find this… lifestyle fulfilling?” Scaramouche challenges, grimacing at the pressure building in the frontside of his tight jeans.

You laugh. “Is that your way of saying you don’t? Are you a virgin, sweetheart?”

“Of course not. Just because some of us don’t fuck everything with two legs and a pulse doesn’t mean we’re virgins.” His clumsy escapades are none of your business— his high school girlfriend and that guy from the concert Venti dragged him to over the summer don’t concern you.

Bending forward to push your leggings down to your knees, you gaze up at Scaramouche through your eyelashes and giggle. “Don’t make it sound like I don’t savor every last cock or strap I ride. You could put every last one of them in front of me and I’d be able to tell you who they belong to with my eyes shut.”

Venti mentioned something about experience, didn’t he? What a sanitized way of calling older women complete and total whores.

The inferiority complex in Scaramouche wants to prove that he’s the best thing a whore like you will ever experience, that he can make you feel better than any of the other bumbling college morons he probably knows can, and that you’ll give up your ways of fucking everyone that looks at you in order to devote yourself to him and him alone. That’d be some nice payback for all the pain and humiliation you’ve subjected him to these past couple of months, right?

No, he has a better idea.

“If you want to show yourself off that badly,” Scaramouche huffs, doing his damndest to ignore the nearly-painful throbbing in his jeans. “Then I’m sure you’d be fine with doing it in front of that glass door, right?”

With your hands still bunched in the fabric of your leggings, you look back at the glass sliding door that leads to your balcony and bite your lip. It’s not likely anyone would actually see you— you and Scaramouche live on the third floor— but it’s still a possibility and an exciting thought nonetheless. Maybe you could give that nice redheaded quarterback boy you fucked a few months ago a nice show; he lives just across the parking lot in the building parallel to yours.

“Now who’s the deviant one? I’ve never fucked anywhere more public than a nightclub’s bathroom stall,” you tease, finally pushing your leggings all the way down and off your legs. He doesn’t believe you, but Christ, those thighs of yours look soft…

You accept his offer nonetheless and make your way over to the balcony door, your thong riding high on your wide hips and your hardened nipples pressing into the flimsy fabric of your pathetic excuse of a sports bra. “You’re helping me wipe off all the fingerprints afterwards,” you scold, inviting him over with a wiggle of your hips and a glance back over your shoulder.

Now, rationally, Scaramouche would never propose the idea of fucking in a place as public as right in front of an apartment complex parking lot. He’s never considered himself an exhbitionist and he’s always been somewhat obsessed with his image, and people who care about their image generally don’t have sex in the potential presence of others. Additionally, there’s probably something to be said about him potentially getting caught fucking the same woman he’s spent the better half of this past year complaining about, but the current irrational, horny, angry Scaramouche wouldn’t listen to better judgement or rationality anyways.

The relief that comes with unbuttoning his jeans and giving his almost painfully-hard cock room to breathe is so euphoric he can’t help but sigh, the throbbing in his crotch more aggravating than any pounding headache he’s ever experienced after an evening drinking with his friends.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” he laughs, incredulous. “To think the hag living next door to me is the reason I’m like this.” Jamming the weight of his bulge into the plumpness of your soft ass, Scaramouche seizes hold of your hips in both of his hands and gives the fat of your love handles a painful squeeze just to hear you suck the air in through your teeth.

“I thought you’d never come around, you know,” you breathe, beyond eager at the prospect of finally, finally getting to fuck the neighbor boy you’ve been actively working at breaking for months upon months now. A guy this mean, this arrogant, and this demeaning doesn’t come around that often, especially when so many of the guys you get with take the polite route by calling you “ma’am” and complimenting you over and over again— which certainly isn’t a bad thing, but cruel has always satisfied you in ways that kind cannot.

The height difference between the two of you means that Scaramouche has to stand up a little straighter than he normally does in order to press his hips against yours, a realization that’s only slightly humiliating. Granted, it could never compare to how humiliating it was for you to show up at his apartment in front of all his friends.

God, does it feel good to put you in your place.

“Spread,” Scaramouche mutters, knocking one of his feet against both of your ankles. He doesn’t tell you that he needs you to spread your legs so your hips will lower a bit, allowing him to reach them a little more easily since you’re a bit taller than he is.

You would tease him for skipping the foreplay and just jamming himself right into you, but you know that you’ve been plenty wet enough ever since your discussion with him first wandered to sex and masturbation. Well, that, and if you had to wait another minute to get the cock you’ve been so desperate for for so long now, you very well may go crazy. It’s taken months, but you can already tell that it was all so, so worth it.

Running his knuckles down the center of your thong, Scaramouche relishes in the smug satisfaction that comes with realizing that you’re wet. It’s equal parts arousing and equal parts pathetic— just how desperate are you for any cock you can get your hands on?

“You’ve already kept me waiting for months,” you say with a pout cast back at him from over your shoulder. “Why make me wait even longer when I’m right here?”

“Shameless and impatient,” he remarks with a frustrated huff. “Can’t you do something good with your life or yourself for once and just be quiet?”

As tempting as it is to make a teasing quip in return to only further rile up your angsty neighbor boy, a frenzied giggle is the only sound you can muster up when you feel the firm press of a cock against your clothed pussy. Even through your flimsy thong, you can tell that he’s hard, which is a reward in its own right. It’s what you’ve wanted to achieve since the very first time he caught you half-naked watering plants on your balcony— is it so wrong for you to want to rile up the cutie next door?

Scaramouche roughly yanks your thong down to hang around your lower thighs, leaving you entirely on display for him when you follow suit by tugging your sports bra up to your collarbone. The cool, smooth glass against your bare tits is an unfamiliar sensation, but it’s certainly not an unwelcome one— especially when you remember that anyone could look up from across the parking lot and get an eyeful of your bare tits squished up against the glass door.

“I wish I could watch you sink it in for the first time,” you hum, reaching down between your legs to part the outer lips of your cunt for him a little wider. “In front of a mirror or something maybe. Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because you’re the spitting image of the romantic type.” There’s no way you consider him the romantic type, is there? He’s not going to hold your hands and whisper in your ear about how cute you are, you know.

Damn it, you’ve got him actually wanting you more than he’s ever wanted you before— this makes all his filthy fantasies about taking you bent over your kitchen counter or being underneath you while you ride him into oblivion look like a cheap, budget porno from a video rental store. His desire has always been real—albeit subconscious, sure—but it feels so much more genuine now that it’s been realized.

“Don’t say a word about this to anyone,” he mumbles in a brief moment of humiliation, biting into his bottom lip as he finally, finally sinks the full length of his cock into you.

Jesus Christ, if there’s anything Venti’s ever been right about, it’s how good a mature pussy feels. You’re soaked all the way down to your inner thighs, you’re so warm Scaramouche nearly feels his knees give out from underneath him, and you squeeze him so well he can feel your pussy gripping the sensitive underside of his tip.

“Why not? I can invite your friend next time,” you propose, squealing with delight when Scaramouche slaps a hand down against the side of your ass. “Venti, right? It’d feel so good to have my ass used while you—“

“Just shut up,” he hisses bitterly, glaring at you hard enough to give himself a stress headache. “Don’t talk about other guys right now. Especially not ones I know.”

“You’re right, it’s rude to talk about other men when I have such a good one right here with me already,” you feign sympathy, pushing your hips back flat against the front of his thighs. “Oh, Kuni.”

There’s that damn nickname again. As much as he hates the idea of you using it to tease him or fluster him, he can’t deny the way his dick twitches whenever you coo it in that soft, sultry tone of yours. It’s like you were custom-made to gobble men up or something— just how many of his classmates have you fucked?

Oh, it doesn’t matter. Not when he knows he can establish himself as the best of the whole damn lot of them. Not when he knows that he gets the privilege of seeing you every single day and nobody, nobody else does. Not when he’s seen your cute nipples peeking at him through that tiny, flimsy pajama top he caught you in all those months ago. Not when he gets to peruse on over to your apartment whenever he wants because you’re right fucking there and nobody, nobody is physically closer to you than he is.

Jesus, this is all starting to sound like some kind of crush.

“How’s that?” Scaramouche taunts, slapping his hips against you so wildly the sound of skin smacking on skin almost drowns out his voice. He’d like to claim that this sort of pace is supposed to be punishing, and he’d be right if he were to say that, but he wants it hard and rough just as much as you surely do. He couldn’t stop his hips even if he wanted to because he knows there’s nothing he’s wanted to do more than fuck your brains out for months upon months now.

You don’t answer him, too preoccupied with relishing in the feeling of his cock pounding into you with everything he’s got. How befitting of Scaramouche to fuck you like he’s angry at you— if he could even claim to be mad anymore. The combined sensations of his hips hammering against yours, his fingernails digging into your soft, plump love handles, and his balls slapping against your ass on each thrust are all far too overwhelming to even attempt a reply.

“Seriously? You run your mouth for ages and now you shut up when I ask you a question?” You’re doing this on purpose— Jesus, you’re insatiable.

Your back arches when Scaramouche digs the tip of his cock into a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, a broken whine leaving your lips instead when you attempt to reply with a dirty quip. He laughs when he realizes what’s just happened— that’s certainly one way to get you to shut that filthy mouth of yours.

“I hope somebody’s watching you, actually,” he admits despite all the jealousy even a single mention of his friend stirred up in him. “That way they can see you’re not worth their time because you don’t value yourself whatsoever. Why would anyone want someone who’s happy to just give themselves away like this and get fucked in a place so public?”

Maybe that’s just a weird, roundabout way of saying I want someone to watch me fuck you so they know a whore like you has been whipped into shape and that you only want me now. Who’s to say?

“You don’t care about getting caught yourself?” You finally pipe up with a grin.

Scaramouche snorts. “Getting caught with the likes of you? I’d transfer universities.”

You pout. “Would I still get to see you?”

For whatever reason, the question catches him off guard. How many times does he need to remind you that you’re not his girlfriend, that you’re not some sweetheart with an innocent crush, that you’re just his fucking neighbor who just so happens to have a hot body and just so happens to feel so, so good around him like this and just so happens to be the subject of his wet dreams and fantasies and—

He’s only able to spit out one word. “Obnoxious.”

His hands reclaim a firm grasp on your ample hips before he takes to fucking into you at a whole new angle— one that’ll surely hit that spot that got you to shut the fuck up moments ago. Your hands clamor for anything you could possibly grab onto to steel yourself, but there’s nothing except for the cool, flat glass beneath your palms.

“Kuni,” you rasp in a broken voice, beyond impressed with his ability to have found your most sensitive spot and target it specially. Call it sheer dumb luck or a testament to how perfectly compatible your bodies are, it doesn’t matter. He won’t let up on it until you’ve collapsed— maybe it’ll be a nice change of pace from your partners being the ones to collapse after an evening with you.

With the task of finding something to hold onto having proven fruitless, you instead slip a hand back between your legs to rub at your clit. Scaramouche snickers at your apparent desperation to orgasm, but he’s not letting you off that easily.

“What a pathetic display,” he remarks, pounding into you so quickly you can barely register the full length of his cock before he’s pulling it all the way out of you again. With your legs trembling and your knees buckling, the possibility of actually collapsing underneath him is becoming increasingly likely— these wild, frenzied thrusts of his prove exactly why you’re so into college guys.

Looking down from the fuzzy reflection of your face in the glass, Scaramouche watches each sink of his cock into your tight, dripping cunt with all the intensity and attention of a virgin. It may as well be his first time— you feel so fucking good he’s starting to lose his train of thought. You take him all the way to the hilt on each thrust so easily that he’d absolutely call you a common whore if he were able to form even a single word.

Despite his inability to form a coherent sentence, Scaramouche finds that he has just enough rationality left to pull out mere seconds before coming all over the swell of your ass, his cock twitching in his hand as he bites back moans. Here he is, coming all over the soft ass of his obnoxious older neighbor lady after spending so many months convincing his friends that he does not, in fact, want to fuck her.

You laugh breathlessly, the hand between your legs still rubbing frantic circles over your clit as you attempt to reach your own orgasm as well. “What’s wrong with coming inside? I’m hurt.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. That’d be irresponsible.

“Well, that’s alright,” you chirp, standing upright and turning around to face him. “I can always wring it out of you myself, right?”

“You’re insatiable,” he replies, inching backwards towards the couch as you step forward in time with his footsteps.

“Pot, kettle. You’re still hard, Kuni.”

With the realization that he’ll need some kind of excuse to offer his friends when he inevitably returns to a slew of unread messages a few hours from now, he falls backwards onto the couch just before you make yourself comfortable in his lap.

Well, not that any of them have ever believed any vague, half-baked excuse Scaramouche gives.

#hiiiii #juju bakery #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche x y/n #kunikuzushi smut #fem reader

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acescorazon · 4 months

Text

Title: Changes

Chapter: 11/?

Word count: 5875

Warnings: Crocodile, panic attacks, and Buggy's back to thinking his suicidal thoughts.

Chapter except:

Buggy has honestly never met a more infuriating man in his life. Crocodile is so cryptic and hard to please at times, and Buggy just… Whatever. He doesn’t care. He’d just be wasting his time if he gets annoyed by Crocodile. He finishes what little work he has left and then sighs in content afterwards, “Okay, i’m all done.” He announces to Crocodile who for some reason looks slightly disappointed…? Is that the right way to describe his face right now? It doesn’t matter, he asks Crocodile if there’s anything else he wants Buggy to do while he’s still around, and Crocodile shakes his head in response. “...No, that’s it…Thank you.” Thank you? Did Crocodile just say…

Buggy glances over at Crocodile, and he’s unsure of how he’s even supposed to respond at a time like this, “...What…?” He asks.

“....Thank you…” Crocodile repeats quietly.

|Ch1|Ch2|Ch3|Ch4|Ch5|Ch6|Ch7|Ch8|Ch9|Ch10|

Contrary to popular belief, Buggy is actually a leader and has a crew of men to oversee. He can't afford to spend his entire day organizing and cleaning up Crocodile's mess from the past couple of weeks, and yet, that's the exact situation Buggy finds himself in. Instead of letting Buggy run his island like he should be doing right now, Crocodile keeps him holed up in the meeting room all morning and well into the afternoon.

It's awkward and stressful, and Buggy hasn't been able to relax for even a minute. Every little move or sound Crocodile makes causes that feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach to grow worse, and every part of him is telling him to get the hell out of the meeting room, and fast before Crocodile’s mood can turn sour, and he ends up hurting him again.

And yet, Buggy remains seated uncomfortably close to Crocodile. He wants to leave more than anything in this world, but he can’t muster up the courage to do so. They sit in silence for the most part, with the occasional sounds of Crocodile yawning or lighting up yet another cigar and exhaling deeply, but Buggy didn’t expect to chat and gossip all day with Crocodile. He’s actually glad things are somewhat still normal between the two. Crocodile seems less hostile, sure, but that’s probably because he’s just exhausted.

It’s not enough for Buggy to simply put away all the documents and folders on the table, no, Crocodile wants things organized into three separate categories: Business plans, contracts, and intel, and anything else can be considered miscellaneous and can be properly organized later. On top of that, he wants all the documents in the boxes on the floor looked through and properly sorted as well, and he even wants all the boxes properly labeled. It’s a lot, and Buggy still doesn’t know how Crocodile managed to clutter up the meeting room in such a short amount of time, but he doesn’t question it, he simply gets to work, starting with organizing all of the data and information Crocodile has somehow managed to compile over the course of god knows how many days, weeks, months, or even years.

To make matters worse, occasionally Galdino stops by even though Crocodile said that Galdino had other important things to do and that he couldn’t get him to do his bullshit tasks for him instead, and whenever he does, he’s always overly nice, and extremely dedicated to Crocodile as always. He brings him frequent cups of coffee, but never offers Buggy anything, hell, he doesn’t even look in Buggy’s direction, and part of Buggy wants to call Galdino out again, but it’s pointless.

So much for being friends.

It’s around three in the afternoon when Crocodile finally breaks the silence between them, “Hey… why don’t you go get lunch?” He suggests quietly. It’s a little late for lunch, but Buggy’s sure that he could get a couple of his men to fix him something up. He is a little hungry, and he’s so damn tired of looking at papers. He’s been organizing Crocodile’s crap all day, and he’s hardly made any progress, but he thinks he’s gotten at least the intel part of his filing done, or at least he hopes he does. Crocodile didn’t ask for any, but Buggy really thinks they need to invest in some file cabinets. He didn’t think they’d need any before, but after seeing just how many documents Crocodile has, he thinks they definitely need them now.

Buggy finally stands up again after sitting for hours and hours without hardly moving. His back hurts slightly, but he doesn’t dare complain to Crocodile, he just wants to get the hell out of here, and is about to do just that when Crocodile speaks up again, “And come back after lunch, okay?” He orders.

Jeez, can’t they just call it a day? Buggy still has other things he has to do, most of which are for Crocodile himself, he really doesn’t want to have to come back here and do more filing. He holds back a groan and gives Crocodile a small nod, “Sure thing…” He mutters, and after that, he makes his leave.

“Be back in thirty minutes, Cl… Buggy!” Crocodile calls out to him just before he can get too far away, and Buggy cringes slightly now that he’s out of Crocodile’s view.

Well, there goes his appetite.

This sucks. Thirty minutes isn’t enough time away from Crocodile. Usually, he only spends an hour, maybe two hours tops with Crocodile during meetings and afterwards he has all day to recover. Yet today he’s just supposed to stay all day with him or most of the day with him and only get a thirty-minute break to mentally recover? God, what did he do in his past life to deserve this?

Buggy decides to skip lunch altogether. He hates to admit it, but Crocodile’s right. The crew have been living more or less off Sea King these past couple of weeks, and Buggy isn’t in the mood to have any today, or really eat in general anymore, so instead he takes a walk around the island in an attempt to clear his mind a little bit.

He greets and waves at various members of his crew as he walks by them, and every time he sees one of his men sitting around or goofing off, Buggy once again wonders why Crocodile couldn’t have one of them do his dirty work. Buggy’s sure, no, he’s positive that any one of his men would eagerly organize and file all of Crocodile’s important documents, but nooo, of course, Buggy has to be the one to do it.

It just doesn’t make any sense… But whatever.

As he continues his little stroll, eventually he ends up running into Alvida, who grabs him by his elbow and pulls him to the side. “Hey! What was going on last night with you and Hawkeye?” She asks, and Buggy can see the curiosity shining brightly in her big brown eyes. She looks around before leaning forward and lowering her voice slightly, “Are you two… you know?” Are they what? Buggy thinks, frowning.

“No, I don’t know. Just what exactly are you asking right now?”

“You know…”

“No, I don’t know!”

Alvida sighs loudly. She looks around again, almost as if the two of them are discussing something they shouldn’t be right now before whispering to Buggy again, “Dating, or maybe hooking up?” she asks in a tiny voice, chuckling afterwards. “C’mon, you can tell me, I won’t tell a soul.”

Buggy’s eyes damn near pop out of his skull and, despite his devil fruit powers, those are some of the only things that are supposed to remain attached to Buggy at all times. Buggy repeats the question in his head once, twice, and then a third time. Are he and Mihawk dating or hooking up…?

Ew.

“No! Why would you even think that?!” Buggy screams horrified and slightly appalled at the mere suggestion of Buggy being romantically involved with Dracule Mihawk of all people. He loves Alvida dearly. She’s like a younger sister to him, really, but at this moment he just wants to throttle her. How in the hell could she possibly think that Mihawk and Buggy were an item?!

“Buggy,” Alvida calls out. She places her hands on his shoulder and looks into his eyes, “You can tell me the truth, I won’t judge you.”

“Alvida. Look, I don’t know what you thought you saw, but–”

“I saw Mihawk making heart eyes at you, Buggy The Clown.”

The hell is she even talking about right now? Mihawk must have been with someone else named Buggy The Clown last night because he sure as hell wasn’t looking at him with heart eyes or anything like that. Not that Buggy was looking at Mihawk, though, because he tried to avoid eye contact with him at all costs, but he just knows Mihawk, he’d never be interested in Buggy like that. In fact, Buggy’s still surprised Mihawk wants to be his friend or whatever."

Buggy exhales a loud sigh of his own, “Vida, look me and Mihawk don’t have that kind of relationship, and you know it.”

“I don’t know,” Alvida replies, dragging her words out and sounding almost playful as she talks to Buggy, “You two look like you’ve made up quite a lot.” They haven’t. Buggy still hates the guy! He’s… he’s just tolerating him more or less at this point!

Buggy shakes his head. He looks down and checks his watch, then groans when he sees what time it is. “Look, I don’t have time for this, i have to get back to the meeting room and help organize Crocodile’s mess.”

Alvida raises an eyebrow, “Why are you helping him?” She asks. What does she mean, why is he helping him? He has to! He’s in debt to him, and when Buggy explains that to her, she gives him another strange look, “...But Galdino and I offered to help him clean the meeting room up earlier, and he said he didn’t need any help, and told us to go away…”

Huh? Buggy thinks, confused yet again, this time by the sudden revelation. “I don’t know, Alvida. He just called me in early this morning and told me to help him, so that’s what I’m doing. Look, I’ll talk to you later, okay?” He gives her a quick hug before hurrying back to the meeting room but swears he hears her mutter something along the lines of, “Hm…interesting.” while he’s still within hearing distance, but Buggy has no idea what that could even mean or if that’s what she actually said in the first place.

If that’s what she actually said, what’s so interesting about Crocodile ordering Buggy to do some work? Crocodile’s been bossing him around since the moment he stepped foot on Emptee Bluffs Island, what’s different and interesting about that now? Whatever, Buggy doesn’t get it, and he definitely doesn’t get why she suddenly thinks Mihawk and him are seeing each other, but he doesn’t want to get any of it either.

Buggy makes it back to the meeting room a little early and finds Crocodile resting his head down on the meeting room table, perhaps sleeping quietly. Buggy isn’t quite sure if the other man is asleep or not, but he hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should leave or if he should continue to work like Crocodile instructed him to. In the end, though, he decides to quietly turn back and just leave, but before he gets the chance to do so, he hears a deep voice call out to him from behind, “You’re back already?” Crocodile asks, sounding a little dazed.

Buggy spins around on his heels and forces a smile onto his face, “Yeah, I decided to come back a little early...” He tells Crocodile in a hushed voice, and then after that he quickly takes his seat at the meeting table again, still avoiding eye contact with the exhausted man.

Crocodile slowly raises his head and runs his large hand over his face, “By the way, after you get done, can you ask Hawkeye to drop by and see me?” He asks. What the hell? Why can’t Crocodile just… Ugh, whatever. Buggy is just going to stop questioning Crocodile and focus on his work instead.

Buggy nods silently in response. He doesn’t ask any of the questions that are lingering in his mind, instead, he resumes his work from earlier, moving on to sorting through all of Crocodile’s business plans, and, boy, does he have a lot of them. He really thought this whole Cross Guild thing out, and it looks like Crocodile is serious about their little organization (not that Buggy ever doubted him.) and he has long-term plans for it for the next five, maybe even ten years.

God, will Buggy even be alive in five years? Maybe and the thought of having to spend the next five years with Crocodile is just… awful. He hates Cross Guild so much and finds himself once again regretting that he even borrowed money from Crocodile in the first place. Five years, maybe ten, or even twenty years of his life potentially down the drain all because he borrowed some money from Crocodile after the war. Man, he fucked up.

The room falls silent yet again as Buggy tries to hurry up and get his work done for Crocodile, but it almost feels like Crocodile is actively making his workload grow. He constantly hands him more papers or documents that need to be put away, and Buggy is equal parts tired, frustrated, and overwhelmed. How is he supposed to get any work done around here?! And how is he supposed to do all those other things Crocodile wants him to do, if he can’t even finish this one extremely tedious task?! Also, is Buggy Crocodile’s damn secretary now? Because he feels like Galdino would be much better suited for the job...

The hours slowly drag on and on, and on, but eventually dinner time approaches and Buggy finally gets the courage to look up at Crocodile, “Hey… Uh, can I finish the rest tomorrow?” He asks, hoping, praying, even that Crocodile won’t suddenly grow furious with him and lunge at him. He’s almost done sorting through all of Crocodile’s business plans and ideas for the future; ones that still include taking over various desert lands like stupid Prickly Pear Island, as well as various boats he wants designed, and hideouts he wants built for them.

Crocodile takes a moment to think before finally replying, “No... I need this done today, but you can take another break if you want.” Why does he need all this done today?! He has weeks, maybe even months of paperwork and plans cluttering up the meeting room, and he really expects Buggy to be able to get it all put away by tonight?! But why? Crocodile’s serious about this Cross Guild shit, and they’re going to be doing it for a very long time, so why does everything need to be organized and ready now?!

“But…”

“You’re almost done anyways, you might as well finish what you started.” Crocodile states simply without so much as looking up at Buggy. That’s… That’s beside the point! Buggy’s been stuck in this cramped meeting room that smells like Crocodile and his damn cigars for the past nine hours and it’s driving him crazy! Nine hours! He’s been here for nine hours and there’s still more crap to go through, it’s ridiculous!

Buggy bites the inside of his cheek. He feels absolutely frustrated yet defeated right now and all he can do is sigh quietly, “Yeah… you’re right.” He agrees, or at least he pretends to agree with Crocodile. In reality, he’s so annoyed that Crocodile forced him to waste his day, but still, he doesn’t say anything to annoy or anger Crocodile. And he’s actually a little relieved when Crocodile dismisses him for dinner.

He no longer feels flashy or like a leader, and that’s all because of Crocodile. He feels like he’s at the bottom of the hierarchy when the truth of the matter is he’s at the very top, but you wouldn’t know that by the way Crocodile treats him. You’d think Crocodile was the ‘leader’ of Cross Guild and one of the four emperors, and not Buggy, but whatever, it doesn’t matter… It just sucks. Man, what the hell happened to him?

Tonight Cabaji, Mohji, and of course, Richie, all join him for dinner as they sit in Buggy’s main tent and have supper, and as usual, Mohji and Cabaji are overly worried about Buggy. “How are you, captain?” Mohji whispers to Buggy, keeping his voice down, ”Is he being a dick to you again?” he asks. Well, Crocodile’s been a pain in the ass, but he hasn’t yelled or even threatened to beat the shit out of Buggy all day, so that has to count for something.

Buggy shakes his head, stabbing at the asparagus on his plate with his fork. Truth be told, he’s feeling a little uninterested in the vegetable and even the meal in front of him, but like always, Cabaji and Mohji insist he eats a little because ‘he needs all the energy he can get to lead their great and powerful crew’ or something like that. “Nah, I think he’s tired or something, he hasn’t even really talked to me today.” He tells them, “We’ve just both been kinda doing our own thing…”

Cabaji and Mohji both heave a sigh of relief, “Good, good.” Mohji replies, and Cabaji follows suit, “Good. That’s good, maybe he finally realized he should be a little nicer to you.” He suggests and a moment later everyone at the table laughs as they mock Crocodile in secrecy. That’s a funny idea. Crocodile? Finally, realizing that he’s done something wrong and being man enough to admit it and try to change his behavior? Yeah, that would be the day.

“But just in case he starts getting impatient, do you want us to come help you out?” Mohji asks.

Buggy considers the thought briefly as he gives Richie the rest of his food and strokes his mane gently a few times. In the end, he shakes his head again, “Nah, I can handle it.” He insists. He could have used the help earlier, but at this point, he’s got a system and can handle his workload on his own. Plus, he doesn’t want to hear Crocodile bitch and moan about Cabaji and Mohji helping him out and saying something rude and snarky like: ‘What? You couldn’t file a couple of documents on your own? Fucking useless clown.’

Yeah, Buggy’s useless… Yeah, he knows. Maybe that’s actually why Crocodile wanted Buggy to do his organizing for him. Maybe this is all part of some convoluted scheme to get Buggy to mess up on a trivial task, so Crocodile can degrade him more and once again point out how useless Buggy is.

Buggy knows he’s useless though! He knows he’s useless and pathetic and unworthy of living… He doesn’t constantly have to be reminded of all that. He knows Crocodile has made sure to make that fact abundantly clear on several occasions.

“Seriously, Captain… at least let us come sit with you while you work,” Mohji pleads, and Cabaji nods his head eagerly in agreement, “Yeah, even if we don’t do anything, we still want to be there with you in case something happens…” It’s a sweet gesture, and Buggy appreciates it, he really does, but he doesn’t want Cabaji and Mohji to have to witness how Crocodile treats Buggy, not that they don’t already know, but still. Nor does he like the idea of Crocodile getting angry and potentially taking his wrath out on one or both of them, even though Crocodile’s fury has more or less always been directed at Buggy and Buggy alone. He still wants to keep his men safe no matter what.

If someone’s going to take a beating or be humiliated and degraded, it should be Buggy, and Buggy only.

Buggy bids farewell to his beloved men a few minutes later. He gives Cabaji and Mohji both a tight hug and assures them that everything is okay and that they’re just anxious about nothing, and then gives Richie a couple of more pets before he heads back to the meeting room. As soon as he’s away from the others, though, his mood takes a turn for the worst. He feels like a complete failure of a captain. He can’t even comfort his men these days, and if he can’t even do that much anymore, then what good is he? He hates it. Crocodile is right. He’s a good-for-nothing coward who doesn’t deserve to liv–

Okay, he needs to stop thinking about that. He doesn’t even know where all those thoughts came from, Crocodile’s hardly even said a word to him today, and yet… his words from the past are back, and tormenting Buggy for some reason. It’s annoying, he doesn’t want to have those thoughts and tries to force them away, but they just continue to resurface and cause Buggy more anguish.

Worthless coward who can’t do a goddamn thing. Pathetic Crybaby. You aren’t worth keeping around…

Buggy blinks and suddenly finds himself in the meeting room again after another break that goes by way too quickly for his liking, but he doesn’t even remember stepping inside. He shakes away all of his negative thoughts and has a seat at the meeting room table again. Okay, he can do this. He’s going to finish sorting Crocodile’s papers and then go straight to bed, and when he wakes up, he’s going to get started on all those other things Crocodile wanted him to do for him. He takes a deep breath and tries to settle his chaotic mind a little before he gets back to work.

Stupid. Pathetic. Worthless.

“...How was dinner?” Crocodile asks, glancing up at him briefly before looking back down at whatever he’s been working on all day. He successfully startles Buggy out of his thoughts though, and for that Buggy’s kind of glad, Again with the small talk… he thinks, fighting back the urge to groan. There’s no way Crocodile cares how Buggy’s dinner went, so why is he even bothering to ask?! He doesn’t care about him. He hates him and wants him dead, and-–

Still, Buggy gives him a quiet answer, “Fine…Thank you.”

Crocodile looks back up at Buggy, almost seeming like he has something he wants to say, but he shakes his head instead and allows yet another awkward silence to fill the room. Buggy doesn’t question it, the less he has to talk to Crocodile, the better, and he gets back to work. He pretty much has everything sorted and even has all the boxes in the room stacked neatly on top of each other and separated by categories in different parts of the room.

He’s still not done though, but almost, and he’s trying to hang in there despite his constant discomfort while being By Crocodile’s side. Just a few more things, he just has to organize the rest of Crocodile’s junk that didn’t fit into the three specific categories Crocodile mentioned earlier, and that’s it.

Crocodile once again speaks up a little while later while Buggy is going through a pile of what appears to be receipts for weapons that Cross Guild has purchased, “Uh, Buggy…” He calls out, and Buggy freezes for a moment, afraid that Crocodile will give him even more papers to sort through. He looks up and locks eyes with Crocodile, and Crocodile, yes, Crocodile, is the one who actually looks away first, “Never mind.” he mutters a moment later.

…Whatever.

Buggy goes back to what he’s doing after that, only to have Crocodile disrupt him once again a few minutes later, “Look...There’s something I want to say,” He says, but as soon as Buggy looks up to acknowledge him, Crocodile clicks his tongue, “....Forget it.”

What the hell?!

For a moment Buggy is afraid that he’s doing something wrong and that Crocodile is going to start yelling at him, but that never happens. Instead, Crocodile looks away from him again and redirects his attention to the papers in front of him again. It’s fine, it’s fine. Buggy’s made it this far, he can keep on going. There’s only a couple of more folders on the table that need to be put away. He can do it, and after this, he can say that he actually made it through a single day with Crocodile without getting his ass whipped … but then again, maybe he should shut up before he jinxes it.

“Hey, um…” Crocodile mutters.

“...Yes?”

“Nothing.”

Buggy has honestly never met a more infuriating man in his life. Crocodile is so cryptic and hard to please at times, and Buggy just… Whatever. He doesn’t care. He’d just be wasting his time if he gets annoyed by Crocodile. He finishes what little work he has left and then sighs in contentment afterwards, “Okay, I’m all done.” He announces to Crocodile who for some reason looks slightly disappointed…? Is that the right way to describe his face right now? It doesn’t matter, he asks Crocodile if there’s anything else he wants Buggy to do while he’s still around, and Crocodile shakes his head in response. “...No, that’s it…Thank you.” Thank you? Did Crocodile just say…

Buggy glances over at Crocodile, and he’s unsure of how he’s even supposed to respond at a time like this, “...What…?” He asks.

“....Thank you…” Crocodile repeats quietly.

It takes a while before Buggy can actually formulate a response. He’s so caught off guard by Crocodile’s sudden expression of gratitude that he… he just kind of short circuits. “I…” He looks at Crocodile and then down at his lap, “Uh… you’re welcome?” He replies, unsure if he’s still even living in the same dimension as before. Crocodile is actually thanking him for doing something for him, and It’s weird… Really weird. The comment didn’t sound rude or insincere, but there’s no way that Crocodile would genuinely thank Buggy for anything. Maybe he really is dreaming right now because there’s no way an arrogant prick like Crocodile would ever be thanking him. He’s supposed to say something snarky… like… like, ‘Tsk, it took you long enough, clown…’ He’s not supposed to thank him.

Buggy is worthless… He’s pathetic… He doesn’t know how to do anything… He…He fucks everything up, and it’s a damn shame that the World Government made someone like him one of the four emperors. He doesn’t deserve that title, he doesn’t deserve the fame and power he has. He doesn’t deserve anything, actually.

Again Buggy can’t help but wonder what changed…? Mihawk is one thing. Mihawk was there when Buggy was drunk and chewed him out, and he said after that little incident he regretted the way he treated Buggy… Buggy gets that… He’s still struggling with the truth and trying to see his feelings as genuine, but he gets it. Crocodile on the other hand… Why is he being like this?

Buggy doesn’t like this… He feels like there’s something he’s not getting or like there’s something he missed. Buggy’s been away from Crocodile for a couple of weeks, sure, but surely that’s not enough time for Crocodile to have a sudden change of heart … He feels like things are rapidly changing around him, but like he’s stuck in the same place. What changed? Why is Crocodile being nice now? Is this even him being nice? Is Buggy just so used to being mistreated that he doesn’t even know what true kindness looks like from Crocodile?!

“Uh, I’m going to call it a night then,” Buggy announces, getting up from his chair and now extremely desperate to get far away from Crocodile so he can just sit down and think about all that’s been happening these last few weeks. Before he can leave the room though, Crocodile speaks up again, this time sounding like he’s in a bit of a rush, “Um, Buggy wait…!” He orders, and a moment later he finally says it. He says the one simple phrase that just makes something snap inside Buggy.

“Look… I’m sorry.”

He’s… Sorry…?

There’s a long pause as Buggy tries to process the words just said to him. He’s sorry… He said he’s sorry… He… He apologized to Buggy?!... He actually apologized to Buggy. When Buggy’s confused mind finally processes Crocodile’s words, all he can think is: Liar. Fucking liar. He’s not sorry, he can’t be sorry. Buggy knows Crocodile well enough to know that Crocodile has never regretted a single thing in his life. He’s sorry for turning Buggy’s life into a living hell? He’s sorry for scaring Buggy shitless and making him feel like his life is something that can easily be taken away? No. Nah. He’s not. He’s not sorry for that, nor is he sorry for beating or humiliating Buggy. He’s not sorry for making Buggy hate himself or his life and wanting to just end it all instead of having to deal with living another day with Crocodile. He’s not sorry, he’s just a goddamn liar.

Buggy turns around, and he can feel tears running down his face, but doesn’t care. His brain isn’t working anymore, it stopped working the moment Crocodile had the nerve to apologize to Buggy. He’s probably not even being genuine in the first place, but that doesn’t matter. Liar, liar, liar. Crocodile is such a liar, and Buggy can’t stand it. He hates liars. He’d rather Crocodile be blatantly cruel to him and constantly insult him than pretend to be nice to him and pretend that he cares or that he’s regretful for everything he’s put Buggy through.

If Buggy were in the right state of mind, he’d tell himself to take a deep breath and calm down. This is the break he needed. He could accept Crocodile’s apology, he could come up with some bullshit response, he could do anything that would assure his safety, but Buggy just…He can’t think properly anymore. His heart is pounding at an alarming rate, and he feels like none of this is real.

It can’t be real, it just can’t be.

His mouth moves on its own, “Liar.” He says, and Crocodile looks taken aback by the insult, but Buggy keeps going. “Liar, you aren’t sorry.” he tells him, “You can’t be sorry. You’re just fucking with me again.” And as he speaks, the volume of his voice begins to rise, “You’re lying to me.”

“I’m n–”

“Stop fucking lying to me!” Buggy yells. This has to be some cruel joke. Crocodile isn’t sorry, and yet said man starts to argue back with Buggy, but why? They both know he’s nothing but a liar! Why is he even trying to defend himself right now?! Crocodile clicks his tongue, “Will you fucking listen to m–” No! Why should Buggy listen to him?!

“Fucking let me talk!” Crocodile snaps, red in the face now, as he starts angrily yelling back at Buggy. No! Buggy doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t care what Crocodile has to say. He’s lying and even if he weren’t, Buggy would never, ever forgive him. He’s horrible, absolutely horrible, and Buggy has never hated anyone more than he hates Crocodile. “Hawkeye was right!” Crocodile says, still trying to get one phrase in without Buggy interrupting him and calling him a liar. “I fucked up, i shouldn’t have treated you like that. I’m fucking sorry, okay?”

“Liar!” “I’m not lying, okay?! I want us to start over again for the sake of Cross Guild.”

“Fuck Cross Guild!” Oh, words can’t even explain how good it felt to finally say those words. Crocodile and this stupid organization are a bane to Buggy’s existence. He hates them both, and he just wishes he were free of them. He doesn’t care anymore! Crocodile can sell him off or kill him, anything would be better than dealing with this asshole. He’s the absolute worst!

For some reason, Crocodile still tries to insist that he wants to make up with Buggy, though, “No, listen. Just listen to me, I agree with Mihawk, we should treat each other with respect and as equa–”

“Oh, so you’re just saying this shit because Mihawk told you to?!”

“No! Why would i–”

“You aren’t sorry. All you’ve ever done is made my life miserable and threatened to kill me over and over again, and I hate you.”

Crocodile once again looks a little stunned by Buggy’s words. Why’s he acting like this is anything new or as if his good name is being dragged through the mud? It’s the truth! He’s said and done so many things to Buggy, and if Buggy needs to he can list every single thing he’s ever done to hurt him. He. Fucking. Hates. Him. Liar, liar, liar! What a liar!

Crocodile grits his teeth and throws his hands in the air, “You know what? Whatever, I’m not fucking sorry then.” Yeah, Buggy knows! He fucking knows Crocodile isn’t sorry and that he’s just spouting a bunch of lies and nonsense to Buggy! “Just leave. Forget I fucking said anything. This was stupid and fucking pointless.” Crocodile yells.

Yeah, it really was. Buggy has so much more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns around and rushes out of the meeting room and past several people he didn’t know were even around. Galdino, Alvida, Cabaji, and Mohji all watch in confusion and horror as Buggy storms past them, crying again.

“Captain…” Cabaji calls out… or maybe it’s Mohji, Buggy doesn’t know, all he knows is he’s ordering whoever’s talking to him to stay back and just leave him alone. He can’t take this anymore. He hurries back to his bedroom, feeling honestly sick to his stomach, and he knows that it’s his own fault for getting himself worked up, but still. He sits down and tries to calm down a little, but as the moments go by he suddenly realizes what he’s just done and who he was talking to and feels so much worse.

He can’t stop crying. His face is covered with snot and tears, and no matter how much he tries to calm himself down, he just can’t. He tells himself that he’s alright and that he’s going to be okay. But he’s not. Nothing is okay, and they haven’t been since Crocodile and Mihawk came to Emptee Bluffs Island.

He wonders what happened to doing what was right for him. What happened to ensuring his own comfort and making sure the beatings and insults from Crocodile and Mihawk stopped? He’s so stupid. So, so stupid. In one night he managed to somehow make everything worse, and it’s all because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. All he had to do was shut up and accept Crocodile’s apology. That’s all he had to do and yet…

He ruined everything.’

His throat feels so tight and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. He hates this. What did he do to deserve all this? Why did things have to get this bad in the first place? Why can’t he do anything right? Why does he always fuck things up?! Why does Crocodile hate him so much?! He can’t do this. He can’t do this.

What if Crocodile tells Mihawk what happened? What if Mihawk thinks that Buggy is a stuck-up prick and changes his mind and decides that he’s going to go back on his word? What if they start their torment again? What if they beat him within an inch of his life daily? What if they continue to insult Buggy and make him feel lower than a worm at the bottom of the earth? Buggy can’t do this He can’t let things continue. He can’t let them get worse. He’d rather…

He’d rather die.

((A/N: LOL. MERRY CHRISTMAS HERE'S A CLIFF HANGER!!!!))

#Cross Guild #Changes #My writing #...whoops.#Me after posting whatever this is: MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!#ASDADJAKSDLASDJSLDKJLASSD #also bella if u see this i love you and i want to thank u again for proof reading this for my lazy ass #@BELAA ILY MUAHHHH!!!

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pavlovianfuckery · 2 months

Text

lets not pretend we're not all nuts for The Voice

i blame the dreamcast and tom sturridges voice entirely for this, it's all his fault really, here is some lazy hypnosis for you

That you found his hands beautiful had never been a secret. It seemed to amuse him how you could watch him do the most mundane things, never tiring of simply looking at him. The first time he'd truly noticed the extent of the effect his hands had on you, it had been completely by accident. You'd simply been reading in companionable silence after a long and tiring day, as you sometimes did. As per usual, you couldn't help sneaking glances at him from time to time, like a schoolgirl with a crush still. Taking in the lean lines of his body, your gaze ended up lingering on his hands again, which was not unusual in itself. What was interesting was the way he absentmindedly kept drumming his index finger on the back of the book in his hands. At first, you simply enjoy the graceful way his tendons move, the delicate look to his wrist as he turns the page.

Tap... Tap... Tap...

The rhythm was almost like a heartbeat, and soon you found yourself unable to look away. Your body felt a bit heavy, thoughts going a bit fuzzy at the edges, the book you had been reading forgotten in your lap.

Tap... Tap... Tap...

It was...nice. You didn't want to look away. Your own heartbeat was a dull thunder in your ears as everything was reduced to that one small movement of his finger.

Tap... Tap... Tap...

Everything felt warm. Relaxed. Soft. You were vaguely aware that he was speaking, but it was hard to pay attention. Shaking your head, you tried to clear your thoughts. "Sorry. Guess I spaced out for a minute there..." "Is that so?" He put the book to the side and gave you a curious look, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You scarcely even blinked for quite some time, my love." You winced, a bit embarrassed. "It is quite alright. In fact, you might have given me...an idea, of a sort." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're not sure what he meant by 'idea', but you supposed you'll find out sooner rather than later. He hasn't been secretive per se, but not exactly forthcoming either. Watching him shrug off his coat and leave it folded over the back of the couch, you wrack your brain, trying to figure out what he's planning. You come up empty though, distracted by the way the muscles of his forearms move as he unlaces his boots, taking them off. Everything about him looks softer like this, more touchable. But he's rarely in this kind of playful mood and you're too curious to see what he's going to do to risk derailing it somehow, so you wait, fighting down the urge to run your hands across his shoulders, so tempting in just the thin t-shirt. "Do you trust me?" "You know I do." That seems to please him, otherworldly eyes softening as he kisses you lightly, fingers brushing your cheek. "Will you indulge me for now, then?" You kiss him back, unable to hold back a smile. "Of course, I will." "Good." With that, he gets on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, resting his hands on his bent knees. "Undress for me." His voice feels like molasses sliding over you, and you waste no time obeying, his eyes on you the entire time. The look on his face can only be described as mischievous as he pats the covers next to him. "Come here." He doesn't need to ask twice, the words barely have time to leave his mouth before you join him on the bed, eager to please. With the barest flash of a smile, he spreads his legs a bit wider, beckoning you closer. "Here. Let me hold you, my sweet." Not what you thought he was going to say but you don't object, letting him pull you close, enjoying the press of his chest against your back. When he speaks, his voice vibrates against your skin like something almost solid. "I simply need you to relax for now, will you do that for me?" It's a bit of an odd request, but you don't see any harm in it, leaning back against him a bit more, unable to suppress a grin. "What are you up to?" "You will see. For now, just breathe." It's not hard matching your breaths to his, slow and even. His shoulder is a surprisingly comfortable headrest too, and it doesn't take long to feel like you could almost drift off, right there in his arms. When he speaks again his voice is low, words dripping like honey, slow and sweet. "You enjoy my hands, do you not?" "Yeah, a lot." It's a bit of a silly question, and you can't help smiling. "You enjoy looking at them too, yes?" "Mm-hm." "Would you look now?" With that, he brings one of his hands up in front of you. "You do not need to do anything, simply keep your eyes on my fingers for a while."

At first, he simply turns his hand over unhurriedly, back to palm and back again. You love how his hands look so delicate yet strong at the same time, and you want to keep watching, feeling too heavy and content to move. As he flexes his fingers gently a phrase springs to mind; piano fingers. You can't quite remember where you first heard it though, only that it must have been long ago. It's hard to think, to focus. Almost as if he heard what you were thinking, his fingers start moving slowly in front of your face, as if playing invisible keys. The movement is graceful, mesmerizing as his hand flits effortlessly across your field of vision, this way and that.

It's beautiful, and you don't want to look away. It reminds you of all the times he's touched you, always knowing precisely where and how. Your thighs squeeze together without you meaning to do it, seeking relief from the heat pooling at your core. He notices, of course, his breath soft against your cheek as he speaks. "You are enjoying this, good."

You love his voice, if you could eat it, you would. Did you say that out loud? Without taking your eyes off his fingers you can tell that he's smiling, hear it in his voice and it makes your chest swell with pride; you love making him smile. To make him happy. You feel so heavy though, like you might sink through the mattress if he wasn't holding you. It feels good though. Safe. The fluttering motion of his fingers is making your head swim. Turning you on. You squeeze your legs together again, wishing you could lie down with him, that he would touch you.

"We can lie down, if you wish." You don't remember asking, but he lowers you gently down next to him all the same, fingers still moving lazily in front of your face. Your eyelids feel heavy and you blink once, twice, everything moving at half speed. "You can close your eyes, if you need to." Maybe just for a minute. With your eyes closed, his voice wraps around you, sinking into your every pore.

"Can you feel my touch? How well your breasts fill my hands, like they were made for me alone?" At first, you're not sure if you can feel him, but then there is the distinct feel of his hands cupping your breasts gently. "I can." The words feel slow, clumsy in your mouth. You bite your lip, enjoying the teasing but still wanting more. "The tips of them are so sensitive for me, are they not?" He rubs his thumbs over your nipples until they're stiff, fanning the embers of your desire into a flame until you feel like you might combust. "Let me see you. Spread your legs for me."

You feel the bed shift as he moves in between your legs, gripping your thighs as he talks, forcing them wider, stroking ever closer to where you really need him. "You open your thighs so willingly for me, so obedient. Do you want me to touch you?" "Yes, please." It's hard, talking. You don't remember it being this hard. "Feel how easily you part around my fingers," he murmurs, dragging his fingers between your folds. "So lovely, all but dripping already. And this little nub must be aching, for only the faintest touch," he rubs the pad of one finger across your clit, making your hips jerk,"to affect you like this."

He pauses for a few seconds, keeping his finger pressed to your clit but not moving, his voice filling your head like treacle, pushing every thought away. "You need to come, I think. Would you like that?" Your mind feels sluggish, his words landing like smooth pebbles in a bowl of jello. Coming sounds good though, you know that much, want to, badly. "Uh-huh." "Tell me what you want." As he whispers it you can feel the words bouncing off of you like the lights of a sparkler, making your skin tingle. All you can think about is his mouth. It takes a while to get the words out though. "Give me your mouth?" It comes out sounding like a question, and you're not sure why. "Of course you can have my mouth, my love. Can you feel my tongue, lapping at you?" And you realize that you can. The slide of his tongue against you is unmistakable, making you moan as it flicks over your clit. You can feel his breath against your ear though, and you're dimly aware that he's still talking, his voice flowing into you like waves. You don't know how he's doing it, but it doesn't seem important. Nothing matters except the way he's making you feel.

"You always respond so beautifully to my touch." His voice is scrambling your thoughts, making it hard to do anything except listen, letting his words wash over you like a thick syrup until you can nearly taste them. "Particularly when I suck on that little nub, you love that, do you not?"

And he does just that, making your back arch of its own volition. You can't help grabbing at him then, the skin at the nape of his neck so soft under your hands, hair made to wind your fingers through. Perfect. Somebody is making noises and you think it might be you, but you're not sure of that either anymore. Everything feels so far away, everything except his mouth, his voice, his touch. "Are you going to come for me, my sweet?" His voice is so warm, so soft, enveloping you. "Y-yeah, 'm so close," the words come out stuttered and slurred, but you don't care, the pleasure short-circuiting your brain. "Go on then," he's smiling again, you can tell that much, "come."

And you do, fisting your hands in his hair to keep his mouth on you as your hips rock against him helplessly. The waves of pleasure are drowning you, making it hard to breathe, but you can hear yourself whimpering. Coming apart on his tongue feels like shattering, like being unmade and remade again. "Morpheus!" His name is ripped out of you, tumbling from your lips like a prayer. Maybe it is. As you come down from your high your heartbeat is loud in your ears and you feel like if you looked, you could see your ribs moving from the pounding of it, heart trying to break free. It's easier to think again though. To move. "Open your eyes, my love."

As you do, you realize that he's right next to you, inches away from even touching you, still perfectly composed. The look on his face might be the smuggest you've ever seen him, though. "If I had known that I could bring you to release with my voice alone, I would have done this a lot sooner." "Wha...no, that's not a thing." You blink, confused. "You seemed to enjoy it well enough." "But you were touching me, I could feel you, feel your mouth..." "I was right here next to you the entire time," his voice is almost a purr, he's so obviously pleased with himself, "but I never touched you." You can't help being embarrassed, hiding your face behind your hands. "Oh my god, Dream, fuck." He chuckles then, gathering you against his chest again before pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "Maybe later. For now, just rest." "You break my brain sometimes, you know that? Fuck, I love you."

#dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #sandman x you #sandman smut #dream of the endless smut #the sandman fanfiction #my shitty shitty writing (affectionate)

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fave-fight · 9 months

Text

ROUND 1, MATCH 26

NO MAGIC, POWERS, OR WEAPONS

Dr. Coomer:

“i… don’t think he would win.”

“HELLO, GORDON!”

Floyd Leech:

“If he stays in human form and has no mage stones, he's just Some Guy, so he still qualifies. This mafia motherfucker would FIGHT. One time when faced with a monster, everyone else was like "oh no, we need magic" and he was like "nah, let's punch it" and then he DID. He hasn't used his pointy teeth in canon yet, but he could in theory bite someone if necessary, and it would hurt like a bitch. He'd fight dirty, I just know it. Let him punch everything and then get punched in the face, it'd be so great.”

“This guy is a menace who almost never uses weapons or tools to terrorize people. He's strong and athletic, smart enough to get what he wants on a whim, and squeezes contract-breakers until they faint on a regular basis.”

“NOTE: Floyd is a magic boy, but the “no mage stone” thing is there because it means he won’t be able to use magic, because people in Twisted Wonderland can’t without accumulating deadly magic toxin unless they have the stones. He’s also a merman, but he’d be in his human form. His human form does have pointy teeth (like the anime character kind) but I’m not sure if they have any real effect in game other than to intimidate people. Other people in this game have them too who are allegedly “human.” And again, plenty of “human” anime characters have them. Myfeeling is that they shouldn’t be disqualifying on their own. This game is about magic boys at a magic school, but don’t worry, they get into traditional fist-fights so often it’s literally a randomly generated event that can happen in your Guest Room space. And Floyd Leech would never use magic in a fist-fight. He’d think that was “no fun” or “totally lame.” His signature magical spell just nullifies other people’s magic that targets him… so he can fight them with his fists. Since no one else here has magic, it’s totally irrelevant. Also I’m not sure he uses fists so much as he does something to his opponents that he describes as “squeezing” them. I don’t know entirely what he means by that when he’s in his human form, but how much it scares the faceless NPC students indicates to me that he’s found a way to make it work. I do know it’s supposed to have a whole mafia vibe to it. Because his dad (and his childhood friend he lowkey sort-of works for) have real mafia boss energy. And Floyd’s basically decided that if he’s going to do this mafia shtick it’s Capo or bust. Floyd doesn’t always feel like doing stuff, due to his wildly unpredictable mood swings, but it honestly seems like the thing he can most easily be convinced to do is beat the shit out of people. During the “Beanfest” event (which was somewhat analogous to a paintball match), he insisted on throwing his weapon away and beating up aforementioned childhood friend even though the game was over and he’d already lost, just because apparently “once Floyd has decided to fight nothing can be done about it" and you just have to fight him if you want to get on with the rest of your day. He’d started out that event “not really in the mood” but somehow ended up spending the entire day beating the hell out of every person he ran into. In the camping event, when all of the boys were being picked off by a monster in the woods one at a time and were panicking because they didn’t have magestones or cellphones and therefore couldn’t defend themselves with magic or call an adult for help, Floyd was literally just like “why don’t we just beat the shit out of it?” And then he DID. And it was awesome. But before you think he’s just some sort of dumb thug, let me assure you that Floyd is actually one of Night Raven’s most intelligent students. He has a photographic memory and can create valuable gems in alchemy class with minimal effort. Unfortunately, his mood swings make it impossible for him to maintain a decent GPA. But he’s actually a smart, tactical fighter. He’s just violent and unstable. Oh and if you’re wondering, his personality is generally abrasive and confrontational. He regularly starts arguments with the most volatile people at the school, just to mess with them and see where it goes because he’s bored. Finally, if it sweetens the deal for anyone, Floyd would wear some killer designer shoes to this fight. Don’t worry, they wouldn’t be dangerous/weaponized. They’d just be expensive and custom made. You know, so he can get upset when someone scuffs them up. Like for real, is there anyone who deserves to be in a crazy bitch fist-fight more than a moody mafia prince who’s secretly some sort of genius, but seems to only truly love fighting and designer footwear? If there is, I can’t think of them. ”

#fight fight fight #round 1 #poll tournament #tournament poll #polls #poll #dr coomer #hlvrai coomer #hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #floyd leech #twisted wonderland

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roetrolls · 2 months

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(woagh! we did it again!! it's a collab between me and Chase @sasster! Look, there's a google doc!)

Appraisal

Emarra is still drunk on attention when he returns to his trailer, buzzing with adrenaline and the thrill of a crowd. He expects Sylvie will follow him here soon enough, his little sprite always so eager for his praise after a successful show.

He’s already imagining what he’ll say to her, turning the words over in his mind as he busies himself removing his jacket and pushes past the beaded curtains into his home.

“Yumeno.”

He freezes. Now there’s a voice that will kill a mood.

Ever the performer. Emarra is quick to reel himself in, shocked expression melting into a smile tight enough to rival Faithful.

“General.”

An unscheduled visit from the Marauder rarely spells good news, but retiring for the morning to find the man waiting in your home? That’s a level of horror all its own.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks through gritted teeth.

Zerkev has already made himself comfortable–if such a word can even be used to describe such a straight-laced troll–in the seat by the window, gaze hard and stern.

“Sit.”

It is always cumbersome dealing with fuchsias that feel they can just walk into his home and tell him what to do. Resentment leaves a sick taste in the back of his mouth as he takes a seat opposite to the general.

“There’s no chance that what you’re here to talk about could have been a text message, I’m guessing.”

Zerkev’s expression tightens, not one for jokes on a good day, let alone on one where he is already beyond the threshold of having patience for the man.

“Why have you not found Mallum yet?”

Well, of course that’s what this is about. What else would The Marauder be making home visits for? There are so many ways Emarra can answer that question too, and they all flash in his mind one after the other.

Chiefly, he has been busy with his circus, and also it isn’t his job to play Pravus line babysitter.

Neither of these answers, however, would be met with the most pleasant of responses, so he swallows them down with the taste of resentment that now coats his throat.

“He’s in the company of professionals. You know that.”

“I was under the impression that you were a professional, Yumeno.”

“Gracious and the Roatus kid can’t find him either,” by the grace of God, he manages to swallow the indignance that tries so hard to claw its way out. “It’s going to take me some more time.”

“More time?”

Something snaps behind the general’s eye, perhaps his last thread of patience, something that somehow does not influence the rest of his expression.

Instead, Zerkev sits there stone-faced.

“Just a little patience, I’ll find him.”

“Mm,” comes the muted response. The seadweller stares a moment longer, gaze boring into Emarra with a scrutiny so intense he has to suppress the urge to shift in his seat. “Would you say you’ve been distracted from this task?”

Emarra all but scoffs at the accusation. Was he expected to put his entire life on hold until the kid was found? That’s a ridiculous idea, even for someone as work-focused as the Marauder.

“No,” he answers shortly, stopping himself before anything more insulting can tumble from his mouth.

Zerkev raises an eyebrow. “That so? I’d say otherwise, personally.”

He reaches into the jacket of his uniform to withdraw a phone. It’s almost comical how out of place the thing seems in his hand, but Emarra is in no mood for humor.

After a few seconds, Zerkev brandishes the screen, playing a short, looping clip of a shadow unfurling along someone’s wall.

The Ringleader feels a brief twinge of satisfaction as he makes note of the tiger-shaped nightlight by the bed, one corner of his mouth twitching as if to smile.

Then he squares his jaw, lifting a blank gaze back to his uninvited guest.

“What am I meant to be looking at here?”

The general cocks his head. “You tell me.”

“It’s a recording on your phone, why would I have that information?”

With a nod, Zerkev pockets the device once more and leans forward on his knees, fingers laced together. He pauses a moment, expression deceptively placid, before answering.

“I know you’ve more sense than to lie to my face.”

The statement, simple as it is, is easy to identify as a thinly veiled threat. Emarra, having worked with the general long enough to detect that threat a mile away, leans back into his chair as if trying to put some more distance between himself and the fuchsia. It takes some effort to conceal the panic working hard to bubble up through his chest, but he manages even then to keep his gaze level.

”Then you should know that I am not lying, to your face or otherwise.”

Zerkev purses his lips, and though his expression does not shift to betray him, he does possess the uncanny ability of letting his disappointment and irritation poison the atmosphere of the room without such dramatic shifts.

The Ringleader very briefly finds his thoughts drifting back to the other’s missing son. Yeah, I’d run away too if this guy raised and was looking for me, no question. Poor thing must’ve had an intolerable adolescence.

Locked in a terrible staring contest with his boss, Emarra then takes the opportunity to sift through a mental list of his choice in extracurricular activities up to this point. He risks being skinned alive if he admits how lax he has actually been about finding Mallum in the many perigees that have passed between now and his being given the assignment.

He risks a fate worse than that if he so much as breathes word about harassing that damn runaway of his own in the meantime.

Zerkev clears his throat, the time limit on his second chance at honesty clearly reaching its end.

“Are you telling me that you think every time something goes bump in the day that it will have something to do with me? Come on. Be real, Zerkev. I have a life, you know.”

A disappointed click of the tongue is his only response. Is he really tsk-ing him right now? Beneath his indignation, an invisible fist constricts around Emarra’s lungs, abated only slightly by the thin shred of hope that spawns in him as the seadweller rises to his feet.

Did that actually work?

Zerkev fiddles with his cufflink and hefts a weary sigh, staring ahead of himself as if lost in thought.

“Yumeno?”

For fuck’s sake, would he just go already? “Yes?”

Without warning, the Marauder’s hand shoots out to grasp Emarra by the hair, yanking him from his chair by the scalp. The motion wrenches a pitiful yelp from his lips, palms grasping at his assailant’s wrist in an effort to relieve the pain.

“I thought I told you not to lie to me, son.”

His voice, perfectly level, belies no hint of anger. He might as well be asking about the weather for all his tone suggests.

“Zerkev–”

The grip on his hair, already ironclad, grows tighter.

“General Pravus, sir,” Emarra corrects himself breathlessly, a nervous chuckle catching in his throat. It would be unwise to double down he thinks, but… Ah, screw it. He’s a carnie at heart. Honesty has never been his virtue. “I have a show to run. You really think I’m wasting my precious time on pointless games?”

Zerkev regards him carefully, lips pressed into a line. The silence hangs over them like lead, suffocating enough to prompt another anxious plea from the clown.

“You know how Maelia treats me! Why would I go looking for trouble under his nose?”

“Hm.” The general blinks slowly, fingers still wound tightly in the purpleblood’s hair. “I suppose you wouldn’t, would you?”

Emarra nods the best he can with his head practically glued to the man’s hand, eyes blown wide. “Exactly! I–”

“Yumeno.”

“Sir?” He swallows, choking down his pride with some hope of warding off the venom that lurks behind that stony expression.

“Did I tell you that was Drakon’s hive?”

Emarra’s stomach drops like a stone, the panic he’s been working so hard to suppress now lurching to the surface, plain as day on his face. Zerkev’s expression is unflinching, much like the tight and fearsome grip he maintains on the Ringleader’s hair.

A reply is hard to come by under that icy glare, but eventually the clown manages to find his voice.

“Wh-Why else would you be so upset?” he stammers, choking on his own desperation. “Everyone knows how you get about your privacy.”

The way Zerkev’s lip twitches, it’s clear that was not the answer he wanted.

“My livin’ with Drakon is public knowledge now, is it?” His tone, low before, turns downright dangerous. It’s a miracle he hasn’t ripped Emarra’s hair right out of his scalp.

Past the edges of his own hubris, the purpleblood can see that he is being given one final chance to come clean. As much as he hates the man, he can’t deny that the Marauder’s patience is astounding. Any other fish would have flown off the handle ages ago.

He swallows, fingers still clasped around the general’s assaulting wrist, and selects his next words with care.

“I made a mistake,” he says slowly, heart lodged in his throat.

“A mistake?” Zerkev echoes incredulously, almost amused at his audacity.

“A poor choice.”

“I’ll say. Unless you wanna tell me spyin’ on my home was a necessary part of the process?”

“I… I was just messing with the kid,” Emarra finally admits, voice small.

“Instead of lookin’ for mine.”

“Both! I was doing both! You couldn’t have expected me to drop my entire life for you!”

Zerkev exhales slowly, something between a growl and a sigh. It’s all the warning Emarra gets before the general throws his arm to fling him face-first into the wall, the ache in his scalp quickly replaced by a new searing pain and the scent of blood in his nose. He loses his footing in the toss and crumples to the floor in a heap, hissing quietly.

Before he has the chance to catch his bearings, the Ringleader feels a cold-toed boot upon his neck.

“I’d say I’m a reasonable man, Yumeno, wouldn’t you?” He grinds his shoe into the base of Emarra’s skull before easing up, not waiting for an answer. “So here’s what I think sounds reasonable.”

Still somewhat dazed, he can only grimace in response as Zerkev grabs him by the collar and hoists him to his feet to slam his back against the wall.

“You’re gonna get one warning. Keep that greasy nose out of my business. Leave my mate and his family alone. And find my goddamned son. Are we understood?”

Emarra squares his jaw and nods.

“Are we understood?”

His teeth are as good as dust with how hard he grits them. “Yes, sir.”

Zerkev regards him carefully, eyes flitting across his face as he, perhaps, tries to gauge the man’s sincerity. Emarra can’t help but bristle. Can’t he let him go already? What more does he fucking want?

The general frowns, evidently displeased by whatever attitude he can still detect on his underling’s face. The clown prickles under his scrutiny, for once facing down a type of attention he would sooner escape. Then, all at once, that attention is drawn elsewhere, to the small voice that sounds beyond the room’s beaded entrance.

“Emarra!”

Though Zerkev doesn’t release the purpleblood’s collar, his grip loosens considerably, just in time for Sylvie’s innocent, four-eyed face to push its way into the scene. Those eyes become saucers when they land on the Marauder, the woman’s delicate features overtaken by fear.

“General Pravus,” she squeaks, gaze darting between him and her ringmaster.

Zerkev nods in greeting, venom all but evaporated, and Emarra thanks the Messiahs for his sprite’s timely arrival.

“I-I, um…” She shoots him another anxious glance, hand unconsciously drifting toward her own nose as she spies the blood leaking from his. “I didn’t know you would have… company.”

“I was just leavin’,” the general answers, though he makes no move to do so.

Another silence descends on the trailer, with Zerkev’s pensive gaze now settled squarely on the mutant. Emarra can practically see the gears turning in his head, and he only wishes it could come as a surprise when the man opens his mouth again.

“I just got one more thing to square away ‘fore I go. Miss Selari, hon, would you mind steppin’ outside a minute? Won’t be long.”

Sylvie hesitates, again looking to the clown. With an agitated grimace, he sighs and gives her a nod. The sooner they can get this over with, the better.

His approval eases her enough to acquiesce, and soon enough she is padding back out on light and silent feet, the gentle rattle of beads all that announces her departure. The moment that faint click subsides, Zerkev’s attention is back on Emarra.

“She’s sweeter than you deserve.”

The Ringleader balks at him, the tameness of the insult somehow a bigger slap than his previous scathing reprimands. He doesn’t care what the bastard thinks of him, obviously, but it’s not the type of comment he expects during this kind of performance review.

“How long’s it been now? That you’ve had her?”

“This is what you’re hanging around to talk about?”

Evidently, the question was rhetorical, as Emarra’s non-answer glances ineffectually off the general’s chest. He finally releases him and steps away, at least, allowing the clown some room to breathe while he prepares to prattle on.

“Mallum’s always been a bright kid, you know. Wicked bright. Bit more self control and he’d be unstoppable.”

“Uh-huh,” the purpleblood responds, his irritation palpable.

“He had a hard time with schoolfeeding. Lacked discipline, always got distracted with other things. Ain’t his fault– We’re a species built on base impulse. Same reason we don’t rear our own young.”

What the fuck is he even talking about right now?

“Most trolls lack the ability to self-regulate. We found with Mallum… It sometimes helped to remove the distractions for him. He hated me for it, ‘course, but it did him good in the end.”

“I’ll remember that next time I decide to become a lusus,” Emarra deadpans, wiping the blood from his nose.

Zerkev locks eyes with him, placid expression once again turning grave.

“Yumeno. The next time you force me out here to remind you of your job, I’m taking Miss Selari back with me.”

#this guy is so fed up with his clowns #writing #guest star!#collab!#zerkev pravus #the marauder #oops i forgot sylvies here too #sylvie writing #zerkev writing

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jell0buss-37 · 10 months

Text

Why not? (Peter B. Parker x reader) pt. 2

God he is just so-

This is a slightly longer and better part! I hope you guys like this one, more fluff (platonic)

Warnings: None, slight angst if you squint

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

You can't believe how stupid Peter is sometimes.

Well, not stupid, exactly. Just stubborn. Stubborn and stupid. Two good words to describe him, especially now. Maybe you're really just panicking though, right? These are perfectly normal responses to have when your friend has been missing for what, an entire week now?

Now, sure, the guy makes it a habit to seemingly disappear from time to time, but he NEVER went without at least telling you first. You can't help how worried you are right now for him. The only reason you were so worried was because the last time he'd just left and told nobody, he had spiraled into a deep depressive state. Having just been dumped after a 3 year relationship, MJ saying that they're just better as friends, it really got to him.

His heart crushed, his inflamed ego stomped out, and his pride broken. He was a glass man, who had been mishandled and shattered. It had taken so long to pick up those pieces, bit by bit placing them together again, back into the man you cared so deeply for.

He had vowed since to tell you whenever he decided to just vanish like that again, the pained and scared look in your eyes somehow hurting him more than MJ ever had.

You had become quick friends in the workplace, not quite crossing the threshold of a bond outside of work. That is, until one of the first of many fights that Peter had to put up with. It was a rainy night, and he had had enough of the nagging of Harry in his ear, telling him he needs to get his act together eventually for MJ, who was almost impossible to please. It seemed that Harry was always quick to defend her, no matter how miniscule the fights may have been. He shakes his head, walking with his hood up into the bodega on the corner.

He opens the door, finding a familiar face to be more comforting than he'd ever admit at the time, you. You stood there, browsing through the different candy selections, wearing a pair of jeans and a loose oversized t-shirt, a pair of converse on your feet. A complete contrast to your normal work attire, he almost wouldn't have recognized you if not for the familiar glint in your eyes, that seemed to brighten at the sight of him.

"Pete! Wow, how's it going? Odd seeing you out in the wild." You tease with a smile. He feels a sudden weight off of his shoulders, his previous mood somehow leaving him just from a smile. He chuckled, walking over. "Hey, and you have room to talk. I didn't think you knew what jeans were." He nods to your comfy appearance. He liked it better, you looked… at peace.

You roll your eyes a bit, going back to looking at the candy. "I just prefer to be taken seriously at work is all. Anyway, what are you up to?" You ask, picking up a box of (favorite candy), looking up at him. You raise an eyebrow when you notice his shoulders visibly slump a bit.

"Woah, what's up man? Shoot." A phrase you two used a lot at work whenever you're working on a story together, and one of you had an idea, one of you always said shoot. It was a good way of acknowledging and accepting each other and the help that you had to offer. He laughed at this, shaking his head. It seemed he wasn't in a good place to talk about it. So you decided to go to a different place instead then.

"Alright… well, I was about to go bowling, maybe get a drink and a bite to eat. And you know, I'd HATE to bowl alone…" you trail off, hoping he'd pick up what you're laying out before him. He did, thankfully. "You know, I once won a trophy for being a bowling state champion." He grins, hooding his eyes. "Really?" You smile. "Nah. But let's go help me practice anyway." He begins walking, holding the door open for you. You set down your candy, deciding against buying it, and roll your eyes at him again.

You had of course, tied at bowling, you not expecting him to actually be good. You still joke about going easy on him while you're both eating burgers at what appeared to be both of your guys' favorite burger places. Talking about anything and everything, more so now that you're outside of work. You'd been sitting patiently listening to him finally explain his whole situation with MJ and Harry.

"And she tells me that all I do is work, and I get too tired to even talk anymore. Well, you'd be tired too if you had to do the things I have to do all the time!" He grumbles, biting into his burger. You nod along, picking a fry from his plate, having finished yours already. "You're right-" "Thank you!!" He cuts you off, taking a sip of his root beer. "Let me finish, Goofy." You smirk, "You do work a lot, almost as much as me. Hell, who knows how late you have to stay out to get those exclusive interviews with Spiderman and whatnot." You speak while pulling a straw out of your milkshake, licking it off. An action Peter stares at blankly, but ignores once you keep talking. "But didn't you say that you used to be practically in love with her in high school? Hell, you're not even gonna be going to college anymore like you'd originally planned with her. You've been working quite a lot lately, true, but don't you think she's more worried?" You point a fry at him, popping it into your mouth.

He seems to think about for a second, pondering. "You have a point." He agrees, realizing what you're getting at. "I always do." You smile smugly, winking. He finishes his burger, and you guys pay for your food. The walk back feels nice, like you both had just gotten a good breakthrough on a story, almost. Except this seemed more personal, comfier. You joke back and forth, the topic of a certain hero coming up.

"You know, you should introduce me to Spiderman sometime. He's kinda cute." The words make him freeze for a moment, but you're still walking. He catches up quickly. "WOAH, what- huh, I, uh. Woah. You think?" He pesters, making you laugh, nodding. "Are you kidding? He's a HERO. Plus, reading the interviews with him is one of my favorite parts of my days. He seems like such a good character in general. Naturally, he's just my type. And those tights-" He chokes on his own spit, sputtering at your words. He suddenly felt very warm, flattered extremely.

You smile at him, laughing as he gathered his senses. "Oh really, huh? You like the costume? You don't think it's corny?" He questions, extremely interested in your response. "Corny? More like it makes me Horny, dear God that ass-" "AHAHAHA WOW OKAY!! MOVING ON." He is entirely red now, his heart thumping so loudly in his ears now. And all you do is laugh hysterically, enjoying this response.

"Awe, what's wrong? Don't like me talking about your best friend like that?" You tease, smiling at the redness of his ears. "N-no, I mean, uh-" he coughs, regaining his composure. "It's just th-that… He'd like to hear that, every now and then. I-I mean, I guess." He smiles, almost proudly. You smile with him. "Well good. Something tells me he needs to hear it. Welp, anywho-" you step onto a step leading up to an apartment building. "This is me. I had a good time to night, I really needed it. I'm sure you did too." You smile at him.

The statement makes him realize, yeah, he did need that. Before he knows it, he's engulfing you in a quick side hug, almost awkward, but still comforting. His body warping your own from his size, you never truly noticed until now how large he is in comparison to you. "Yeah… I did. Anyway, see ya tomorrow, Stink." He flashes a smile at you before walking away.

You watch him as he goes, feeling something tugging at your chest. You look away quickly, shaking it off.

You felt it a lot, you'd come to find. Any time you guys hung out, anytime there was another fight, and it of course grew the more you were with him. It was always a feeling you welcomed, rather than shied away from or shut out. Call it being oblivious, or call it being hopeful. You never really wanted to pinpoint it. The only time you'd felt yourself question it was about 3 weeks after their breakup about 2 years after that night. You had been checking up on him, and he was still sulking in bed. You were rubbing his back, telling jokes and trying to cheer him up, telling him about different things from work that you know would cheer him up, and something finally, finally, had chipped into that sad and pathetic look in his eyes, and he had finally smiled. Leaning his head on your shoulder, mumbling a thank you, constant apologies spilling from his lips. You had always shushed him when he got like this, but the weight of him on you, that warmth of his body, had caused something to flutter within your chest. It was then you started acknowledging, started allowing that feeling to take a hold of you. You didn't think it would consume you entirely, and you didn't really care then. All you cared about was that he had smiled

#peter b parker #peter benjamin parker #peter b parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #fanfiction

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helix-studios117 · 2 months

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Halo Reloaded: Hangry

Within the Spartans' private area in Fleetcom HQ, a situation was brewing that could only be described as... domestic. Linda and Kelly were caught in the throes of an epic battle, one that had nothing to do with the Covenant, but everything to do with the rumbling discontent of their stomachs. It was a hunger so profound, so primal, that it threatened the very fabric of their unit's camaraderie. Meanwhile, John-117 and Frederic-104 watched in bemusement and mild horror as their normally unflappable comrades transformed into hangry behemoths.

John approached the dilemma with the gravity of planning an interstellar campaign. "Aw, dammit." he exclaimed, eyeing the mess hall's locked doors with a mix of desperation and resolve. Linda, the sniper whose aim was as sharp as her current mood was foul, shot him a glare that could curdle milk.

"John, I love you; but if I don't get something in my system right this second, I will not be responsible for the imminent deaths of anyone who stands between me and a decent meal." she snapped, folding her arms—a gesture that somehow managed to convey both impatience and a menacing promise of violence.

On the other side of the room, Kelly, whose speed was legendary, was now using that attribute to pace a trench into the floor. Fred, ever the voice of reason, attempted diplomacy. "Kelly, bunny-bun, you're going to wear a hole in the titanium flooring at this rate." he chided meekly, only to receive a look that could easily strip paint.

"I will wear a hole in the floor, the ship, and then proceed to run on the vacuum of space if it means getting something to eat, Fred," Kelly retorted, her voice a mix of jest and deadly seriousness. "And why is it that you boys don't have to deal with this? What, did they program you to photosynthesize?"

Fred, caught between amusement and fear for his life, shrugged helplessly. "I guess they thought we'd be too busy carrying heavy things and brooding thoughtfully into the distance."

Recognizing that the situation was deteriorating rapidly, John took decisive action. "Fred, you hit the mess hall. Charm, bribe, threaten—whatever it takes. I'll raid our emergency stash. We've got about five minutes before mutiny."

As Fred sprinted away, John turned to face the women, a man preparing to negotiate with dragons. "Ladies, if you can hold off on eating the junior Spartans for just a few more minutes, we'll have food."

Linda, leaning against a wall with a huff that suggested she was entertaining the idea of just how many calories were in a standard-issue MRE wrapper, nodded once. Kelly, meanwhile, ceased her pacing and eyed John with a mix of skepticism and hope.

What followed was a frenzied ballet of military efficiency and sheer panic. Fred returned, his arms laden with what looked like the entire contents of the mess hall's pantry—his charm offensive had apparently been successful, or perhaps the cooks had simply feared for their lives. John, meanwhile, unearthed a cache of emergency rations so old, they might as well have been made by the Forerunners.

"Here," John announced, laying out the assortment with a flourish that was utterly wasted on his audience, "a feast fit for... Spartans."

Linda and Kelly descended upon the food with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for victory celebrations or the discovery of new weaponry. "You are both," Linda declared between bites, "marginally less terrible than starvation."

Kelly, her mouth too full to form coherent words, simply raised a hand in a thumbs-up, her expression one of blissful relief.

The episode, while certainly a departure from their usual brand of heroics, served as a poignant reminder of the Spartan-II's humanity. Yes, they were super-soldiers, capable of extraordinary feats of strength and bravery. But at the end of the day, they were also just people—people who got hangry and whose day could be made or broken by the simple acquisition of a good meal. It was a humbling thought, one that brought a rare smile to John's face as he watched his team, his family, united in the face of adversity... or at least hunger.

#halo #halo fanfic #halo fanfiction #master chief fanfiction #master chief #master chief fanfic #john 117 #halo headcanon #halo au #john/linda #fred 104 #fred 104 x kelly 087 #kelly 087 #john 117 x linda 058 #linda 058 #i love them so much #halo reloaded

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gurugirl · 1 year

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The Queen's Secret Ch 12*

Summary: The Queen visits with her family and reveals her dark secret to her sister before she and Harry go away together for a few days.

Warning: Smut, angst, cheating, feelings of guilt

The Queen's Secret Masterlist

Chapter 11

Chapter 12*

Being apart from the person you love most in the world is always difficult. The heart wants what it wants. The yearning that came from Harry was hard to describe and the guilt he felt about what he was doing with the Queen and how it could affect the relationship with his children was suffocating some days.

He hated himself and he was slowly crumbling into a man who was not whole anymore but he needed to remedy it somehow. He was torn in half. One part of his heart belonged to the Queen and the other half to his children. He still cared for Gertrude; she is the mother of his children after all. A woman he once loved desperately. His resolve to be a good mate to his wife was disappearing. The love he felt for Gertrude had all but disappeared and it was redirected to his new lover. But the love he had for his children increased every day. They were his pride. Had he truly actually considered that he’d run away with the Queen and leave his beloved children behind? Because if he and Y/n did what their hearts wanted, that’s what would happen. He’d never be allowed to see his babies again. It was a devastating reality. He began having nightmares about it even.

He wanted to have the Queen and his children. But that wasn’t possible. Their secret must remain intact. However, knowing he and the Queen had a plan to be alone for a few nights together brightened him. His children noticed how playful he was once again, his smile genuine and his heart shining and giving and loving. It was awful to him that his mood and the way he treated everyone around him was based solely on if and when he could see his Queen. But Harry had always been sensitive and emotional. It was easy to get him worked up and excited or desperately sad. He didn’t like the imbalance in his life (who does really?) and that’s all that his life had been as of late. Completely turned upside and inside out. His heart suffered. His emotions dipped and soared. He was not feeling stable.

The Queen had her own problems as well. She and King had been on good terms. He was gentle with her, for the most part, but he still insisted on sex quite often. At first, having sex with the King while falling for Harry wasn’t hard. It was easy to compartmentalize and imagine it was Harry inside of her. But once she’d gotten pregnant that changed. She felt sick every time Edgar touched her and kissed her. She hated herself for giving him her body but she didn’t know what to do. She made up a few excuses to put it off. But after an entire week of not feeling up to it, the King was not happy. So she gave in on the night before he was to leave for his trip. She kept her eyes closed and tried to imagine Harry but it didn’t work. Edgar’s grunts and his scent and the way his prick felt inside of her were not anything like Harry's.

Her mind could no longer trick her body into imagining it was her lover. Not anymore. When Edgar had finished, she cleaned herself and went to sit on the balcony alone. Her heart just wanted Harry. She was in turmoil. She couldn’t imagine giving up being the Queen but could she go on as the Queen when it meant not being with Harry? And Harry would never leave his children. Because he was a wonderful father. They were doomed lovers from the beginning. But they could continue their secret trysts from time to time when opportunities opened up. It would be a long and heartbreaking road for them but what else could they do? They must settle for what they could have. And the upcoming few days that she’d have with Harry did allow a smile to creep onto the Queen’s lips. She stared into the night sky and felt the breeze over the skin on her face and neck. She’d soon have three whole nights with Harry. Alone.

The plan was simple. The King would be gone for enough time that the Queen could go and visit her family in the neighboring town, especially because her sister and mother wanted to gush over her being pregnant. She’d leave two days before she and Harry would meet so they wouldn’t be coming and going at the same time if Gertrude did happen to notice. Harry was due to meet with investors for the library during that time and even though the meeting would only be a quick afternoon, he’d tell Gertrude he needed to be gone for three nights. Then he’d go back home the day before the Queen would return. Rory would book a vacation rental house outside of town in her name so no one would know it was for the Queen and Harry and the location was far enough away that no one see the pair together.

It wasn’t a flawless plan, but it could work. The lovers had been missing one another desperately so they would make it work no matter what. The Queen would have her trip away for a week while Harry would only be gone for a few days. They wouldn’t leave or return on the same day. Her parents and her sister could confirm that she’d been with them. That was enough for Y/n to think they’d get away with it.

Y/n and Rory spent an afternoon together shopping and chatting and that’s when Y/n paid her for the rental, in cash. Rory was hesitant at first. She didn’t like the idea that she’d be in the middle or could possibly get caught, but at the same time, the Queen was her good friend. Her best friend. She’d never let Rory take the fall should anyone discover their secret.

“You don’t know how much I owe you for this, Ror. Thank you. I mean it. I know it’s awful, what I’m doing, but… I just love him so much and there’s no way for us to be together otherwise.” And that was all true.

Rory nodded and rolled her eyes, “Y/n. I know. Your secret is safe with me. I want to see you happy. You deserve to smile occasionally.”

And since the Queen would be off for the week, that meant Rory would also have some time off. Her plan was to go see someone she’d met at a volunteer event for that week. She’d booked the house rental under the guise that she’d be staying there with her friend, but she’d actually just be staying with her friend. There was no reason for anyone to check her whereabouts or what she was doing with a house rental, but they all had to get their ducks in a row just in case anyone was questioned. Because it would be possible. What the Queen and the Prince were doing was absolutely forbidden.

Gertrude knew that Harry had fixed his message settings to how they were before she tampered with them. She also realized he’d changed his password. When she checked his phone one morning she felt the chill of embarrassment creep up her spine as if getting caught red-handed, even though she hadn’t been caught per se. But this meant he knew someone had tampered with his phone, and who else would it be? He knew. She didn’t know how to fix this. She didn’t think she could. It would explain why Harry had not been sleeping in their bed and why he’d been so cold toward her.

She cursed herself for being too curious, for being nosy and not trusting of him. He’d only been doing what was agreed upon and now that her husband had completed the task, Gertrude still couldn’t help herself but to snoop through his phone. She felt guilty and embarrassed. She hoped this would all pass.

“I’ll be going away for a few days. A few investor meetings in a couple of towns. One with Annatin Capital and its founders have introduced me to another possible investor that I’ll go see the following day. And then I’ll be wrapping up with the chairman of finance for the builder on the last day but they want to host a dinner so I’ll be there late and then return the following afternoon,” Harry had finally spoken to Gertrude as they sat at their table for breakfast. The nanny had taken the kids outside to play.

“Oh, that’s really great. I’m glad you’re making headway with investors,” she wanted to ask him what towns he’d be going to and where he’d be staying but she didn’t want to seem like she didn’t trust him. She didn’t want to pry. Not anymore. She was on thin ice as it was.

And so it was set. Harry had booked a hotel room for one night each in three different towns neighboring where he’d be going for his first investor meeting. It was just to cover himself in case anyone wanted to know where he was. He’d need to go to each one, however, and check in each day, which would be a hassle, but it would be worth it. If he were a no-show, the hotel would have that information in the system.

Both Harry and Y/n were feeling good about their plan. They texted and tied up loose ends before she left to go visit her family. When she saw her mother she hadn’t realized how nice it was to be with her in the home she grew up in. The house was not modest by any means. Y/n grew up wealthy and went to the best schools. Her family had always been close to the royals, her father being a Duke and a very important name to those who were in the inner circle. It was why she was selected to be the wife of the king. Her whole life had been in preparation for the possibility of it. There were no guarantees she’d be chosen as the helpmate of the King, but she was always a contender. And now here she was, Queen of Manon, with a very dirty secret.

Her childhood bedroom was more like a master suite. All the rooms were large with soaring ceilings and chandeliers. Her king-sized bed had a canopy and she still had an antique chest with her toys inside. She had a beautiful, ornate vanity made of ivory and golden inlays. Walking around her room she reminisced while her mother finished up with the housekeeper downstairs. The large window facing the garden brought in the most beautiful light and she sat in the chair near it and let the sun warm her up a bit. The small bookshelf near the chair was still full of books she’d read as a teenager. She picked out one that she loved so much and had probably read twenty times over. She flipped through the pages with a smile on her face.

“Your room was kept the same. Haven’t done anything to it in all this time. Probably never will,” her mother chuckled as she walked across the room to sit in the chair next to the one she was in.

“It brings back so many memories being here. And this book,” she lifted it so her mother could see the cover, “I’m bringing it back with me. This was my favorite for so many years. It’s so comforting for me to read.”

Her mother read the title and gave Y/n a look that said she was crazy, “Stephen King?”

The Queen laughed and shook her head, “Yes. He wrote the book but this isn’t a horror book. It’s about a kingdom and an evil wizard. It’s more like a beautiful fairytale with some pretty good drama mixed in. The book was written for his daughter actually,” Y/n closed the book and turned it to see the cover, “it’s pretty easy to read. It’s not really scary.”

Y/n and her mother reminisced together about old times and drank tea in the back garden. Her father would be home later in the evening for dinner. Her sister would arrive tomorrow to visit. The more she sat in her childhood home with her mother the more emotional she started to get.

Her mother was telling her about her trip to Italy and when she noticed that Y/n was crying she paused her story, “My dear. Are you okay?”

Y/n nodded and laughed off her tears, “Yes. I’m just being silly. I’m so emotional lately. I’m sure it’s just because I’m pregnant,” a half-truth.

Her mother took her hand and sighed, “Perhaps.”

The following day the Queen and her mother went shopping and they met with her sister, Alma, at the plaza. After lunch they returned together to the estate and her sister would stay the evening so they could catch up properly.

Y/n’s sister was a few years older. She’d been brought up in the same way as Y/n but she married at 20 to a boy she met at college in London. It was a whirlwind affair that led to a rash decision to be married but she was in love. Their parents were a little disappointed that she didn’t marry into royalty, but they couldn’t do anything about it. She was in love. What could they do?

The sisters sat in the sunroom at the back of the home as their parents were already asleep for the night.

“You seem like you’re not at peace. Is everything okay?” The question had the Queen taken aback. Had she really seemed not at peace? Was she that easy to read?

“I’m okay. Just some personal issues with Edgar and getting pregnant has not been easy,” she responded truthfully. Her own family didn’t even know the manner in which she’d conceived. They didn’t know that Edgar was infertile and that she was sat in their family home carrying the child of another man, a man she loved. A man who was married to another woman. It was a terrible mess.

“Hmm… you don’t have to tell me but I’m here to listen and I won’t say anything to anyone of course. You know I won’t. I just want you to feel like you can talk to me if you want.”

This was tempting. The Queen knew she could trust her sister and she only had Rory to vent to. She didn’t want too many people to know, though. But it would be nice to talk to Alma. She sat for a bit in silence contemplating her choices when she got a text message. Her phone was on the table between her and her sister.

Y/n knew it would be Harry. She wanted to read it but she decided to wait until she was not with Alma.

“Are you going to see who texted? Could be Edgar?” Alma watched the Queen in question.

Y/n smiled and shook her head, “I’ll wait til later. I doubt it’s Edgar.”

A few more minutes of silence settled around the pair before the Queen’s sister spoke, “Why do you doubt it’s Edgar? That makes it seem like he’s not concerned for you or that he wouldn’t be the first person to reach out to you at such a late hour.”

Y/n turned to look at her sister. There were unanswered questions, secrets, and lies all on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to talk. She wanted to come clean. It would be so sweet to speak the truth.

“It’s not Edgar because I know who it is,” Y/n turned to face forward again, away from her sister. It wasn’t much but it was something and her sister was immediately intrigued.

“Tell me who it is. Are you…” she paused and sighed, “can I tell you something? It’s probably not true at all but I have heard something from someone is close to the royal family. And you would have told me I’m sure, but… well maybe not…” she trailed her words off as she looked at the side profile of the Queen.

Y/n turned and narrowed her eyes at her sister, “What have you heard?”

“That Edgar is infertile and the child you’re carrying couldn’t be his. But it’s all just gossip of course. I don’t know if it’s true but my source is… a pretty good one,” she laughed as she shook her head, knowing it was probably just a rumor.

The Queen raised her brows and a small smile lifted the edges of her mouth, “Edgar is infertile. That is true. Who is it that told you this?” The Queen didn’t want to reveal too much just yet.

Immediately her sister let out an amused scoff and her eyes widened, “Are you serious? So it is true. Wow. If I tell you who told me, you cannot say anything. They haven’t told anyone else. They could get into trouble. And then you need to tell me what’s going on. I think we have a lot to discuss, sister.”

Harry went out to pick up a new suitcase because he wanted a new one for his trip, but also because he wanted to speak with the Queen. She had some interesting news for him and even though he didn’t really need a new suitcase that was his excuse to get out of the house.

In the car on his way to the plaza, he called her.

When she answered him he told her he was alone and could speak freely.

“My sister knows about us. But there’s more…” she spoke quickly.

Harry held his breath for a moment, “Go on.”

The Queen explained how she’d told Alma about Harry but not before Alma told her about someone who knew that Edgar was infertile or suspected it at least.

It was Edgar’s cousin. Edgar and Sean were very close to one another. Edgar told him everything, normally. And while Edgar didn’t come out and say he was infertile, there were some things that had Sean questioning it and so when he found that the Queen had become pregnant suddenly it shocked Sean. Sean’s wife, Seria was friends with the Queen’s family and very close to Y/n’s sister. It was Seria who had mentioned the idea to Alma that Y/n might be carrying someone else’s child.

Harry didn’t know that it was a good idea to have someone else in on their secret, but it was a bit late at that point. He didn’t have anyone himself that he could confide in except the Queen.

Y/n had told Alma everything. From the beginning to their current predicament and Alma ate it all up in fascination. Alma couldn’t believe her own little sister was involved in quite the scandal. It was very unlike Y/n to be involved in something like this. But Alma would never speak their secret to a soul. It would go with her to her grave. She was not one to snitch, especially not on her beloved sister.

And Y/n felt so much lighter after revealing her darkest secrets to her sister. A weight was lifted. She felt happier and more content. She and Harry chatted for an hour and it would only be a couple more days before she could see him and have him in her arms.

Harry had been in a good mood since the Queen suggested their getaway. He had been imagining all the things he’d do to her and found himself masturbating to the thought of her soft body under his during his morning showers. He began requesting one photo of Y/n each morning (which he would masturbate to and then delete shortly after) and the morning before he was due to leave the Queen sent him her most salacious photo yet. A shot of her bottom, but he could just see the very tiniest bit of her labia from the way she was angled. It drove him mad. He locked himself in the master ensuite and turned on the shower, already hard in his cotton night pants. He leaned over the sink and looked down at the photo with her bits peeking out from her thighs as he pumped his cock in his large palm with the lotion that Gertrude kept on the countertop.

He was breathing hard and the slick lotion gave him a fast glide so he was coming in minutes at the thought of fucking into his Queen. It would only be another day before he could actually have her. When he’d cleaned up the sink and felt that the temperature of the water was ready for him, he hesitated to delete the pretty picture of the Queen’s bottom. He so badly wanted to hold on to it for a little longer. Maybe have another wank session later. He stared at the screen of his phone to burn the image into his memory and felt himself twitch again at the lusty photo. He’d need another quick nut before leaving the bathroom and without a second thought, deleted the photo of his lover before stepping into the shower with his cock in his hands, ready for one more round.

The house was in the woods up a long driveway. The instructions on entering were pretty easy. There was a lock box with the keys at the back of the house and Y/n was able to let herself in with no issues. It was a modest house. Small, quiet, neatly furnished, surrounded by trees and there were two bedrooms with two bathrooms. The kitchen was fully stocked at Rory’s request so the pair wouldn’t need to go get groceries.

An hour later Harry finally arrived. The Queen had been sitting by the front window watching out for Harry’s car to pull up like the lovesick puppy that she was. He parked and got out quickly, rushing to the front of the house without even bothering to shut the car door. Y/n opened the door and Harry was already there scooping her into his strong arms and pressing his mouth to hers, his body caging hers into the door frame, their lips moving slowly together, gasping for air that came only second to the feeling of being close once again.

They stood in the open doorway kissing and nuzzling into one another before Y/n broke from the kiss with a drunken smile on her face, “My handsome Prince. I love you,” she put her hands into his hair and ruffled it back, carding her fingers through his locks as if she hadn’t seen him in ages. Though, it did feel like it’d been ages since they’d seen one another. A day was too long. Weeks, a month? Nearly unbearable.

The lovers would have three nights together which sent them both reeling with hearts pounding at the delicious idea. The moment Harry was unpacked and settled they found themselves in one of the beds lying together, legs intertwined, hearts beating wildly, lips traveling over hot skin, fingertips touching and pulling. At last.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Harry spoke, his lips against Y/n’s neck, his hands plucking at the fabric of her shirt. He was frantic and almost felt as if he were dreaming.

The Queen pushed at Harry as she sat up and unbuttoned her top in haste. Harry pushed the fabric off her shoulders and then he removed his own shirt as Y/n got to work on removing her pants. When she was left in only her panties and bra Harry pulled her down next to him and wrapped her in his arms. His mouth was back on hers as she lifted a leg and draped it over his hip and prodded her center into his.

Harry didn’t know where to put his hands and he couldn’t decide if he’d keep his mouth on her lips for a little longer or if he wanted to move down to kiss her jaw, her breasts, her belly button… He’d do all of it. He just wished he was able to touch her and kiss her all over all at once.

Y/n could feel his frenzy. His hand squeezed at her bottom, her thigh, her hip, her waist… His mouth was ravenous over hers. His tongue pressed into hers and she squeezed her thigh down over his hip further, pressing them together more solidly. They rubbed together and made out like high schoolers too excited and too scared to take it further. But they weren’t scared, they were just so agitated and needed to feel and kiss for a bit.

Harry slowed the jut of his hips when he felt the fabric of his boxers wetted with Y/n’s arousal that had soaked through her panties. He groaned and pushed his boxers down to free his cock and Y/n immediately reached down to palm at his heavy length. They continued kissing as Y/n pressed and rubbed over Harry, her thigh still hitched over his hip. Harry moved his hand from the Queen’s soft breasts down to her panties and put a finger into the edge of the fabric near her crotch. He didn’t need to check if she was wet. It was well known at that moment that she was drenched. A mess.

When Y/n felt Harry move the fabric of her panties to expose her pussy she shifted herself and held Harry up to her entrance, “Fuck me. Please. I missed you so bad, Harry.”

Harry crashed his lips back to hers as he felt her slip over his tip and wiggle down onto his dick slowly. When he was nearly all the way in he began rocking slowly into her. They were still on their sides, facing one another, the Queen’s thigh over Harry’s hip.

“You feel so fucking good,” Harry moaned as Y/n gyrated over him, pushing herself down on him as he pushed up into her. “I’ve been fucking my hand every day thinking of you.”

The Queen had a hard time finding words from the moment they landed in bed together and now that Harry was finally moving inside of her there was no sense of anything but the physical and emotional. She gasped and clung tight to Harry, her hands holding onto his well-muscled shoulders as he inched into and out of her. His cock was smooth and wet with her arousal and the way his tip felt each time he backed out nearly all the way and then plunged inward to fill her up was relief.

Harry’s mouth was hung open as he felt the Queen clenching around him. This angle was a tight fit, and it was difficult for Harry to really get in deep, but it was also incredibly sweet and romantic because they could kiss and look at one another the whole time.

Harry continued working his hips upward, both hands on her ass as he moved her up and down his shaft gently. The Queen brought a hand to cup Harry’s jaw and they watched one another as they both began to feel the edge of their orgasms sneak into their tummies. Harsh breaths and writhing bodies, wet at their centers, love in their hearts.

The Queen’s soft moans began to get louder as she felt herself shake and her body tense when her high approached. Harry increased his pace as much as possible, thrusting into her pussy so she could feel him moving into her as she came.

“Coming on my cock, baby? My love? You needed me didn’t you?” Harry groaned as Y/n’s pussy squeezed around him, her moans were breathy and loud all at once. She couldn’t answer him but they didn’t need the words to be said. She did need it. She needed Harry.

Harry's slippery cock was being clenched and the feel of Y/n’s pulsing warm cunt was too much. He nudged himself as deep as he could go and his body stiffened as he poured himself into his lover. His grunts and groans were deep and could be mistaken for someone in pain if anyone heard and didn’t know any better. But it was only the opposite. His joy and the relief of orgasming into Y/n were overwhelming. He couldn't imagine coming inside anyone else ever again in that moment.

They held one another like that as the sun slowly slipped away. Neither wanted to get up or to separate their bodies, to remove the heat of their skin from the other.

“I need you, Harry. I don’t know how long I can go on like this. I’m devasted all the time now because I can’t have you whenever I want. Run away with me. Let’s run away together,” the Queen spoke her heart without considering that it was only her hormones telling her what to say at that moment.

Harry closed his eyes and imagined what that would be like. He’d been imagining it since the minute he fell for the Queen, but he couldn’t imagine ever leaving his children behind. He wanted desperately to run away with the Queen but the fallout would be too much to bear.

“I will lose my children, my love,” he spoke quietly as he looked Y/n in the eyes, he gently brushed his fingers over her face, “We have gotten ourselves into this dubious situation and I don’t know that there’s a way out of it. I cannot lose my children. But I cannot lose you either."

The Queen let her tears fall. She knew that. She knew he couldn’t leave his kids. She wanted to hide away forever for even bringing up running away together when her logical mind told her that was impossible. She nodded, “I’m sorry. I know.”

Harry wiped her tears and swallowed back his own, “I wish it could be. I wish we could run off together. I wish.”

Ch 13*

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Tags: @michellekstyles @ssaama @angelqueen99 @sombrioinvernoemveneza @golden-hoax @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @yousunshineyoutempter @the-gardener-31 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @dancinsunflowerkiwi @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @harrys-foxy @dirtytissuebox @closureesny @lhharrylilpumpkin @evelynlarue @chaptersleftunwritten @harrysbitchbabe @daphnesutton @matildasatellite @duh-dobrik @sadeslovechild @belovedinbloom @be-with-me-so-happily @sushiirestaurant @melllinaa @theroosterswife24 @chuless @aineetaylor

*if your tag is in orange is doesn't work

#harry styles smut #royal au #firstpost #prince!harry #queen!reader #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction

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c0d33 · 8 months

Text

Richard Lore

WARNING! This post contains spoilers for Outer Wilds: Echoes of the Eye!

If you have not yet completed this DLC (Or Outer Wilds for that fact), I would suggest not reading past the read more. What I talk about in here will spoil some of the largest parts of the DLC, and they're too good to not experience for yourself first.

Y'all gone? Alright, now let's get into this mess of a character.

Richard the Owlk

(Art by @luckylazulii!)

Part 1: Origins

Richard's origins are probably not a conventional way for OCs to be made. Richard was spawned entirely as a joke from several VRChat sessions I had with some friends. In them, we would usually start in the Outer Wilds avatar world, and one of the avatars was a customizable Owlk! Naturally, I tried to make the silliest looking one possible, so I gave them no antlers (But I prefer just calling them bald). While I used this avatar, I jokingly called them Richard. Not only did this name stick for the character itself, but it also somehow got attached to me. So if you're wondering why I had that random name listed as one of the ones you can call me, that's why.

Part 2: The Lore

This is where it somehow gets sillier. I never intended for Richard to be a serious character, so naturally I just started making up whatever lore I wanted for him. So, here's what the initial lore was:

He's bald (As mentioned earlier)

He's a certified Fortnite gamer

He sleeps in doorways (The one on the top end of the stairs in the Party House in the Shrouded Woodlands is the main one he sleeps in)

He eats children

As you can see, not the most serious OC. But again, I hardly intended for them to be serious. It wasn't until they had been around for a while and I started getting art of them that more lore started developing. So, here's the Serious Lore™:

Richard was spawned through a bug in the simulation's code. Despite the Owlk's best attempts to fix the bug, he was never patched out and remained in the simulation indefinitely.

He didn't act like other Owlks. He would often be looming in the distance, watching. Waiting.

He wasn't very... friendly, so to say. Various reports were made and many stories were told about the various things he had done, but there were never any other witnesses for any one story.

By the time the events of the main game are taking place, there are no other Owlks left in the simulation except for Richard (And the Prisoner, but due to their current situation, Richard couldn't feasibly get rid of them).

And so far, that's the lore. There are some other meta things I could think of that would explain how they would work in the context of the game, but that doesn't necessarily apply to their lore.

Part 3: Personality

I've given a lot of thought about Richard's personality and how it would work with both sides of his lore, and I think I've worked something out.

Richard experiences what I would best describe as very extreme mood swings, due to how messy the bug that allowed him to exist was.

One is the very silly, very goofy Fornite-playing doorway-sleeping Owlk that most people (Aside from the other Owlks) know and love.

The other side is the side that the Owlks experienced, with the general creepiness and violent nature.

My best comparison would be to some kind of mental illness, but I'm very cautious and nervous about saying that since A.) I don't know nearly enough about mental illnesses to name any one that it could be similar to, B.) I don't want to offend anyone who may have the mental illness that I specifically name, and C.) I don't want this to vilify mental illness in any way, shape, or form.

I'm very aware of how bad mental illness representation in media can be, and the last thing I want would be to add to that pile of misrepresentation. I would greatly appreciate any feedback or advice about this, since I'm very worried about portraying something the wrong way.

Part 4: Conclusion

Well, that's the Richard lore! Thank you very much for reading!

Richard is still very much a character that's under development, as I'm still attempting to work out exactly how they act and behave. Any thoughts or comments are appreciated, and feel free to send me asks about them, be it questions or feedback!

(Entirely unrelated to Richard, but after writing this I'm realizing just how starved for lore my other two OCs are. Maybe I should get some for them too.)

#outer wilds #outer wild spoilers #echoes of the eye #echoes of the eye spoilers #oc #original character

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skyward-floored · 2 years

Text

This fic is based entirely off a dream I had last night (which is explained here) and some insane force of nature grabbed me and somehow got me to write this whole fic in the space of several hours.

Go figure! Telink is a strong motivator I guess.

(@telemna-hyelle )

————————————————————

“You know, I’ve never actually kissed anyone before.“

Tetra looked over at Wind with an eyebrow raised, and he scratched his neck, amending his statement.

“On the lips I mean. I’ve never kissed anyone on the lips before.”

Tetra stared at him, mouth twitching, then burst into laughter.

The two were sprawled out belowdecks on Tetra’s ship, playing cards and catching up after several weeks apart while the other heroes went ashore. Wind had been telling her all about the ranch and Time’s wife Malon, and how happy they’d been to see each other again.

Which had gotten them on the topic of kissing, which led to... well, Tetra laughing her head off.

“You’ve never kissed anyone? Ever? Link that’s ridiculous! How old are you again?” she laughed, and Wind crossed his arms with a pout.

“You know how old I am Tetra, and I’ve got plenty of time to kiss someone!” he huffed, placing down a card. “How about you huh? Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Tetra’s laughter abruptly waned, and she put a card down, making Wind scowl when he had to draw two more.

“Pfft, yeah. Of course.”

Wind raised an eyebrow at her tone, and glanced at his cards before looking back at her.

“Oh really?” he asked casually, placing down a card. “What was it like?”

Tetra rolled her eyes and busied herself with her cards for a few moments, not meeting his gaze. “Like I’d tell you.”

Wind snorted. “Right. You just don’t know.”

Tetra snapped her head up. “I most certainly do!”

“Nu-uh!”

“I do!”

“Then describe it!” Wind shot back with a grin.

They stared at each other for several minutes, Wind grinning and Tetra glaring. But eventually she looked away, blushing as she threw down a card.

“Okay so maybe I haven’t ever kissed anyone. So what,” she growled, and Wind raised his hands in surrender, though the grin didn’t leave his face. He was actually a bit surprised she’d admitted it so fast.

They played a few turns of the game without saying anything further on the subject, until Wind hummed thoughtfully.

“I wonder what it’s like anyways,” he said eventually, putting down another card. “It seems to always gets the old man in a good mood.”

Tetra rolled her eyes and put down a card that required Wind to draw four. “Who knows, who cares,” she grumbled.

“Aw come on Tetra, I know you’ve gotta be curious,” Wind grinned despite the large number of cards currently in his hand, “not even a little tiny bit?”

“It’s probably terrible,” she scoffed. “And gross.”

Wind frowned. “But people always seem pretty happy afterwards,” he pointed out, “so it must be at least a little nice.”

Tetra sighed, and flicked some hair that had come loose from her bun out of her face. She played a card, then her face turned thoughtful, and she looked over at Wind with an unusual look in her eye.

“Well, we could just find out.”

Wind blinked. “Huh?”

“You heard me!” Tetra said, and looked him in the eye. “We want to know what it’s like, so let’s just do it and find out!”

Wind blinked again.

“So... you’re saying we should... kiss?”

Tetra nodded. “Uh-huh.”

They looked at each other and both nodded. It made a lot of sense, and their curiosity would be easily sated without any fuss or anything. Wind smiled, but then the realization of what they were about to do set in and he quickly looked down at his cards at the same moment Tetra did.

After several awkward moments, Tetra cleared her throat, and crossed her arms.

“Well, it’s just to see what it’s like. It doesn’t have to... mean anything,” she said flippantly, and Wind rapidly nodded.

“Right, it’s just to see what it’s like. So we’ll know, and won’t have to wonder anymore,” he said quickly.

“Right.”

They looked at each other again, cheeks a bit pink.

Wind set his cards down and hesitantly scooted up next to Tetra so they could reach each other, still feeling a bit uncertain about the whole thing.

“So... how do we..?” he asked awkwardly, and Tetra gave a small shrug.

“I think we just... put our lips together,” she said, but neither of them made any move to do so.

“There must be more to it then that,” Wind said after a couple moments, and Tetra huffed.

“Well I don’t know! Maybe we should get the old man in here, I’m sure he’d love to give us some tips!” she snapped, throwing her hands up.

They awkwardly eyed each other for several moments, Wind tapping his fingers in a nervous fashion against the floor.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly.

Tetra sighed. “Whatever. Let’s just... do it already.”

Wind nodded determinedly, and the two of them finally leaned forward, until their faces were mere inches away. Wind’s heart suddenly jumped up into his throat as he looked at Tetra’s face right up next to his, warm tanned skin, a few stray freckles dotting her cheeks, sharp blue eyes...

They both hesitated again, and Wind felt frozen, unable to lean forward or pull back.

Tetra scanned his face in return, something almost nervous in her gaze as she looked at his mouth, then she let out an annoyed huff.

“Oh this is ridiculous.”

And she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

Wind’s eyes widened in surprise and he almost pulled away, but then his brain kicked back into gear and he hesitantly kissed her back, closing his eyes as her lips pressed against his.

Oh.

So this was why Time was always so happy after he kissed Malon.

Wind’s hand unconsciously reached over and rested on Tetra’s arm, and hers did the same, the two scooting closer to each other. His heart was beating like crazy as they leaned in a little more, her chapped lips oddly soft against his, and he breathed in the salty smell that was so undeniably Tetra—

“Am I interrupting something?”

Wind and Tetra threw themselves back from each other and snapped their gazes towards the door, where Warriors was leaning against the frame, arms crossed and giving them a knowing smile.

“Um, we uh,” Wind stuttered, brain stalling, “we were, we just, uh—“

“GET OUT!” Tetra screeched, her face as red as Sky’s loftwing, and she threw the deck of cards at Warriors’ face.

The captain dodged the cards, then ducked behind the door when Tetra threw a stray boot at him as well.

“I just came to tell you the champion made dinner!” he defended, holding his hands out apologetically, despite the grin still on his face. “Pardon me, I thought you two might be hungry!”

“W-well haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” Wind hollered, covering his embarrassment up with false-anger.

“I did knock!” Warriors defended with a wave of his hand. “You just didn’t hear me because you were too busy ki—“

“GET OUUUUUUT!”

Warriors quickly escaped, shutting the door behind him right as Tetra chucked another boot at his head, and her and Wind stared at the closed door, breathing a bit heavily.

Wind swallowed, and glanced over at Tetra, who looked unusually frazzled. She glanced back, and they stared at each other for what felt like the dozenth time today, hearts still beating faster than they should.

“Well. Now we know what it’s like,” she eventually got out, and Wind swallowed again.

“Yep,” he replied weakly, mind still whirling.

He could still taste her lips on his.

Tetra cleared her throat, and leaned over, starting to pick up the cards that had been scattered all over the place. Wind did the same, and they picked up the cards in utter silence, both avoiding each other but not getting too far away either.

Wind was about to break the silence when Tetra beat him to it, pointedly not meeting his gaze as she finally spoke.

“You were right.”

Wind cocked his head, watching as she pulled a card out from under a table. “Yeah?”

“It wasn’t gross,” she murmured. “It was... well, it was...”

“Nice?” Wind said softly.

She coughed and crossed her arms.

“...yeah.”

Wind blushed again as a smile tugged his cheeks, and he nudged her with his arm, handing her his stack of cards. She smirked back, and the remaining awkwardness between them melted away.

“Well, I’m hungry, what do you say we go get dinner?” he said, and Tetra nodded, setting the cards on a table.

“Sounds good to me. The way you always sing the praises of your cook’s meals in your letters has got me madly curious,” she sniffed, and leaned on his arm. “I’ve got to taste it for myself.”

She turned her head towards his, and her face took on a positively evil expression.

“And on the way we can figure out our revenge on the captain.”

Wind grinned back, and hooked her arm in his as they walked out the door.

“I’ve already got some ideas.”

#and yes they were playing uno #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu wind #lu tetra #lu warriors #linked universe fanfiction #telink #writing from the floor #the ending is lame but whatever #Tetra and Wind enacted a great revenge #warriors did not have a good evening

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zenthymiya · 2 years

Text

Modern Escapades

Late night snacks <3

Cw: Gn Reader, Reader is described as smaller than character, Incredibly rushed wrote this at 4 am and just decided to post now

A/N: This is probably going to be a series if I find the motivation. Please tell me if you like it, I just think it’ll be a fun little series personally. My writing at night is not up to par, sorry guys

Imagine your favorite..

Picking you up for a late night snack run at the nearby 24 hour convenience store. You, having just been yelled at while on a call with your favorite was is in a pretty foul mood. It was your guardian, scolding you for something so meaningless while still on call with them.

Quickly hanging up the call you message them an explanation. You see that they do read the message but they don’t reply.. Are they angry? It’s been fifteen minutes since they left you in read- You would understand why they would be angry at you- but you don’t want them to be-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a something hitting your window. Pulling the courage to look outside, you see in the vague dim light of the street lights is them.

They ran as soon as they read the explanation text you sent, while they can’t do anything now; they’ll help you forget all about it.

Unlocking the window quickly and whispering to the night what the fuck were they doing here because really- it’s 2:00 am at night. To which they simply reply:

“I’m here for you. Come with me to the store - I’ll pay.”

It isn’t a question, it’s a statement. A statement furthered by the fact that they’re holding their arms out to catch you.

A feeling of doubt arouses over you.

What if your parents find out? What if you’re caught somehow? What if you’re worthless? What if you end up dead somewhere? What if your partner breaks up with you? What if- what if? What if-

“Hey!” A whisper yell from down at the ground interrupting your thoughts, “I’m waiting you know, these arms aren’t going to be held up forever.”

You giggle to yourself a bit.

How stupid of you.

You know you can trust them. With anything that crosses your paths, they’ll be the first ones to step up and protect you. Like they always have.

Keeping you safe with their entire being.

You trust them.

Going back inside your room to grab key essentials. Changing into a much more comfortable pair of clothes for going out quickly. You stare back at them for a hot minute.

You feel safe.

That’s your only thought as you leap out form your open window. Flying through the air away from the little cage you inhabit.

The ground getting closer to your legs, until -.

“Why did you take so long?”, they scoffed as they held you up easily. “Forget it, we have a food store to conquer together.”

Yeah. You could get lost in the safeness of your their hold. As they set you down beside them. A hand coming across your waist as they question why you’re not following them.

You feel protected.

Nothing could ever get to you, nothing ever will get to hurt you. As long as you are with them, you will be safe.

Following their footsteps as they guide you to the nearest open store. Talking about anything that comes to mind as you rest you hook your arm to theirs.

It’s peaceful on this night.

The nearest convenience store isn’t far from your home. Walking to it isn’t hard at all, especially when you have your friend glaring suspiciously at any passerbys’ who happen to see you.

In the convenience store is just like how you remember. Aisles full of snacks you loved as a child, and still do love admittedly.

They’re already walking to the aisle with your favorites lined up in neat rows. Picking up things that seem to know by heart as you watch, being a bit too dazed to do much.

They don’t seem to mind though, as they hum a comforting tune picking out only the best snacks for you and them.

They signal to you when they’re done, arms full of delicious bags and cans of unhealthy food and drinks. The store is empty, and there’s a nice static hum around the store as the cash register scans your items.

It all feels like a dream. With how everything is all static and almost calming in a sense. Everything so calm and perfect with them.

You’re snapped to your senses as your partner nudges you on the shoulder, a plastic bag full of goodies.

Nodding you follow them out the store, making small talk with them. They lead you to a nearby bench under a streetlight near the highway. There they unbox all the things they got, mainly for you.

You can’t stop smiling as they joke around, talking about anything they want to, it.. makes you forget all of your problems in that moment. It was hard not to forget once you were grinning and laughing along with them.

Under the streetlight illuminating the both of you in the night sky, watching the cars speed by as you guys enjoy your snacks.

Nipping at the snack dangling loose in your mouth as you whine indignity while they squish and pull at one of your cheeks — grinning at your plight.

It’s relaxing. There’s nothing to disturb you two. You’re alone with them.

And there’s nowhere else you would want to be.

They snap you back to reality when they cup your cheeks. Snidely saying that a crumb got on the corner of your mouth.

Just as you were about to wipe it off they beat you to it. Their thumb dragging over the spot on your soft lips as you let them. Too shocked in your stupor to react.

“There.” They say calmly, while holding a small grin, “All gone now.”

You don’t respond to them instead pulling away flustered pouting as they chuckle at your adorable reactions.

After they gather up all the wrappers and plastic into the bag and setting it off to the side, you lay your head on your friend’s shoulder (At their insistence) as you both watch the night play out.

You ask them why they whisked you away to here. They look at you as if confused.

“Well.. I knew you needed it.”

Asking what that means gains silence from them. Sighing you throw yourself more into their arms. They just scoff saying to don’t worry about it as you snuggle in their arms.

They stroke your hair, gently caressing your cheeks as your breaths get more labored. And then you fall limp in their lap.

They take the chance to look up at the sky, the moon shining brightly with the stars twinkling all around beside it.

“You deserve to feel safe.” They speak softly, carefully as to not awake you.

“I can’t protect you at all times - Not yet. I- Thank you. For feeling safe with me. For trusting me.”

They stop moving their hands on your face. Then leaning down suddenly, they peck your lips softly, as gentle as a precious snowflake descending on the land.

“I love you. And I will protect you until I know you’re safe and sound in my grasp.”

~~~~

It takes a bit for you to awake. Yet they’re still here, smiling face the moment your eyes start to flutter open. The question if time is on your tongue, but they’re ahead of you.

“It’s 3:47, would you like to head back now?”

They don’t want you to head back, you’re not safe in their arms when you’re there. But you groggily nod your head, rubbing eyes as you smile at them.

The walk back is uneventful. Well uneventful as can be when they almost fucking killed someone for leering, catcalling, and groping you in the span of 10 minutes.

They’re much more on guard after that, eyes darting to the nearest sound as they’re armed and ready for any murmurs that may come in the night.

While they may be focused on the sounds of the night, they still sense your shivers on their fingers when they hold your waist. They don’t wait for your approval or stubbornness, simply responding by hurriedly taking off their jacket to drape it over your shoulders.

Besides they love seeing you like this, their clothing draping over you. You looked so small to them this way.

Eventually, and reluctantly they drop you off at your home. As they were about to prepare to help you climb onto the window you stop them. Tugging on their clothing a bit you looked simply adorable, feeling a blush rise to their cheeks.

“Hey. Thank you,” a hesitant smile graces your lips as you shyly whisper to them. “I-“, giggling a bit you smiled gratefully at them,”I really needed that.”

A smile breaks onto their lips now, grabbing your hand on their clothing and cupping it in theirs. “No problem, now come on, let’s get you to bed, it’s late.”

They help you climb through the window by giving you a boost, holding you steady as you climb back up.

They bid you farewell at the ground below your window, smiling gently at you. You simply hide your face in their clothing and wave them goodbye, grinning the entire time.

Watching as they walk away into the night road, a streetlight illuminating their silhouette until they stop suddenly. Turning back to see you still watching them walk away.

Bashful, you turn your head to the side in embarrassment - hiding your face in your hands even. Sneaking a quick glance back at them, you see them on their phone, hurriedly typing something out.

Then they look back up at you, give a small wave and a soft smile, and then walk back into the darkness where they emerged.

A soft ding from your phone snaps you back to attention. Laying there innocently after you threw it on your bed. Picking it up, you realize there was a notification for a text they sent you.

“Goodnight, sleep well <3,” the heart makes you makes you duck your head. They’re quite shameless with their affections aren’t they. Another ping from your phone signifies another text message.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Grinning, you hugged a pillow close to your chest while you answered.

“Of course”

Sighing you shoved your phone away from you. Tonight.. was a ride. But.. well you wouldn’t mind if they whisked you away. How did they make you like this? They were always there to save you and you’re just so grateful for that, buring your face into your sleeve you jolted as you remembered you forgot to return their clothing.

“You forgot your jacket”

“I’m really sorry I forgot to give it back.”

Anxiously awaiting their response, they texted you back after a few minutes.

“Don’t worry about it, just get some rest <3”

You grinned stupidly. Deep down you were so glad they didn’t wish for it back. After all it smelled just like them, and it felt so safe.

You really couldn’t resist, spending the rest of your night hugging the blankets while you nestled further into their jacket.

~~~

Sighing, they looked down at their phone where a picture of you displayed on the screen. It was taken recently, at 3:54 am, and it showed you wearing their jacket while it draped on your shoulders.

The sleeves too big for you as you even had their hood on your head, threatening to cover your eyes. You were illuminated by a streetlight, giggling into your hand at a joke they made.

Fuck you were just so cute. They couldn’t resist taking a picture of you at the moment, where their jacket across your form while you looked so happy.

Swiping right they looked to another picture. It was you in their lap taken at 3:28 am, eyes closed peacefully, and cheeks being squished by them as they held you in their arms.

Ah, they couldn’t resist in that moment and took a picture of you sleeping while they squeezed your cheeks softly.

You always just looked so amazing.

They smiled to themselves as they set the photos to their lock screen and Home Screen respectively. The one of you in their jacket as their Lock Screen and the one of you sleeping as their Home Screen.

If they sometimes get dazed looking at their phone.

Well it’s no ones business except theirs. <3

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #headcanons #scenarios #ei x reader #kazuha x reader #childe x reader #imagines #diluc x reader #albedo x reader #beidou x reader #thoma x reader #interpret this how you want but i imagined Ei and Kazuha the most <3 #amber x reader #xiao x reader #kaeya x reader #eula x reader #zhongli x reader #itto x reader

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lil-melody-moon · 9 months

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Hi love💕 I’d like to know your top 5 favourite albums. Have a good day❤️

Hello! <3 Thank you and I hope you'll have a good evening, hun <3

Fave albums *scratches my head* It's even more difficult than with songs, since I have like...16 albums that I consider favorite and would kill for. But here goes nothing:

Waiting for the Sun by The Doors

There's something about the third The Doors album. Maybe it's the change in style or maybe the simplicity of lyrics, but almost every song just flows. It's light in sound, but so moody in lyrics. I always exclude "Hello, I love You", "We Could Be so Good Together" and "The Unknown Soldier" from it. Those two aren't bad, they are good songs, but they are different from the entire mood of this album. ...Huh, this record is almost like a setting sun... I got that thought just now and it fits!

2. Coda by Led Zeppelin

The last record, with the songs that John didn't live to see on the record. It's probably one of many reasons why I'm choosing this album over "Led Zeppelin III", which is my second favorite of them all. There's just something about those songs. Not lyrics, just musically. Come back of "I Can't Quit You Baby", "Darlene" a somehow catchy song, mostly lyrically, "Bonzo's Montreux" a great successor to "Moby Dick" one I will blast from the first note of the drums, "Wearing and Tearing" a chaotic close to the entire album and just like I mentioned earlier that John's drumming in "In My Time of Dying" is insane, in this one it's even fucking better. I remember when I listened through the entire Led Zeppelin discography and just started listening to the last track. I just sat and listened, repeating it right after it finished, realizing that the tempo sped up throughout the entire song and let me tell you, my dear, I would do fucking everything to see John play drums in this song. I know it's impossible, but a woman can dream, yeah?

3. Old Wave by Ringo Starr

I can't put in words how much I love this album. Every track just hits, every song has catchy rhythm and it's a rarity for me to love an album after first listen, but this one achieved that. From "In My Car" to "Going Down", it doesn't have a single bad song. It has that steady atmosphere, with downs of course, because it wouldn't be a Ringo album if I didn't cling to a sad song, which in this case, there are two: "I Keep Forgettin'" and "Hopeless". Then again the drums and vocals are top notch, I can listen to the album on every second of my life and I won't grow bored of it. Then again, if I ever find it in a record store I will cry, because his CDs are like shiny Pokemon here - if I ever find one, I'm gonna grab it and pay whatever the price is, this one especially!

4. Help! by The Beatles

The first Beatles albums that just stole me. I heard songs from it in the movie, which I've watched earlier and when I've found it, I couldn't stop listening to it. My actual cause of liking Paul McCartney, because mainly his songs got stuck in my head. I've mentioned "Another Girl" in the previous ask post, because this song just caught all of my attention, but then there's "You Gotta Hide Your Love Away", one of the best ballads I've ever heard, "I've Just Seen a Face", a very quick, yet catchy song, with amazing guitars and vocals. I love how quick it is and that Paul actually managed to sing it. But then again, there's the cherry on top for me, Ringo's song, "Act Naturally" which speaks to me on a very personal level. You want to know how I feel about my sadness and loneliness? Don't look far, it's this song describing it perfectly. This one started my obsession with Ringo for good and I'm actually glad it did <3

5. Hypnotize by System of A Down

I had a hard time choosing between this one and "Toxicity", but "Hypnotize" won in the end. Mostly because of music and lyrics. There's a big change between those two albums and I'm actually glad such a change happened. Two authors of songs started to differ from one another, Daron got his five seconds to shine which turned out surprisingly good. "Stealing Society" is my favorite, despite having such simple lyrics, "Holy Mountains" is Godly in every meaning of this word, "Vicinity of Obscenity" being the stupid song that's stuck with me, not to mention the chaos which is "Dreaming", with the sudden stop in the middle, talking about a girl who can't deal with what's going on in her head - again, personal connection. And all of that is concluded with one of the saddest and most tragic "Soldier Side", which is so beautiful that I still catch myself humming. Then again, there had to be at least one System album and I'm glad it's this one.

Thanks for asking! <3

#ask corner

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fave-fight · 9 months

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ROUND 2, MATCH 44

NO MAGIC, POWERS, WEAPONS, OR ADDITIONAL HELP FROM OTHERS

Isabelle:

“She's in Smash, also she's best friends with Doom Guy”

“She's probably got some pent up rage about being stuck with mayor duties, especially when the player neglects the games. She's cute and this tournament need more women. I'm so happy someone else thought about her, too.”

“If she can hold her own in Smash she can hold her own here. She deserves the chance let loose too. Let her wreck some people!”

Floyd Leech:

#fight fight fight #round 2 #poll tournament #tournament poll #poll #polls #isabelle #isabelle animal crossing #floyd leech #twisted wonderland

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ibijau · 2 years

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Song for the Brokenhearted pt1 / on AO3

aka I said I’d do another Persuasion AU out of spite against Netflix, but with Nie Huaisang as Anne, so here we are

It was the first day that spring that the weather could truly be described as hot, and Nie Huaisang had planned to spend it in the little garden he kept near his quarters in the Unclean Realm. It was after all the entire point of a garden to laze around when the heat was inconvenient, sitting under the shadow of a small tree, enjoying the smell of flowers, watching the frogs in his little pond, listening to the birds in his small aviary. Since mating season was still ongoing for several of them, they were outdoing themselves with songs, pleasing Nie Huaisang in the absence of possible partners. Truly, it had been a very agreeable day until a disciple came to tell Nie Huaisang that Lan Xichen had arrived.

Until recently, that would have been welcomed news, the sort to enhance an already pleasant day and help it reach perfection. Now though, it rather soured Nie Huaisang’s good mood, especially since Nie Mingjue was currently absent and couldn’t take care of his sworn brother. Still Nie Huaisang asked that their guest be led to him, and that tea be brought as well, though he had a rather strong feeling it would be left untouched.

Lan Xichen, when he arrived, radiated happiness. A strong contrast to the stressed and exhausted young man he had become during the Sunshot Campaign. The war had only ended a few weeks earlier, barely three months really, but the return of peace had been good to Lan Xichen. Nie Huaisang was glad to see him so well, though not wholly for selfless reasons.

As soon as the disciple who had led him there left, Lan Xichen pulled Nie Huaisang’s hand to help him stand, before taking him in his arms and kissing him. It was not an ideal start, Nie Huaisang thought, but he was just selfish enough to let it happen. Kissing in general was enjoyable, kissing Lan Xichen even more so.

“I’ve missed you,” Lan Xichen said, pressing a brief kiss to Nie Huaisang’s forehead. “I wish your brother hadn’t brought you home so soon.”

“He didn’t want me to distract you,” Nie Huaisang replied, pulling away from Lan Xichen’s embrace.

Lan Xichen frowned slightly when Nie Huaisang put even that little distance between them, when he had always been the one most eager for physical affection between, pushing Lan Xichen to shake out some of his inhibitions so they could hold hands, hug, kiss, and even plainly make out on occasion. Nie Huaisang was not always the one to start things, but he’d certainly never been the one to stop them before.

“Is something wrong?” Lan Xichen asked with such sincere concern that Nie Huaisang’s heart squeezed painfully. “You seem nervous, did something happen?”

“You might say that,” Nie Huaisang said with an uncomfortable chuckle. “It’s… ah, there’s no easy way… well, I suppose I’ll just say it plainly and directly, because there’s no polite way to do it. Xichen-ge, I think we can both agree that our engagement was a mistake, so let’s just break it and move on with our lives.”

Lan Xichen, so happy just moments before, went pale at the request, his eyes wide with shock. He suddenly looked just as broken as he’d done during the war, and Nie Huaisang felt sincerely sorry about hurting him like that.

“I’ve never thought once that it was a mistake,” Lan Xichen replied in a trembling voice. “I… did you brother say something again? Did my uncle? A-Sang, you know how I feel for you, and I don’t care if there might be some difficult time ahead. As long as I have you by my side, that’s all I want. As long as you love me…”

“Well, that’s the issue, isn’t it?” Nie Huaisang cut him. “You’re really great, and we’ve had good fun, but now I’m home again, and I just don’t think I feel that way.”

Somehow, Lan Xichen’s face managed to lose even more colour upon hearing this, making him look more like a ghost than a living man.

“You can’t mean that,” Lan Xichen whispered.

“If I didn’t mean it, would I say it?” Nie Huaisang retorted. “And anyway, it’s better if we realise now that it won’t work rather than it happened later. Hardly anyone knows, except Da-ge and San-ge and your uncle, so neither of us will lose face. It’s really for the best to end things now,” he insisted with an awkward smile. “No hard feelings, right?”

Maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing to say. From deathly pale, Lan Xichen’s face quickly coloured with red splotches on his cheeks.

“Is that really how you feel?” Lan Xichen asked in a cold voice. “Did you never mean any of the things you said to me before?”

“I meant them when I said them, sure. But now… well, you know how I am. Da-ge would tell you I can’t be depended on for anything, and that I’m never serious enough about things. I am sorry for hurting you, for what it’s worth. But it’ll be fine in the end. In a few weeks you’ll realise that you never felt that strongly either, and then we’ll laugh with Da-ge and San-ge at how silly this whole thing was!”

The splotches on Lan Xichen’s face expanded until his entire face was dark with anger. Even his eyes were a little red now, as if he were trying hard not to cry. It was rare to see him express such strong emotions, let alone negative ones, and Nie Huaisang found himself a little worried that he’d really gone about this all wrong.

“So that’s all the regard you have for me,” Lan Xichen hissed, clenching his fists. “I love you with all my heart, and there isn’t anything I wouldn’t have given to have you at my side. I thought you felt the same, but…”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Xichen-ge.”

“If you’re sorry, then I’d rather you don’t call me that anymore,” Lan Xichen ordered. “In fact, I’d rather not speak to you at all. Not that I think you’ll mind too much, since clearly you hold me in so little regard.”

He paused, took a deep breath, and managed to school his features into a more neutral expression, though his face remained rather red.

“I will now take my leave,” Lan Xichen flatly announced. “I will let you tell Da-ge what he needs to know, and that I’ll see him some other time.”

“You’re not going to be angry at him because of this, are you?” Nie Huaisang anxiously asked. “This between us, it has nothing to do with him, so…��

“I won’t let your fickleness affect my friendship with Da-ge, no,” Lan Xichen calmly replied. “I realise now that he had tried to warn me against this outcome, and I am grateful to him. I can only wish that I had listened to him. And now farewell, Nie gongzi. I’ll find my way out, no need to come with me.”

If it had been anyone else, Nie Huaisang would have insisted on walking them to the gate of the Unclean Realm in spite of the tension. But Lan Xichen had been a family friend for so long that he could be trusted not only to find his way, but also to not snoop around.

Nie Huaisang watched the other man’s back until he was completely out of view, and then stared some more in the direction where he had disappeared. He stood there awkwardly until a servant arrived with tea for two people. Just as Nie Huaisang had feared, it hadn’t been needed in the end. It was so unnecessary, in fact, that Nie Huaisang didn’t even drink his share of it. The teapot remained untouched on the garden’s little table, while Nie Huaisang went back to sit under a tree, waiting for what was sure to come next on this rather unpleasant day.

Morning passed excruciatingly slowly, and then part of the afternoon as well, giving Nie Huaisang no company but his own thoughts. It was a very unpleasant company to say the least, but he’d rather have remained alone than to see his brother enter his garden at last, looking as irritated as he always did these days. Still Nie Huaisang had been waiting for Nie Mingjue the whole time, so he reluctantly got up and greeted his brother.

“Don’t act like nothing’s wrong,” Nie Mingjue immediately scolded him. “What’s this I hear about Xichen coming all the way here and then leaving after seeing you? Nie Zonghui said he’d never seen Xichen so angry.”

“I guess he was, yes,” Nie Huaisang said. “That might have been my fault. I broke our engagement.”

“You did what ?” Nie Mingjue roared, looking so furious that Nie Huaisang suddenly feared he’d made a mistake after all.

But of course, Nie Mingjue was merely quick to anger these days, more than he’d ever been in the past. He was however also quick to calm down, especially where his brother’s peculiarities were concerned. Nie Mingjue knew better than to expect anything good from Nie Huaisang at this point.

“I can’t believe you broke that engagement,” Nie Mingjue sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The one time you accomplish something…”

Nie Huaisang’s fear turned into choking terror. If he’d done the wrong thing, if he’d hurt Lan Xichen for nothing...

“Well, I suppose it’s for the best anyway,” Nie Mingjue then said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t expecting this to work out anyway.”

Nie Huaisang took a deep breath, and meekly nodded, relieved that he hadn’t done anything wrong after all.

“You should have told me first though,” Nie Mingjue scolded, but more lightly now. “Then I’d have dealt with things for you. How did you break it out to him, anyway? I bet you did it in the worst possible way, didn’t you?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “He was pretty upset. But it’s like you said, if I don’t love him enough to learn how to help him, then I just don’t love him enough in general. So I told him I just didn’t feel the right way for a marriage, and that it was better to end it now.”

“You told him it was my fault?”

Sensing his brother’s anger mounting again, Nie Huaisang hurriedly shook his head. "Of course not! I made sure he knows it's not your fault! He's already angry at me, I don't want to also deal with you being angry at me too because he's angry at you!"

And it really wasn’t Nie Mingjue’s fault anyway, so there would have been no reason to blame him for this.

Well, it was Nie Mingjue who had made him reconsider the engagement, sure. Because while Nie Huaisang had been so happy about being in love with Lan Xichen when it was just the two of them, Nie Mingjue had had a number of opinions on that. Namely, he thought that if Nie Huaisang wanted to get married, then he had to be capable of acting like a respectable sect leader’s spouse. So as soon as Nie Huaisang had returned home, Nie Mingjue had put him through rigorous training, demanding that he help with sect business, that he supervise the training of disciples, that he train more frequently, that he dealt with bills and correspondence and a billion other boring things. Every time Nie Huaisang tried to complain that he hated doing something, Nie Mingjue retorted that it’d be a lot worse when he was married to Lan Xichen, and that if he was serious about the engagement, he would do all that and more and act happy about it, too.

Nie Huaisang, much as he enjoyed Lan Xichen’s company, enjoyed chatting with him and painting together and kissing and every moment of their lives that they’d spent together, had come to the conclusion that it couldn’t be actual love. His brother said it wasn’t love until he was ready to completely change himself and make all these sacrifices. And when Jin Guangyao, the new sworn brother of Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, had been applied to for his opinion, he’d also told Nie Huaisang that all that happiness he’d shared with Lan Xichen didn’t mean anything, because Lan Xichen was sect leader now, and it made everything different.

And if Nie Huaisang wasn’t in love, not really in love the way everyone said he should have been, there was no point in keeping that engagement, was there?

“I’ll have to do damage control for you again, won’t I?” Nie Mingjue huffed, annoyed but not angry, so it was fine. “Poor Xichen. He was serious about this, even if you weren’t. I’ll try to go visit him soon. Next week should be fine… you’ll just have to be in charge while I’m gone.”

Nie Huaisang gasped in horror, as breathless as if his brother had punched him in the stomach. It took him a moment to process that betrayal, and then anger overcame his earlier sadness.

“You can’t put me in charge!” Nie Huaisang cried out. “I’m not going to be a sect leader’s husband now, there’s no need for me to know how to do that stuff! I won’t do it, I just won’t!”

Nie Mingjue, unmoved, slapped the back of his brother’s head. “You’re still my heir, idiot. If anything, that means you need to work even harder now. I’d have let you marry out for Xichen, but not for anyone else. You’re staying in Qinghe now, and you’ll have to become worthy of it.”

“But that’s unfair!” Nie Huaisang shrieked, and broke into tears. “I broke up with Lan Xichen! I did what you wanted me to do! You can’t punish me for doing what you wanted!”

That only earned him another slap, harsher than the first, and a stern look from Nie Mingjue who was already starting to lose patience.

“I didn’t tell you to break up with Xichen, so don’t go blaming me. You’re the one who decided that on your own. And getting trained to replace me as sect leader isn’t a punishment, it’s a privilege.”

“It sure feels like a punishment!” Nie Huaisang sobbed.

“It only feels like a punishment because you’re lazy!” Nie Mingjue retorted. “You just have to get used to it and it’ll get easier over time. And stop crying like that. I didn’t hit you that hard. You’re just too soft.”

Gritting his teeth, Nie Huaisang’s reply was to kick his brother’s shin, and he put all his strength into it. It was probably surprise more than actual pain that had Nie Mingjue shout so loud and bend in half, but that moment of inattention was all Nie Huaisang needed to run away. He was out of the garden before Nie Mingjue had recovered, and from there it was easy enough to find a dark corner where nobody would find him, so he could hide until he was ready to come out again.

And so, hidden safely and out of reach from anyone who might want him to be reasonable, Nie Huaisang cried his heart out, both over the loss of the man he loved, and because he had lost him and earned nothing in return.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #nie mingjue #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #another persuasion au #jau writes

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