#still need to work on his casual fit. maybe add some ruffles to his other.

[lalaboy]

anatolleee silly little guy

[igotbulletproof-insomnia]

Adopting Bangtan 08

01 previous

Supermarket Sweep

You were never going grocery shopping with seven kids ever again in your life.

The chaos. The absolute chaos was something that you somehow never expected. You actually thought that shopping with all seven kids would be the most efficient way to accomplish the task. Sit Kookie in the cart and let him “help” you by picking out the area to shop and hold the bags while you pick the vegetables. Send Yoongi and Namjoon to buy the snacks because they were the most sensible of all of the children and wouldn't have you spending way more money than necessary. Let Taehyung and Jimin retrieve the bread and the milk. Let Seokjin pick the meat because he was surprisingly talented at the job. And then everyone was supposed to meet you back at the shopping cart, still located in produce, so that you could pay and you all could go home. It should have taken thirty minutes, tops.

Instead, you found yourself chasing Taehyung around the store while Jimin kept an eye on Jungkook and you really, really hoped that he didn’t grab the most expensive apples on display, but you have the feeling that he would — because of course, he would. Prices didn’t seem to exist to any of the younger kids.

Instead, Jin was throwing a fit because all of the meats on display were apparently complete rubbish and he refused to let you spend money on anything but the most expensive cuts of beef so you “just have to” make another stop at the actual butcher’s shop. Granted, if Jimin spent all of your money on asparagus, your family would be eating vegetarian this week.

Instead, as soon as you managed to grab Taehyung, who apparently just wanted to replace Jungkook as your shopping partner, Namjoon appeared with a reasonable request for more variety in tea for the house. Which opened up a whole new can of worms as Taehyung realized he can ask for things too. This had him running back to Jimin and the shopping cart with a grin on his face, demanding that they find the snack aisle because you were going to buy them extra snacks if they asked, and Jimin’s face lit up with a smile so bright that dammit, it was going to be hard to explain what a budget was and why it wasn’t a good idea to exceed it.

(and yeah, you checked. Jimin grabbed the most expensive radish and lettuce he could find, and you were going to have to break out the vegetarian cookbook.)

(except for the bananas. It seemed Jungkook picked up the bananas)

Thankfully, Yoongi — lovely, beautiful, blessed Yoongi — had been returning to the shopping cart with his arms full of a variety of snacks, all low in price but high in popularity at home. He took one look at the chaos of whining and fussing children, rolled his eyes heavenwards, and took control.

“You get one.”

His tone left no room for argument; even you stood straight and stopped making a scene. Yoongi led the group back to the snack aisle and replaced everything he picked and let the others run wild. Together, you watched the others pick out snacks and place them, one by one, into the shopping cart.

“... They’re going to blow the snack budget like this,” you commented idly.

“I know.”

“That’s why you put the rest back, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And these snacks aren’t going to last as long as they usually do, will they?”

“Not at all.”

“Thank goodness you’re so smart,” you ruffled his hair. “This is why I keep you around.”

“You keep me around because you don’t want me living by myself and I save you from going broke.” Yoongi’s tone was as matter of fact as ever and you couldn’t help but grin.

“Like I said, smart kid.”

Yoongi grinned back. You liked the fact that these kids didn’t take you too seriously. You had a good balance of deference, respect, and playfulness with all of them, even if you weren’t sure who actually ran the household most of the time. “Go pick you something, Yoon. You don’t have anything for yourself.”

“You can’t afford what I want.”

“I probably can’t afford what anyone wants, they aren’t paying attention to the prices.” And indeed, Taehyung and Jimin, your babies with the most expensive tastes, were debating the merits of two snacks that were way outside of the price range you would normally consider. But again, Jimin’s smile was so broad that you were reluctant to tell him no and watch that fearful, nervous look fall back into place. You would talk to him about budgets and restrictions another time. “I’ll make it work, don’t worry about it right now.”

With a grateful smile, Yoongi asked you to grab the snack he wanted, placed just out of his reach on a top shelf. It wasn’t priced too far out of budget, but it was different from the things he normally selected for your busy household of eight. You made a mental note to pay attention to how much Yoongi enjoyed the snack and check the stores for similar ones. The kid did so much and asked for so little, it would be nice to do this one thing for him.

“Wait a moment…” you frowned, counting off. “Where’s Hoseok?” Immediately all of the children quieted down, looking to each other as if to confirm that yes, someone was missing.

“Wasn’t he supposed to go with Jin-hyung?” asked Namjoon.

“No, I thought he was keeping Jimin and Taetae company?”

“Oh my God, you lost Hoseok.” That accusing tone came from Taehyung, and you watched Jimin’s face go from lightweight confused to completely devastated. You hated it, had suspicion that he was wondering if you would eventually do the same thing to him, if you would get bored or disappointed or angry and cast him off, lose him in a store or at a park like Hoseok explained happened to him, like all of Jimin’s previous parents did to him.

“Okay, boys,” you shouted, uncaring of the stares you attracted. The boys startled, but gave you their full attention, which was one hundred percent more than you’d had the entire grocery trip. You continued to speak firmly, and could tell the show of authority did more to calm their panic than the shouting. You decided that they needed to focus on something other than their lost brother. “This is what we’re going to do: Namjoon, you’re going to take Taetae and Jimin and get the bread, milk, and all the dairy stuff like I told you before, okay? Add eggs to that list. Yoongi, go get the paper products. Get the brands we used to get, not the ones we used last time, they’re cheaper and sturdier. Seokjin, we’ll go to the butcher’s if we have the budget when we finish here, but I promised we could have meat for dinner, so take Kookie and find something, okay?” All of the boys nodded at their assignment. “Good. Yoongi, Joonie, find Jin when you’ve got your things. Seokjin, when you’ve finished, wait for me in produce. You all understand? I’m going to go find Hoseok. He probably got distracted and can’t find us.” Hoseok had a habit of doing that. He often got lost among the chaos, because while everyone was being loud and boisterous, Hoseok was often quiet and did the things that went unnoticed. If you assigned dairy, meat, and snacks, then Hoseok probably went off to grab paper towels or rice or something you needed at home but forgot about. You wouldn’t be surprised if he came to the store with the list Yoongi and Jin never felt the need to write.

So the kids separated, worried and mumbling to each other, but occupied with their tasks. They were trusting in your ability, in your promise to locate their missing brother before you all went home. Whether these kids were abandoned by their parents (or maybe ran away from home, Seokjin never discussed why he chose to stay with his former teacher) , you found them and chose to take care of them. It was understandable that they would be worried. Up until now you had probably seemed like some sort of savior to them. Maybe not infallible, and definitely not… whatever it was that made other adults seem parental, but you had taken care of them, kept track of them, and protected them. Losing one of them had probably shaken their hearts.

It didn’t take long before you Hoseok as you predicted, standing in the frozen section, a piece of paper and pen in his hands. He bit his tongue as he read through it, humming to himself and ticking off items. A hand basket sat at his feet, overfilled with supplies.

“I’m pretty sure you should have an actual shopping cart for that,” you told him. Hoseok startled, jumping nearly a foot in the air and shouting in surprise. The petty, upset parent part of you feels satisfied for it, like Hoseok got what he deserved for scaring you the way he did. The more rational part of your brain is just glad that you were right and he hadn’t been kidnapped. Casually, you looked over the basket. “I didn’t even think about checking the spice cabinet. You’re a clever kid.”

“I just wanted to be helpful,” Hoseok replied with a shrug.

“It would have been helpful if you told me where you were going.”

“... I didn’t do that?” Hoseok’s eyes went big and wandered left and right. He seemed to be making himself smaller, pulling his arms close and leaning away from you.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I… oh.”

“We got very scared,” you explained. “We thought you got lost. The other boys were panicking.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you, I just… everyone else got an assignment and I didn’t, so…”

“So you thought I wouldn’t notice if you disappeared for a bit.” You nodded and ignored Hoseok’s flinch when you crouched down to his level. He wasn’t terribly short, he was actually almost as tall as your shoulder, but it was always easier to have these sorts of talks when you weren’t looming over him. “It’s okay, I’m not mad about you shopping on your own. I’m actually really glad that you took initiative to do something helpful. But you did scare me. I didn’t know what happened to you. I didn’t know if you got lost or ran away or if someone stole you from me. I’m glad I know you well enough to assume you brought your own list, but I was still afraid of being wrong. I really, really don’t know what I would do if you went missing, Hoseok. I haven’t had you for long, but my heart would hurt. I care about you that much, okay? So please, communicate. Tell me when you’re going to wander away, and tell me where you’re going so that I know you are safe.” Hoseok nodded fervently, most likely an effort to convince you he was sincere and wouldn’t disappear on you again. You opened your arms for a hug, You opened your arms for a hug, partially to comfort yourself, but mostly to soothe Hoseok. He looked like he might burst into tears and needed the comfort.

“Okay, good.” You squeezed the kid tight, your hold unrelenting until you felt the kid push away. “Alright, let me see that list of yours.” Together, you and Hoseok went through his list, and you were amazed that he was so thorough. Apparently the kid started taking stock as soon as you mentioned the intent to go to the grocery store earlier in the week. Hoseok noticed that you had a habit of leaving something out and he thought that making a list would be helpful. When you decided that you were going to take all of the kids with you, he decided to just hold on to the list himself.

“From now on, you’re making grocery lists,” you decided as you made your way back to Jin. “Maybe even all of the lists if you’re this organized. What do you think of that?”

Hoseok grinned, obviously proud of himself. “I think that sounds awesome!” He cheered. “Is this like how Yoongi gets to be in charge of the budget and Jin is in charge of the kitchen and Joonie is in charge of all of us?”

“Kind of yes, something like that,” you said. “Because obviously I’ll lose my head otherwise.”

“I’m sure we’ll keep track of your head too if you want.”

“Ah, why are all of my kids so snarky? I don’t deserve this,” you cried, hugging Hoseok more tightly to your waist. “All I do is give them love and a home, and they pay me back in sass.”

“But you love us, right?” Hoseok asked. His voice was a little softer than before, and you saw it for the genuine question that it was, not the joke that it would have been had it come from Jin, Joon, or Yoon.

“Of course,” you told him. “Don’t you doubt that for a second.”

When you went searching for the rest of the kids, you found them standing by Jin with the shopping cart, all lined up on the side of the aisle and eerily quiet. Even Jungkook in the shopping cart was holding his hands in his lap, eyes down cast.

“Do I want to know what happened here?”

“No,” was the resounding answer.

“Okay, good.” You shake off your curiosity. Whether that was because you trusted Seokjin or because you were afraid of the answer, you were undecided. “Hoseok, do you want to delegate tasks? We have a few more things on your list, right?” Hoseok noded, and set about sending his brothers off in pairs to retrieve the remaining items on his checklist. After the two sets had wandered off, Hoseok looked up again.

“Could you…?”

“Seokjinnie, you good by yourself?”

“I’ll have Kookie with me, it will be great.” Jin shrugged and you rolled your eyes.

“We’ll still meet over in produce when you’re finished, okay?”

Jin huffed his frustration at the meat selection. “I think we’re just having fish tonight. Is that fine with you?”

“If it’s okay with your brothers, it’s okay with me.”

“They’ll be fine with it,” Seokjin declared. His tone said he was still very irritated with whatever happened while you were gone.

“Get some cheaper produce when you’re finished, please.”

“Sure thing,” Seokjin agreed absently, wandering further up the aisle.

“Holler if you need me,”

“I will.”

“Just don’t scare everyone when you do.”

“Now you’re just taking away my fun.”

After all of that, you spent another fifteen minutes in the store. The trip to the butcher’s shop was put off for the following night, and you all made the unanimous decision to eat ramen and kimchi for dinner. You were also very loud about never bringing seven kids grocery shopping ever again.

That was, until two weeks later when Jimin’s adorable pout convinced you that they would be on their absolute bestest behavior (spoiler alert: they weren’t).

To find more of my child-bangtan fics, select the "Collecting Strays" tag at the bottom of this page ^_^

[spiralhigh]

ranking the sdr2 cast by how much their formal wear hits

this is just my opinion, but my opinions are great and i know what i’m talking about! this will be long so it’s under a cut

S TIER:

s tier is reserved for only the best of them all, the cream of the crop, the fit that i would gladly lay down my life for. s tier is the crown jewel. s tier is what everyone else should strive to be... but only one can take the prize.

#1: AKANE OWARI

the undisputed champion. this look is everything to me. EVERYTHING. the red-trim cape with the fur. the contrast of the airy, gathered blouse with those skin-tight shiny (leather? vinyl??) pants. the pumps. the belt that screams disco style. the necklace accentuating the tasteful titty window. the red white and gold color scheme  are you FUCKING WITH ME miss owari this look could bring ARMIES to their KNEES in an INSTANT. whoever drew this deserves full creative control of the danganronpa franchise and i’m not kidding

A TIER:

a tier is for the fits that frankly own bones. they’re not as jaw-dropping and legendary as owari, but they’re still razor as hell and deserve to be met with riotous applause.

#2: KAZUICHI SOUDA

kazuichi, i didn’t know you had it in you, but this FUCKS. the character of the pins on the lapels, the sneakers, and the mispinned tie. the absolute CLASS of the suspenders, watch, and tiny round glasses. the handsome slick in the hair now that the greasy beanie is gone. the tasteful highwater. he looks like the host of the larry king show if the larry king show was exclusively about ska bands and he has never looked better

#3: HIYOKO SAIONJI

tell me this isn’t the cutest shit. the colors here are EXQUISITE. the bright notes from the blue on top, the way the soft pink is a perfect middle ground of the pink + white flowers on her sleeves, the subtle way the green in her bow matches the green in her collar, the white petals breaking up the sky blue that might otherwise look out of place? remarkable. stunning.

#4: PEKO PEKOYAMA

the ELEGANCE is EVERYTHING here. the monochrome is offset by just a splash of red that ties everything together with her eyes and the flower in her hair, the checkerboard pattern is visually interesting but not distracting, and her hair in that loose ponytail with the little white ribbon? ugh. ADORABLE! but most of all, look at those BOOTS. those CUTE LITTLE HEELS on those SICK LACE-UP BOOTS..... QUEEN shit!!!

#5: CHIAKI NANAMI

rounding out our a tier is chiaki in this adorable little dress just LOOK at her!!! she looks like a little rose, a perfect flouncy skirt with a glittery mesh overlay, a fun and fresh over-the-shoulder collar, a fucking big old bow tied in the back?? i can literally feel the way this dress would feel in my hands. it’s simple and perfect and frankly a GORGEOUS color on her this is flawless

B TIER:

b tier is a perfectly respectable place to be. these fits lack the lustre and flavor of the a tier entries, but they’re still dressed to impress and they still look fine as hell.

#6: TERUTERU HANAMURA

say what you will about teruteru (and i do) but this suit is ADORABLE and it fits in with his theme + talent better than any other mfer on this list. the tasteful white/brown/red palette gives it a flashy chocolate cookie look, which is amplified in the fun pattern on the jacket. the chef’s hat switching out for a little top hat and the way the cumberbund looks a lil bit like a chocolate bar is also VERY cute

#7: THE IMPOSTOR

now on its own, the suit is just alright. a vibrant pinstripe blue three-piece with the classic red tie wouldn’t land the impostor in b tier on its own... but that FUR COAT, LUXURIOUSLY DRAPED OVER THE SHOULDERS does WONDERS to pull this look together. not only is it worn with “yeah, it’s real mink, no, you can’t touch it” confidence, but it also ties the otherwise arbitrary white loafers into the structure of the look. it’s subtle and class as hell.

C TIER

c tier is full of looks that are... fine, but ultimately either are boring, lack cohesion, or have a confusing design choice or two that make it hard to get all that amped about. c tier is a passing grade, but nothing more.

#8: NAGITO KOMAEDA

there’s a lot that’s good about this outfit, but there’s also a lot that doesn’t really work. let’s start with the good: the slutty loose bowtie and collar, the tight-fitting vest that ends before the hipbones so you can see the belt, the cute little ponytail? (chefs kiss) exquisite, all of it. but the suit itself is boring as sing, and who the hell decided to put the t-shirt symbol on the sleeves??? was it to add visual flavor to an otherwise bland suit? this does NOT have the black/white/red elegance that peko had.

#9: FUYUHIKO KUZURYUU

the silver and gold mob-boss look, complete with matching shoes vest and fedora, are a nice nod to fuyuhiko’s talent! the plaid is teetering on the edge between fun and garish to me, but the fact that it’s consistent and the only pattern means it isn’t too offensive. quick question though: why are his pant legs rolled up like that?? this isn’t a cute “cuffed at the ankle” look, dude looks like he had to wade across a pond to get to the venue. what gives

#10: GUNDAM TANAKA

out of everyone here, gundam’s suit might be the most boring of all. the scarf is just his normal scarf. the red tie and trim don’t do anything to tie the look together. the only mild point of interest is the asymmetrical vest, and i can’t even tell if that’s intentional. simply put, this “““fancy”““ outfit isn’t even in the same ZIP CODE as the level of ostentatious chuuni that gundam serves us every single day in his casual wear. maybe even worse than being ugly... it’s disappointing.

#11: IBUKI MIODA

now, look. is this dress buckwild and ugly as hell? yes. but you know what else it is? it is IBUKI MIODA’S DRESS. there might not be a single cohesive thing about this dress aside from its color scheme. the huge poofy ruffles of the skirt and arm things with the spiked bow and corset are baffling. the artist somehow managed to draw the awkward, clumping shape of the skirt to make it look exactly like an emergency cosplay sewn four hours before a convention. frankly, i can’t justify ranking it as a c! but i’m doing it anyway, because the sheer level of craftsmanship demands it, and in this house we respect diy queens that are totally off the shits.

D TIER:

d tier is for outfits that aren’t offensive, exactly... but like, they sure don’t look good! d tier is not a respectable place to be. those in d tier won’t be laughed out of the ceremony in shame, but they should really run their outfit by someone else first next time.

#12: NEKOMARU NIDAI

now don’t get me wrong: i have nothing but respect for the titties-out look. keeping the shirt unbuttoned all the way down to where the lapels of the jacket end? that’s sexy as hell. however, this flawless idea has a confusing execution. why emerald green and orange? what’s with the... long-sleeved printed (hawaiian?) shirt? why the red pocket square? and the jacket itself, while fitted perfectly along the chest and midsection, has a weird, unflattering scallop shape flaring out at the bottom. i want to like this fit, but there are just too many bad choices.

#13: HAJIME HINATA

oh, hajime... literally nothing about this ensemble is it. the creamy manila suit might have had potential if there were literally any color variation in the vest (or potentially shoes) to give it a little more shape, or even if you just went with a white shirt underneath it! i could get behind a light, off-monochrome look! but that leprechaun-green shirt is downright perplexing to me. it looks like a mistake! did you get dressed in the dark? did you spill something on your other shirt? this is a mess.

F TIER:

f tier is inexcusable. f tier should never have happened. how does it get this bad. who did this? who’s responsible for this?

#14: SONIA NEVERMIND

y’know, the colors are pretty! i dig the white and teal! but... girl... what the fuck is this construction. the ruffles are all over the place. the bodice looks like it has less fabric than space it needs to cover. the bottom half of the skirt looks like it was sewn on as an afterthought because the top half was too short for dress code. what’s with the weird choker collar detached from everything else. why is the hairband a slightly different shade of green. so many decisions were made here and none of them are flattering

#15: MAHIRU KOIZUMI

yknow, i like the idea behind this. i can see what you were going for! the dress on its own might have worked, even! but everything else about it is just... so ugly. what the fuck is happening with those shoes??? the sheer black tights aren’t the sexy OL look you think they are. the collar of the dress looks like it’s... braided for some reason??? those earrings are so huge for no payoff, statement jewelry with nothing to say, and worst of all... that headband. GIRL. that headband and that belt...... there’s nothing here. also i love orange but it’s not her color.

and finally... the worst.

#16: MIKAN TSUMIKI

what the fuck. what the fuck is this. this is straight up cheap rubber fetish gear. why is the HAT rubber? that skirt ruffle makes this look like fucking polly pocket clothes. why the fuck is she wearing that. the clothes are so bad that it makes her hair look like rubber too. was she dared to wear this? is this some cruel punishment? i don’t even know what to say. this is the worst possible outfit. there is not even one redeeming quality about it.

[howdoyousleep3]

no need to ask me

Rating: Explicit 

Pairing: Andy Barber x Lance Tucker

Summary: “That was quite a scene there, baby. Made a bit of a fool’a yourself wouldn’t you say?” What the fuck? “What? How long have you been sittin’ there like a creep?” Andy takes another couple of steps, closes in with broad shoulders, crosses his arms. “Long enough to see that pitiful display of what I assume was flirting.” 

Words: 6.3K

Tags: Daddy Kink, Feminization, Humiliation, Spanking, Desk Sex, Spitting, Light Dom/Sub, Crying, Rough Sex, Little Prep, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Hair Pulling, Spanking

This isn’t my normal softness so please read the tags! I hope you enjoy the filth! 

Lance tends to like Fridays. He pushes his gymnasts harder because it’s the end of the week, more people are in and out of the gym so he can show he knows his shit a little more, and let’s be completely transparent—Lance feeds off the attention. He’s worthy of said attention, knows people are aware of his status, knows people find him hot as fuck whether they like it or not. Fridays are the days where Lance feels good, feels powerful, feels of value.

He’s spent the day working with his own girls, focusing on things beyond the basics; they’re passed that shit. They needed to work on sharpness and sticking landings and fuck if they couldn’t understand just how to make things tight. They did alright, nothing like he could do, but he feigned exasperation and disappointment nonetheless to get under their skin a little bit.

The moments where he wasn’t meeting with his own athletes he spent on the outskirts of the floors. He loved how even his presence rubbed other coaches and players the wrong way, how he didn’t even have to open his mouth to get under other people’s skin. That made actually opening his mouth and spouting off taunts that much sweeter. When he wasn’t on the outskirts of the floor, he spent his time working his charm on the front desk girls, the few coaches in the office.

He wasn’t genuinely interested in these chicks, but flirting was fun and if he got some pussy out of it that was just a happy accident. He knew what his smirk did to people, knew that if he licked his lips just the right way and paired it with a look up and down, he might have a chance. It’s been a long day, one of his few full days, and the people around him are busy closing the gym down. He’s in the middle of working his shot with this pretty blonde (Amanda? Miranda? He can’t remember and can’t find it in himself to care) when—

“Andy?”

Lance’s glance to his right leads him to catching an out of place crisp dress shirt out of the corner of his eye. Andy is seated in the waiting area meant for parents, ankle of one leg resting on the opposite knee, arms spread onto the backs of the chairs on either side of him, suit jacket tossed into the chair next to him. He looks casually out of place in this gym, looks infinitely better than Lance does in his tracksuit. Well, maybe not better but he looks like belongs back in his office or in a courtroom. He looks good.

“Hey, baby,” Andy purrs, tilts his head a little as he says it, and Lance is immediately on alert at his tone. It’s an odd tone, like a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, a little bitten off. Add that to Andy having never shown up to his place of work has him feeling on edge. That edge hardens slightly when Lance realizes his predicament: he’s propped up onto the front desk counter and has been staring down the shirt of AmandaMiranda for the past ten, fifteen minutes.

How long had Andy been sitting there?

“What are you doing here?” It comes out much more harshly than he intends for it to, so much so that the girl behind the front desk takes it as her cue to leave. He’s upset with himself and his tone for maybe half a minute before he starts to think about how uncalled for it is for Andy to show up unannounced, for him to sit there and watch Lance like some sort of creep.

Andy’s eyebrows raise in an unnerving move and he responds with a cool, “You’re not happy to see me?” That isn’t fair. Lance is always happy to see Andy, always excited to see the older man, still gets a few butterflies in his chest, his stomach, but he needs to play it cool. He can’t come off as eager, needs to give Andy the chase that everybody else gets. He scoffs at Andy’s words, looks around as he deepens his lean on the front counter, hip cocked.

“I mean you’re not the worst thing I’ve ever seen come through those doors I guess.”

Andy doesn’t look impressed, gives Lance a look that conveys just that, leaves him on shaky ground as the last few to leave walk past them. Someone asks Lance if he’ll lock up and he brushes them off, says it’s no big deal, tells them he can handle it. Andy doesn’t take his eyes off Lance once. He didn’t realize how much he depended on those few short minutes with other people in his presence, other people in the building with him and Andy, until they’re gone.

It’s unnerving.

Andy Barber isn’t Lance’s type. He’s a rule-follower, a suit, never raises his voice, a man, but he’s got pretty eyes and hands that Lance loves to feel tight around his thighs and the juiciest bottom lip he’s ever found. After running into him enough at his lawyer’s office (Lance doesn’t want to talk about it) and exchanging flirty glances, Andy made a move and asked Lance if he wanted to go get a drink.

“Yeah sure—what the hell?”

Andy was a little older than Lance and, even though they were wildly different, they got along well. Lance found that he could be more of himself with Andy, let loose a little more, found that Andy could keep up with his banter. Lance would have never guessed that Andy was the kind to fuck on the first date but when a hand slid up his thigh under the cover of the table and a pair of lips found that fucking spot under his ear, he was pleasantly surprised.

They’ve gone on a handful of dates, met up for drinks and gone to see a few movies, but Lance keeps coming back for the sex. He doesn’t let people fuck him often, but Andy Barber is one of them. Andy works out to keep his body right and tight, keeps him fit, knows how to work it to give it to Lance good, an easy 7/10. He lets Lance get a little rough (could give it to him a little rougher if Lance is critiquing), lets him be on top, and it’s great but no amount of a good fuck makes it acceptable to show up unannounced at his place of work.

Before Lance can say anything else, Andy is standing, closing the distance between the two of them slowly. Lance swallows audibly.

“That was quite a scene there, baby. Made a bit of a fool’a yourself wouldn’t you say?”

What the fuck?

“What? How long have you been sittin’ there like a creep?” Andy takes another couple of steps, closes in with broad shoulders, crosses his arms.

“Long enough to see that pitiful display of what I assume was flirting.”

That’s uncalled for. It leaves Lance feeling even more off-kilter because Andy has never been mean to him and he’s pretty sure that’s what this is. Lance’s feathers are more than ruffled. He wants to say more, wants to spit his gum in Andy’s face, but the other man is standing toe-to-toe with him now and there’s a tight hand on his chin.

Ouch.

“You tryin’ to shoot your shot with her? S’that what that was?” Andy’s breath is hot on his lips, grip tight on his chin, and Lance’s brain stutters to a halt somewhat. Andy’s never touched him like this. He can’t think straight, can’t even remember what was happening a few measly minutes ago, and Andy is shaking his chin sharply.

“I asked you a question. You wanted to fuck her?”

Lance’s body goes simultaneously cold and hot. He was somewhat interested in fucking her, but he isn’t used to those words coming out of Andy’s mouth, him seemingly not being a crass person whatsoever. He’s almost certain his mouth would drop open if it could at the other man spitting out the word fuck. He feels that in his toes. He doesn’t think, just speaks, chooses to bite out, “Why? You wanna watch?”

He doesn’t expect Andy to bite out a chuckle low and deep in the back of his throat, tries not to flinch when he leans forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of Lance’s mouth.

“Wouldn’t be much to watch, sweet boy; if it were the three of us in one room, you’d be gettin’ fucked by both of us.”

Lance’s breath stutters. Andy has only pulled out sweet boy a few times and Lance has tried his hardest to ignore the way it makes his chest pull tight. He’s no one’s sweet boy; he’s a man and he is no ones. He hates the way his chest aches and pulls tight yet again at the straightforwardness of Andy, how he says that Lance would be getting fucked no matter the situation.

He absolutely hates how unopposed and indifferent he feels about that idea.

Even through the feeling of his cheeks burning he’s rolling his eyes and punching out a laugh that’s trying too hard. He’s uncomfortable, hot and bothered and on alert, but when Andy steps forward with him, presses him back into the desk, his chuckle dies into a whimper in his throat.

“Could fuck her if I wanted, easy,” he says with all the strength he can muster up, tries his hardest to jut his chin out to prove his point more but then Andy is smiling down at him and that’s infuriating.

“Yeah, know you love to strut around dick first but that’s not what you really want is it? What you really like is to be pushed down and fucked until you’re screamin’ for it. And don’t lie to me, sweet boy, because I’ve fucked this pussy enough to know what it likes, what it needs.”

The noise he lets out is betrayal at its finest, a slutty exhale, a shocked little noise. His pussy? He’s—

“Don’t have a pussy,” he manages to grit out, shaking his chin free from Andy’s grip, but it’s no use, not when Andy’s other arm wraps tight around his lower back. There are warm lips on his cheek, his jawline, and he hates how much he loves the feeling of that fucking beard on his skin, hates how in-control Andy feels tonight. When said lips reach his ear he snarls pitifully when Andy sucks on his earlobe, feels that hand around his back drop down to his ass.

“Sweetheart,” Lance hates how his stomach clenches up at Andy’s barely detectable voice, “Know this is a pussy ‘cause I’ve fucked it.”

A few of Andy’s fingers press and rub tight right up against his asshole, right through his tracksuit, right there behind the front desk of his gym, and Lance fucking whimpers. He isn’t sure if it’s Andy’s unprecedented words or that fact that his dick goes hard as a rock at the other man’s touches, but either way he lets out far too feminine of a noise than he’s comfortable with.

“Does she know you like getting’ fucked too? Does she know that I can make you gag for it, make you squeal for a good dickin’, too?”

Fuck.

Lance brings his hands up to shove at Andy’s broad muscular thick chest, doesn’t know what else to do in reaction to the other man’s words, doesn’t want to think about how achy his dick is in his pants. Andy chuckles, seemingly full of them today, moves and takes Lance’s shoves like they’re nothing, like Lance isn’t a powerful man himself, and it’s an unintentional low blow.

Their physical banter escalates to Lance finding himself face down and pressed into the desk, Andy’s hand tight between his shoulder blades. He feels the fight in him leave, feels the pool of arousal fog up his brain some, at the pressure of Andy’s crotch, his dick, pressing up against his ass. His cheeks heat up exponentially when he hears the other man let out a throaty groan, squirms as Andy grinds and rubs in tight to Lance’s backside.

“Does she know that you love it when your Daddy fucks your sweet pussy?”

“Oh shit.”

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, doesn’t mean to make it sound like it was punched right from his chest, but that’s exactly what happens, exactly what it sounds like. Andy has never referred to himself as…that…before. How did Andy know? Did Lance let it slip during any of the times they were fucking? He swore he had buried that part of him deep deep down, hadn’t let anyone find it, but here is Andy Barber of all fucking people yanking it out from the shadows.

“Ohh, look at that,” Andy purrs, hand between his shoulders sliding up to squeeze at the back of his neck, “Y’went all soft on me just from that one word, didn’t you? Mhmm, such a sweet slutty boy.” Lance’s fingers go tight on the edge of the desk and attempts to use any amount of strength he can muster up to push up, off the desk and out of such a vulnerable position, but all that does is grind his ass back into Andy’s dick more, make him squirm.

He puts up somewhat of a valiant fight, will continue to bicker no matter what, but when he feels the warm length of Andy’s front press against the line of his back, he crumbles on the inside. There’s a hand in his hair, gliding through the back, but then it’s yanking, pulling his head up so Andy can better whisper into his ear, better get his point across.

“’Cause I’m your Daddy, aren’t I? Bratty slut like you needs someone to keep you in line, keep you sweet. Isn’t that right, Lance?”

He wants so badly to moan out loud, wants to give in to the side of him that wants to tell Da—Andy—that he does need someone to keep him in check, does need someone to be sweet for. He swallows a few times, breathing so labored some exhales come out as whimpers, and Andy’s hand in his hair goes taut in a warning.

“Ngh, yes yeah, sure,” is what Lance spits out while he does what he can to wiggle under Andy’s body, but that only makes him harder, makes his core burn hot with the strength and size of the other man. Teeth hit the hinge of his jaw, a generous nibble that makes him gasp, and Andy’s voice has a harsh edge to it when he says, “Fuckin’ say it.”

Lance is enraged, is fired up, but the urge to give in is stronger, to say what he’s always wanted to say. He hates how much he loves the sting of his scalp and the sting on his jaw, hates how much he loves the way he feels overpowered, wishes it were all in a different setting. It’s all love and hate but he’s whimpering nonetheless, hears himself grit out, “I need a Daddy.”

“Yeah? And who’s that?” Goddamnit.

“S’you,” he mumbles, “You’re my Daddy.”

The sweet little kiss he gets to his cheek is something that burns through his body straight to his toes, somewhat of a sour preen. He despises the way his body feels after even the smallest amount of immediate gratification, that honey sweetness pooling on the back of his neck. He huffs anyway, right in time for Andy to lift himself off his backside, reach for the waistband of Lance’s pants.

Lance is up for some freaky shit, trying out different positions and in different rooms in the house, but when Andy goes for the top of his track pants, yanks them halfway down his ass, Lance is protesting. It’s not even a worthy attempt, a humiliated noise and a push up off the desk but there’s a hand on the back of his neck, an unwavering one, and another hand smacking tight against the exposed skin of his ass. It’s a shock, makes Lance gasp again, makes him stretch the line of his body as the piece of exposed skin throbs.

It’s too good.

“Quit it. You think I’m not gonna teach you a lesson? You think your Daddy isn’t gonna show you what he thinks of you tryin’ to get your dick wet right in front of him? It’s time you learn your lesson.”

Lance has never once been as turned on as he is right now in this moment. Being a brat is who he is, is ingrained in his core, but he knows better than anyone that’s only because no one’s ever been able to deal with him, has never been able to step up to him. Andy Barber of all people was not someone he expected to rise to such a challenge and knock it out of the fucking park and then some.

Doesn’t mean Lance is done fighting.

As soon as his pants and underwear hit the floor he’s whining out a pathetic, “Andy, listen I—” but gets only those three words out before there’s another smack coming down on his ass but this one has a bite to it, is all palm and no holding back. It makes Lance’s toes curl in his shoes.

“You goin’ stupid on me and all I’ve done is pull your pants down? Huh? Who am I to you?” Lance breathes out his answer, a little gritty, a soft, “D-Daddy,” still not feeling comfortable saying the word in such a context and outside of his head. He gets another smack on his ass, the opposite cheek, a squeeze on both cheeks that makes him whimper, one and then the other. He in no way could have anticipated Andy’s next words.

“Show me where Daddy fucks you. Show me that slutty little hole.”

Lance isn’t even moving and he feels dizzy in the head, is horizontal but feels like he’s gone vertical too quickly. He knows what Andy wants, what his words mean, but he would never spread himself open to show anyone his asshole, not even Daddy.

“What? You think I haven’t seen your pussy before? You think I don’t watch that greedy little thing eat me up each time we fuck?” Andy’s hands grip his cheeks as he speaks, pushes and pulls them apart rather roughly, mimics the exact movement Lance recognizes from when they are in bed together. He hadn’t even made the connection before, a little muddled, and the back of his neck burns hot in realization.

Two palms squeeze tight, makes Lance hiss, before Andy is demanding again, “Show me,” and Lance does. He brings his hands back, feels them shake as he grabs at his own ass, pulls his cheeks apart. He hears Andy take a few steps back, wants to sink through the floor but also tilt his ass up at the satisfied noise the other man gives him. It drips down his spin like honey, pools at the base of his cock. He wants to sneak a hand under himself, wants to wrap it around his own dick, wants to come already.

“S’that where Daddy fucks you?” Lance’s fingers dig into his skin, makes it hurt, makes that burn more than the one of shame when he whispers, “That’s where…w-where Daddy fucks me.” He can’t even stop himself from his whisper turning into a breathy whine, almost everything out of his control at this point. He’s on shaky ground now, entirely out of his element, and he feels like he’s dreaming. There is no way for him to anticipate Andy’s next move because this entire experience is unprecedented. Lance has never felt so visible before, so broken open and just seen before.

Which is why he has no warning whatsoever when Andy brings a couple of fingers down to his hole, his pussy, rubs at it like he fucking owns it. Lance bites his lip, bites it hard so he doesn’t let the other man hear his shout, his noise of surprise and pleasure.

“You think she knows you got a pussy too? But that Daddy has to spend time gettin’ yours all wet before he can fuck it?”

The back of Lance’s neck burns hot yet again, feels the skin of his neck and cheeks go tingly at the flush he knows for a goddamn fact is there and building. It’s bad enough to admit that he has a Daddy and a pussy but for Daddy to talk about his pussy? It’s almost too much but “too much” goes right out the fucking window as soon as there are warm palms covering his own, as soon as he hears Andy spit, angry and loud right—

“Ohh,” is all Lance can wail, doesn’t bother with being quiet this time, not when Andy just spit on his pussy, not when thick fingers rub said spit around in circles. His balls feel achy and tight, he wants to come, but Daddy’s fingers almost feel better, rub in a motion that makes him want to spread his legs some more. He hears Andy’s chuckle, a dark deep noise, and it adds to the eroticism and forbidden nature of the entire situation.

Andy spits again, this time thick and slow from above and Lance has to screw his eyes shut tight, has to stop himself from shivering as he feels the glob of saliva trickle down his balls. Andy makes it messy, makes his pussy all slick and ready, teasingly presses the tips of two fingers hard against his opening. Andy rumbles, a noise that Lance realizes is something he’s heard before as well but in an entirely different context, just like the ass grab.

Andy steps forward again and Lance feels the heavy weight of his cock smack and rest right in the crack of his ass, right on his pussy and he can’t help but—

“Fuck, oh…”

He hadn’t even heard Daddy take his dick out, hadn’t heard the telltale signs of a zipper, nothing, but he knows what that is. This action is one that makes him tilt his hips back, is one that makes him physically plead for what he can only hope is coming at this point. Andy smacks at his hands, pushes them away, and Lance flings his arms forward and scrambles and pushes at papers Lance couldn’t care less about.

“You think she’d still get wet for your dick after watching you cry for your Daddy’s cock?”

Lance sniffles on instinct, checks to see if he’s truly crying even though it most definitely sounds like he is, feels like he is. He almost doesn’t care if he’s crying, not with the feel of Daddy’s cock not fucking him, simply resting there where he should be fucking. He forgets he was asked a question, too distracted to answer, gets a pinch of the ass for his troubles.

“N-no, Daddy.”

“No? I don’t know, sweet boy—you look awful pretty cryin’. I’m hard as a fuckin’ rock from seeing you break down and give into me. She might get all wet from seein’ it too.”

“Please, p-please,” Lance hears himself say and it’s pathetic, how whiny it is and how it comes from the back of his throat. He doesn’t even know what exactly he’s begging for, but he does know he wants Andy to give him a few fingers, to split him on his cock. He knows he wants to get fucked even if it does mean right here and right now, wants it so bad.

Andy lets his cock slip and slide along his ass crack, hands back to squeezing at the meat of Lance’s ass, lets Lance feel how hard he is. It’s devastating, makes him let out another set of whimpers, makes him turn his cheek into the desk more.

“Get specific, boy,” Andy taunts, grabs for his own cock and smears the fat head of it around the opening of Lance’s pussy, all warm and slick with spit. It makes Lance dizzy.

“F-fuck…fuck me, Daddy, please.”

The noise Andy gives him in response is all throat, all chest, deep and warm and it prolongs Lance’s dizziness, makes him curl his fingers into the papers beneath him. There’s pressure and skin on skin and spit and then there’s nothing, nothing at all and a whine slips between Lance’s lips.

“You want a finger or two? Huh? Not gonna loosen you up too much, want you tight for Daddy, want you feelin’ me for a few days. You want that?” And fuck him, he does, nods his head and cries for it, whimpers, “Uh-huh, yeah yes. Yes, please.”

The finger that slides into him is shocking. Just like he didn’t hear the zipper of Andy’s pants, he does not hear the packet of lube being torn open, but feels it coating said finger. Lance’s breath stutters in his chest, lets out a hefty exhale, one that is akin to a wail. It slips and slides in and out of him without much mercy, all business. It’s a relief but it makes him hungrier, makes him want more.

He doesn’t have to wait long, a second finger sliding smoothly in alongside the first, making him bite out a hefty curse. Daddy’s fingers don’t stop, don’t slow, scissor and press and slide against Lance’s walls in such a way it has his eyelids heavy, has them drooping.

“Look how sweet you get for your Daddy, how sweet you can be when you shut your fuckin’ mouth and listen. Should have put you in your place weeks ago.”

And Lance just nods and drools, all he can manage when Daddy’s thick fingers fuck in and out of him in a pace and angle that makes his gut curl, makes him moan like the helpless animal he feels like. The hand on the back of his neck slides down his jacket, the line of his spine, a soothing gesture that Lance eats up. Andy is right—they should have been doing this for weeks, for the entire time they’ve known each other. Lance has needed a Daddy, has wanted a Daddy, needs—

“Daddy…”

Andy pulls his fingers free, smears a little more lube around his pussy, shoves some inside and gets him good and wet.

“Yeah, baby that’s right. You just keep sayin’ it ‘cause that’s what I am isn’t it? I’m your Daddy. Daddy isn’t even gonna use a condom, gonna mark you up real good on the inside because he can…”

Lance barely hears the other man’s words, not when his cock is pushing against his rim, pressing in and taking the breath right out of his fucking lungs, his chest. He scrambles, it’s so much, Andy murmuring, “Lemme in, honey come on—let your Daddy in…”, a hand running up and down his back, taking a home in Lance’s hair. He tries his hardest to relax, to lay there and take it, but he wants to squirm as he thinks it’ll make it easier on himself.

It doesn’t.

He thinks Andy tells him to breathe but he can’t be sure, can’t even see out of his eyes with how furiously they water up. He spreads his legs as far as they’ll go, confined by his pants and underwear around his ankles, hears himself shout, moan, curse. Daddy powers through, slides into Lance’s body at a snail’s pace, presses into his little pussy like he fucking owns it, bends and verbalizes just that.

“Want you to think about this, about how this is my pussy, every time you wanna leave your fuckin’ lane and make eyes at somebody else. This is my pussy. Daddy owns this pussy.”

Lance wails, feels his lips tremble as he does so, but he’s nodding his head, has no fucking clue why he decides to repeat and sob out, “Daddy owns this pussy!”

He both wants to remember this moment for the rest of his life but also wipe it clean from his memory.

When Andy’s clothed thick thighs meet the bottom of his ass Lance feels like he’s deepthroating Daddy’s cock, feels it all throughout his body, wiggles on it and can barely find it in him to breathe. Lance feels like he’s going to combust. He feels Daddy’s hands on his sides, running up under Lance’s jacket and shirt, like fire against his skin as he is blessedly patient and waits for Lance to adjust.

Andy bends down again, presses hot little kisses up the column of his neck, on the skin behind his ear. 

“Gonna fuck this pretty pussy now,” is all the warning he gets before Andy is pulling his hips back and pressing forward again. It isn’t an alarming rate, no slams or yanks, but fuck is it gutting. It’s a brutal pace right from the start, one that has Lance gasping like a fish out of water, like he’s clinging on for dear life. Andy’s cock is heavy in his pussy, so big, spread him open and wide each time he presses back in. It has Lance pushing up onto his toes, has him curling and arching his neck, has him stretching the line of his body against the desk so he can better feel.

But it’s so much, just barely enough that has Lance a little hysterical, a little upset at himself for wanting to feel more. His legs are spread just enough to where he can feel Daddy’s balls smack against his own, the tap and slide sending little sparks up his spine. He almost wishes he were looking up at Andy, wants to see Daddy’s face, but he would never ask the other man to stop, not now.

“Gonna buy you some sweet little panties, Lance. Gonna make you wear them when you come to work and when…when you walk by this desk and remember how I fucked you so hard you cried your little dick’ll be all wrapped up in the panties Daddy bought you.”

Lance sobs. He’d do anything Daddy wanted him to do, wants someone to tell him what to do so he can be good.

“And you’re such a little slut you’d get hard each time you passed this desk, oh you’d get so hard so fast, wouldn’t you, baby? Yeah?”

The hand in his hair comes to life, Andy’s hand spanning almost the entirety of the back of Lance’s head and fuck that’s hot. What’s hotter is his hair getting tugged on, getting pulled up and up and up until Lance has no choice but to follow with a set of whimpers until he’s vertical. The hand in his hair swaps its position for one around the front of his throat and that’s—

“Oh fuck, Daddy.”

The hand that isn’t wrapped around the column of Lance’s throat digs into the meat of his hip, holds him steady as Andy continues to rock into him, bounces against his pert ass. Andy Barber is a man of consistency, a man of passion, and it shines through each and every time the two of them are together in such a way. Lance has never encountered such devotion and focus when fucking someone else and he whole-heartedly has not been appreciating it nearly as much as he should have been.

He hasn’t been appreciating Andy Barber as a person as much as he should have been.

The other man purrs into his ear, pulls Lance away from his untimely thoughts, the hand on his hip running up the curve of Lance’s back, shirt rucking up as he moves. The lewd sticky sound of them fucking, the slaps of skin and the squelch of Lance’s pussy getting wrecked, sounds like a goddamn concert in this empty gym, sounds like it’s performing for a crowd of thousands. Lance loves performing.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to get’chu all bent up in all those positions you’re always bitchin’ about, put your money where your mouth is. Bet you’d look sweeter than sin with your feet curled behind your head beggin’ for my come…”

Lance sees stars.

Lance doesn’t beg, or at least he thought so, but he’s so consumed with the picture that Andy paints for him in his head that he knows for certain he’d beg Daddy to come in his pussy. In fact—

“Ohh, Daddy please…”

Andy curses, harsh like the bite on the gymnast’s shoulder that follows, staggers forward with Lance right in tow until Lance has to bring his own arms forward to hold them shoddily up against the desk. His pace quickens, deepens, how Lance doesn’t know but god he had no idea Daddy had been holding back on him. He mewls, feels his dick jump with every thrust Daddy gives him, so fucking full. The bend in his back, the arch, deepens and curls as Daddy presses him down, down, by the hip but the hand on his throat doesn’t waver.

It’s a test, a test of said flexibility.

“Should have known the mention of my come would make a slutty boy like you lose his fucking mind.”

His fucking mind lost its way long ago, back when Andy asked him if a girl knew he had a pussy too. His breathing strains from such a position, head bent back so far that when he looks up, he’s look right up at Daddy. Lance shouts, sputters, as soon as he sees that face and that beard and those eyes.

Lance might be in love. Or maybe that’s a side effect of how thoroughly he’s getting fucked right now.

He doesn’t even recognize the swirls and build of his own orgasm until his eyes are closing, no use for them staying open when Andy brings his lips and presses them messily into Lance’s upturned forehead. He can’t remember the last time he came on someone’s cock alone, no attention to his dick by either party, and it’s shocking, has him gasping, has him sobbing.

“Daddy! Daddy I’m—”

“Fuck, pretty boy—already?”

“Uh-huh, please I…please lemme come!” Lance doesn’t recognize his own voice, begging and pleading aside. It’s strained, high and feminine. Lance has never heard it like that. Andy’s fucking into him so deeply, with so much power, that he’s having trouble holding the two of them upright. Daddy doesn’t seem to care, will fuck him right through the floor if that’s where they end up.

“You come sayin’ my name, you hear me? You come tellin’ me who I am, Lance. Who am I to you?”

Lance’s whole body clenches up as he shouts, “Daddy!”

“Come.”

Lance has never listened to anyone without some sort of fight. He bites back, sasses back, obeys no one, but when Andy Barber—Daddy—tells him to come he fucking comes. It’s a miracle within a miracle and Andy fucks him through every second of it. Every shake and tremor and, quite frankly and embarrassingly, scream. 

He knows Daddy can feel the noises he makes, the screams and wails, on his hand on Lance’s throat as the tumble from his mouth. He knows Daddy can feel the way his pussy clenches and trembles, physically begging for the other man’s come, by the way he growls about it in his ear. This orgasm feels like a layered relief like nothing Lance has ever felt, like with every wave, each ebb and flow, he feels more like himself than he ever has.

Daddy comes before his orgasm is even over, grabs for Lance with both hands, both arms, groans into the skin of his neck. It’s like Daddy’s orgasm prolongs his own, like the significance of never having anyone before his Daddy come in his pussy makes him almost come again.

“Fuck, baby s’pussy is so good, goddamn so good for Daddy isn’t it?”

Andy has always been someone who is vocal when they come, someone who holds Lance close, pulls him in tight, gives him some teeth, some bites. This is no different but is more amplified than normal. Andy puts his entire being into this orgasm, squeezes and holds onto Lance like a treasure. His mouth doesn’t part from Lance’s ear and he finds himself smiling that he gets to hear all of Daddy’s noises right there, so close, so feral.

It makes him feel invincible, that he did this.

Lance has been worn out before, has had workouts and competitions, the fucking Olympics, but nothing compares to the fatigue he feels when that last ragged sigh leaves his body. He knows he is going to feel this for days but that’s the point he guesses. He clenches down around Andy’s cock, is greedy for a moment that literally ended mere minutes ago.

He gets a smack on his ass for his troubles, a chuckle into his shoulder.

“Fuckin’ brat,” Andy mumbles into his neck before kissing the underside of his jaw, giving him a little squeeze.

“You gonna get this ‘fuckin’ brat’ some dinner or what? Got calories to make up for here.”

Andy laughs this time, no chuckle, and it has a new ring to it. Lance likes it.

“Oh how quickly we forget our manners when we’re not gettin’ fucked. Even though I’m literally still inside of you.”

Lance wiggles his ass back into Andy’s crotch, clenches a little more, ignores the jump in his gut when he feels how hard Andy still is.

“M’sorry, D-Daddy,” he whispers, taking a chance and saying that word outside of the context of fucking. Lance still likes it and so does Andy, purrs a little when he hears it.

“S’my boy. Let’s get you some dinner. Won’t even clean you up, let you go messy. You want that?”

Lance hates how much he wants that...

[lemonsandstrawberries]

A (not) Special Day

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony), MCU, imagine Avengers 2012

summary: Tony and Steve became a couple not so long ago and came a day, that started as every day in Steve's dating life with Tony Stark, but the more it progressed, the weirder it became, almost as if the universe was hiding something from him... Meaning, it is Tony's birthday and everyone knows except Steve.

length: 2 513

a/n:  yes, I posted yesterday already a happy birthday fic for Tony, but felt inspired and wrote another one. so, once again, Happy Birthday, Tony! Hope you will like the fic and as always, feedback, reblogs and likes are appreciated and needed!

——————–

A (not) Special Day

"Sooo... Any plans for today?"

Steve looked over his shoulder, hearing the question. It was a regular question but said in that sing a song way as if suggesting something and the way Clint had put his elbows on the table and leaned in, eyebrows raised expectantly just added to the mystery. And Steve had no clue what that was about.

"Uh. No, not really," Steve answered, cracking some eggs into a bowl and adding milk, not measuring it, just eyeballing. Pancakes for breakfast. That was his nearest plan.

"Wait... You didn't make any plans?"

"Why should I make any plans?" Steve asked back, adding melted butter into the mix, before leaving the bowl on the counter and taking flour from the cabinet, digging through boxes of cereals and pop tarts. There was not a single kid in the Avengers Tower, but the content of the cabinet told a different story.

"So, you don't know that-"

"Morning, handsome!"

Clint immediately zipped his mouth shut, when Tony waltzed into the kitchen. In black tank top, drawstrings pants, still ruffled from sleep. Tony Stark in his most natural state. Steve puffed out his cheek for a good morning kiss, and Tony pressed his lips into the soft skin, his stubble leaving a light scratch behind.

"Hi, babe. Clint, you were saying?" Steve turned his head to look at the archer, just in time to see the stumped expression on Clint's face, and Tony's gentle bewilderment. Something didn't add up.

"Uh, nothing," Clint said quickly, focusing on his bowl of multicolored cereals and small marshmallows. A perfectly balanced breakfast.

"You are making breakfast for me?" Tony turned to Steve, smiling brightly.

Steve felt suspicious for a second longer but decided to let the topic go, seeing that Tony didn't dwell on it either. Oh, well, probably it wasn't anything important.

"Actually, I am making it just for myself," Steve teased, adding flour into the mix of eggs and milk.

"Ouch, harsh," Tony narrowed his eyes, scoffing playfully. "Didn't know you were so selfish."

"That's not what you said last night," Steve pointed out with a smile, going on with the banter. Behind their backs, Clint made some gagging sound.

"And that's my cue to go," Clint said, taking his empty bowl and spoon, and put it into the dishwasher. Before he could walk out of the kitchen, his eyes lingered on Tony, and after some hesitation, he reached his hand in brunet's direction as if to pat him on the arm, but instead pulled him into a hug in the last second.

"Uhhh," Tony smiled awkwardly, hugging Clint back and patting his back, "thanks," he said. Clint moved away from the hug and nodded to Tony doing some thoughtful face, and walked out of the kitchen.

Okay, that definitely was suspicious.

"What was that about?" Steve asked when he and Tony were left alone.

"Jealous?" Tony asked, smiling happily. One look at Steve's face and it was clear that it wasn't jealousy, just a heck lot of confusion. "I don't know. Maybe he fell into a dumpster again and bashed his head?"

Steve thinned his lips, muttering a concerned 'hmph'. Seemed that the whole team needed another 'safety during world saving' kind of talk.

"Coming back to that breakfast... You are seriously not going to include me?"

Steve blinked, hearing the complaint. He looked at his boyfriend and saw Tony giving him an extra pleading look as if he didn't eat for days. Which for sure wasn't the case, because Steve made sure that Tony ate regularly, and on most of the days, Tony was pretty good of keeping track of his meals. Food was too good to skip.

"You mix, I fry?" Steve smiled, handing Tony a whisk. Teamwork at its finest.

Tony groaned in disappointment, finding the hour too early to be useful. But fine, he would comply. "I am adding chocolate chips though," Tony said, dipping the whisk in and carefully mixing before he would go faster and try not to splatter the batter everywhere.

"Fine with me," Steve took a step back, and sat at the table, just appreciating the view, because the faster Tony mixed, the more he wiggled his butt, something Tony wasn't aware of, but Steve knew and found very attractive.

***

"Steve, let's get hot-dogs!"

"Sure," Steve agreed, taking a stroll with Tony around the park, seeing the cart in the distance. It was a calm, sunny day, the air was crisp and Tony looked very elegant in navy blue coat paired with some slacks and sport shoes, giving it a casual look. Steve didn't look too shabby either, in a faux leather jacket in brown color, jeans, and a white shirt. Wherever they went, the superhusbands couple, as the press named them, was always attracting attention, but this day differed from others. Meaning, they attracted even more attention. Especially Tony. During their walk, Tony already heard a couple of 'yeah, Iron Man!' which made him smile and wave to whoever shouted it, and while it was sweet, Steve couldn't help to think that everyone around him knew something he didn't.

"Steve, what topping you want?"

"Oh," Steve blinked, too deep in his thoughts to notice that they reached the hot-dog cart, "um, mustard and ketchup, please," he said to the mustached man running the cart.

"Traditionalist," Tony complained about Steve's basic choice and started placing his order, enlisting almost every topping and sauce available.

"Please give him extra napkins. Or a bib," Steve said to the seller, and the guy laughed friendly, while Tony scoffed and playfully pushed at Steve's shoulder.

Maybe he was just being paranoid. People always talked about him and Tony and today was no different. Tony thanked for the hot-dogs and paid, and they resumed walking. Steve held his regular looking hot-dog, while Tony measured every bite, trying to get all the avocado, salsa and sliced jalapeños in his mouth, without getting it all over his clothes, while still holding hands with Steve and watching it, Steve felt somehow calm and happy. Being with Tony really made him happy.

"You seriously need a bib," Steve pointed out in good humor, biting his hot-dog and observing Tony struggle with his food and failed attempts to eat neatly.

***

"Babe..."

"Hm?"

"Don't you think it was kinda weird today?"

"What, why?" Tony leaned against Steve's bare chest, rubbing hand cream over his hands. All the work with heavy machinery and different machine oils and greases was drying his skin and Tony used to rub a ridiculous amount of moisturizing cream into his hands each time before going to sleep.

"I don't know," Steve frowned, lifting his arm so Tony could fit better into him. He pulled the covers over them and sunk into the bed, making himself more comfortable. Overall, it was a nice day, just something felt odd. "People kept staring at us."

"People always stare at us," Tony smiled patiently. That wasn't anything new, and Tony thought that Steve already got used to their public status.

"Yeah, but - it was different today," Steve thought out loud, stroking Tony's arm with his thumb. Usually, people flocked to them, trying to initiate small talk, ask for autographs. Today, it was only staring. As if everyone made some silent agreement to give them some privacy, while just observing. It was eerier than openly going crazy over them. "You even got donuts for free," Steve pointed out.

"Yeah," Tony laughed, sounding embarrassed. After they had eaten hot-dogs, Tony had a craving for something sweet and talked Steve into visiting his favorite donut place. He was a regular and usually his order was prepared even before he had placed it and today a smiley girl handed him a box, saying that it was on the house. Tony had a rule of not accepting free stuff, but the smiley girl, who turned out to be the manager, insisted. Begrudgingly, Tony had agreed, not to cause a scene, but had left a generous tip, which was more than enough to cover three boxes of donuts. "I kinda feel bad about it. But the donuts were good, right?"

"Yeah, they were," Steve agreed, not quite satisfied with the answer. The day was ending, and he still had more questions than answers.

"Alright, I see that's something is bothering you. And you know what is good for that?"

If Steve had hope for some explanations, he was quickly proven wrong, once Tony rolled on his side and put a leg over Steve's thighs, straddling him. Warm hands resting on his chest and Tony moved in closer, evoking some heat in lower parts of Steve's body.

If he couldn't get any answers, it was the best way to silence his brain.

Until Tony's overly moisturized hands slipped on his skin, and Tony instead of leaning in intimately, fell forward, headbonking their foreheads and temporarily blinding Steve with pain, while both screamed.

"Ow," Tony rolled down, massaging his forehead, "okay, that wasn't how I planned it," he admitted, hissing the words out.

Steve shook his head, getting the shocked feeling out of his system. He growled and threw himself over Tony, who squeaked in self-defense and started laughing, laughing some more until Steve kissed him quiet, planning to make his boyfriend loud again later.

And it was sweet again.

***

The mystery resolved itself the next day when a colorful cover of a magazine got in Steve's line of sight while he had been standing in a queue to the cash register in his regular supermarket. It was one of those gossiping magazines, ones Steve usually paid no mind, but the photo on the cover was of him and Tony and it was a recent one, snapped yesterday. The headline, written in bold letters, sounded absurd at first, but the more Steve focused on it, the more it made sense and he felt as if someone dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on him. He had grabbed the magazine, paid for the groceries, and hurried out, different feelings brewing in him and making his steps heavier.

Shock. Anger. Betrayal.

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

Tony's shoulders jumped when a colorful magazine fell on his lap, covering his tablet and interrupting his work time back in the Avengers Tower. He quickly scanned the covers, seeing himself and Steve, holding hands and walking down the sidewalk, chatting and smiling at each other, Tony holding a paper bag with the box of free donuts. It wasn't the worst picture, they both looked happy and in love, but it was when Tony saw the headline and understood the snappy tone.

'Tony Stark celebrating his birthday with Captain America on the streets of New York'.

Exclusive material. Of course.

Tony carefully lifted his eyes, meeting Steve's judging look. The way Steve crossed his arms below his chest and furrowed his eyebrows made him look intimidating but also pronounced his biceps and chest and the clenched teeth gave nice definition to his jawline. Unfairly attractive.

"I didn't think it was a big deal," Tony blurted out, feeling only minimally sorry. For him, birthday wasn't that grand. True, back in the days, he liked to throw big parties, but since he joined the Avengers, calm days were rare, and he was happy to spent his birthday calmly, just with Steve.

"Not a big -" Steve raised his voice, stopping himself on time, when Tony cocked his head to the side, sending his boyfriend a quizzical look. With a sigh, Steve closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I wish you had told me," Steve admitted, more mad at himself than at Tony. Definitely more mad at himself. How he could not know that it had been his boyfriend's birthday? He saw Tony's SHIELD file and his birth date was right there, in front of his nose, how he could skip it? He was supposed to have a photographic memory and even memorized Tony's social security number, which was the easiest combination of numbers in the world and it was a true puzzle how someone as intelligent as Tony couldn't remember the combination of nine digits.

"Baby, it's fine-"

"No, Tony it's - It was your first birthday since we started dating and we didn't even do anything special," Steve continued, frustration and embarrassment clear in his voice.

"Well, if that counts, I think yesterday was pretty great."

"You do?" Steve opened his eyes, seeing Tony smiling warmly at him.

"Yeah. We ate breakfast together, went for a walk, got hot-dogs and donuts, and had sex," Tony listed, counting on his fingers and showing five of them, "that hits every mark of great birthday in my notebook."

Steve's eyes softened. It was a relief to hear that Tony saw yesterday like that, but Steve still felt that they could do something better and more memorable. But as long as his boyfriend was happy...

"You just didn't tell me, because you didn't want me to have my revenge," Steve pointed out in humor, feeling relieved about his screw up and sat on the couch next to his boyfriend.

"Revenge?"

"For my birthday. You hired two girls in Captain America USO girl's costumes to follow me around and sing 'The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan' for the whole day."

Tony laughed, remembering that day well and how embarrassed Steve had tried to lose the girls, who were surprisingly fast on their high heels. They had even followed Steve to the bathroom, singing their hearts out in front of the closed door, something Tony had to pay extra for.

"They were two actresses in training and did a great job. I am sure that it boosted their CVs," Tony giggled, unbothered by Steve's unamused look. "Besides, what revenge? We were not dating back then!"

"Oh, so you think that I forgave you all the things you did to me just because we are dating now?" Steve asked, lips curling into a smile.

"I thought that since you started to find me pretty, I got a clean slate," Tony smiled, sounding smug.

"I found you pretty back then too. Pretty annoying!" Steve summed up before Tony could get too smug. There were no hurt feelings, just Tony bursting into laughter again. One of the prettiest sounds in Steve's opinion. "Hey," Steve took his boyfriend's hand, trying to get Tony's attention and end the laughing fit. "Can I at least wish you a happy birthday now?" he asked. It was delayed, but Steve really would like to do that.

"Sure," Tony smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. To make it sweeter, Steve moved in closer and cupped Tony's chin, locking their lips in a delicate kiss. Sweet and simple and full of love.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," Steve whispered when the kiss ended, looking into Tony's brown eyes with all adoration he had for his man.

Tony smiled, eyes and nose scrunching with the movement, his face having that happy, soft glow that showed on Tony's face only during special moments. "Thank you," Tony said, going in for more kisses.

[a-simple-imagine]

Mother of Exiles

Synopsis: Guess it’s time to get the ball rolling on this revolution but first a party

Pairing: Dolores Abernaty x fem!reader

words: 2.6k

A/N - Sorry this is late. I have a lot going on.

Warning: Guns. Mentions of nudity. 

PREV

"Did you find something?"

Her gentle voice draws your eyes from the mirror as she walks towards you joined by another. For your first mission, you had been given the ultra dangerous task of.... going shopping; not exactly what you expected but here you were stood in some overly pristine clothing establishment. It was rather small and didn't appear too busy but just about everything in her cost more than your apartment. You wonder if Dolores knew that when she brought you here. It had been a while so you flash a smile at her return. You weren't sure how much longer you could put up with being here, or Karen who keeps asking if you need any help every five minutes. Although you did appreciate the compliments being thrown your way with every new outfit.

The AR mirror was a particular favourite of your shopping adventure. It made the tedious notion of shopping a tad more bearable. Your reflection wore a black and navy blue peak lapel tuxedo jacket with matching flare pants. It wasn't a bad look, minus the flare.

"Not really," your entire body slumping with a groan. "Nothing looks right,"

With a hand placed delicately over your shoulder, Dolores takes control of the AR menu. You watch as she shifts through the various options; dashing suits, delicate jumpsuits, elegant dresses before finally making her selection. It's always a treat to watch a new outfit unravel across your reflection and this time was no different. The most elegant of black dresses descended, a delicate embroidered flower pattern lines the chest that stopped above the waist. The V-neck plunged deep between the valley of your breast. It reached to the floor and from the shoulder was a cape. It was beautiful and you're almost in awe of her choice however it wasn't the most practical of outfits.

"It looks good on you," You meet her blue eyes in the mirror just before she turns to her companion. "Wouldn't you agree, Caleb?"

So his name was Caleb. You wonder who they are to each other as you await his response. He gives a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, looks good."

The corner of your lips turn up but you're still unsure of the choice. Staring at yourself, all you could focus on was everything possibly wrong with the outfit. Was it too long? Did the v-neck show off too much skin? Should you go for something simpler? Shorter?

"What is this for?"

"A party." Her hand glides off you shoulder as she steps back. "And you need to blend in,"

"I don't think a fancy dress is gonna make anyone believe I'm part of high society."

"It's tribal," Dolores insists. "They use plumage to identify themselves which makes them easily fooled."

"She said the same to me just go with it," Caleb adds, taking a seat off to the side.

"I couldn't possibly afford this," You explain in a hushed tone, twisting your body so you could have a gander at the back. It mimicked a backless dress through its use of see-through material and edged with flora of eccentric lace.

"I think this is a winner," Guess she made up your mind. You didn't mind though, making decisions when it came to spending could be... difficult at times.

"Wouldn't something a little more practical work better if we're on the job," You counter as you step down from the podium almost weirdly relieved to be in your everyday clothes.

"It won't matter," she insists. "We are not doing anything complicated."

"So what are we doing anyway?"

Dolores explained the operation as if she was explaining something very complex to a young child. To summarise you were planning to attend a party of sorts in order to find and detain Liam Demphery Jr, a figurehead of Incite Inc. So as you got ready, you mentally prepared yourself to kidnap a man or more so borrow. You could live with that. It wasn't like you were some corporate bootlicker; you were just new to all this crime business and you didn't exactly have much of a choice. Help Dolores or die w're your options.

Even in an age of speed, you're still surprised by how quickly they altered the dress to your liking. You just wanted it a little shorter so it was easier to walk in and run should the moment arise. Goes to show that money really was power. The dress may not have been the most practical but it did look the part. Dolores was sporting a simple but frankly spectacular jumpsuit that stopped just above her chest. Her beautiful blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. She looked amazing, not that you had been staring as you walked in just a few steps behind her. Meanwhile, Caleb was beside you dressed in a black tuxedo with a black shirt and tie. You had to admit the man cleans up well; he looked very dapper. You all matched in a sense; all in team colours if you will. When Dolores had said party, she meant party. This was in no way you average get together but an almost overly pristine masquerade event full of elites. Women adorned beautiful white dresses while there wasn't a man in sight not in a tuxedo. The walls were covered in artwork of the finest caliber, some of it was even animated. The rich sound of the violinists filled the entire room with an aura of elitism and sophistication. You’re in awe of the world you've stepped into even though it wasn't for long. Heading towards a table decorated with a variety of masks. They had simply ones of one colour to ones with bold designs and feathers. You eye a white one with an intricate gold pattern but Dolores hands you a simple black one.

"What is this?" Caleb asks as he is given one too.

"I thought your world would be so different than mine," Dolores starts, placing the material mask over here head and fitting it against the bridge of her nose. "But there isn't any difference at all."

Dolores heads into the crowd and Caleb trails after. You place on your mask and follow in toe.  Your eyes scanning the crowd for the target but you can't help but take in the sheer size and bizarreness of it all. It was like a different world; one filled with the finest of things but only for those in dresses worth way too much. It was surreal to be surrounded by so much wealth. There were various podiums set up around the room, each had a crystal chandelier of sorts hung above. And on display were tastefully naked individuals being ogled by the wealthy. You didn't feel any particular way towards nudity, you didn't see it as an abomination or indecent. You just didn't quite grasp what they were doing or what this whole event was even about.

"I'll take him when he's alone," Her words break you from you existential crisis over how rich people choose to spend their time. Dolores wore a small but knowing smile. "Wouldn't want to spoil the fun,"

You don't bother asking because if there's one thing you know about Dolores it's that she never answers your questions: and when she does it's usually vague and unhelpful. From the corner of your eye, you notice a server as they pass, quickly grabbing a flute of champagne off their little tray. Two sets of eyes fall to you and you buckle under the pressure. "What? I need something to calm my nerves-" You huff like a child being scolded. "Dolores just said to have fun."

It was true. You were feeling on edge and this would help with your confidence since Dolores insisted that you should stop using limbic tabs. You weren't sure how long you'd last without them but so far so good... kinda. "Stay focused."

"I can multi-task." With a heavy sigh, both of them continue walking. "How long is this gonna take?"

Bringing the glass to your lips, you take a small sip to gauge the taste. Fine bubbles exploded against your tongue in an explosion of dainty flavours. It had a floral taste to it with hints of fresh fruit. Maybe a hint of peach? You couldn't be sure but either way, it tasted expensive. You've had champagne before but it never tasted like this.

"You're not enjoying yourself?" Caleb asks from a few steps ahead.

"Can't say I'm particularly interested in anything here,"  Your shoulders rise in a casual shrug as you narrowly avoid crashing into a couple who had no intention of moving out the way for you. "couldn't afford it either, the champagne is good though."

As your path drifts you find yourself separated from the others. Everything about this place absolutely reeked of privilege and nobody even suspected that you didn't belong. Guess Dolores was right in saying they are easily fooled. All it took was a gorgeous gown and a mask you never imagined yourself wearing. Staring up from the edge of a podium, you admire the man who was so proudly on display. He wore nothing but a Victorian ruffle style collar paired with sleeves. His muscles so defined as he lay his body bare for the world to see. You couldn't imagine being in his position but each their own. You tried not to look but you couldn't help your curiosity as your eyes drifted from his abs down to his rather... large penis and back. Jesus Christ, he could do some damage with that thing; not that you were judging him or choosing to objectify him. It was just an observation. You're unsure of his role at such a high-end event until you overhear someone ask to place a bid and all the little pieces fall into place. You were currently attending a sex auction? What even were rich people. Turning on your heel, you go in search of your companions and they weren't all that hard to find.

"Good, we're ready to intercept him," Dolores declares, turning to you as you approach. "Ready?"

You nod a little too eagerly. Your adrenaline was pumping. You could do this. There was no turning back now. It was a simple job just grab the target and leave, right? The blonde has you following her out of the ballroom and up the stairs. Readying a gun you didn't even know she brought with her. Where exactly had she been hiding it?

"Where did she get that from?" Your voice but a whisper as you speak to Caleb. The target, Liam, was being guided by two others. Dolores fired three rounds; each one an assault to the ears even with a silencer. You weren't used to it. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. The taller of the two gentlemen came charging towards you all, Dolores strikes him first. Knocking the wind clean out of him. Looking to you two, Dolores holds out the gun. "Stay on Liam, I'll handle him."

"You sure?" There was uncertainty in his voice and you couldn't really blame him.

"Take it, I won't need it."

Caleb looks between the two of you before running off down the stairs. "You should go too,."

You don't want to leave her but you nod just once. Hesitating at the stairs; you glance back at her. Was she going to be okay? You've seen her shoot two men before your very eyes but this was an entirely different ball game. Whatever they were talking about, you were too far away to hear but for a second your eyes meet and it was enough to put your mind at rest or at least to send you chasing after Caleb.

Deep breathes as you finally break out into the cold night air, hunched over as you calm yourself down. You're pretty good in heels but apparently not when you need to be because you almost slipped down the stairs. Luckily nobody was around to see you but it was still embarrassing. After a moment, you stand up straight and walk up beside the man. He had the gun held up at Liam's surprise guest. Seemed like everything was under control.

"You're helping her aren't you- Dolores," The stranger spoke slowly and clearly; a little cautiously if you will. "are you one of us?"

"One of us?" You repeat looking to Caleb with furrowed brows. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," He growls. "Just give me the asshole and I will let you walk out of here."

With a nudge of his head, you take the hint but before you can even grab Liam he's calling out to someone. "Connells- the fuck took you so long."

Twisting around, you spy yet another gun; you were feeling very unprepared for this battle. Unsure of who he was pointing at, you back away a little in surrender. Flinching at the sound of gunfire but when your eyes open, it's to see him shoot the rest of his men. What was going on? The plan had changed so drastically.

"What the hell are you doing?" You know it's Liam. He's the only voice you weren't familiar with now but you don't dare to look. Focused in on the man with the gun.

"Don't you fucking twitch," The silver-haired Scott spat with a firm grip of his weapon. It was pointed in the same direction as Caleb's. You exchange a confused look with Caleb. Who were all these people? As the Scott drifts to Liam, you're quick to move out of the way.

"Run." Liam stumbles against the side of the vehicle; the rest of you too stunned to make a move. "Run, before I put a bullet in your pointy little head." His Scottish accent was thick which made him sound a little harsher than expected. Liam was hesitant, a little surprising for how cowardly he seemed, "fucking run!"

The fear was clear as Liam ran for his life; you were half expecting to witness a shooting but thankfully it never happened. Instead, his attention is drawn between you and Caleb. Guess he was on Liam's side after all.

"You better go after him," Or not. Caleb watches him and then turns to you; your shoulders rising up in the smallest of shrugs. You didn't need to be asked twice. Caleb is faster but you put that down to the fact he didn't have to put up with wearing heels all night as you jog along. You couldn't wait to trade them for a comfortable pair of boots.

"Leave me alone, I- I'll pay whatever you want." Rounding the corner, Caleb has Liam shoved up against the wall. The gun Dolores gave him being put to good use in front of his face.

"Oh yeah? Pay me with what, Huh, I have all your money."

"You do?" You question, Dolores had only filled you in on the plan but you were beginning to realise she had left a lot out.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm with her," Caleb spoke, his gun falling to the side as he lets the poor guy relax. You'd be questioning him if it weren't for the whisk of blond that just sauntered past you. Dolores.

"Hello, lover."

Wait... lover?

NEXT

[artiesschoolofmagic]

Aftermath

Arthur had to stifle a yawn as he prepared yet another cup of tea. The last cup’s effect had already worn off, and he desperately wanted to remain awake. The arrival of his brother set him on edge for the last few days. He had been setting up protective spells, patrolling around the house and property at night. It was all he could do to soothe his paranoia. Whatever his brother ended up deciding to do, he would at least be aware of any magical activity. This however, did nothing to help him sleep at night. He could hear Samantha humming in her room upstairs, at least she was unaware of the state of things. And I would like to keep it that way he thought as he sipped at the freshly made tea. He also needed to act like nothing was wrong, hence the fourth or was it fifth cup of tea.

Unfortunately the tea did little in clearing out the fog in his brain. The protective shields should help and he had sent his familiar Mint to do some patrolling as well. The little green winged bunny knew to immediately alert him if anything was amiss. But he couldn’t be sure that it was enough. Oh, he knows that he could or rather should go to Francis and inform him about this recent development. But that could mean being uprooted and moved elsewhere or even going back to living under the MDA’s supervision. 

Sam was too young to fully remember what it was like living under them. He had hated the constant surveillance and at the time it felt like exchanging from one prison to another. He wanted to live a normal peaceful life with his daughter, and going to Francis about this problem would end it. He was certain of that... 

A knock on the door causes Arthur to jolt out of his thoughts and onto his feet, the massive amount of tea he consumed had done a real number on his nerves. He approaches the door and glances through the peephole. Oh bloody hell, what is Francis doing here?! He quickly looks over himself, making sure he looked presentable and not like he had been suffering from a lack of sleep for days on end, schools his face into a neutral expression and finally opens the door. 

“Ah Bonnefoy, what brings you here?”, Arthur asks trying to keep his tone light and casual. 

Francis greets him with a laugh. 

“Arthur~ I thought that by now you would be used my periodic check ins!”

“Oh.. right..” Arthur looks off to the side and rubs the back of his head. “I must have lost track of time,” he adds in a murmur. 

“Hmm, is something wrong?”

“N-no! Nothing at all” Arthur says quickly trying and failing to keep a level tone. God, if Francis caught any hint that something was wrong… Francis is staring with a look of concern now. Damn!  Arthur takes in a sharp breath to try to calm himself. “Everything.. is fine.” 

“Have you been sleeping well? You look tired..”

“I’m just a little tired. Lots of classwork to look over, you know, the usual” Arthur says dismissively. But Francis’s look of concern only deepens. Arthur sighs and forces a casual tone. “Why don’t you come inside?” 

As he leads the other man inside, Arthur can hear his daughter’s footsteps come down the ladder from the upper floor. She must have been attracted to the sounds of a guest being let in. Samantha jumps off the last rung of the ladder and rushes over to give Arthur a big hug. 

“Hey sweetheart~” he chuckles softly as he ruffles her hair. His daughter always cheered him up and this only strengthened his resolve to keep her safe. 

“Daddy, no!” She whines as she pushes his hand off her head. She glares at him with puffy cheeks as she continues to cling. Arthur looks down at her smiling.  

“What are you doing?” He asks with a soft laugh.     

“You looked like you needed a hug” She says with a nod as if that was a grand statement. She pulls back and looks up with a smile.   

“Oh? I’m fine, darling” Arthur says trying to hide his growing worry that his daughter was now picking up on... or worse, had been picking up on his recent discomfort. 

“Arthur… something is obviously bothering you.” Francis cuts in crossing his arms with a bit of a frown. “Even your daughter has picked up on that..” 

“Everything. Is. Fine”. He says through gritted teeth as Samantha looks back and forth between the adults. 

“Is Mr. Francis here because of the monster?” she asks softly. Arthur’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest. Francis narrows his gaze at the other man. 

“So something did happened.. Kirkland, you know you can come to me for help” Francis frowns in concern.   

“It was nothing I thought I couldn’t handle myself..” Arthur settles on a half truth at this point. “There was… a magical creature hanging around the property. I chased it off and I’m taking the proper precautions to make sure it won’t come back. I’m handling it.” He adds stubbornly.

“You look as though you haven’t had a good night’s rest in a while, so how am I to believe that you are ‘handling it’?” Francis inquires seriously. “Besides it is a part of MDA’s work to deal with dangerous magical creatures.” 

Arthur groans feeling the other man staring him down. 

“Well, now you are aware of it.” he grumbles as he flops down on the sofa, rubbing his temples. This was not going smoothly, but maybe hopefully this semi-explanation would get Francis off his case. 

Samantha blinks and bites her lower lip, feeling like she just made it worse for her dad somehow. She walks over to him, pulls herself onto the couch seat right beside him and starts patting his hand gently trying to soothe her stressed father. Arthur feels his sour mood lift a bit after that. Francis, however, was looking at him with a frown of disappointment. 

“Look I’m sorry for not going to you sooner about this” Arthur adds in softly. 

“I was hoping you would trust me a little more than this by now Kirkland” Francis says as he crosses his arms. Arthur feels a stab of guilt at that. Francis was the only person he felt that he could trust in the MDA anyways and the Frenchman did place some trust in him in turn. Still if Francis knew the whole truth… He really didn’t want himself and his daughter to be moved away from this peaceful home to be under the supervision of the agency again... Arthur sighs in part from frustration and guilt. The half truth would have to do.

“I’m truly sorry” Arthur says softly. 

Francis sighs and shakes his head. 

“You can’t keep trying to handle everything on your own.” Francis looks slightly frustrated and Arthur can’t blame him for that. 

“I understand..” Arthur replies guiltily. 

“I’ll make a report and we’ll get an MDA officer to help keep an eye on your home for the next week or so. Though I’m afraid that I won’t personally be available for this assignment...” Francis says thoughtfully. “I believe that I can have Antonio come over to hand-”

“What? Why him?!” Arthur sits up straight and his daughter jumps back in her seat a bit all confused. Francis arches an eyebrow and looks at him as if he is a child throwing a fit.   

 “Antonio is the only one who has enough time to come by” Francis says sternly. Arthur flushes in embarrassment feeling immediately foolish. He couldn’t help but feel that this was some sort of punishment for his transgressions. He does his best to push the thought out of his head. 

“I’ll… be on my best behavior” He mumbles with a defeated sigh. He can probably handle being civil to Antonio… or he will try his best to.   

“I trust that you will be” Francis says with a smile. The niggling feeling that this is a punishment returns and Arthur does his best to ignore it. 

“I’m afraid that I’ll have to cut this visit short, I need to return to my office and begin the arrangements for Antonio’s relocation” Francis adds in with a nod. 

“Ah.. right, I’ll be sure to expect him then” Arthur says dryly. 

Francis goes off with a friendly wave as Arthur and Samantha see him out the door. As they stand there waving, Arthur notices a small green blur flying towards them from the forest. It was Mint, returning from his reconnaissance, a look of happy satisfaction on his face. Once close enough Mint squeaks at him and through the bond with his familiar he gets the sense that the surrounding area is safe for now. He breathes out a sigh of relief, and informs Sam that he is going to relax and lie down for a bit.

“And if you go out, do not go out too far and do not go without Mint.” He reminds her sternly. She is about to protest, but then notices her dad looks like he’s not in the mood to take no for an answer. She quickly bites her tongue as to not retaliate then watches him make his way to the couch, flop over and go out like a light. Mint gently lands on her head and squeaks. 

“I know, I’ll keep quiet…” she says to him as she gently takes the throw blanket that was on the couch’s arm and throws it over her sleeping father. She tiptoes out of the room to the outdoors, heading over to the chicken coop all while pondering over why her dad was acting so weird, who was this Antonio guy and what is he gonna be like..

[queen-bunnyears]

Fur coat

Soooooo, it’s been far too long since I uploaded one of my own stories here. Trust me, I have about 5 almost finished pieces in my docs, but I am never satisfied with how they are. Enjoy this short piece of my shitty writing, loosely based on a scene from sister act. And just a small note, I’d really appreciate some feedback, I am very curious to hear what you think of this! 

Pairing: Roger Taylor x F!Reader (you can read this as Ben!Roger, I personally just have Roger vibes with this fic) Wordcount: 1700 ish words Warnings: cheating, Roger being an asshole, language, hinted smut and some kissing. 18+ babes, please.

"This was delivered here for you by a Mister Taylor." The man in the door gives you a large box. You grab the box and put it on the table, walking back to the door.

"Thanks sir," You say, sending him a smile and closing the door. Finally you could take off your heels.

"What has he given you this time?" Dory walks towards the table.

"It better be good, he didn't show up at the show!" Sara immediately runs up to your side and to check the box. Roger had promised you a few days ago he would come and watch your show at the pub. It wasn’t much just you, Sara and Dory singing a couple of songs for fun, but you had done this weekly for four months now, and he still hadn’t seen one gig. So when he promised to watch this week you were very happy. The disappointment stung in your chest as you thought of yourself looking around the pub at the start of each song, desperately trying to find his mop of blonde hair, but failing every time.

"Can we open it?" Sara asks. You put the box down on the table. "Yeah, go ahead. I don't care."

You walk towards the mirror in the dressing room and fluff up your hair. Your dress clings just right around your legs, and the dark makeup makes your face look mysterious. Tonight was not the first time Roger let you down. He has been cancelling plans, and you feel like he is taking you for granted. You are quite feld up with his behaviour, and you have been for a while now. The sound of carton ripping has you looking over your shoulder.

"Jesus! Look at that!" Sara stands in the middle of the room with a thick fur coat. "It's beautiful. God this is real nerts fur. It’s so soft." She lovingly strokes the coat, and you shrug your shoulders.

"This is just Roger trying to make up for not visiting the pub tonight."

"Well this could work as a fine apology. It’s beautiful!”

A week earlier

“Roger I have to go, I have a meeting with the pub they want us to play in.”

“Just stay for a few more minutes? I promise you won’t regret it.” he pleads, grabbing your leg when you try to get out of the bed. He looks at you with his big blue eyes, trying to persuade you to stay a bit longer.

“Don’t give me that look, I really should go if I want to change into something more appropriate.”

“Then keep in the clothes you had on this morning. They looked just fine.”

“Dammit Roger. I just-” A sudden wave of pleasure hits you and you moan softly. “What are you doing?”

“Just having a small taste. Y’know, giving you a reason to stay.” He looks up at you, his big blue eyes melting your heart.

“You better make it worth the delay mister Taylor.” You say, a soft sigh leaving your lips when he presses a sweet kiss on your inner thigh.

“I am working on it.”

“So he can give and buy me this, but he can’t return my calls, of come to see our show? He promised.”

“We know. But this is beautiful. You don’t have to forgive him, but you can enjoy this coat. Y/n come and fit it." Sara says.

The coat looks very tempting, all furry and soft, and as Sara wraps it around her you feel the slightest bit of curiosity. Why would he give you such and expensive coat? And more important, how would it look on you? You walk back to her and Sara hands the coat over to you. You put it on, softly stroking the fur with your fingertips. It feels even more expensive.

"Okay maybe this will work as some kind of apology," you say as you nuzzle your face into the soft fabric. Sara and Dory laugh at you. You try to imagine Roger picking out this coat for you. What shop would he have visited? You take the coat off to take a look at the brand. Then your blood freezes.

Clementine Taylor.

Her name was written so neatly on the label next to a very expensive looking logo. Like it wouldn't shatter your heart at the very look of it. "He gave me his wife's coat. Fucking hell." your voice breaks, and you have to try really hard to not start crying.

"Keep it, you deserve it!" Sara says, als she longingly touches the fur again.

"Nobody deserves another wifes coat." You scoff, pain filling your chest. "I am bringing this back to him."

"You can't. What will happen if Clementine is there?" Dory asks shocked.

"That's his fucking problem. He shouldn't have given me her coat." You fold the piece of clothing neatly and put it back into the box, your heart breaking a bit more with each fold.

"Are you sure? You really don't want to keep it? It's been given to you." Dory tries to convince you, but Sara puts a hand on her arm. “Let her choose what to do with it.”

"Very sure I don’t want to keep it. See you girls tomorrow!"

The walk home is worse than other nights. How are you going to return this? The irresistibly beautiful coat feels like a heavy weight in your arms. Are you ready to end it between you and Roger? Admittedly, you are getting enough of his attitude, but you can’t resist him. Too many times you had thought you were gonna break up, only to cancel that plan the second you see him. You put the box next to your door. Tomorrow you were going to have to be strong.

Six months earlier

“Roger you have a wife.” your eyes are big and you look at him, silently begging him to let it go. You shouldn’t even be having this conversation with Roger. Clementine helped you get your job, she even helped you find a decent apartment in London for a very reasonable price. You shouldn’t be thanking her by shagging her husband.

“I know, it’s just… When I am with you everything just falls into place. I can really be myself. I just can’t resist the feeling of freedom you give me.”

“Roger. I-”

“Please” He interrupts you, putting his hands on your shoulders. “I really care about you.” He softly pecks you on your lips again. “You are simply irresistible.” You look into his eyes again and feel yourself cave in to the feeling. Kissing him feels like sunshine after heavy rain, like the fresh air after the heat of some stuffy room. Like jumping into the sea on a hot summer's day. You know you are going to regret this, but why does it feel so good?

The sound of the doorbell was the end of your doubts. Now you had to give it back, no way out of this. The door opens, and a beautiful woman looks at you.

"Hi Clementine." You aren't sure what else to say. As always, you are slightly baffled by the sight of Rogers wife. She is almost ten years your senior, but you think she looks almost younger than you, and much more beautiful.

"Hi Y/n, what brings you here?"

"Ehm. Is Roger at home?" Perhaps you can give this to Roger, let him choose what he does. Doubt comes in much earlier than you thought. Clementine sounds so sweet, why would you have to hurt her. She doesn’t need to know. Come on you need to be strong.

"Yes he is. What's in the box? Did they ask you to drop something off here?" Her face shows concern. She knows your boss often gives you small tasks you don't have to do. God why is she so sweet. How in hell did you end up fucking her husband? Regret fills your veins. It is an ugly feeling, and you feel slightly sickened by your own affair.

“No, it’s not from my boss.”

"Okay I’ll call for Roger first.” She says, before turning towards the stairs and shouting:  “Roger! Come downstairs!" The ruffle of his feet when he runs down the stair is very audible outside.

"What do you-" He sees you and stops in his tracks, "Y/n? What are you doing here?"

"Just dropping something off." You say, trying to sound casual. “And I need to ask you something for next friday.” You lifted the box a bit to indicate you came to drop it off. Clementine peeks into the box, and you open it to show the contents to her.

"That's my coat! How odd. I haven't worn that one in a while." Rogers face goes completely white. You smile at Clementine when she picks the coat out of the box. Clementine drapes it around herself, and smiles thankfully at you. “How come you had it?” Roger sucks in his breath, scared for what you are going to say.

"I found it and it had your name in it. So I thought, let's give it back to the rightful owner." You try keeping your voice steady, and recite the words you thought over a thousand times last night. You smile sweetly, completely ignoring Roger behind her.

"How wonderful. But why do you need Roger?"

"Oh I just have  a small question."

"Okay. Thanks for bringing this back! I’ll give you two some space to talk." She walks back into the house, leaving you at the doorstep, and a baffled Roger in the hallway.

"What the fuck was that?" He is really angry, but his anger is nothing compared to the rage within you.

"Exactly what you deserved, Roger. Be glad I didn't tell her everything we did." You are happy to find that your voice sounds so stern.

"You are unbelievable!"

"Not as unbelievable as you. Quite the sweet gesture, giving me your wifes coat." You keep your voice low, so Clementine won't hear you. "I am so done with your shit Roger. You think you can make it up to me by giving me your wifes coat? To make up for the fact that you broke a promise? Again, may I add?"

"Y/n. Love, I can explain." He almost pleads, the look on his face almost makes you forget about being strong and the whole not forgiving him thing.

"You can explain? Go ahead." He tries to think of something to say, but he doesn’t know what to say, so he stays silent. You laugh bitterly.

"Exactly what I thought. Goodbye Roger Taylor." You turn on your heel and walk away, a feeling of freedom washing over you.

[whentommymetalfie]

Track of time -chapter one 

A/N: Rather loosely based on these two break-up requests. I’m suffering from a severe case of editing brain, so I won’t ramble on here. I hope you’ll enjoy it! there’ll be two more chapters, I’m hoping to have the next one out within a few days.

Pairings: Alfie/Tommy, a bit of Jessie/Ada on the side 

Summary: Tommy and Alfie hit a rough patch after a disagreement about their future. Tommy handles it about as badly as can be expected. Finn tries to help. 

Warnings: Anxiety, panic attacks, self hatred, abandonment issues 

Esme is pregnant. John announces it proudly after a night at the Garrison, when they sit in the kitchen and endure Alfie’s insistences on making tea. This is a reoccurring event after a night of drinking, and it’s all really just an excuse to coax Tommy into eating something. Arthur hollers loudly at John’s announcement, reaching over the table to ruffle his hair up.

“There we go, about time eh, Johnny boy!”

“Congratulations, mate.” Alfie pours tea into a cup and slaps John’s shoulder fondly. “Not that this household needed anymore chaos. Plenty of that already. But I reckon this is the pleasant sort.”  

John is drunk enough to begin rambling about the whole thing: what Esme wants to name the baby. What he wants to name the baby… Before this baby is born, there’s a good chance they’ll have gotten into at least three fights nearly ending in divorce by the sound of it.

Tommy finds himself watching Alfie. That fond expression settling on his face as he listens to John go on and on about all things child-related. For some indiscernible reason, he feels a knot of worry tighten in his stomach. But he gives John a stiff hug with far too many hard pats on the back, tells him he’s happy for him and pushes that feeling away. With the whiskey dulling his senses, it’s not too hard to do, and when Alfie pulls him close, leaning down to whisper in his ear that they should go upstairs, it’s easy to forget it completely.

---

Though as most things forgotten, it eventually makes itself known again in the most unpleasant way possible.

A few nights down the line, Alfie is nestled between Tommy’s thighs, trailing kisses down his neck as his warm palms stroke his sides. Tommy rakes his fingers through his hair, reveling in the feeling of the secure weight on top of him.

The tell-tale sound of a bedframe banging against a wall in the other room makes them both let out a quiet laugh as their eyes meet. Apparently John and Esme are ahead of them tonight.

“It’s a fucking miracle, really, that it’s taken this long for that pregnancy to happen,” Alfie chuckles and glances at the wall. “All things considered.” He shakes his head before getting back to more important matters, pressing kisses against Tommy’s collarbone. Tommy closes his eyes and lets out a content sigh. Hopefully they’ll be rivaling those noises soon enough…

“Well, we’re lucky that way,” he whispers and pulls him closer. Slides his hands down Alfie’s back. Presses a kiss right next to his ear. “You know how much I like when you finish inside of me.” That sentiment makes Alfie growl and Tommy wraps both legs around his hips to pull him closer. “So… it’s practical, then, that you can’t knock me up.”

Stilling his movements, Alfie raises himself up on his elbows and looks down at him. Thoughtful, suddenly. Tommy lets his hands rest lightly on his waist, meeting his gaze steadily. There was a time when he barely could keep eye contact for a short moment in the bedroom. Now, he can just rest in this. Alfie runs a thumb gently across his forehead, cradling his head between his hands.

“Too bad, really,” he says, voice oddly soft.

Tommy blinks up at him, and Alfie must sense his confusion. “Well, what I meant is that I’d like- I’d like to have a child someday. With you. In the sense that we’d be raising it together.”

Tommy feels his knees go weak suddenly, and he drops his legs back down onto the mattress. Another laugh escapes him, a harsh outlet of air.

“You can’t be serious?”

A wrinkle appears between Alfie’s eyebrows.

“Well, this might’ve been a bad time to bring it up but… yeah. I do. Is that so fucking strange?” He sounds unexpectedly accusatory and Tommy rolls his eyes. Must be some fucking joke, all this… But the look in Alfie’s eyes and the growing lump at the pit of his stomach tell him differently. His mouth feels dry when he speaks.

“Sure. Because this lifestyle seems entirely appropriate for a child.”

“Well, in the future, things might be different,” Alfie says, the creases in his forehead becoming deeper as he sits up between Tommy’s legs. “I mean, we won’t always be living in fucking Birmingham. Figure at some point we’d like to move to somewhere slightly less… dingy and lethal.”

Tommy pushes himself up to lean against the headboard of the bed, pulling one of the blankets up to his waist. Swallows down the nausea.  

“Oh, really? Well, this is news to me. Why don’t you fill me in on this plan of yours?”

Alfie sits back on his heels, scratching his beard.  

“Just thought that somewhere along the line we’d, you know, move to a house somewhere,” he says. “I mean, business will pretty much start running itself at some point. Don’t need to constantly be there to oversee shit. Could hire someone.” The tone is casual, as if he just came up with this ridiculous idea. Even though it clearly must’ve been on his mind for a while. “And… well, I know you wanted to work with horses when you were younger. Perhaps do something along those lines?”

Tommy laughs despite nothing funny having been said. And a flash of hurt crosses Alfie’s face.

“Where is all this coming from?” Tommy asks, fingers twisting harder into the fabric of the blanket

Alfie clenches his jaw.

“Maybe getting shot gives you some fucking perspective?”  

“You’ve been shot before.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. But this was the first time I had to watch the man I love get fucking beaten halfway to death right before it,” Alfie says sharply. “Without being able to do shit. And then with the fucking aftermath. That whole bloody ordeal. When you were just spiraling.” He looks away from Tommy for a moment. Out the window at the grimy buildings outside. “And maybe I’ve fucking realised, right, that there’ll come a day when I’ll be fed up with all of it.”  

Tommy’s heart drops, joins that lump at the pit of his stomach

“With what?”

“This… this fucking life, alright?” Alfie gestures vaguely around the room. The peeling wallpaper and worn furniture. “How long do you think we can keep this up, eh? It’s one close call after another, and then one day, it won’t be a close call. And either I’ll be the first to go, which really, truly, would be the more merciful option. Since the other is having to sit on some dingy warehouse floor with you in my arms while you’re fucking bleeding out. Or maybe I won’t even get to do that, eh? Maybe I’ll just find you dead in some alleyway…”

Tommy sets his eyes on Alfie. Pins him with his gaze and fills it with as much ice as he can muster.

“This is who I am, Alfie,” he says and it feels like he’s signing his own fucking death warrant. “All of this. This is all I can give you. And you fucking knew that going in.”

“It’s what youdo, Tommy. For fucks sake. Not who you are,” Alfie snaps, raising his voice. “And all I’m saying is… there’s more to life, right? Is it too much to ask for you to just fucking consider it?”

The silence that follows the question is stifling.  

What is there to consider?

No, this is the problem, isn’t it? Alfie thinks there’s more to him than this and that’s why he’s stayed. But there isn’t. This is all he has to give and it’s not enough. It’s not enough and he’s always known and now finally Alfie realises it too- It’s never enough for anyone and now Alfie will leave like all the others and-

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood in an attempt to ground himself. “I don’t want that kind of life. And I never will.”

Just like that, all the hard lines melt from Alfie’s face. His gaze shifts to his lap and he adds in a much softer tone:  “Nah, nah, not like that… you don’t have to decide now. Just want you to think about it, is all. And the thing about kids… We can start smaller. Just a house, maybe? Maybe you could give that some thought.”

A blurry memory resurfaces from the back of Tommy’s mind… of Alfie asking this once before: When Tommy was dozing off in that tub of cold water with fever burning in his veins. Right then, it sounded so peaceful; like everything he could’ve ever wanted, but never would’ve dared to dream he could actually have. But his brain was fucking burning and he wasn’t thinking clear, because there is no way he could ever have that kind of life. Do anything other than this.

Birmingham’s dingy streets are ingrained in his bones, it’s the only place where he fits in. He’s known it all his life. Thought Alfie knew that too.

But if that life -that peaceful, fucking life that seems to come straight out of some rosy dream and is so utterly impossible- if that life is what Alfie wants… Alfie deserves everything. And if Tommy can’t give that to him then there’s only one way for this conversation to end.

The silence in the room has become deafening as he’s drowned in his own thoughts and Alfie has waited for an answer. Tommy can’t bring himself to look at him when he finally speaks

“There’s nothing to think about.”

Alfie sits silently at the opposite side of the bed. Then the mattress shifts and Tommy glances up to see him walk over to the chair where his clothes have been disposed of.

He completely forgets how to breathe.

It’s all crumbling around him, falling apart –like a tunnel, rock after rock until there’s nothing left. Can’t stop it, because once you’ve pulled out that first rock, all the others just follow

“Alfie-“ he bites his tongue the second the name slips off it, but Alfie doesn’t slow his movements, pulling his trousers on and fishing up his undershirt from the floor. He doesn’t look at Tommy when he speaks.

“I need some time to think about this.”

The fear twists in his stomach like a snake.

Alfie pulls his shirt on. Tommy desperately wants to reach for him.

“So, that’s it, you’re just going to leave? You don’t get your way and- and suddenly you’re just leaving?”

Fuck he sounds pathetic- pathetic and needy and no wonder Alfie doesn’t want you.  

Alfie stops with the shirt buttoned halfway up.

“Honestly, Tommy, I’m tired. Alright?” he says, arms falling heavily to his sides. And he does sound tired, right then. “Some days, I’m so fucking tired of all of this. It’s like my fucking bones are made out of lead. And, the thought that this will be it… I don’t fucking know if I can do that.” Alfie heaves a sigh that seems to push all the air from his body. “So yeah, I need to think, don’t I? Without you there, too, because you do these…” he twirls his fingers by his temple. “Things to me. My head just fucking stops working when I’m with you, see, because you look at me with those eyes of yours and I fucking forget all about what’s right and proper.”

Leave- He’s going to leave just like all the others and you’ll be alone-

Grasping onto the sheets until his knuckles whiten, Tommy watches as Alfie pulls his jacket on.

“That life you want, it’s a fucking delusion. And it’s never going to happen. Not with me,” he grits out, struggling to get any words past the tightness in his throat. “So if that’s what you want then…”

Alfie stops his movements to look at him.

“Then what?”

The lump in his throat blocks all his words and Tommy just stares down at the blanket. A quiet sigh comes from Alfie. He grips the sheets harder and listens to the sound of swishing fabric as he pulls another item of clothing on. His coat. Boot soles knock against the floor.  

Finally the room goes completely silent. Except for the ringing in his ears. He can imagine Alfie standing there on the floor, hand on the doorknob.

“I’ll call you, alright?”

It’s all Alfie says.

Then he’s gone.

Tommy stares at the closed door.

See,the voice is almost triumphant. See, of course this would happen. You ruin everything. Only a matter of time before you ruined this too.

That snake that was coiled in his guts has crawled up into his chest instead, blocking his airways and making impossible to breathe. And his heart is beating so fucking fast.

Air- he needs air- needs to get out of this room before the walls close in on him.

The street outside is empty.

So is the spot where Alfie’s car stood parked.

Tommy lights a cigarette.

Maybe Alfie will come back?

He’ll change his mind. His temper is like that sometimes: boils up quickly but simmers down just as fast, and maybe if Tommy just waits right here for him, he’ll come back-

He seats himself on the steps leading up to the house.

And waits.

----

“That is a terrible book and I can’t believe you actually enjoy it!”

Jessie sounds honestly offended, and Ada can’t help laughing at the look of utter bafflement on her face.

“Well, I like Emma’s character development. And the way she meddles in everyone’s business- I can’t believe you don’t see the humour in it.” Ada bumps her shoulder against Jessie’s, but is quick to latch onto her arm when she nearly stumbles off the sidewalk.

Jessie rolls her eyes and shakes her head. The first few streaks of morning light catches in her hair.

“You’re lucky you’ve got other qualities than your terrible taste in books,” she teases and takes Ada’s hand –most likely to warm up her own freezing fingers. Ada certainly doesn’t mind. She squeezes it tightly. “I honestly stopped reading after just a hundred pages-“

“You haven’t even read-“ Ada’s exclamation is cut off by a yawn that she fails to cover up. “That’s it,” she says to a smirking Jessie when she recovers. “The next time we’re up all night doing something, it’ll be reading that book. Nothing else.”

“Do you mean you’re withholding sex until I finish it?”

“No, but I am withholding spending all night in a pub and listening to you argue with Freddie about ‘the true origins of market economy’.”

Now, it’s Jessie’s turn to bump her shoulder against Ada’s. “You love it.”

Ada smiles. Squeezes her hand again. “I do.”

They make the turn out on Watery Lane, and Ada decides that her street isn’t all that awful looking in these quiet moments right before dawn, when it’s empty, quiet, and the grey light washes out all the grimy bricks.

Only, she discovers much to her surprise, the street isn’t quite empty today…

“Tommy?”

Her brother remains motionless on the steps up to their house, the only movement being the slight tremor to his shoulders. Ada lengthens her steps, but doesn’t let go of Jessie’s hand. As they come closer, she notices the cigarette stubs littering the pavement. Must be at least a packet, judging by the amount…

“Tommy, what are you doing out here?”

Her question goes unanswered. Tommy doesn’t even look up. And the alarms go off in her head. Letting go of Jessie’s hand, she crouches down before him.

When she places a hand on his knee Tommy finally reacts. A pair of wide, bloodshot eyes lined with dark circles meet hers. His lip is bleeding, contrasting starkly against his pale skin.

When there’s no comment on Jessie’s presence, or even a disapproving look, Ada begins to truly worry.

“Tommy, hey, talk to me.” She squeezes his knee. “How long have you been sitting out here?”

No answer.

“Has something happened?”

Not even a blink. Tommy just gazes emptily at her.

“I’ll go and fetch Alfie,” she states and straightens up.

“Not here,” Tommy says, voice raspy from disuse.

Ada crosses her arms over her chest. “He’s not here? Where is he then?”

“He left.”

“What?”

“He left,” Tommy repeats, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I waited for him but he didn’t come back. I thought…” He trails off again, going back to staring blankly at the ground. Ada swallows down her heart to get it back in her chest where it belongs, without much success.

She looks to Jessie, and the steady gaze she receives in return serves to ground her slightly.

“Let’s go inside, Tommy,” she says and hooks a hand under his arm, gently tugging him upwards. “You’re freezing. We can wait inside.”

Tommy shakes his head slowly, raking the nail of his right thumb over the back of his hand, reopening a scratch there.

“He’s not coming back.”

To this, Ada doesn’t know what to say. Because all that fills her head is how she’ll fucking kill Alfie Solomons if he’s done something to hurt Tommy...

Tommy sits there silently for another moment, then the glazed look in his eyes fades, and he blinks. He gets to his feet, shrugging off the hand she wraps around his arm to steady him when he sways precariously. He brushes past her, shoves his trembling hands into the pockets of his coat, and begins walking unsteadily down the street.

Ada watches his retreating back, debating whether she should run after him or not.

“Do you want to go after him?”

Jessie’s hand on her arms snaps her out of the thoughts.

She shakes her head slowly. “No. No point in doing that. Not when he’s like this. Alfie-“

Alfie could help.

But Alfie isn’t here.

Why the fuck isn’t he here?

[lostinfic]

Dissonance and Harmony | 6

Pairing: Roderick Peterson (Nativity 2) x Alison Crosby (The Canterbury Tales).

*You don’t need to have seen either film.*

Summary: Alison wants to boost her pop music career whereas Roderick needs to restore his reputation in the world of classical music. Neither of them is above using “irregular” means to get what they want, so when she joins his choir, they are in a unique position to help each other… if only they could get along.

Rating: M  |  Word count: 4k

A/N: I'm far from a music expert, researching songs for a mash-up was holding me back from writing so I had to make up one of the songs.

Ao3

♪ ♪ ♪

Alison still can’t believe Roderick not only agreed to add mashed-up songs to their repertoire— on a trial basis only— but has also invited her to his home.

She stands on the sidewalk, staring at his beautiful Georgian building in Kensington and its liveried doorman. Her phone pings with text messages from Marcus, Janet and Abel.

“How’s it going?”

“What’s his place like?”

“I bet he has one of those hairless cats”

“He’s not a Bond villain!” Alison replies.

“He looks like one”

“Ali watch out for shark tanks lol”

She mutes her phone and heads in.

Roderick greets her with a smile she can only describe as uncertain. Perhaps he’s as surprised as her by her presence in his apartment.

Inside his own home, she expected him to wear a different outfit, more casual than his typical turtleneck and jacket, but he’s not. And he still calls her “Miss Crosby”. Everything to indicate this is no different than their regular choir meetings.

Alison hangs her jacket by the door, regretting her leopard print crop top and pink dungarees.

“Where’s your music?” he asks. She holds up a USB thumb drive. “Convenient but poor quality. Would you care for a drink?”

“Sure, whatever you’re having. What’s your poison?”

“Mint tea.”

“Oh. Spiked with rum?”

She follows him into the open-plan kitchen on the left. It has the same sleek minimalism as the theater, white cupboards without knobs, bare countertops. Where’s all your stuff, she wants to ask.

Beyond the black marble island, the living room stretches to high bay windows, a baby grand piano stands in front of them. The sun is setting over Holland Park, and orange rays play across the glossy black lid of the Steinway.

It’s beautiful but empty, something out of a magazine, the bones of a home she wants to flesh out with silly cookie jars and fuzzy blankets.

Roderick prepares two cups of tea.

“Don’t you have a butler or something to do that for you?” she jokes.

“I gave him the night off.”

“Wha’, really?”

“No.”

He hands her a steaming mug. She detects a hint of alcohol in it.

In the living room, opposite the leather couch, where a TV usually stands, shelves line the wall, stacked to the ceiling with vinyls, CDs as well as pictures and awards. Everything symmetrically arranged.

Alison whistles and takes a closer look.

“You must think it’s vain,” Roderick says.

“Nah, I have a wall of my achievements too, mind you it’s not as impressive.”

The first photo to catch her eye is one of Roderick holding two babies. His twin brother’s sons, he explains with warmth in his voice, he has already started introducing them to classical music.

“Very cute,” Alison says.

“Yes, they are.”

“I was talking about you.” She winks to indicate it’s another one of her flirting jokes.

Roderick rolls his eyes. “Shall we begin our research?”

But Alison is more interested in looking at the other pictures. Many of them are of his former choirs. She picks one up: Roderick fifteen years younger, a jacket too large for his slim body, wire-framed glasses, smiling with pride.

“Do you prefer conducting children or adults?”

“It’s different. I like both… But shaping young minds, giving them the gift of music and self-discipline, it’s very rewarding.”

He wipes specks of dust off several frames, lost in souvenirs, smiling to himself. They’re obviously important to him.

Maybe one day we’ll be on that shelf too.

“You know, for what it’s worth,” she says, “you gave me that gift too. The self-discipline. And I appreciate choral music a lot more.”

“As you should. I’ll fetch my laptop for your music.”

So much for trying to make him feel better.

Roderick sets his Macbook Air down on the coffee table. Meanwhile, she pulls a list of songs from her front pocket, suggestions sent by her friends, and reviews it.

As he browses her music collection, she peruses the albums on his shelves.

Alison loves every genre, from K-pop to opera, traditional Celtic ballads to hip hop, and Bollywood movie soundtracks, of course. As far as she’s concerned, there’s no such thing as a guilty pleasure. Roderick’s collection, on the other hand, consists exclusively of classical music, some contemporary composers and a little jazz.

“No Led Zep or Beatles? That’s your generation, innit?”

“My generation?” He scoffs. “I’ve been listening to Mozart since I was in the womb.”

She picks a few CDs at random and scans the songs listed on the back. As it happens, one is an album of Mozart’s piano sonatas. On the cover, there’s a painting of the composer as a child.

“How old was Mozart when he wrote his first piece?”

“His first simple one, that was around 5 years old.”

“Wow. And you?”

“Seven.”

Alison’s jaw drops, and she takes her eyes off the CDs to stare at him.

“You’re a proper prodigy. Still, you must’ve had like a teenage rebellious phase where you listened to The Clash or something.”

She tries to picture him as a teenager with acne and spiked hair, but she can’t.

“My father forbade other genres of music,” he explains. “My brother Donald did have a phase like that, and that’s why he’s a primary school teacher and I have an O.B.E.”

“As long as he loves his job, that’s what matters.”

“I’m happy with my work,” he retorts. “For your information, I do listen to other music. Sometimes. It’s necessary in my work. I’m not a neophyte.”

“Like what? Name one popular artist you genuinely love.”

He ponders her question for some time while Alison taps her fingernails on the shelf.

“Queen,” he finally answers.

Alison agrees wholeheartedly with him. However, when she suggests they use one of Queen’s songs for a mash-up, he rejects the idea right away, calling it “sacrilegious”.

“Who is your favourite composer?” Roderick asks in return.

Is it a test? What if she picks the wrong composer? She bites her thumb nail, as she frantically searches her memory for a name. “Vivaldi?”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m sure I’ve some Vivaldi on that USB drive. Look, I don’t know, okay? I really do love classical music, and I’m trying to learn more about it, but the titles are all the same: symphony No.8, No.3, No. 4., Opus 8. And all the Russian names and Italian ones sound the same.”

She expects a sneer or a lesson, but he says, “I envy you in a way. You have such wonderful music yet to discover. I wish I could listen to my favourite composers for the first time again. Erase my memory and relive that instinctive reaction to the melody.”

“So, who’s your fave?”

The look on his face isn’t unlike a kid’s who would have to choose between a kitten and a puppy. He scans the shelves and picks a record. The sleeve is worn out, the corners peeled to the brown cardboard. He lays the disc on the turntable and delicately places the needle over it. “Close your eyes.”

Alison sits down next to him, legs crossed, and closes her eyes.

The piece starts slowly with light, ethereal flutes. As more instruments join in, the tempo increases. Bouncy woodwinds, then a staccato of strings, counterbalanced by somber brass. Percussion thunders in. The melody surges into a crescendo that makes her heart beat faster, and ebbs to a wistful air, like a stream in a forgotten forest. A lump rises in her throat. When the song ends, she keeps her eyes close for a few seconds, savouring the chill the finale gave her.

“That was gorgeous.”

“Has a pop song ever done that to you?” he asks insolently.

“Many times, as a matter of fact.”

She scrolls through her music library to the letter L.

“Leonard Cohen, that’s cheating,” Roderick declares.

“Fair enough. So, do you think using his ‘Hallelujah’ would be sacrilegious too?” He hesitates, but Alison insists. “If you don’t want us to use commercial songs from pop stars because you don’t think they’re good enough, and none from artists you respect, I don’t know how we’re going to do this.” She crosses her arms on her chest. “Was that your plan all along? Agree, but then make it impossible?”

“No… but that song is in quadruple meter, it’s uncommon. Then again I suppose there are plenty of Hallelujah songs in choral music, maybe we can find one that will fit.”

“That’d be brilliant!”

He writes the title down on a notepad, and they start searching for other songs.

In order to create mash-ups, the songs must have the same meter and chords so the musical elements can be seamlessly laid on top of one another. But the songs must also carry similar emotions and themes.

They set to work, queuing songs on the computer and pulling albums off his shelves.

With each piece, Roderick shares some trivia about the composers. “Did you know Schoenberg had a phobia of the number 13? And he died on April 13th.” Or “Mozart wrote the overture to Don Giovanni on the morning of the premiere, whilst he had a massive hangover.” “Tchaikovsky, now he was a piece of work, he would hold his chin while conducting because he was afraid his head would fall off.”

Alison cracks up with each fun fact and asks for more. His limitless knowledge amazes her. Although she’s learning, Roderick is not in teacher mode; his eyes sparkle, and his whole demeanour bursts with energy. He discards his jacket and ruffles his hair, and keeps changing track before the previous one is finished because he's too excited to make her hear the next one. “You’ll love Vivaldi’s ‘Gloria’.”

Alison shares her music and trivia too: Joan Jet, Elton John, Nirvana, ABBA. “You’re tapping your foot!” Alison points out gleefully.

“I’m not!”

“Yes you are, you love it.”

“It’s repetitive.”

“It’s catchy. Number one hit. Everyone loves it... Even you.”

She bumps him with her shoulder, and he sighs.

“Why won’t you admit it?” she asks.

“I’ve fought all my life against this type of commercial music.”

She rolls her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying something catchy. Takes a bit of pressure off our shoulders. It’s a happy song, just go with it. It’s like Schumann said.”

“Quoting Schumann now, are we?”

“I am.” She juts out her chin. “More or less. I don’t remember the exact words. But he said that artists must send light into people’s hearts. ABBA does that.”

“You want light in your heart? Surely nothing can possibly surpass ‘Ode to Joy’.”

Beethoven’s ninth symphony starts slowly, and Alison pretends to snore just to taunt Roderick. But the music escalates, and when the voices join in with a jubilant “O Freunde, nicht diese Töne!” Alison springs to her feet and pretends to conduct the recorded choir. She waves her hands as she pleases in exuberant movements.

“No more tea for you. You don’t know what you’re doing,” Roderick says, but he’s laughing.

“I do know! I’m making a fool of myself.” She grins.

Roderick steps up behind her and places his hands on her upper arms.

“Let me show you.”

Despite the space he carefully left between them, his breath brushes her ear, and her breath catches in her throat.

He guides her arms to conduct properly, up and down, along the tempo. It’s a dance of sorts. Two bodies moving to the same rhythm.

“Hold it… now drop.”

A beat of silence and the symphony slows to one instrument, and Roderick moves her arms in long, smooth strokes. Slowly, the tempo increases again into a steady pounding of brass and chords. Her hands thrust through the air as the fortissimo builds up, faster and faster, toward the finale. Roderick’s grip tightens. Her breath quickens. Her heart beats louder than the fourth movement. The symphony reaches its climax. Notes and voices erupt in an intense finish.

The symphony ends and Roderick’s hands stay on her arms. She leans back against him. For a moment, everything is still. The vinyl crackles. His chest swells with sharp breath.

Another song begins and startles them.

“I can do your job now,” Alison jokes to dispel the tension. “More tea?”

She scurries to the kitchen with heated cheeks.

What was she thinking? He’s the conductor of her choir. And the only professional contact she has who might actually help her career.

By the time boiling water is poured in the cups, she’s convinced herself nothing happened.

“You would have liked Beethoven, I think,” Roderick says when she hands him the mug.

“The man himself, you mean?”

“Yes. Even when he started losing his hearing, he made a point of going out with his friends every day. He was a bon vivant.”

She wonders what that has to do with her. Is he saying she’s like Beethoven? Is that a compliment? A very roundabout compliment.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

“I know I’m not the most… genial person, but I hope you know I do think well of you, Alison.”

“I think well of you too.”

They smile at each other.

The thing is, even if he’s not the most expansive person when it comes to compliments and encouragements, and despite how much she craves validation, at least one always knows where they stand with him. He’s honest. For someone, like Alison, who has been fooled by flattery in the past, there’s some comfort in that.

They get back to work. The list of songs grows, but they have yet to be paired in a satisfactory mash-up. Roderick outright rejects many songs he deems too commercial (”mass-produced music is the very antithesis of art, it has no soul”), but overall he proves more open-minded than she expected.

They make each other listen to various pieces. Each song invites the other to step into their inner world. It’s not just trivia they’re telling now, but meaningful anecdotes associated with Haydn, Cher, Stravinsky and Tupac.

Time flies, but Roderick never forgets their task. It helps that he enjoys the musical gymnastics of fitting the songs together. Alison looks over his shoulder as he scribbles notes on blank music sheets. After one listen of the songs, he can already identify chords that overlap. His fluency is astounding.

“Can you find me Alessandrini?” he asks, still writing with one hand, the other pointing vaguely towards the shelves.

His collection is sorted in alphabetical order, she spots the album on the highest shelf, but she's shorter than him and has to stretch as high as she can to reach it. Unsteady on her tiptoes, she retrieves the album but also knocks a picture frame off the shelf. She catches it just in time: it’s a selfie of Roderick with Angel Matthews, on holiday judging by the palm trees in the background. Angel is his ex-girlfriend, or so the Internet told her, but if he still has a picture of her in his living room…

She's not even that pretty.

Roderick takes the photo out of her hands.

“I thought you’d broken up”, she says.

“We have.” He replaces the frame on the shelf, face down. “How do you know that?”

“I googled you.”

“Uh. What else did Google have to say?”

He knows. He’s definitely the kind of person who would search for his own name.

“The usual: career, discography… and that you stole a song from another school during a competition last year.”

His features harden. “I see.”

“Did you?”

“Tell me, Miss Crosby, do you think I could do something like that?”

“No. I— I don’t know. Maybe? But I can’t understand why you would.”

He’s a competitive person, and his desire to use Marcus’s handicap and Alison’s beauty to gain an advantage says a lot about that, and yet blatantly stealing another school’s original song right before the competition seems a step too far.

Without answering, Roderick picks up their empty mugs and disappears into the kitchen. Alison waits, wringing her hands. They were having such fun and she's ruined it. He's not going to think well of her now.

Roderick comes back with refilled cups. Alison chokes on the first sip, it’s more rum than tea this time.

He walks across the room to the windows, and back. Finally, he says, “At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing for my students. I was invited to this competition to give it some credibility. I was under the impression our victory was guaranteed. But when I saw the judges and the audience, I knew they would be swayed by emotional appeals and catchy tunes, rather than our musical excellence. My kids were perfect but what if the judges didn’t see that? And there was my brother and my father there.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I made a bad decision. It was blown out of proportion by my detractors.”

“Is that why Angel broke up with you?”

“No. If anything, she encouraged me. But when it turned into a scandal, well…” He shrugs and goes to sit on the leather couch. He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Alison isn’t convinced by his explanation. After some hesitation and a few more sips of rum for courage, she sits down next to him.

His straight back progressively hunches over as he circles the rim of his mug with his finger.

“It happened at a peculiar time in my life,” he says without looking at her. “The problem with being a prodigy is that one’s career begins early and therefore… ends early.”

“Are you thinking of retiring? You’re not even 40 yet.”

“I don’t want to. I’m not ready to let music go, but what if she’s ready to let go of me?”

“Oh, Roderick. You always look so confident, I had no idea.” She tentatively strokes his arm.

“Don’t take pity on me.”

“I don’t. I sympathize. I know exactly how that feels.”

He scoffs. “You’re too young.”

“Okay, maybe not exactly, but when I had my birthday last August, I felt like I was getting too old for this, so I told myself I had to make significant progress in my career this year or I would quit. The choir is my last chance.”

“Mine too,” he says.

What a pair they make.

“No, it’s not. It can’t be. You’re a bloody genius. And, you know what, I’m not that old. We’re so daft.”

Roderick chuckles and pats her hand. A fond, but almost paternal gesture, except his hand lingers on top of hers, his thumb rubs along her knuckles. Their eyes meet, he’s not hiding behind his severe glasses anymore, he’s letting her see him, and her heart melts. She gives his hand a little squeeze.

Roderick’s ears perk up, and he looks to the computer. “What is this?”

“Uh? Oh, that’s Florence and the Machine, I think. Yeah, ‘Shake It Out’.”

“This has great potential for choral arrangement.”

Roderick puts his glasses back on and hurries to the piano. He finds the partition online, gives it a cursory glance, and, after another listen, plays the first verse on the piano. Just like that.

“You know the lyrics? Go on.”

Alison sings the intro A Capella, “Regrets collect like old friends Here to relive your darkest moments I can see no way, I can see no way And all of the ghouls come out to play”

He holds her gaze as they adjust to each other’s rhythm. He tweaks the song here and there as she keeps singing. He’s got an idea, she can tell, he slows down after the chorus and he’s looking at her, expecting a reaction, an understanding.

“Wait, play that last part again,” Alison says.

Pride curves his lips into a smile.

“It’s like…”

“Yes.”

“Opus 16!”

He replays the passage and segues into the second movement of Ralph Vaughan Williams’s “Opus 16”, a song the choir already knows.

“We have our mash-up!” Alison says, clapping her hands.

“I think we might.”

They analyse the two songs side by side, trying out different points of transition and choral arrangements.

“Does it work thematically too?” Alison asks.

“Yes, it’s about rising from dark times. Williams wrote it after a hard time in his life, when he thought he’d lost his muse. See this line here: ante lucem tenebris it means dark before light.”

“I had no idea.”

‘Opus 16’ has never been one of her favourite chorals, she liked that it was a bit more upbeat, but now that she understands its meaning, she’s excited to sing it.

She can see it so clearly in her mind’s eye: the concert begins in a very traditional way, they’re in formation, wearing those black robes, singing the classics. And then “Shake It Out” begins, she steps to the front of the stage and discards her robe. Her colleagues follow suit and maybe dance a little. The lighting changes too, curtains part behind them to reveal colourful stage props. The second part of the concert consists of upbeat songs and more mash-ups. People in the audience stand up and clap their hands.

Roderick arches a dubious eyebrow at her suggestion.

“It’d be brilliant,” Alison insists.

“I’ll think about it.”

She stands by the piano and they go through the first half of “Shake It Out”. After the chorus, he slows the tempo, they stay in sync, eyes trained on each other, nodding along the notes. The transition into “Opus 16” is a little rough, but it works.

When she hits the high note in the third verse, her voice falters. Roderick abruptly stops playing, and the disappointment in his eyes cuts her deeper than any of his harsh words ever has before.

“I can do it,” she quickly says. “I’ll work day and night.”

“Clarissa would be able to do it.”

“No! I will. I can do it.”

“You must do it,” he says. “Again, from the top.”

Alison straightens her shoulders and gets ready to sing, but after three cups of tea, she needs the toilet.

From the bathroom, she hears the music Roderick is listening to on the computer. He selects more songs by Florence + The Machine.

She smiles smugly to herself. She did it. She changed his mind.

He skips to another song: “I know that it’s over They say that time’s a healer I’m ready to rise again”

“Oh no no.” She stands up from the toilet, but she’s not done pissing. “Fuck.” She hurries as much as she can.

When she returns to the living room, the song is still playing and Roderick’s face is a haughty grimace.

“Is that you?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s an original song I recorded a while back. In Canterbury.”

“It’s horrendous.”

Alison flinches. His words sting.

“Yeah, it’s silly. Can you stop it?”

“My pleasure. Let’s try the mash-up again, shall we?”

“Actually, it’s getting late, I should go."

“Already?"

I’ve to go if I want to catch the last bus.”

“The bus? At this hour? You must take a taxi. It’s safer.”

“It’s kind of a long ride, I can’t really afford it.”

“Let me call you one, I will put it on my tab.”

Before she can protest, he’s on the phone. She’s too tired to put up a fight.

“He will be here in ten minutes.”

Roderick holds up her coat so she might slip it on.

“I’ll wait downstairs,” she says.

“You’re welcome to wait here.”

“Nah.”

“Okay. In that case, thank you for your help.”

After shifting awkwardly on his feet, he holds up a hand for her to shake.

“Sure. See ya later, Mr. Peterson.”

[huffletiika]

The life of Lutteo pt.1

Okay, so... This is something very interesting. When the trailer for the second part of season 3 came out @deliverychicafresa, @from-red-string and I started talking about how that scene where Sitteo are talking about how Luna and Matteo met looked like Simón had dolls that looked like mini-Lutteo in his hands, and BAM! this was born. 

I’ve been chosen to publishing it, but this is a team-work, written by the three of us, so if you like it give my girls some love as well. 

The final cut of this is over 7k words, so we decided to split it in two parts. This is the story: Matteo gets home earlier thinking about having some time alone to have a rest. But, instead of that, he finds Simón playing with dolls that suspiciously look a lot like him and Luna. The problem: that’s not the first time he has seen those mini-versions of them, and much worse, it won’t be the last. 

Simón

The door isn’t locked twice as usually.

Instead, it swings open immediately and reveals worn sneakers in the middle of the hallway. They look suspiciously close to the ones Simón refuses to throw away, no matter how much they tear at the seams, he still insists they’re “as good as new.”

Right now, they confuse him.

Matteo stops in his tracks while the song on his lips dies. A glance on his phone reassures him it’s Wednesday indeed, so he should have the flat all alone for him for at least three more hours.

Those weekly afternoons are a ritual for him, and he loves this time in the quiet apartment. Living with the Rollerband is great, really, and he appreciates their friendship, especially when he compares it to the rough start he had with Simón. Matteo would pick sharing a flat with them over living with his parents anytime, although he keeps stumbling over the guitarist’s gross shoes and although Nico could stop stealing his expensive shampoo…

Anyway, it’s not like he hates the guys. He just needs these few hours for himself, for chilling on the couch and charging up on silence. For writing songs without being influenced or distracted by anyone else. Sometimes, for uni too.

But apparently, today he can kiss his lengthy shower and the composing session goodbye.

With a sigh, Matteo enters, taking off his shoes and moving both them and the sneakers out of the way. “Hello?” he shouts up the stairs.

No reaction.

Perhaps he still has a chance to finish this new song today.

The hope spreading in his chest however dies the instance he sets a foot on the staircase. Word snippets reach his ear, in a voice that sounds like Simón is here, and that wants to appear fifty years older.

“Do you, Luna Valente, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

At the mention of Luna, Matteo ruffles through his hair, then straightens his shirt and fixes his vest. It takes him some more seconds to realize what Simón just said, and an added “I do” in a squeaked tone to realize Luna isn’t actually here.

He frowns, at himself or Simón, he can’t tell.

“You may kiss the bride” follows from the couch, along with kissing noises. Faked kissing noises, which doesn’t make this any less weird.

When Matteo reaches the end of the staircase, he finally spots Simón.

“What the…”

Simón shrieks. Two dolls quickly end up behind the sofa cushions, but during the second Matteo sees them, he already feels haunted by the presentiment that they look an awful lot like Luna and him.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Simón stutters while he hides behind his plush guitar.

Matteo isn’t sure if whatever it looks like is better or worse than whatever it actually is. “Okay, wow, I have so many questions.”

“I was doing… voodoo. Yes, it’s voodoo. A Mexican charm for bad luck in relationships. Really nasty. You don’t wanna know.”

Raising an eyebrow at his friend, Matteo grabs the dolls.

And immediately regrets this. Regrets coming home, too.

Simón whines.

They do look like Barbie versions of both Luna and him, his doll even comes with the very same vest he’s wearing right now. Luna’s doll, however… is wearing a wedding dress.

And that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is the sense of deja-vu, are the memories he suppressed for a good reason hitting him right in the face.

“Oh no,” Matteo whispers, “I’ve actually seen these before.”

The only thing different is the wedding dress, and he’s not sure he wants to know who bought it. (He wonders if it would look as beautiful on the real Luna, though.)

“Don’t you wanna know why I’m home already?” Simón asks, desperation lingering in his tone which isn’t quite muffled by the plush guitar.

“Kinda,” Matteo gives into the lame distraction, if only to get at least one of the questions burning his mouth out of the way.

“Remember how Luna had a cold? I think she passed it on to me and Juliana sent me home before the whole café gets sick too.”

“Interesting,” Matteo replies before he takes a step back. “So, instead you’re spreading your germs here?”

Instead of an answer, Simón sneezes.

Matteo takes another step back and frowns. “Nice. Anyway, you still owe me an explanation on mini Luna and mini me.” He waves the dolls in his hands. Only now does he notice the tiny strawberries printed on doll Matteo’s shirt. He rolls his eyes.

Meanwhile, Simón groans and presses his face deeper into the plush guitar.

“I figure this isn’t for voodoo,” Matteo adds. Shakes his head. “You didn’t get Luna right, either. She’s much smaller than me.” Could none of his friends recognize their height difference? At least this one thing? It wasn’t that subtle, after all.

Simón chuckles, taking him by surprise when he gets up and snaps the dolls out of his hands. “That’s not my fault, you can complain to your best friend about that. He was the one who gave them to me.”

“This son of a…”

-

Gastón

Matteo loved those afternoons at Gaston’s place where they both could forget about the constant drama happening at the Jam and Roller (there was always something) and just beat each other at video games, watch any new movie or series on Netflix, or play improvised sessions to compose new songs all while stuffing themselves with his best friend’s mother’s food.

(That woman deserved heaven.)

But this time it was different, this time it felt as bittersweet as possible.

They were sitting on the floor, their backs against the bed’s footboard, as they played what could be their last Mario Kart competition for a while. Around them were his friend’s belonging, packed and ready to be sent to Oxford before their trip to Cancún started, since Gastón wouldn’t be flying back to Buenos Aires with them.

That afternoon, after their game ended, the console would be packed as well.

Just the thought of having to say goodbye to his best friend for God knows how long on the morning after the competition was killing him.

In between them, a very sleepy black Labrador was napping, completely unbothered by the loud noises both boys were making. Gastón had just pushed Matteo’s car out the road, so the Italian was way behind, and swearing in all the languages he knew.

“You cheater!” he shouted, adding curses Gastón couldn’t possibly understand.

Meanwhile Gastón stood up, laughing and dancing to celebrate his victory. “In your face, Balsano!” he said, pointing at him. “Now say it!”

“I won’t,” he replied, putting the control away.

“What? No… no, we made a bet,” Gastón claimed. “If I won you would say it. Well, flash news, I kicked your ass! So, this is your moment to shine like the moon, astronaut.” He pointed a non-existent microphone at him. “Come on, I want to hear it.”

Matteo snorted. “You only won because of your crappy dishonest move,” he stood up as well. “You don’t deserve it.”

Gastón gasped. “You’re really denying me my last wish, Matteo Balsano?” He seemed as offended as if Matteo had said movie adaptations were always better than the actual books.

“You’re not dying, bro.” Matteo rolled his eyes.

“How would you really know?”

“You’re just moving to another country, dramatic idiot,” Matteo tried to sound as casual as possible, as if he wasn’t actually dying inside. He was, though. How could he survive in Buenos Aires without his best friend? He was the only one who could tell him to get his shit together.

At the floor, the dog had finally woken up, and was looking at them alternately like he was watching a tennis match.

“Just,” Gastón repeated, shaking his head. “I’m just gonna k–” he got interrupted by his mother calling him from downstairs. “You got saved by the bell, Balsano,” he said, leaving the room.

Matteo sighed, then looked at the puppy.

“Your owner is gonna kill me, Loki.” He crouched down, and scratched him behind his ear. “But at least I have you as my witness.” The puppy yawned and licked the palm of his hand, and then started running around the boxes and suitcases, sniffing around, jumping and getting on top of all them.

“Hey, hey… dude, that’s not yours,” Matteo tried to get at him when he noticed a sock in his mouth, but the dog was faster and went to hide under the bed.

Loki, the God of mischief.

The name fit him perfectly.

The Italian knelt beside the bed. “Come on, Loki. Give it back,” he tried to reach the dog, stretching as much as he could to catch him, but the trickster was fast enough to avoid his hand, which hit a box instead.

Curiosity hit him, so he took it out, and forgot about the crazy doggo who stayed under the bed with his loot. He wondered if his friend had forgotten to pack something, while he tried to decipher the words printed on the mysterious package.

«The Doll House, custom dolls by request» he read, and laughed.

Gastón was such a nerd.

Matteo imagined there would be some cool action figures inside that his friend had bought, maybe from Star Wars, or Harry Potter. It might be a very random, minor character for him to purchase it in one of those custom stores. That encouraged him to open it, but his friend’s arrival stopped him.

“Don’t!” Gastón screamed, as he entered to the room, passing over the bed, and trying to grab the package from his hands.

Matteo didn’t allow it. “What do you have in here?” he suspiciously asked, trying to peek inside, but it wasn’t easy with Gastón chasing him around.

“It’s… erm,” he nervously said, still trying to get his box back. “Porn! Yes, porn! You don’t want to see that, it’s terrible,” he attempted to get the package again, but failed because no way did Matteo buy it.

“Do you really think I would believe you have porn under your bed?” His best friend was the smartest person he knew, he wouldn’t do such a stupid thing like having printed porn there when his mom entered his room all the time. “Come on, don’t be ashamed… I know you’re a big nerd, you don’t have to hide your action figures from me.” He tried opening the box again, and when he did two Barbie dolls fell on the floor.

He started laughing out loud.

“Man, you should have told me you play with dolls... I would have gotten one for your birthday,” he said, still giggling while he picked them up.

Only when he held them in his hands he noticed how much one of those dolls looked like him.

“What the…?” he started saying, and then looked at the other. It was a tiny version of Luna. “Gastón, I think I’ll need an explanation.” Panic tinted his voice, as he plainly stared at the dolls.

They were dressed like them. Even with his favorite vest!

“It was going to be a joke,” his friend explained, taking the dolls from his hands, and putting them out of his reach. “I ordered them when you and Luna started dating, and I was going to use them to bother you. You know, the usual,” he shrugged. “But they arrived when you had already broken up, so I had to keep them at the box and... well, I might have played with them a couple of times, I mean, look at them, would you leave them in a box?”

Matteo winced.

The mention of his failed relationship with said chica delivery still hurt, even if he was claiming to everyone else that it didn’t, or if he had been telling himself that those feelings belonged to the past.

“I would have thrown them way,” he said, looking away. “Luna’s height isn’t even accurate.”

Oh, grumpy Matteo was back.

Gastón rolled his eyes. “Well, they are mine, so you can’t touch them.” Carefully, he put them back inside the box, and then on his bed. “And you still have something to tell me.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

If Matteo thought he was going to get rid of the bet, he obviously had been very wrong.

“I told you I won’t say that.”

The Argentinian raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you are still not doing it?” he asked. “Well, then… new penance: you’ll have to explain me how’s it that you say you’re over certain moongirl, when you are clearly not.”

Gastón knew his best friend so well he was sure he would give up in 3, 2, 1…

“Ok, fine! I will say that stupid thing!”

Gastón smiled, triumphant. “Perfect. I’m listening,” he said.

Closing his eyes, Matteo took a deep breath. “Ok, Gastón. I…” he sighed. “I love your puns, and I’m going to miss them more than anything when you’re in Oxford,” he growled with discontent.

The brightest smile appeared on Gastón’s face. “Good job, Astro. That’s all I wanted to hear,” he gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “See? It wasn’t that hard.”

Matteo only rolled his eyes in response, still thinking about those ridiculous dolls.

-

Pedro, Delfi & Jazmin.

“Could you please stop playing with those dolls? It’s distracting.” Pedro pleads, as he looks at his friend, who’s laying at one of the couches in the cafetería, playing with the mini-versions of Matteo and Luna.

Don’t get him wrong, seeing his friend doing that is the funniest thing ever, but that’s the problem: he’s trying to focus on the numbers on the paper sheet in front of him, and it’s being the hardest thing to do, as he keeps looking at the guitarist and laughing at his impersonations of their friends.

Simón looks at him with puppy eyes.

“Five more minutes,” he begs, turning the dolls’ heads at him, as if they have joined him in his plea.

He chuckles.

“Don’t you have something else to do? Like, checking the lights at the rink, for example?” Pedro asks him, leaning at the bar. “I mean, it seems like you are not sick anymore, so I would appreciate your help… if you and your friends aren’t too busy, of course.”

It has been a hard week at the Jam & Roller, only having the new guy to help him with the chores of the cafeteria, as his friend has been sent home by Juliana due to sickness, and Nico seems to be very busy hanging out with his girlfriend. Now, the Mexican is back at heathiness, and the only thing he does is playing with those damned dolls.

“Killjoy,” Simón mutters under his breath as he sits up at the couch, and puts the dolls on the table. Pedro looks at them with curiosity. “I still don’t get it, how is it that Matteo let you keep those?” he asks.

“Gastón gave them to me, so they are under my custody,” Simón shrugs. “Hey! Can you keep an eye on them? I will go check the thing with the lights,” he asks as he stands up and walks to the counter, leaving both dolls next to his papers. It’s still early and no one is there yet, so Pedro just nods.

“You should have left them at the loft,” he says, though, and the Mexican rolls his eyes. “I will put them into my locker later, ok?” he replies as he walks his way to the rink. “Just, don’t let anyone see them.”

Pedro looks at the dolls and sighs, thinking about how crazy it is that someone has actually made these dolls of the couple, but then focuses on his papers again and completely forgets about them until his girlfriend and Jazmin arrive.

“Hello, boyfriend,” Delfi says, stepping up to give him a peck on the lips from the other side of the counter. “How are you?”

His attention is fully on her, so he doesn’t notice the redhead curiously looking at the dolls.

“Much better now that you are here with me, girlfriend,” he replies with a soft grin, and goes in to give her another peck, but then Jazmin’s voice stops him.

“What are those?” she reaches at the dolls before he could put them away.

“They are…” he tries to take them from her hands, but she quickly steps away from the counter. “Not mine,” he takes all the responsibility from himself.

“Oh, they look like Luna and Matteo,” Delfi says, taking Luna from her friend.

“Mini-Lutteo!” Jazmín screams, a bit higher than the human ear tolerance. “Awww, they are so cute!” she hugs Matteo, who’s still on her hand. “Can I keep them?”

“No, you can’t,” Pedro shakes his head, and then glances towards the rink, confirming that Simon isn’t coming back. “I told you they aren’t mine, I can’t give them away,” he then explains.

Jazmin pouts.

“Wow, the details are amazing.” It’s his girlfriend who speaks this time, looking at the doll in her hand as if it’s a piece of art. “Who made them?” she wants to know.

“I don’t know,” Pedro shrugs, putting his papers back inside the folder. “Gastón gave them to Simón, and he has been playing with them for weeks now,” he rolls his eyes.

Delfina laughs.

“Do they know about this?” she asks, moving Luna’s arms so she’s rising them.

“Who? Luna and Matteo?” he questions, and she nods. “I know Matteo does, but I have no idea about Luna. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t, though.”

“Oh, I would pay to see her face when she sees them,” the brunette giggles, and Pedro frowns. She sighs. “I’m not being mean, babe. I just think it would be funny.”

“It would be, indeed,” her best friend agrees. “And it would be even more funny if we film it! The views at Ja-Jazmin would go insane.”

“No, no… it would be for Fab & Chic” Delfina takes Matteo from Jazmin hands, and hugs both dolls against her chest. “You said you would never do that kind of content.”

“That’s so unfair, it was my idea!”

Pedro looks at both friends and an amused smile starts to grow on his lips. Yes, Jazmin and Delfina tend to be a little too much for his sanity when they start this kind of discussions, but with time he has gotten to even have a little laugh from them, like when you watch a comedy show on tv.

They really are very passionate when it comes to their channels.

“Girls, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to do that to the poor girl,” he tries to make them stop plotting to get the poor Mexican girl embarrassed on camera. “I have an idea: why don’t you give me those toys back, so I can put them in some safe place, and then let me invite you to a milkshake,” he then offers.

“I have a better idea,” Jazmín interrupts him, and takes Matteo from Delfi’s hand, placing it in his hand. “And you can’t steal that from me, Delfina!” she threatens her best friend. Pedro looks down at the doll he’s holding, and frowns.

“I’m going to make a show about doll-Lutteo,” she continues, taking out her tablet. “It’s going to be called ‘The Lutteo adventures’” she opens her palms and looks up, like she’s already imagining the billboards. “Or better, ‘The life of Lutteo’, yes! That sounds better,” she’s almost jumping from excitement. “You two are going to be the actors, well… you are going to move the dolls and say the dialogues, that’s all. And I… I will be the director and executive producer, my followers are going to love it. We can recreate the most important Lutteo moments, and make weekly polls to know what scenes people want, Ja-Jazmín is going to explode. People love Lutteo.”

Pedro shakes his head and puts the doll back down at the counter.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he says.

Jazmin pouts.

“Why not?” she asks, like she’s a 5 years old that has been just told that she can’t eat ice cream before dinner.

“Because, first of all, you would need permission from Luna and Matteo to do that: the first one has no idea about the dolls, and I’m sure as hell Balsano would never agree to a show where he is portrayed with this... thing,” he explains.

“Pedro is right, Jazmin,” his girlfriend supports him, and that brings a smile to his face. “And, I’m sure it wouldn’t be as successful as you imagine. I mean, they are just dolls.”

“But they are LUTTEO dolls,” Jazmin fires back. “They become trending topic every time we publish anything about them. Don’t you remember the #LutteoSí, #LutteoNo poll from last year?” she asks the brunette. “We had to take it down because they crashed the web page! My followers want Lutteo so badly that they would gladly enjoy a show about these two.” She points at the dolls.

Pedro sighs.

“It’s still a bad idea,” he says.

“Or… maybe you are just scared!”

Ok, now he can’t understand her. Him? Scared? Of what? He looks at his girlfriend to figure if she knows what her best friend means, but she shrugs, as she’s as lost as he is.

“Afraid of what?” he asks, very sure he will regret it.

“Of not being a good Matteo, of course!” she answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing ever, and he frowns. He could be a good Matteo… he could be an AMAZING Matteo, indeed. After weeks of living together, he’s sure he could easily imitate a lot of things about him, especially the way he speaks.

“That’s not true, I can impersonate Matteo,” he says, without thinking what path his words would make him take.

“Do you?” both girls echoed the other, sounding like they don’t believe him, so he takes Matteo’s doll and starts moving it to prove his point.

“Hey, I’m Matteo Balsano,” he starts to say, ridiculously failing at imitating the Italian accent, but he doesn’t care. “and I’m the best skater at the Jam & Roller.”

Jazmin starts laughing like a seal with hiccups.

Delfi takes Luna next to his Matteo. “Are you sure?” she asks, with a voice that’s supposed to sound like Luna’s. “Because you look more like Matteo Fresa Balsano for me,” she adds, and then giggles.

He does, as well.

“Hey! Why are you calling me a strawberry?” he asks, back at impersonating the Italian. It is, indeed, very funny.

“Because that’s how we all call snobs in my country,” Delfi plays along. “And you’re the snobbiest snob I’ve ever met.”

They keep playing for a while, teasing each other like they have seen the other couple do many times, making them skate as if they were wearing skates (he would have to ask Simón if the dolls had them), and even making them kiss after a little bit of banter.

They are so entertained they don’t get to notice Jazmin filming them. And, much less, Jim and Yam walking towards them until it’s too late.

They have already seen the dolls.

[wroteasongabouther]

ceo!harry - part 3

warning this part is much longer than my usual writing, sorry??? but honestly i think this might be my favourite part so far, and i really enjoyed writing it so i hope that you all enjoy reading it :)) please any feedback/reblogs/likes are so so so appreciated as if you guys dont already know this.. 

ceo!harry tag  >>> give me feedback

November 30th 2018

“You look,” Mr Styles pauses and it causes your breath to get caught in your throat. Your hands brush down the forest green velvet gown that had been dropped off at your studio apartment earlier today. The deep vneck cut stop directly above your belly button, the long sleeves keep your arms warm while the slit up to the middle of your right thigh had chills running down your spine - or maybe that was because of the way Mr Styles was looking at you. 

“Is the makeup too much? I don’t really know the rules for this type of thing,” you tremble on your words as you fix your slicked back hair to fall behind your shoulders again. The makeup was dark, a smokey eye and a deep red lip to contrast with the green gown. 

“No, no,” Mr Styles shakes his head. “You look amazing, Y/N,” he says softly while the corners of his lips turn upstairs just a little. 

It’s been almost two weeks since Mr Styles hired you to be his assistant. It wasn’t too hard, besides the early morning and the New York traffic that caused you to realize that you had to wake up even earlier than you had thought in order to not be late. But otherwise, the organizing and the coffee runs and the answering phones was too easy. And you think that Mr Styles knew this too, he had to of realized that you were taking on this job with ease. So now, he had invited you along to this party for some charity thing - as his assistant of course. Despite him buying you a Gucci dress and letting you have the day off too. 

“Thank you,” you nod while fighting your own smile.

“We should get going, don’t want to be late,” he says, holding open the door to his office that you had just walked through.

“Wouldn’t want that, Mr Styles,” you reply while walking side by side to the elevator. He smirks, his head dropping as you both wait for the doors to open. He doesn’t respond till after he hits the parkade button and it lights up.

“You can, uh,” he pauses to lick his lips, you’re hands nervous thread together in front of you. “You can call me Harry, in private only,”

The way he adds the ‘in private only’ part makes your stomach flutter while those naughty thoughts take over your mind again. But you know it’s a simple request in order to keep things professional in the work place, but you can’t help it - to say you were attracted to your boss would e saying the least. Those green eyes and long curly brown locks had been invading your dreams since the very first time you’d stepped foot into his office.

New York felt more - dream like, tonight. Wearing a dress that cost more than your monthly rent, having your hair and makeup done as well as you could do with your drugstore brands, sitting beside the city’s richest young man in business, driving in a Rolls Royce to a fancy dinner party - it was sort of crazy. And one day, you wanted this to be your normal life. You wanted to be the business woman ordering people to get your morning coffee and be flooded with emails as people was your opinion and only your opinion. After years and years of schooling that has put you in a disgusting amount of debt, you weren’t the business woman you dreamt of being. You were the little assistant doing all the running around and giving her boss longing looks. 

Out of the corner of your eye you glance to where Harry sat across the back seat. He’s looking down at his new iPhone he had been shipped yesterday, already programmed thanks to you, since he had broken his last one from dropping it off the top of the Eiffel Tower. Just rich things - right? Besides that you take in his suit again, admiring the ruffles at the chest of his shirt and how the black pants fit his thighs so well. His hair looked as though is had been barely touched today, while other days you can tell he’s a bit more stressed with the curly locks being a wild mess. 

You’re sort of surprised it’s not a mess, since you had the day off and all, but then you recall he had the day off too. A part in your mind imagines he spent it with someone - maybe a redhead who he’s known for years or maybe even days. The thoughts of them rolling around in bed makes your stomach turn, jealousy wasn’t the best thought of have while thinking of your boss. 

“Did you get my email this morning?” Harry asks, his voice booming through the quiet of car. 

“Uh,” you snap out of the daze you were in, “yeah, I did,” you nod. 

“Memorized the names and faces?” 

“Yes,” 

“Can’t have my assistant being one of the clueless ones,” he says with a smug look on his face. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” 

“M’starting to figure that out,” the smug look is still there as you gaze at him. You watch his tongue dart out just a little to lick his lips, and for only a split second you zone out as you think of that tongue licking your lips - you shake your head and look out the window as the car pulls up to what looks like one hell of a party. 

Whomever was tonights event planner had really outdone any sort of expectations you had. While Harry merely brushed off the dazzling decor, shining lights, and the literal red carpet that you two walked down - ignoring the handful of paparazzi that were obviously hoping to sell any picture they snuck in tonight to Page Six. You've been in the background of a few photos already this past few weeks, but something told you they’d be paying a bit more attention with the way you were all dolled up. Harry sure was, paying more attention that is. You can’t help but notice how he’s keeping a watchful eye on you as the night plays out around you. 

As it was your job, you kept close by Harry to help him recall some guests names and such. But over time you would end up in your own conversations, socializing was something you got better at as you sipped your first vodka cranberry mix of the night. Then by your second, delivered by Harry, you were cracking jokes that even had your boss laughing under his breath - something you hadn’t seen before. 

“Where have you been hiding this one, Styles? She’s absolutely wonderful,” an older woman, with one large stripe of grey in the front of her long black hair, grins as she links arms with you. 

Harry’s smiles tug up into the familiar smug smile, “she is, isn’t she?” 

His eyes don’t stay on the people standing around you two for long, they fall onto you rather quickly. You feel like you can’t breathe for a moment as his green eyes stare into yours, like really stare into yours. There’s something more there. And yes, there has been some lingering stares at the office before and some more unintentional flirtatious comments from the both of you - but this was different. This was you needing another vodka cran. 

“Excuse me,” you smile to everyone and walk off towards the bar again as someone else starts up another conversation about some more business stuff. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Harry’s voice catches you off guard for a second as you nearly finish your drink. He eyes the glass, causing you to feel self conscious over the fact you were casually drinking so much in a work situation with your boss literally standing beside you. The panic in your head only proves to your that you’re in fact tipsy after your third drink of the night now. 

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” you nod. 

“Are you having a good time?” He smiles this time. 

“Yes, I am,” you return his smile. 

“Good, I’m glad,” he nods, “would you like another drink, miss?” 

“I think I’ve had enough tonight, Mr Styles,” 

“Harry,” he corrects you, lips twitching again it seems, “and are you sure? I think you deserve it, been working you rather hard lately,”

His voice shouldn’t have this effect on you any longer. You shouldn’t be getting chills down your spine as the words roll off his tongue. But you do, causing you to switch around your footing while leaning just slightly against the bar to not seem so obviously flustered. You swallow the lump in your throat and look to your left to see the bartender was standing close, peeking in the corner of your eye and noticing Harry had already beckoned him over. 

“A vodka cranberry, correct?” Harry asks, his lips still just barely turned up into a smile. You nod and he doesn’t waste time to order himself a drink as well as yours too. 

“Thank you,” you say to the bartender as he passes it to you. “And as for working hard, Harry,” you pause as his attention falls back to you instead of the bartender who’s very clearing eyeing up the older boy. “I’m perfectly capable, I don’t want you to think otherwise. This is exactly what I wanted to get to after all those years in lectures,” 

“To be my assistant?” Harry questions, eyebrow raised. 

“One day I’ll be more, I’ll work harder than you’ve got me doing and maybe I’ll need an assistant of my own,” you smile proudly at the big dreams you have inside the foggy head of yours. You were most definitely tipsy. 

At first Harry doesn’t respond, he’s merely staring at you with a meaningful look - as though he’s trying to figure you out or something. Then he lifts his glass to his lips and takes a sip. Somehow even that gesture makes you swallow hard and lick your lips afterwards. You suppose it’s the hard grip he’s got on the glass, how the rings upon his fingers click against the glass as he brings it back down to the bar top.

“I’m glad you’re perfectly capable, darling, because we’ve just barely scratched the surface,” Harry states while lifting his chin just slightly and he full on brings his lips into a smirk as he keeps such direct eye contact it makes your stomach turn with nerves. 

“I can handle it,” you answer without a second thought. Your voice is softer than you want, and you notice the sultry hint to it which brings on another wave of nerves as you wait for Harry to register to flirting. 

Just barely another second passes between you two before Harry’s stepping closer. And just like the first time he brushed up against you, your breath gets caught in your throat while your heart hammers in your chest. Recalling the first time, he had bent down just behind where you sat at your desk to peer at your computer screen, his shoulder had brushed yours - but that was nothing like right now. His free hand drags from your hip oh so slowly to the bare skin at the tip of the v cut of your dress. 

“S’why I hired you, darling,” Harry whispers in a husky voice, his breathe blowing warm against your neck. When his fingers dip into the dress, fingertips dancing lightly at your skin above your bellybutton, you think you might faint honestly. 

His fingers move upwards, getting dangerously close to your chest when you finally turn your head and see he’s watching your facial expression this whole time. The greens of his eyes are almost taken over by his pupils but they’re stll darker than usual. Your gaze flickers down to his lips as his tongue appears to lick his lips. The back of his knuckles brush up and down just below your breasts as his lips curl up into a smirk again. You can’t help it as a shaky breath blows passed your parted lips. Harry’s lips onto pull further up as your nervous eyes find his again. 

“Got some people to speak to,” he states as his hand moves back down the vcut again. Just his index finger is left on your skin as he speaks in a low voice again. “Quite like the dress, like it a lot,” he says so quietly you barely hear him yourself. 

And then he’s walking off passed you and back into the party - leaving you to down your drink and relive the moment about five times in your head over and over again. First you over analyze it, trying to remember how many drinks Mr Styles has had tonight too. Intoxication made people act a certain way that could really not mean a thing. But then you realize how much you wanted him to mean anything. Even to brush his hand against your arm again, or give you that stupid smirk once more. You wanted him, in any way you could get him. 

“I’ll have another please,” you say to the bartender as he ends up in front of you again. You don’t have to relay your drink order, he’s already pouring a vodka shot into a glass and filling it with the red liquid before handing it over the bar. “Thanks,” you smile. 

“Not a problem,” he dazzles you with a pearly white smile before turning his attention to some greying old man demanding another scotch. So typical. You stand there and watch the bartender for a moment, but then you’re attention is taken by the same woman who had called you wonderful just earlier. 

“Why are you hiding over here all alone, dear?” She asks as she steps in front of you. 

“Just got another drink,” you say, lifting up the drink. 

‘Oh, I remember ordering those bloody vodka cranberries when I was young too. Now I need gin to get through this damn things,” she jokes just as the bartender starts to make her drinks, finished off with a lime on the rim and everything. “Thanks, Benjamin,” she smiles to the kinda cute bartender. Maybe he’d fill the lustful void your boss was pushing you into. 

“You’ve been working in the business a while?” You ask.

“Started even lower than you are, in the mail room for Kingsmen Corporations,” she explains - the name isn’t unfamiliar but you knew it wasn’t around anymore. “Then over some time I bought it out and made it my own, it’s Queens Corporations now,” she smiles. 

And that was what you wanted to do. You wanted to be this woman standing before you. As the years went on, you’d use all the damn education you got and stand up for yourself to work your way up in the business. The two of you talk for a while longer, exchanging thoughts on the stocks, a recent PR mishap that happened in a new company, and she then gave you a handful of contacts to consider when you were ready. First on her list was Westbrook Atlantic, a company that you thought was so entirely out of your league that you barely gave the number a second glance as she listed off the others. 

“Oh boy,” Kathy, you’d learnt her name by now, laughs at something you had said. “Well it’s been a great time, but I should get my driver to come pick me up now,” she states while pulling out her phone. 

“It is getting rather late, past your bedtime isn’t it?” Harry jokes to Kathy, which earn both a laugh and an eye roll in return. 

“Funny young man, aren’t you?” 

“Only for you Kathy,” he winks. This side of Harry was one you had yet to see till he approached you and Kathy just about an hour earlier. He still had a stiff look to his stance beside you and he still oozed confidence and authority, but he was chuckling more and making light comments and winking now. He even leans forward to hug her as she leaves, she hugs you as well, and then it’s the two of you again. 

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes for a second before looking up to meet his stare. “Was there anything else you needed tonight, Mr Styles?” you ask. 

It takes Harry a few moments to answer. You can see the wheels in his head turning, it’s a look in his eyes you’ve come to recognize while he’s working at the office. It’s also a look you find rather attractive. You hold your own hand at the front of you, fiddling with your fingers as you await his answer. Finally, Harry opens his lips at the same time he steps towards you. You inhale sharply at how close he is to your for the second time tonight.

“Go up to the front desk of the hotel, book the best suite they have for the night under your name, use my card,” he pauses as he must take in your furrowed brows and utterly confused facial expression to his orders. “And I’ll meet you up there in twenty minutes, enough time for you to get everything situated. Just let me take off this dress,” he inches back to meet your eyes as he says the last bit - there’s a fire behind his eyes that matches the fire in the pit of your stomach. 

His eyes are still gazing into yours as your minds in a fog trying to think this through. Then you get to the realization that you just shouldn’t think this through at all. You wanted this. You wanted him. 

“Ok?” Harry questions, giving you an out it seems. 

“Ok,” you nod once. 

His lips curl up into that damn smirk that you want to kiss off his lips. You don’t even notice as he takes out his credit card and gives it to you, handing it to your sweaty nervous hands. Then Mr Styles gives you one last nod before walking away, leaving you to make your way out of the party and to the front desk. He had given you twenty minutes, and wether or not he changed his mind of the taking off your dress part, you didn’t want to upset him by not getting a room. 

“The penthouse suite was just cleaned out,” the woman at the front desk states. 

“Is that the best suite then?” you ask, fixing the slit of your dress as you stand at the front desk and wait for her to book the room. 

“Yes,” she nods. 

“Then book it,” you say - noticing how snappy your voice sounds in the rush you were feeling at this moment. She nods, takes the black credit card with Harry’s name on it from your hands and then takes your information before asking if you had any luggage. “No, just need the room for the night,” you state. She nods, giving you a look before she finally waves over the bellboy to take you to the penthouse suite. 

Eight minutes, that’s how long you had till that private elevator was to open again and Harry was to walk into this ridiculous suite. When the bellboy brought you up, you were still in shock over the gold details on the floor of the elevator that your mouth literally fell at the sight of the penthouse suite. It’s all just as luxurious as the movies make it out to be. You thank the bellboy and then he leaves you alone - alone for the next eight minutes. Because your boss was about to come up here and fuck you. 

You start to panic for a moment. Wiping your sweaty hands against the velvet material of your dress as you pace around the penthouse suite. You were drunk and it was starting to set in that you had really done this. You had booked this hotel, and were waiting for Harry to make his way up here to take off this dress. 

Swallowing hard, you manage to make your way up the stairs to where the bedroom was found. A list of things run through your mind as you slowly step into the room and stare at the perfectly made bed. You could do this. Fuck Harry, have potentially the best sex of your entire life and think about it forever. Then you two could move on professionally and act as though it never happened. 

Or you could do this, he could regret it, and then fire you. You shake your head and look at your feet. But there was those numbers Kathy had so kindly given you earlier - so screw it. Literally, screw Harry and then if he fires you, you’ll proudly go find yourself another job knowing you got to fulfill this stupid fantasy you’ve had since walking into his office last month.

Both your hands are in your hair when you hear the elevator doors open. Your heart beat races again as your thought consume you. There’s nothing you want more than to turn off all your thoughts and just make this risky decision. So you shut your eyes, let out a deep breath and listen to his boots against the wood panel flooring. Just as he gets up the staircase, you reach down your neck to the zipper of your dress. 

It pools on the floor at your heels and you know he’s in the room now, you can feel his presence like any other day. The chill in the room makes your nipples harden immediately since you’re not wearing a bra due to the low cut of your dress you were wearing tonight. Harry shuts the bedroom door before his boots hit the floor again, making his way towards you. 

“Thought I said I wanted to take off the dress,” he hums as he gets closer. His voice nearly takes your breath away. “Are you not going to listen to me, Pet?”

You don’t know what to say. He’s closer now, pressed against your bare skin as his hot breath hits your shoulder, seems Harry is staring at your body as you stood there waiting. 

“Well, are you going to listen?” Harry repeats himself, his voice sounded more stern - it causes a chill to fall down your spine. 

“Yes,” you answer. Your voice is soft, almost like a squeak as you stare down at the ground. 

“Come on, darling,” Harry’s voice is softer this time. His finger curls under your chin, tilting up to bring your eyes to meet his. There’s still that fire, the lustful look that anyone your age should grow to know, but they’re also warm and welcoming almost. “You want this,” he says, it’s not a question. 

“I-” you can’t seem to find your voice as Harry’s hand falls down, brushing just barely over your collarbone before he finds your left breast. Your breath is caught in your throat as his thumb flicks at the bud of your nipple. 

“Tell me,” he pauses as you literally bite on your bottom lip to force back a moan as the pad of his thumb brushes over your nipple again. “Tell you want this, Pet,” he says, sultry and sweet. 

“I want this,” you say. 

Harry suddenly pinches your nipple, causing a gasp to fall from your lips. Then his other hand is on the move as you feel it just barely touch your hip. Your legs clench together, and you can already feel the wetness between your thighs. God yes you wanted this. 

“Just need one more word, Pet,” he smirks. 

“Harry,” you moan out his name as his index finger touches at the crease of your folds. It’s teasing, and he’s obviously good at it as one hand is cupping your breast while the other is so close to your clit you don’t know how much longer you can stand here in these heels. 

“Nope,” he says. 

The hand between your thighs moves away, and you release a whimper - something you didn’t think you’d ever do. Harry seems to enjoy it too as you notice his lips turning up before you’re fluttering your eyes closed. Both hands are on your chest now, while his lips fall forward, brushing just barely over the exposed skin on your neck. You use your hands finally to brush back your hair, letting Harry get a better angle. 

“One more word,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. Your breathing is so heavy, your heart is beating so fast, you can barely think as he touches both your budding nipples again. “Come on, Pet, you want this, tell me you want this,” he nearly hisses out the last word into your ear. 

“Yes, I want this, I want this,” you repeat as the words die in your throat at the feeling of him pinching both your nipples again. 

“Manners, Pet,” he says. 

“Please, please, please,” you beg him and it’s like a switch flips on as his large hands grip the back of your thighs. 

Harry lifts you up into the air, your dress is left there on the floor as your heels knock into each other as you cross your ankles behind his back. The feeling of the fabric of his shirt against your clit surprises you and because of how turned on and ready you are, you moan loudly. Harry’s lips find your neck again, this time he’s not brushing them softly against your skin - this time he’s nippling and sucking and licking so much your head spins. More strings of pleases leave your lips till your back hits the mattress gently, Harry’s lips never leaving your neck and his hands move to separate your legs. You inhale deeply as one hand hovers over your freshly waxed vagina. 

“I got over the fact you weren’t wearing a bra around all those people tonight,” he states, “I would have gone mad knowin’ you weren’t wearing any underwear too, Pet,” he explains. Then his hand moves, fingers moving against the wetness between your folds, finding your clit and making you want to scream instantly. 

There’s no words that you can even think up besides “fuck, yes, Harry,” over and over again between moans as he builds you up. The orgasm is almost near, you can feel it in your stomach, the blissful feeling that you’re about to cum that you hadn’t felt from a man in so long it hurts - but then it’s gone. You open your eyes and see Harry staring back down at you. He smirks, and then he moves off the bed. You furrow your brows together and start to worry. 

Where was he going?

You widen your eyes, chest heaving up and down like crazy, naked in this stupid king sized bed. You felt cold now. What had you done? You said please. All those worried thoughts disappear again when you feel the bed dip. Harry’s long hair hits your collarbone as he holds himself above you. 

“Next time,” he pauses, leaving you to try and not smile by those two promising words, “we won’t need to use a condom,” he states while holding up the foil packaging. 

“Okay,” you nod. You’re unsure of what he means exactly but you don’t care right now. “Now, please, fuck me,” you beg him in the most winey voice you’ve heard you use for sex. 

“One more time,” 

“Please, Harry, please,” you reach up and tug on his hair as his hand surprisingly finds it’s way at your entrance. You moan as he slips it in, with how wet he’s gotten you he doesn’t struggle to fit another in. 

It’s then that you realize just how unfairly you were under him completely naked - minus the heels, but that didn’t matter. While Harry was still fully dressed, except for the suit jacket he must’ve ditched downstairs. Your hands unwind from his long hair and start on the buttons of his shirt. When Harry catches what you’re doing, he picks up the speed of his fingers moving in and out of you. You gasp and let out a long moan, biting down on your lip again as you struggle to finish unbuttoning his shirt. Then he curls his fingers inside of you, hitting your g-stop without any trouble as you grip the collar of his shirt and push it down his arms. 

“Please,” you sigh out the word as his fingers slip out of you. 

All professional, reasonable, logical, smart, all of your damn thoughts are out the window as you watch Harry with hooded eyes. He brings the fingers that are slick with your cum to his mouth and closes his lips around them. It’s the hottest damn thing you’ve ever seen. His eyes on you as he sucks them clean. Then you’re at a lose for words as he finally takes off his pants and you see his cock. It’s big, really big, and it’s red and you can’t help but notice the bit of pre cum that’s left the tip already. You watch as he puts on the condom, then you inhale deeply as he waits at your entrance. 

This was really happening. You were going to fuck your boss. And again too apparently. Is it crazy that you’re already thinking about the next time, and he hasn’t even put his dick in your this time yet? But boy, when he does finally slip into you, the walls of you squeezing around his cock as he pushes it entirely into you slowly. You squirm underneath him, trying to not close your legs as you screw your eyes shut. 

“Oh, fuck,” you pant. 

He only waits about ten seconds, maybe even less, before he’s moving inside of you. Thrusting hard and quick into you, making you stomach turn and mind fog up again as it builds. You can’t be fucking for more than a minute before you’re reaching down between you and going to rub your own clit. But Harry’s quick to smack your hand away and does it himself. 

“Fuck, yes, yes, yes,” you breathe out each word as he pounds even faster and harder into you while his thumb moves in circles on your clit. 

It’s mind numbing, the orgasm he gives you. You legs spasm while your fists bunch up the covers beneath you while you moan so loudly you’re sure all of New York City can hear you. Then once you’ve coming back down from the orgasm, you feel as though Harry’s about to bring you to another one so soon. His thrusts start to be more frantic, so quick you can’t find the sounds to moan from every time he hits your g-stop. You’re just laying there, mouth wide open, hands wound tight in his hair, as he pounds relentlessly into your pussy. Then his small grunts turn into one long loud groan. The sound if him finding his release brings on another from you. Both your voices meshing together in the room as you shut your eyes again and try to breathe again too. 

“Didn’t know if you had it in you, Pet,” Harry says, his lips against your hair as he slips out of you and lays face down directly beside you. 

“Told you,” you pause to catch you breath, “I can handle it,” you say. 

Harry chuckles, the sound bounces off the walls of the room and makes your lips turn up into a smile. Then you’re eyes close as it grows quiet again. Sex sure does work you out. As you lay there in what has to be the comfiest bed you’re ever slept in, your breathing falls back to normal, while your mind finally shuts off. You’re both quiet and don’t move for what feels like so long that you end up falling asleep. 

The next morning, you wake up to the sun shining through the blinds that neither you or Harry thought of closing it seems - suppose it doesn’t matter since you were 49 floors up. You roll over, half expecting to be alone and half expecting Harry to be there. And you’re right, he’s gone. You sit up, letting the covers fall down to your waist as you look around the room. First thing you notice is the green dress hung up directly across from you. Beside it is an outfit similar to one you wore to work a week ago almost, but you have a feeling the tags stitched inside will make your heart sink. 

You glance to the side table at your left. There’s a single white rose laying there on the dark wood, and beside that is a note. You notice the familiar handwriting and pick it up to read it. 

‘I’ll see you at the office, darling -Styles’

You sigh and fall back onto the soft white pillow. Okay, you could do this, you think while getting out of the bed. Just needed a nice hot quick shower and then you could get dressed and go to work. You step into the ensuite bathroom and have to take a second look at the rainfall shower that’s in the centre of the room. 

“Holy shit,” you gasp. 

This was by far the worst shower to have to be in a rush. You quickly get changed into the deep red dress, the low cut is in the back this time, stopping mid bad in order to still be professional. As if that should be your worry after last night. You can’t help but stop to look at the tag hand stitched into the dress though, it reads Gucci. The same letters that were on the tag of the green dress that hung in front of you. A brand that you’ve grown to love now. 

It’s not too late in the morning by the time you check out of the hotel and catch a taxi to the office. It’s barely past nine in the morning as you get up to the highest floor Styles Enterprises owns, also known as the top floor of the building. You go to the closet just by your desk first, opening it to see Harry’s dark navy blue coat already hanging there. You hang up the green dress beside it and shut the door, turning around to stare at the large doors that lead into Harry’s office. It was now or never, and it would be cowardly to sit at your desk without checking in like you do every normal morning. And today, it had to be a normal morning - even if last night you had your legs wrapped around him. 

You let out one last sigh, push open the doors and see him sitting at his desk. Harry has his phone pressed to his ear, his eyes don’t glance up as they seem to be glaring down at his desk. Must be a important call. You swallow the lump in your throat and take a few more steps into his office. 

Harry looks up now, he first looks at your heels - same from last night, that had somehow find it’s way off your feet. Then he takes in the dress he had brought you. Finally once he meets your eyes, you don’t see that fire from last night. 

“Coffee,” he mouths before turning around and speaking into his phone about some PR thing. 

You nod, turn on your heels, and walk out of his office. You were his assistant. Last night was a spur of the moment, one time thing, that meant nothing. But then you remember him saying something about the condom, next time - he wanted there to be a next time. You smile and make your way downstairs to grab his coffee. When you return, he’s off the phone this time. 

“Thank you,” he says as you set his coffee on the desk. 

“You’re welcome,” you nod.

You two look into one another eyes, you catch him glancing behind you only for a quick second before his lips tug up into a smirk. He does the same thing as he had done before you got coffee. Eyes trailing up from the heels to meet your eyes again. He licks his lips and stands from the desk, slowly making his way towards you.

“Got one more condom, then you’ve got a doctors appointment, got it?” Harry asks. You blush under his sultry stare, thinking about how good he felt last night.

“Got it,” you nod.

“Yeah? You sure you want to do this again, Pet? Cause we can stop it all, after this at least, cause I’m hard as hell even thinking about it,”

Harry steps in front of you, he reaches up and drags the back of his finger down your cheek softly and all the way down your neck too. There’s a faint hickey, so small you almost missed it, but when Harry’s eyes fall to your neck you know he’s found it. He brushes his finger over the small hickey and even though you weren’t going to say no probably ever - that was when you fell apart.

“I want it, please,” you sigh just as he leans forward and presses his lips to your neck.

 —

November 12th 2021

Another long day at the office meant you needed some retail therapy. Maybe the fact you had fucked your ex boss and whatever else he was to you also had to do with some of the stress shopping you were currently doing in Gucci. It had been almost a week now. And in those six days you hadn’t messed around with Michael or slept with anyone else for that matter. But also in those six days, you hadn’t heard a peep from Harry.

It was for the best, but for some stupid reason that fact he hadn’t even sent you an annoying email was bothering you. It shouldn’t be bothering you. But these Gucci loafers and printed shirts are filling whatever void Harry’s got you in. 

“Well tell whoever’s in the damn private change room that I’ll buy whatever’s on their body right now and they can wear it out for all I care,” you say with narrow eyes and a finger pointing towards the change room. All you wanted was to be treated like the black credit card VIP you were. Not like another one of those stupid ‘rich kids’ blowing their entire saving on a stupid belt. You deserved the private shopper and change room with champagne at your disposal. 

“Ma’am, my apologies-” 

“I don’t want you apologies, I want-” your shouting is stopped abruptly when you catch sight of the same person who’s been clouding your thoughts nearly every day walk out of the VIP change room. Of course Harry’s at Gucci. 

“I’m just about done,” he states as his eyes meet yours. 

“Excuse me, I’ve got to check on someone in the backroom,” the sales person walks off, leaving you and Harry by yourselves. 

“So,” Harry’s voice brings your attention away from the person walking away and back to him, “you’re buying whatever’s on my back, huh?” he smirks while you take in the clothes he’s wearing. It’s a simple black button up shirt, but it’s sheer and when he moves closer to you, you notice the shine in the fabric. It’s a nice shirt, you suppose. Hell it was a really nice shirt and he looked really fucking good in it. 

“Are you following me around now?” you question. 

Harry chuckles, turning away from you to reach for a suit jacket that’s hung up beside the change room door. “I was here for first, you know,” he says. 

“But if I remember correctly, you showed up to my party and then you broke into my penthouse,” you narrow your eyes at him while crossing your arms. Harry glances back over his shoulder at you while fixing the collar of the jacket. 

“Still hung up on me showing up to your place, huh darling?” he teases you, a smirk tugging on his lips as he turns back to the mirror. 

Your brows pull together at his comment. “I’m not hung up on-” you stop yourself, letting out a deep breath as you roll your eyes at the man standing just a few feet in front of you. 

“Doing some shopping then?” Harry asks. You hate how casual he’s being, as if the last time he had seen you his dick wasn’t inside of you. It’s annoying. 

“Yes,” you bite out. 

“Seem a bit stressed out,” he exclaims. 

You let out a sigh, eyes glancing up at the ceiling while walking to the small pink plush couch. You bend down to grab a flute of champagne that’s sitting upon the table in front of the couch, and the only thing between you and Harry now. Taking a seat on the couch, you lean back and cross your black pant clad legs. 

“Need a better assistant,” you shrug. 

“Those are hard to come by,” Harry states before he’s walking towards you. 

You keep your gaze on him as he too grabs a flute of champagne and has a sip. There’s so many old memories that flood your head as his green eyes stare back into yours as the glass of bubbly leaves his lips. Lips you have been thinking about way too much lately. You want them on your neck, to suck and nibble on your skin till there’s a small bruise left. You want those pink lips between your legs too, making you moan till the sun rises. But mostly, you want to feel them against your own - something you haven’t felt in years, yet you still  dream about it. 

This man who’s standing in front of you, again for the fourth time within a week, had managed to bring back that same girl you were all those years ago. Years without a word, and now he can’t seem to leave you alone. You narrow your eyes and bring the flute to your lips again, having another long sip. 

“Are you almost done here? I’ve had a long day, and I need to try on a few things,” you say, trying to force back a yawn. 

Harry pauses, watching you as you lay back in the couch waiting for him to answer. Then he nods once. “Go right ahead, I’ll have the sales person clear out my things after I change,” he explains. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

You sit back and wait as Harry changes and the sales person returns again. You get them to bring in your clothes and shoes before they finish with his sale. As that all goes down, you check some emails and return some texts, eyes glued to your phone screen as you passed by Harry and walked into the change room that’s holding your handful of items. He didn’t need a goodbye, seeing as he didn’t bother to reach out to you after all these years - you’re not quite sure why you’re surprised he didn’t contact you after a good fuck only days ago. 

The first piece of clothing you try on is a cream dress with a black thin string around the high neckline. It ruffles at the sleeves and along the bottom hem too. Of course, there’s no mirrors inside of the change room so you must walk out to the VIP lounging area you were just in to get a view of the dress. 

“Looks lovely,” Harry says, catching you so off guard that you literally jump and hold onto your chest as your heart beats fast. 

“What are you still doing here?” you question, walking towards the mirror to fix the dress a bit. 

“Got some time to kill,”

“You don’t have time to kill, there’s no such thing as time to kill in your world,” 

“Our world, you mean,” he corrects you with a smug look. 

“Right, yeah, exactly,” you shake your head, “which is exactly how I know, cause I barely have time to try on these things, so there’s no way you have time to give me your opinion on them,” 

“Sure I do,” he shrugs, lounging back into the couch with another glass of champagne. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumble under your breath before turning back to walk into the change room again. “Leave, Styles,” you call back over your shoulders. 

You changed into the flowing black top with flower embroideries and a black and white patterned skirt that had a gold buckle acting as a fake belt. You definitely liked this outfit more, but it was less office wear and more ‘walking around London going to dinner with a hot...’ - your thoughts trail off as you walk back out and see that Harry hasn’t left. You roll your eyes, turning to the mirror to tuck the top into your skirt. Gazing into the reflecting, you see Harry’s eyes are glued to you. And there’s a familiar look, one that you can’t see right now or else you’d both end up naked in the change room. The sex - it can’t happen again.

“Fine,” you sigh and throw back hands up into the air while turning back around to face Harry again. “If you won’t leave, then I will,” you state. 

“Now who’s the ridiculous one,” Harry says. 

“Still you,” you say and narrow your eyes at him. 

You walk around the couch and pull back the curtain to find the sales person standing near by. The moment they see the determined look on your face, they quite literally drop what they’re doing to rush over. 

“I’ll take everything I have, I need to leave now,” you tell them before walking back into the room, passed where Harry still sat, and went to get changed. When you had finished getting changed and the clothes and such were brought out by the sales person. You took a seat on the now vacant couch and sipped some more champagne while awaiting for your sale to be rung up.

Your mind was racing a million miles an hour it felt like. Harry freaking Styles had done this to your once before, and now here he was in Gucci doing it all over again years later. Yes, you were a different person, but he wasn’t - and that wasn’t a good thing. That meant he still had the charm and the sultry looks and the way of knowing your body like no other man would ever know. He was irritating you now, haunting your thoughts every moment work wasn’t and that wasn’t going to cut it. Something had to be done - you just weren’t entirely sure what that something was.

“Ma’am,” the sales person comes back with your bill in hand. 

“Thank you,” 

“Your driver Michael is already bringing your things to the car, have a good day,” they smile once more after passing you the bill and walking off to continue their days work. 

You’re confused. You hadn’t paid a dime, hadn’t given her your card number or swiped it yourself to pay for your items. With your brows pulled tight together, you glance at the bill and see a hand written note at the bottom. But you first notice his name printed by ‘client’. Of course he paid for your things. You roll your eyes but then read over his note and end up biting down on your bottom lip. It made your damn heart melt.

‘used to love buying you Gucci, it was only right to do it again.. till next time darling x -Harry’

—

part 4

[shintorikhazumi]

Hikari No Jukyo (Dwelling PLace of Light Pt. 2

@croissantrose71 I will tag you forever with this fic xD Since this idea was super fun… and super dokidokinowakuwaku to write, I swear, I’m giddy and that’s not normal towards your own story. I think.

A/N: So...Hikari no Jukyo part two… festival and confession and going home… excitable Akko like old… Dokidokinowakuwaku

Dad interrogation? Maybe? Nah?

Maybe dianakko kiss goodbye? This is a messed up A/N: brought on by a sleepy student who just got free time from school. I’m sorry for spoilers… If this is how it ends up?

Ok, also… you guys noticed too, right? Akko’s waist is like… thin… like what? Then again, everyone’s is! And before you say ‘What about Jasna’, don’t even go there, coz you know I’m all about that bass. And this was irrelevant in so many ways.

I beg you, don’t expect too much. This might be horrible compared to chap 1 XD… and I’m honestly not laughing. I’m yawning and dead- dying, rather…

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Was it a dream?

-A tale of fiction, romance and drama interlaced, woven by a dream weaver’s thread to form a pattern for the figment of an imagination of a love-struck human being?

Diana hoped it was not. Wished it weren’t. Prayed it was all real.

And as she opened her eyes that morning, as she breathed in the fragrance of the flowers, felt the coolness of the morning brought on by the sea breeze, Diana Cavendish was capable of concluding that indeed, there was no mistaking it.

Each and every love-filled moment was her reality.

Loving Akko, and potentially being loved back was no false image on her part.

Every touch, every step, every word, every breath-

Every kiss…

It had all been real.

And if it still remained unbelievable, a thorn-less red rose- she didn’t care how it got there, accompanied by a card addressed to her, scribbled in the same neat calligraphy as the names the day before, lay right by her, the first things she’d ever see once she opened her eyes. This was a symbol of proof, of truth, of love.

Good morning, beautiful~ Enjoy your day! <3

The sender was so obvious and sweet, Diana felt giddy, her heart pounding hard so early into the morning as she took the rose, twirling it between her fingers, before bringing it to her lips, kissing the velvety petals, feeling totally in love.

She was ecstatic, very much so, but at the same time, incredibly embarrassed at how she had acted last night, as well as at all the exchanges she and Akko had done.

If any outsider were to come into her sleeping quarters at that exact moment, they’d find it comical: Diana’s frequent change in demeanor, from all happy and giddy, to flushed and embarrassed, face buried in her hands or a pillow.

Twenty minutes of rolling around, and a knock from Professor Ursula later, and the blonde heiress had made her way out of the smaller room, still in her night gown, head disheveled, and she, herself not in a state most were used to seeing her in.

The rest, already dressed for breakfast in casual wear as they were going to be enjoying the sun and waves later in the day, stared at her in surprise, the always punctual Diana Cavendish not yet ready for the day’s activities.

But there was something else they realized.

“Why are you so happy?” Sucy asked, visible brow quirked, slight amusement playing on her lips.

“I don’t know, am I?” Diana returned, feeling her flushed cheeks.

“You are.” Amanda deadpanned, arms crossed as the rest waited patiently.

“Then I am.” She giggled, grinning, an expression that made Amanda shiver, unaccustomed to such.

“Just go get ready for breakfast!”

 ~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

 Breakfast was composed of sneaking peeks across a long table, accidentally hitting each other’s chopsticks/silverware, some exchange of words, and a few eye-rolls from the audience as they watched the ‘couple’, Akko and Diana be total awkward messes in front of them.

Akko’s parents had their daughter’s visitors eat in the room where the family and servants ate, private and apart from all the other residents of the inn who dined in the general dining room of the place.

Akko and Diana had seated across from each other, with Amanda to Akko’s right, and Sucy and Lotte to her left; their teacher opted to sit next to the Cavendish girl.

After more fidgeting and tension between a certain pair, someone could not take it anymore.

“Can you just-!” Amanda, who was beginning to get annoyed, reached out to hold a hand each with her own to stop the fidgeting as she fixed them a stern glare. “Eat.” She commanded, and it seemed to have worked as breakfast settled into a more comfortable and calm atmosphere, nothing too special, but still a wonderful experience for them all.

That, and Ursula, Kentarou, and Akiko cried tears of joy from every bite they took from the god-given meal prepared by Akko for breakfast.

 ~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

 Two hours, and a dress rehearsal from Akko’s mom later, and the girls found themselves each in a set of swimwear, all owned by the inn for renting purposes, standing in front of individual body-length mirrors, each having their own reactions.

Of course, most reactions were of embarrassment as none of them had quite wanted to show so much skin if they were permitted to choose their own attire- the main reason why Akiko had stepped in, although Ursula and Akko managed to escape her clutches and chose something the older Kagari would write off as passing.

Lotte was wearing what most would have expected. A two-piece with ruffles that showed-off her slim midriff; a top and skirt. Cute just like her, and very innocent-looking.

Amanda, on the other hand, was the opposite, looking more adventurous, wild and free with her single short-sleeved top that exposed her fit waist, and short, fitting boy trunks.

Most had thought Sucy would be donning an old-school striped swimsuit, like those you saw in foreign movies, a one-piece akin to those that men wore, but due to Akiko’s vehement refusal to let the girls dress themselves in anything less fitting for their image, she ended up in a goth-ish one piece, part lace, with a flowing mini-skirt. Her hair had been fixed into a messy bun.

Ursula, despite having the best body, had chosen swimwear that resembled what surfers or divers would wear, because to her, she needed to be modest as a teacher- a choice that made Sucy and Akiko click their tongues in disappointment as the professor smiled helplessly. Still, the fitting suit hugged her curves quite well, and it left more to the imagination.

Akko had been heading to a separate room- her room, to be exact, to change, but she had managed a peek into the others’ changing room and caught a glimpse of Diana that sent an immediate rush of heat to her cheeks.

Clad in a modest, yet elegant looking swimsuit, Dian wore a two-piece, much like the rest of them, a strapless top, simple in design, yet it hugged the contours of her upper body, while she refused to wear just the bottom and covered up with a slit skirt that displayed a generous amount of her gorgeous leg.

The blonde looked herself over in the mirror, shyly, pink dusting her cheeks as she seemed to be muttering things about modesty, and about how her body wasn’t suited to such apparel, something Akko totally disagreed with.

Staring at Diana was becoming Akko’s habit as of late and the only way that she would stop admiring the other girl was if someone caught her in the act, usually teasing her to no end (Sucy).

It just so happened that the last person she wanted to see her, one who was not Diana or Sucy, spotted her, giving her a coy smirk as she raised a brow, nearing Diana as she was helping the younger complete her look, adding a single white lily behind her ear after pulling the heiress hair into a high ponytail.

Akiko winked at her daughter, who immediately did an about-face and shuffled to her own quarters to change, humiliated that her mom had caught her staring at the girl she liked.

She hoped she didn’t have a weird face on.

Unbeknownst to her, Diana had seen her through the mirror, and was now burning up in sheer embarrassment as her crush’s mother showered her with admiration and teasing words.

 ~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

 If the breeze felt from the room was nothing short of refreshing, it couldn’t top the burst of cool and relaxing the guests felt as they finally stood on the ryoukan’s private section of the beach, reserved only to guests.

The beach was a sight to behold, and to the natives, the addition of not only one, but five foreign beauties walking on their Japanese sand, made it all the more mesmerizing, especially with how they flaunted this beauty so candidly.

Of course, two people caught the most attention, a woman with a body nothing short of stunning, and a fair beauty, modestly clothed, exuding elegance.

But as jaw-dropping as they were, no doubt they had an aura of standoff-ishness. Like untouchable beings.

Diana breathed in the fresh air, and relished the way it combed through her curled tresses, the new source of freedom and stress-relief running in her veins. She had looked out into the vast ocean, admiring the sparkle in the waters as the waves rolled towards her, the sea beckoning her to swim.

But she was still waiting for someone to come out as that person’s servants informed her that they were still changing.

With their bags left to Akko’s father to watch over under his large umbrella and lounge chair, the girl’s proceeded to do anything as they wished for the day

Sucy had accompanied Lotte along the shoreline to pick up pretty shells and such, finding a mushroom shaped one with odd amounts of luck.

Ursula was stuck to watch Amanda as she yelled ‘Freedom’ and dashed off to splash in the water, the teacher frantically reminding her to stretch so she would not get cramps and such, and  to watch where she was swimming since it could be dangerous.

The red head had chosen to add more panic to her teacher as she declared she’d take part in a long distance swimming competition taking place just nearby, pointing to a registration booth a few meters away from where they stood.

It was supposedly a yearly competition, sponsored by the inn.

With no other choice but to follow, the teacher had found herself dragged into participating as well, already lined up and in position with the rest of the swimmers as the announcer pointed to a barely visible buoy about five kilometers away in the water, floating in its place serving as the turning point for the swimmers.

A few boats had been stationed here and there as well, in case of emergency.

Ursula sighed, wondering what she had gotten herself into as she wore the goggles and swimcap provided after registration.

Just as the gun start was about to blow, a brown figure, shouted wait, running as she announced a last minute entry, the crowds cheering at the sight of her, but Ursula had no time to check and confirm whoever it was, just that she had sounded familiar.

“All swimmers to your positions!” The gun had been held up high, everyone preparing themselves for the signal. “Ready… set… GO!”

And what some would see as a frenzy of splashes, much like fish, were actually the mixture of good and okay swimmers, all racing their way to the top in this roughly ten kilometer- or so, race as was the usual distance for these things.

Ursula could only manage a small amount of her awareness for the rest of the competitors, as she was more focused on watching Amanda, who she had accidentally overtaken a moment ago and was now swimming beside, somewhere at the head of the whole group, just behind that brown bundle they had seen earlier.

Though the said bundle was pulling away from them faster, already leading this whole fray as she reached the turning point first, tapping it and turning back, Ursula only managing a small glimpse, and nearly swallowed salt water as she gasped in recognition, now exasperated that she had to keep an eye on, not one, but two of her beloved students.

-But more on Amanda since her movements were getting slightly sloppy which was worrying if it was due to her getting tired.

Needless to say, by the end of the long distance swim, Amanda stood proudly on the little platform stage of the beach, managing to snag fifth place thanks to her athletic ability (plus pure luck), though she was looking quite exhausted, while Ursula stood at third, a bronze medal on her neck, as she didn’t look the least bit out of breath, shocking the two male competitors at either side of her at second and fourth place.

What was more surprising to the witches- all five of them, the rest of the trio having watched the performance, and not to the rest of the audience was the proud beaming of a brunette Japanese as she accepted the gold medal, humbly, waving at the cheers she received.

“So, Miss Kagari, how does it feel to win your third consecutive win this summer? I mean, after only receiving bronze or silver before it.” The announcer handed the mic to a dripping Akko, jovial in her win and looking refreshed rather than tired.

“Of course, it’s awesome! And it really tells me my hard work was worth it.”

The words Akko spoke… it seemed she was referring to other things, not only in swimming.

Ursula felt like tearing up. She would wait patiently for the day Akko would be able to say that about her studies in magic… She’d wait patiently. She knew it would happen. She was so sure.

That girl was a miracle in her life.

And now, there were more people to support her. She could do it.

All her hard work would be worth it.

 ~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

 After claiming their prizes, they had a regroup, but Akko was now walking shyly, using Ursula as a shield to hide from a certain blonde.

Earlier, Diana was far too mesmerized by the brightness of Akko’s joy that she hadn’t paid much attention to the girl’s swimwear. But now, now that she had been given enough time to take a good look, steam could be seen pouring out of her ears, as she tried, and failed to avert her eyes so many times.

“Wow Akko! I didn’t know you could swim so well!” Lotte gushed over the gold medal, praising her friend for this surprising ability.

“I guess I joined a couple sports teams before entering Luna Nova. It just so happens that swimming was one of my favorites.” Akko grinned bashfully, happy to show that she was good at something at least. “Well, my hard work paid off and now… well I’m a bit good at it.”

“A bit?” Amanda chuckled, slinging an arm around Akko, bringing her out from behind their teacher, and shaking her, before releasing her as she met Diana’s gaze that had trailed after her arm. “You were awesome!” She chuckled, avoiding the heiress’ eyes. “Like you really are super fit, no wonder your body’s like that, handling all those falls back at school.” The comment was said with good intentions, and was accepted with such.

“That was quite the feat, Akko.” Ursula smiled at her pupil who smiled back.

“You were cool too, sensei!”

“You really have a real fit body.” Sucy commented. She then saw Diana walking away for a while from their group towards Akko’s dad who had been standing nearby with their bags as she grabbed some cloth, from what the one-eyed witch could decipher.

“Thanks, Sucy… Sucy?” Akko replied embarrassed at the comment, but then confused as her friend was no longer talking to her.

“Ah, yeah.” She turned her attention back to the group just as Diana had started coming back. Looking Akko over again, she whistled. “Yeah… you really do have a very good, fit body…” She grinned, making sure her voice was loud enough to be heard by someone before turning to the targeted blonde. “Right, Diana?”

“Wh-what is it?!” She glared, daring Sucy to say anything teasing.

“Nothing, I was just wondering if you had anything to tell Akko since you seem to be looking at her weirdly, like in an annoyed way?”

Akko felt like she had received a punch to the gut at the news.

Diana was annoyed with her? Why?

“Well, yes- no! Akko, no I don’t mean it in such ways, what I mean is…” Diana let out a huge breath, stepping closer to Akko, keeping her gaze leveled with appropriate places. She dared not look down.

Akko shivered at the contact of Diana’s hands momentarily with her skin, before she was draped with a light blue shawl, contrasting the color of Diana’s cheeks.

“I just wanted to know… did you really swim in that?’’ She asked, referring to Akko’s swimsuit, the compromise she had decided on with her mom. This elicited a blush from the girl, as she held the shawl tighter around her frame, nodding in gratefulness for Diana’s concern as she did not trust her tongue at the moment.

Her red swimsuit was a black two-piece with red accents, her top almost resembling a sports bra, but with thinner straps, and her bottoms looked to be a skirt, a very short fitting one, but Akko assured that she was wearing swim shorts underneath.

“How chivalrous~” Sucy teased, going a bit closer to Diana to poke her. “And they say Chivalry is dead.”

“That is… well if the person you… l-lo-like-“ Diana caught herself, she wouldn’t say those words… not until later tonight. “… of course you wouldn’t want others to see them like that. Th-that is the sole reason you portrayed me as annoyed. I respect Akko, and I respect her choices, but it also means I respect her body and hope she’d be more mindful. I want her to know that.” She told the brunette indirectly.

Their eyes met for a brief moment before both averted their gazes, as Sucy shrugged, now suggesting they go grab something to eat since it was nearly lunch time. Diana and Akko were thankful for the change in topic.

“We didn’t get to hang out and play together much because some people-“ Akko and Amanda gulped. “Decided that they’d much rather go racing.”

“Sorry.”

After apologizing, both stomachs rumbled and the group shared a laugh, as Lotte led the way towards a beach house nearby that served meals, and everyone followed behind her.

Akko’s dad was waving them over from the entrance, his task of watching the belongings taken over by a different servant, as he shouted that lunch was going to be his treat.

As Diana was about to follow as well, a hand tugging on her skirt stopped her.

Sparing a glance, she saw Akko’s still flushed face, mirroring hers.

“Th-thanks, Diana. For being so thoughtful.”

“You are most welcome.” Diana smiled, this time waiting for Akko to start moving so that they could walk together, but the girl was still glued to her spot, prompting Diana to raise a brow. “Akko? Is something wrong?”

Her other brow soon joined the first as she was left wide-eyed, the brunette braving herself and grabbing the heiress hand, and pulling her in to land a kiss on the other’s cheek before running in front of her, not releasing their joined hands and ended up dragging Diana all the way to the beach house, wondering what excuse they could give for how red their faces were… again.

Sunburn, perhaps?

 ~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

 The afternoon passed quickly enough, nothing more than a few games such as splitting watermelons, making sand castles (Sucy and Amanda created such realistically horrific creations.), and taking naps, were the happenings that took place.

Akko was laying on her side, curled up into a little ball with Diana’s bag as a makeshift pillow. The heiress offering it since there was nothing more than a towel and a few clothes inside, and it was softer in comparison to the leather pack Akko was using.

The blonde was sat just beside the sleeping girl, hand occupied, one flipping the pages of a book, while the other combed through the brown tresses of the girl who kept inching closer to her every minute and had attempted to hug Diana’s knees more than a few times.

The rest enjoyed their last few minutes, just sitting on the shore, close enough to the water that the waves could reach them as they watched the sinking sun.

Diana sighed in contentment.

The day was far too enjoyable that she would fear it all to be a mere dream, but with every breath- and snore, from the dear beside her, she felt each moment crystalize and embed into her mind that nothing could be fake or fabricated as long as Akko was with her.

“Diana…” She murmured, a smile tugging at the brunette’s lips as her arm went back to hugging the area around Diana’s knees. And this time, the blonde didn’t remove that warmth.

 ~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

 “Thanks for the ride, Ryuu-chan!” Akko exclaimed as her passengers got down from the car one by one after dinner and getting ready for the main event of the night, the festival.

Ryuunosuke, the driver, gave an embarrassed grunt in return, trying not to meet his master’s gaze as she used his pet name once more.

As he had been the one out of all the servants to spend the most time with the Young Miss, it was no wonder they were close. Still, he had yet to get used to the nickname.

“Please call me, Ryuunosuke, Atsuko-oujosama.”

“Ryuu-chan…” Akko warned, and the man groaned, rubbing the back of his head as he conceded.

With his best smile, he took off his usual shades, bent down to her eye level and patted her head.

“Take care, Akko.”

“Thanks. Bye-bye Ryuu-chan!” She waved, shutting the car door as the vehicle drove away, leaving the ladies to stand in awe at the grandeur of the celebrations.

“Everyone really looks really amazing! Like really!” Akko gushed for the –nth time since they had changed in their rooms.

“Akko, you’ve told us that so many times. And again, thank you… but stop. Amanda can’t handle being called beautiful for too long.” Sucy grinned, entering her teasing mode.

“Shut it.”

Amanda, with her hair combed neatly, was clothed in a refreshing minty grin yukata with violet flowers printed on, a similarly-colored belt to match.

Sucy wore one in purple with a yellow sash, while Lotte wore a yellow one with a purple sash, the designs of the kimonos matching nicely.

Ursula had been given a fiery red one, hints of orange and yellow made up for a gradient looking regal robe. It had the look of autumn and fire. Her hair was pulled into a braided bun, held in place by chopsticks.

Akko turned to the last, but certainly not the least of her visitors.

Now Diana… she was quite the sight to behold. Akko had her eyes stuck to the british descendant, in a pale blue, sparkling Kimono with the theme of winter and snow, her hair pulled to one side, bangs pulled back as well and ended in a loose side-bun of sorts, the lily flower back in her hair.

Akko’s mother had put make-up on all of them, just for fun, and it certainly did wonders in enhancing Diana’s already gorgeous features.

Her cheeks were healthy looking, and her high cheekbones had been accented, her lips were made to look even more delectable than usual, and the blue diamonds she called eyes, popped out.

She was the picture of grace and beauty, and strength and a lot of things that Akko had running through her mind, all summed up in one thought.

“Beautiful.”

It was an unconscious reaction, but everyone could agree with Akko’s statement as the admired Diana’s form in Japanese traditional clothing.

“Thank you.” Diana said in a near whisper. She gazed at Akko, also dressed for the occasion, and felt pleased with how the girl looked, so fitting in this setting. It was still quite the pleasant surprise to see her not dressed so gruffly or casually, and look the part of a young lady. “You look absolutely arresting as well. I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

And again, the rest agreed, taking the time to view Akko, dressed in Sakura-themed clothing that faded into red at the bottom, depicting the change in seasons from spring to summer. Akko had her hair loose and gathered at one side, bangs held back by pins, and away from her usual style.

“Can-Can you guys just stop staring? I’m not used to it either, okay? Looking like this.” She tugged at the edge of her sleeve.

“I surely do not mind getting accustomed to such.” Diana spoke up with an appreciative smile. “I’d very much like to see such a beautiful sight every day... if possible.” She scratched her cheek, now feeling shy after all her honest words.

“I-I-“ Akko tried finding a suitable reply as Lotte watched on with excitement, as if reading a volume of nightfall, and a scene was happening in real life. “I’m not too good with dressing myself up, though. And not too comfortable either.” She said, the last part quieter than the rest. “Will that still be okay?”

“What do you mean?” Diana seemed genuinely confused as her honest feelings kept resurfacing. “As long as I see you, there will not be such problems.” Akko looked at her curiously. “What I am trying to remind you of is that I’ve said it before, haven’t I? You are the most beautiful thing I have ever set my eyes on, and I will only ever look at your beauty.”

“Diana…”

“Akko.”

“How bold.” The poison-brewer snickered, ruining the moment as Lotte cried out her name, thinking of how much a waste it was since the atmosphere between the pair was so good.

“Shall we?” Akko beckoned with a smile to everyone, but only directing her gaze to Diana.

“With pleasure.”

 ~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

 The mood had been set. The night was young, moon up in the cloudless sky, as the stars were barely visible from the lights of the bright festival grounds, traditional festival music heard from all around, blending with all the hustle and bustle. Stalls lined the street, various attractions and games, snacks and meals being sold along the long road.

Akko and her guests wandered around through the sea of people, careful not to get separated from each other in the huge population of festival goers.

Despite their cautiousness, bumping into other people in this crowd, or losing sight of one another, even though it might only be for a moment, was always unavoidable as the tourist group found themselves looking at the usual sheepish, clumsy Akko, bowing in apology to an older man, somewhere in his early twenties, a college delinquent perhaps, as he held a now empty container of what was supposed to be blue Hawaiian shaved ice.

“Gomenasai… hontonii sumimasen deshita!” Akko repeated the bowing gesture, eyes tightly shut as she was ashamed to have shown this clumsy nature to her guests though they were well accustomed with it.

“Tsk.” The guy glared at first glance towards the prostrated girl, but as he took in her features, Diana saw the change in his countenance, one she did not fancy.

Ursula gripped Diana’s shoulder in a nervous way once the man had opened his mouth, speaking things to Akko and translating to the blonde, as she was the only one truly fluent in Japanese among the foriegn group.

“Diana… he’s telling Akko that there are other ways she can compensate for what she did.” The professor whispered as the girls eyed the male and the rest of his posse warily, Diana stepping in a bit closer.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you mean.” Akko replied in Japanese, possibly realizing what was going on, and deciding to feign ignorance as she had been taught, and trying her best not to appear intimidated by the dangerous glint in the male’s eyes. “I need to go, but I really am sorry for bumping into you. If you need money to replace that, I’d gladly pay for it.”

“Do you think the money was the issue? You embarrassed me, miss.” The man moved closer, prepared to grab the brunette’s wrist. “You will undo the embarrassment by letting me return the favor, but don’t worry, it will be in a more pleasurable way.”

Diana felt her face contort into an angry expression as she tried to reach Akko before the man could touch her with her filthy hands.

“Come ‘ere-“

-But she was beaten to the punch, well slap, as Amanda stepped in, hitting the man’s hand away.

“My friend said she was sorry.” The redhead glared into his eyes. “And she was kind enough to offer a reasonable compensation.”

Though the boy could not understand the different language, he felt as if he could sense what she was saying.

Amanda turned to Diana as she pushed the wide-eyed Akko close to her, almost in an embrace, as they quickly stepped away at the proximity.

“You forgive her right?” Amanda’s glare was one to be feared as she stared the man down, someone taller than her by at least five inches.

A woman’s voice sounded from in front of him, translating those words for him to understand.

He nodded, wondering why he was so intimidated by a highschool-looking girl. Sensing something else behind her, his eyes drifted and landed on a fiery red, hidden behind the rims of glass, looking like death, ready to consume him.

“Right?” Amanda pressed, going up in his face, hand pushing his chest back. “I can’t hear you.” She whispered threateningly.

“H-hai! W-wakatta yo… kuso...” He raised his hands in defense, now backing off.

“Great.” Amanda gave a sweet smile before it twisted into a scowl. “Now piss off.”

Sucy clapped at the first-class entertainment as Lotte thanked their teacher and inquired with Amanda and Akko if they were both alright, the latter giving a soft affirmative, while the other teen raised her thumb proudly, wide grin on her face.

Diana, however, felt disappointed as she was not able to take action right away, her worry must have been holding a part of her frozen as she was rendered helpless, watching the scene unfold.

Akko had gotten in trouble again, and as she was usually the one to swoop in and rescue the girl- in varying situations, it seemed that things were different this time around, different in the sense that her feelings toward Akko had become stronger and were enough to grip her with fear for the other.

“Don’t be so down, princess.” Amanda spoke with a low voice that only the heiress could hear as she passed by her, ready to go in front as Ursula decided she’d take the lead and find a spot for them in time for the fireworks. “You may not have been able to do something earlier, but you certainly can now.”

“?”

“I just felt the need to step in ‘cause Akko is my friend. And so are you. If it was hard, then I got your back. No need to ask for help. That’s what friends are.”

Blinking away her negative thoughts, she stared at the lean back of the person she constantly bickered with, suddenly grateful to any god for such loyal friends.

Diana would have thanked her if she hadn’t already scurried to the front, assisting Ursula in looking over other people’s heads as they were taller than the rest, Sucy and Lotte also moving in front of the red-blue pair, following closely behind their teacher in order to offer some semblance of privacy.

Diana really was grateful.

But now, she was left to look at a shaken and slouched figure of the person her heart longed for, making it ache in a different, less favorable way.

“Are you okay?”

The girl nodded, but still seemed upset. “I was hoping to be a good host and show you a good time, but I just did the opposite. I made you all worry, and Amanda and Ursula-sensei mad.” She sounded as though she might cry, and Diana felt her throat run dry. “I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked.

Swiftly, the prodigious witch, managed to recover her voice, wanting to make everything better, not wanting to have another setback tonight.

After all, it was going to become special.

“H-here” Diana held out her hand to Akko, not wanting to be pulled apart from the other girl lest she get lost. Truly no ulterior motive. Maybe.

Akko gave her hand a glance and then offered an appreciative smile, reaching her hand out to grab it, bringing it close to her face before planting a kiss on Diana’s fingers as she turned the color of her love’s eyes.

“I-If it is of any help, we can stick together… unless you prefer crashing into more people.” Diana tried to be sarcastic, as Akko giggled at the failed attempt on the blonde’s part. “This way you won’t have to worry about me and keep turning around to check on all of us… A-and… I did ask you to hold my hand last night… and smile at me.”

Their faces were sprinkled with pink as they recalled the previous night, Diana glowing more and more, a shining red. In her shyness, she attempted to turn her face away, but gentle fingers caressing the side of her cheek and prompting her to face Akko again, made her brave the embarrassment.

She found her wish granted as Akko showed her a bright smile, one of her favorite sights in the world. Diana’s hand felt warm as it was squeezed tightly by Akko’s free one, her heart in the same situation, warm and thumping, in the palm of the usual mischief-maker’s hand.

“Thank you~.” The girl sighed, leaning forward to brush their noses against each other, even if she had to stand on her toes to do so, Diana standing a good few inches taller than her. “You’re absolutely, a hundred percent right. This is a date after all, isn’t it?”

The blonde could only nod, tongue-tied and mesmerized by Akko’s tender gaze.

“Hey, love birds. Now, don’t go getting lost on us or anything.” Sucy teased as the said pair was made aware of their current situation that the rest of their companions had been waiting for them patiently to follow as to not be apart and add more mishaps.

They both stepped a part, only a tiny bit, nodding as their blushes remained nearly permanent on their faces after so many returns.

They continued their festival adventure, stopping by stalls every once in a while to taste new food, and try their skills at various games, winning a few prizes along the way.

And the whole time, no matter what they did, neither Diana nor Akko released their joined hands.

 ~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

 Akko felt her phone vibrate in her small pouch as she chewed on some takoyaki that Diana had fed her. With her free hand, she dug her bag for it and saw the alarm blinking back at her telling her it was almost time for the fireworks- maybe in about twenty minutes.

Akko was glad she had thought to prepare early to take everyone to her special viewing spot and now tugged them along through the crowds again, leading them out and up a twisting road that led to the top of a hill.

It was a fairly long trek, about fifteen minutes up a poorly lit path, Akko helping Diana every step of the way, but after turning a curve, the witches found themselves looking over an expanse of festival lights, a glowing sea with twinkling stars above, and fresh clean air.

It was a jaw-dropping sight.

There was something akin to a balcony or terrace by the edge, stone benches lining the border and everyone had taken seat. Well, Amanda wanted to stand by the railings.

“So Akko, why are we in this deserted place?” Sucy, blunt as ever, asked.

“You’ll thank me soon enough. After all,” She grinned, hearing the sounds of countdown, before a brighter color of light flashed right before them. “These are the best seats in the house!”

She laughed good-naturedly at the entranced state of her guests as Lotte squealed in wonder at all the fascinating lights, the rest being more quiet in their admiration of the light show.

Even Akko was captivated, no matter how many times she’d seen them, they’d never fail to spirit her away into an enchanted state.

There was one person, however, who wasn’t bedazzled by all the glowing lights, but rather, she was bewitched by the beauty beside her.

Out of reflex, she had squeezed the girl’s hand, Diana watching Akko, cheers and all, like a child, sweat forming on her brow, hair sticking to her neck and face, with that smile that was beautiful as ever.

She was just absolutely breath-taking. And Diana would admit that over and over again.

With the attention far from them, Diana firmed herself, deciding it was the time. Now was the time.

In the most subtle way, she called for Akko’s attention, her hand squeezing Akko’s and tracing her thumb over the back of the brunette’s while whispering her name.

It was a miracle the Japanese girl could hear her with all the booms and bang, but her ruby reds had granted Diana her undivided attention, looking slightly confused, but hidden in that was anxiety and anticipation for what she was hoping was it.

“Diana? What’s wrong?” She tried her hardest to keep her voice leveled and composed, despite her excitement.

“Akko I’m ready.”

Akko had smiled for her, held her hand in the festival, keeping her end of the deal. It was high time Diana did her share.

And those words were enough to make the girl’s heart come to a complete stop, only to start racing so fast, it was almost painful.

This was it.

Diana’s confession.

With a nod, she signaled the other to proceed, no longer having the strength to speak, as their hands linked tighter, gripping so hard they turned pale.

“Akko… for quite some time… I have been watching over you. And earlier on in our knowing one another, we did not exactly get along. But I was always drawn to you for some reason.” Diana began, swallowing a lump in her throat. “I’ve realized I’ve held you in a different regard… After a while I realized it was love. And now, it’s our second year in Luna Nova. We’ve grown closer… I know we have.”

Akko nodded, urging the other to keep going.

“We have spent more and more time together. Tutor sessions, partnerships, library rendezvous?” Diana giggled bashfully. “And to tell you the truth, I embraced them all so closely to my heart. They were the best experiences of my life.”

Diana took both of Akko’s hands in her now, facing each other.

“I don’t think I need to say more… because all the words in the world wouldn’t amount to any of my feelings for you so… Akko…” It was coming, and Akko braced her heart for it, as did Diana, eyes tightly shut, hands shaking in nervousness, “Would you do me the honor of becoming my one and only? My first and last… because I doubt I’d find or even need someone that’s not you.”

There was no response, and a painful void filled Diana as she slowly opened her eyes.

And a more gut wrenching sight was shown to her.

Akko had begun crying.

“Akko?!” She asked worriedly, now thinking if she had gone wrong somewhere. She was about to release their hands when the brunette spoke up.

“N-No! Diana, Ahahahaha…” She took a moment to wipe away her tears. She then gave a smile that split from ear to ear. “It’s just…You sound so serious. Almost like this is a proposal.” Akko giggled, informing Diana that those were tears of joy, and never sorrow.

“It might as well be.” Bashfully, Diana tightened her grip again, not being able to meet Akko’s nervous gaze.

“D-Diana?”

Was she really saying something like this? Such a commitment to Akko; was it something she, Diana, was okay with having?

“I reiterate… Kagari Atsuko. I don’t care if someone says they are better. I don’t care if we get into messes… especially when they are caused by you.” Diana had started, playing with their joined hands, swinging them side to side. She needed Akko to know this.

“Hey!” She received a playful hit for the last bit, causing her to smile.

“I will mind when we fight, but I will always try to make up with you because…”

“Because?”

Deep breath.

“To me, you are the best. Whatever problem, together or alone, we’ll just have to go over it together. We might fight but I will never allow such things to break or come between us… I won’t find or need anyone else. Just you. My one and only.”

Akko felt a fresh wave of tears come back as one of her hands slipped free from Diana’s, and went to cover her mouth, muffling the cries of happiness, despite them not being heard anyway due to the still ongoing fireworks.

Diana was ready. Far too ready. Her emotions now too strong to hold back any longer.

“Kagari Atsuko, I love you. SO, so much. Everything I said, and will say and do is my love for you.” Finally the blonde says ‘I love you’. She lets out all her feelings in those words, words that she swore not to use until now. Words reserved for this special moment. Reserved because they were far too special to just be thrown about. 

They were words that could only be spoken to her world.  She now poured those words out.

“No fair.” The Japanese witch muttered, once her hiccups had died down, wiping away her tears on her sleeve.

“Whatever do you mean?” Diana asked, trying to make sense of things.

“I didn’t get to tell you anything like that! I can’t think of words to say. I don’t know how to put my feelings into words…I’m not good at that, but I want you to know how much I love you too.”

Diana felt so much warmth encompass her at that revelation. Akko’s reply, her feelings. Though the blonde had already known they held mutual emotions for one another, hearing them expressed out in the open was too good to be true.

She smiled, knowing how to respond.

“I already know.” She reassured. “I don’t need too many fancy wordings, Akko. All I have ever longed for was for my reciprocated feelings. I know. I feel your love. So you don’t need to say anything.”

“But still-!”

“Then show me.” Diana cut in boldly, now claiming a deeper blush. “Show me Akko.”

The said girl’s breath hitched in her throat as her freed hand was now lifted, shakily reaching for Diana’s face.

“Show me how much you love me.”

It was almost a dare. And Akko loved a challenge.

Akko leaned in to initiate, hand cupping Diana’s cheek. Their breaths mingled for a few seconds, nerves all over the place, and with one last look of confirmation, Akko pushed through to meet her love’s waiting lips

The kiss started slow, Akko’s hands moved along Diana’s face in a teasing caress with nails raking over the blonde’s cheek and neck. Every inch of skin she touched left a burning feel in its wake.

The blonde gasped as she felt her counterpart run her tongue testingly against her bottom lip, to which she responded to by opening her mouth the slightest bit before her lips were ravished by the other.

Akko loved the addicting taste, immediately deciding that Diana tasted sweet, a refreshingly sweet taste, more delectable than the nectar and ambrosia consumed by the gods themselves.

Diana thanked the gods they were seated, for her legs were far too weak after that mind-blowing kiss.

They parted to allow a few breaths of fresh air for their lungs.

The speakers from below blasted the words of the announcer into the night air. The next set of fireworks would be the last. Diana slightly regretted not being able to watch them, though the fire burning in Akko’s eyes were far more interesting than those.

“Where… did you…learn to do that?” She asked between puffs of air, as her forehead was now leaned against Akko’s. Her lips pulled into a breathy smile, as her eyes remained close, hearing her heart drum louder than the beat from the festival, and feeling every heartbeat pound through her entire system.

“Practice?” She replied, feeling silly.

“What? With who?” Diana almost felt betrayed, if it weren’t for Akko’s adorable giggles, and sheepish demeanor.

“My pillow.”

The two of them stayed like that a minute more, sneaking a glance at their companions who were still taken in by the final set of fireworks that now started.

Diana let Akko’s hand go, before drawing closer and clinging to the front of her host’s robes, her ear positioned against the girl’s chest as she listened to a similar heart to hers, running so fast as she felt so safe and warm as Akko wrapped an arm around her.

“I’m happy.” Diana whispered.

“W-well I am too.” Akko replied, her hold tightening.

“Hehehe…” With a giggle, Diana shifted her head to look into eyes she loved so much. With all her sincerity and feelings, each and every little or large thing she felt for the girl, before, now and ever, she poured into words she’d be saying for years to come.

“I love you.”

Akko felt her heart go wild, hand now reaching to tilt Diana’s chin up, eyes filled with an intense gaze as she stared Diana down. The blonde was being far too cute right now, and Akko’s emotions towards her were not helping in the slightest to quell her desperate urges to just smother the heiress in all her love.

“Can I… kiss you… again?” She looked for much needed permission.

With a lift of a brow, almost as if she were saying ‘are you really asking that?’, Diana lifted a hand, snaking it around Akko’s neck before it rested on the back of the brunette’s neck, paying with loose strands of hair as she pulled her ever so close.

“Be my guest.”

The moment was magical, the final display of light becoming their background. The sounds were all drowned out by their synchronized hearts, soaring and singing as their lips moved as one.

At that moment, Diana realized one thing. One interestingly amusing fact, but also endearing, so much so that she’d never forget it a day of her life. Though she doubted she’d forget anything when it came to matters Akko.

She realized it.

The Inn wasn’t the only Hikari no Jukyo, not the only dwelling place of light.

The one who held the light of Diana’s life, who made her feel warm inside. Her own dwelling place of light,

-Akko was her “Hikari no Jukyo”.

As they separated, the brunette giggled, breathing in puffs of air, fireworks going off behind them, but everything was silent to them, only seeing, hearing, and feeling each other as they nuzzled, forehead to forehead, nose to nose.

The lights slowly dimmed, as the remaining sizzles dissipated into the young morning.

A new day, a new light. A new experience, a new place, a new emotion, a new heart.

The inn, Hikari no Jukyo. Her love, her personal dwelling place of light that held all the warmth she’d ever need in her life.

Even if she left, Diana knew, in this place, she’d always be safe to return, greeted by the exact same words she’d hear tonight, over and over again as many times as she could. For as long as she would live.

Akko offered one last smile, planting a kiss on her forehead as they stood up, ready to head back home, back to that Inn. To the place that had arms open wide. Diana would return to it, to the arms that beckoned her in, always home.

She knew she was welcome.

Leaning close to Diana’s ear, Akko managed a whisper that would forever be engrained in Diana’s mind.

“Welcome, my love, to Hikari no Jukyo.”

 A/N: That… was bad. Well, Guess what? There might be a following chapter featuring the going home. Since like… uh… I still want to see a Jasna and Constanze who followed up and Akko’s mom fawning over the little girl. Should I? Tell me! And I have whole cute scene planned out in my head!

Did you enjoy? Like it? Nah? Reblog? Review? Thanks!

~Shintori Khazumi

[wildcardwriting]

Caught in a Loop #1

[Katekyo Hitman Reborn]

Next Chapter | Caught in a Loop on AO3

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: He's been stuck in a loop, living his life over and over again. But maybe this time he'll get it right. GEN.

Warnings: Cursing, mafia, some darker themes... You have been warned.

Capitolo Uno: Rise and Sigh

Tsuna opened his eyes at the sound of his alarm clock, a continuous annoying sound, that he never managed to wake up to during his first run, and destroyed every time after. It had been a gift from Iemitsu so he could count the days till his next visit, or something or other, but to Tsuna it was trash. He shut the damn thing off and tossed it in the bin, glancing around sleepily, as he took in the sight of his old, familiar (and very dirty) room.

It was still the same with its posters of random things, and its used furniture, as well as the piles of schoolwork laying everywhere. It hadn't changed a bit, since his last repeat, which meant only one thing.

He was still stuck in a loop.

Tsuna groaned.

"You did it again," He said under his breath, feeling the warmth from Natsu on his finger, and a soft laughter in his ears.

The bed squeaks under his small weight as Tsuna slides off and onto his feet, stretching his limbs with a sleepy yawn. He remains in place for a minute, thinking of his last repeat, thinking about his death and his return to life. Another sign escapes his lips, this time of pure tiredness, as he starts going through the motions of getting ready.

Newly arrived or not, there's school to go to (the thought of which bores him beyond words), and soon enough his mother will be up making breakfast.

He slips off his pajamas, a school of tunas, his mother deemed cute and dresses himself neatly, a grace in his footsteps, that only came from hundred of hours of Reborn's torture, and sidestepping the occasional misdirected attack of either Kyouya or Mukuro, before turning his attention to irritating state of his room.

Unlike the extreme cleaning nature of Ryohei or the obsessed compulsive attitude of Hayato, Tsuna had gotten used to a neat environment, both for its easy management and for its quick escape routes. He tends to have fewer bruises if he gave Reborn less to work with.

Picking up the loose piles of papers from all over the floor, as well as ruffling through the mayhem of his desk, he threw all of it into the bin, shoving dirty articles of clothes into the laundry basket, and his manga back into its place on his bookshelf. Later on, he'd have to move most of it, including the desk into the guest room, if he didn't want to be picking up wooden shards from the rug. Reborn was uncaring when it came to collateral damage. The low table would be enough for him.

Grabbing his bag from his bed post, Tsuna went downstairs glancing idly at the small, barely noticeable indention on the wooden floor where he landed those many times he fell down the stairs. Stepping around it lightly, he passes by, a small chuckle falling from his lips as he enters the kitchen.

Already, his mother is standing at the stove, turning some yakitori for his bento when he takes a seat, waiting for her to notice him. It's unnecessary for him to be so quiet, he knows, but he needs to start training this past form for Reborn's training as soon as possible.

"Oh, Tsu-kun." His mother says smiling brightly. "I didn't hear you come in." She says placing a large omelet in front of him before taking her own seat and starting to eat breakfast.

Tsuna follows suit, savoring the flavor of food that he's been denied for years since his mother died of cancer in the future-which-has-past. There's no conversation initially, but after a few minutes, his mother sees fit to start one.

"How's school?" She asks, placing her rice bowl onto the table, and picking up her fork, but all her attention is on him.

"It's been okay." He says, casually, finishing his omelet and moving on to the octopus sausages that have somehow made it to his plate but not his mother's. Almost like a bribe. "I understand the schoolwork better." He adds, seeing the sad glint in his mother's eyes.

She perks up almost instantly. "Really?" She presses almost unable to believe it, and Tsuna can't blame her for the disbelief. Nearly thirteen years of nothing but failing grades could wear down even the most optimistic of people.

"Yes." He reassures her, gently placing his chopsticks down. "I'll bring home my test." He says knowing full well there's a test today - there always is on the day he begins a new repeat - and raises to his feet.

He walks out, not missing the sun blindingly bright smile he receives in return.

XXxxxxXX

Outside, Tsuna begins the mind-numbing walk to school, as people, other students, and whatnot goes by him. He watches it with a mixture of nostalgia, and affection as he turns onto the main shopping street. It's still early, only a little past seven, and Namimori is waking up before his very eyes as shopkeepers begin stocking for the day ahead.

He moves on to the smooth surface of the sidewalk as on his right he nears Namimori Middle School. Out front, Kyouya - Hibari-san he reminds himself - is stocking the school corners, watching for misbehaving herbivores, as the school gates are opened to their full width.

Technically, class doesn't start until eight-ten, but students are already present for various reasons, for club and what not, so his cloud guardian is present to keep the peace, even though the teenager is more tired than anyone (barring Kusakabe-san) knows, and whose normally short temper is shorter than usual.

Unless, he acts.

A knowing, cunning smirk inches itself onto his face, as Tsuna turns, inches from the school gate, and back towards the shopping district. A devious plan in mind.

He neither sees nor hears the strange whispers that follow him as he walks off, a strangely determined glint in his eyes and purpose in his posture.

He had work to do.

XXxxxxXX

Hibari Kyouya, feared prefect of Namimori Middle School was at a loss. His entire morning had been normal enough, he bit some late herbivores to death, finished directing the rest of the Discipline Committee, and paroled the halls of his beloved school before class started.

So it was with vague surprise that when he entered the reception room, that he found a steaming cup of green tea and some rice balls waiting for him. His first thought was that it was one of the members of his committee, possibly Tetsuya, or that strange third in command Neshi, but both were more surprised than he was.

Besides his parents, both of whom were not in the country, and likely wouldn't be for the foreseeable future, no one else knew his favorite foods, or had the utter gall to invite themselves into his domain.

Faced with food coming from an unknown source, that was neither poisoned or tampered with, he set out to solve the mystery, turning to the cameras - although useful - to reveal the identity of his mysterious food-giver.

It came as yet another shock, when he saw a weak herbivore, short and with hair that stuck out all over the place, enter the reception room, and place the tea and rice balls down, pausing only to serve the tea properly, and cover the kettle, before walking out.

A full thirty seconds before he, himself had arrived.

A feat that was not only impossible, but improbable considering that he had seen no one near the Reception Room prior to his arrival, and the length of the hallway should have made the herbivore's presence visible.

But that hadn't been the case.

Reminding the video, he studied the small form, his mind drawing up a name from the scores of students attending Namimori Middle School.

"Sawada Tsunayoshi." He said, intrigued.

XXxxxxXX

The class was as boring as ever.

He flew through his test knowing he'd scored well, perhaps not in the range of Hayato, but high enough that his mother would be pleased before turning the page upside down, and glancing out the window.

There was still plenty of time until the test was over so no one would know or care if he spaced out a bit (much less Mr. Nezu sleeping behind his attendance book).

Tsuna turns his attention back to the blue sky, wondering idly how long it'll be before Reborn shows up. In his previous lives, Reborn typically made his appearance at the beginning of February, but there had been other times where he came as a late as September. It all just depends on when the Ninth made his decision and Iemitsu suggests him.

The last of which makes him frown.

He and Iemitsu had never been close. His father's involvement in CEDEF pretty much taking up all the time Iemitsu had for anything, even his own family, besides the rare times he could visit which was depressingly small.

For proclaiming himself a proud family man, Iemitsu was incredibly lacking, especially when he had the utter gall to throw him into the mafia without so much as a phone call.

Apparently, Iemitsu was under the impression that his own son was a lackey he could command.

Tsuna frowns and rubs his eyes, a line of tiredness etching itself into his body as he leans his face on one hand. His hair casting a shadow over his eyes, hiding the coldness and the bitterness within in their depths as he reflected on his incredibly lacking father.

Unlike the first time, Tsuna wasn't that meek, forgiving person he had been. He's not just going to stand by again and let his father walk over him. He hadn't for some time, and he doesn't plan to start now. He knows what a true family is, and Iemitsu has helped him gained that, but he's also the one who endangered them and endangered his mother. And that's something he can never forgive.

Father or not.

Because a father is there for his family, both parts of it, not just one.

But it's an old argument, and one that's played out a thousand times, in a thousand different ways that Tsuna feels disconnected and tired from, even though the bitterness remains raw, and festering.

The bell rings.

Mr. Nezu jumps from his chair surprised, ordering sleepily that papers be passed up. Tsuna hands his sheet up, casually digging through his bag, and taking out his textbook for the next class. He swallows down the disapproval streaming below his skin and letting his breathing slow.

It takes a few seconds but he is calm again.

He watches as Mr. Nezu walks out of the room, and another teacher (the name is beyond him) enters and starts taking roll again before speeding through a lesson.

There was no point getting worked up about his father now, he thinks. The man was neither present nor going to be in Japan for a while, so until the Ring Battles begun so he could afford to relax, and think about other things.

Like the placement of his room and cleaning out the spare guest rooms.

The thought of which was bizarre for him still. There was no Reborn shooting at him, no paperwork, no fighting and no shouting, just a simple day, in a regular class absolutely devoid of the mafia in every single way.

And frankly, it was boring.

He couldn't wait until things got interesting.

Before the atmosphere shifts and a sadist, gleam enters Tsuna's eyes.

XXxxxxXX

Author's Note: Neither can we Tsuna, neither can we. For now though just setting the mood. Comment and we'll get back to you.

Until next time.

Next Chapter | Caught in a Loop on AO3

[eternal-bruh]

Why being caught in a Casual Loop is best to be avoided: I

Chapter 2

”Um..." Nami hesitated at the shocked look the sailor is offering her. He looks as if he is genuinely surprised that she can even speak in the first place. She knows the word, but she feels so crippled, not knowing how to speak this strange language and having doubts at each interaction that she will not be able to understand more than a few simple sounds at a time. But anyways, the navigator has to try if only to smother the overwhelming curiosity gnawing incessantly away at her. Because damn her and her curious personality, this request is the simplest and most rudimentary one in her line of work and she’ll lie if she’d say that she was not dying to know about it. Ever since they’ve been strapped here.

"... Map?"

Maybe because he is still shocked with her sudden sound-making ability or because she is damn intimidating, the man that seems to be barely three years older than her looks and looks. And her mind suggests as she shifts from foot and foot that he might be the one with the problem.

After two minutes that seem like years, he raises an eyebrow and considers her squirming form in return for a few more unnerving moments in which Nami wants nothing more than to yell for Robin's help. But she bites her lip at the last second, knowing that they, some way or another, have to find a way to communicate in cases like these by themselves. Not only rely on Robin’s albeit wider expertise in this area. The archeologist already has enough on her plate as it is, if her drooping shoulders basically every other moment of the day, are anything to go by.  

At long last, the shaggy haired guy nods and leaves to search for a map, presumably. Nami taps her foot impatiently and hopes that he didn’t leave her standing like an idiot in the middle of the deck for real. Blood will be spilled in that case, with or without knowing what he is screaming about.

Nami sighs in relief when she spots him making his way back to her position, an old looking piece of parchment in hand. She inhaled sharply when it is placed on the barrel in front of her and moves with trembling fingers to unroll it.

"What do you plan on doing with that map, young lady?"

Nami screeches and almost drops the map on the planks when an old, short woman pops up from the other side of the makeshift table, eyeing her with the most suspicious pucker of the lips the navigator has ever seen. And she has been a pirate and a scourge for long enough now. Her eyes widen to disbelieving proportions at the unimpressed, stern looking lady wearing a pair of large, round glasses and white hair tied up in a crisp bun. She looks so out of place on this ship, but somehow still fits in readily. It looks like she is waiting for an answer to whatever question has startled Nami earlier, but the navigator didn't catch a word of it.

"Nami, are you alright?!" Robin's breathless inquiry seems to give the strange lady all the answers she needs, but Nami could care less as she catches Robin’s arm in a death grip and swears to never let go.

"Strangers, huh?" She speaks more for her own benefit, though Robin nods anyway.

"She just wished to look."

The old woman waves a hand in dismissal.

"Yes, yes, I figured that out. It's fine!" She announces loudly to basically no one but the two of them, her eyes fixed on Nami's still disturbed form. "You. Can. Look." She adds deliberately slow.

The orange head purses her lips, trying in vain not to bristle at the tone of voice, but finally understands the message. This old bat is looking down on her, of course she should have seen that coming. She feels like a goddamn toddler, with no way to make herself understood even though there is a language she can speak. Nami knows that she'd be fighting a losing battle if she tries to argue. Toddler language against crazy stuff from the Void Century. Go figure.

"This is our navigator. She wanted to know who wanted the map." The sailor from earlier feels the need to explain himself, seeing as the Strawhats' own navigator is already pinning him under an accusing stare.

Nami exhales, swallowing her nerves and pointedly choosing to ignore the stare of the old woman as she works to smooth out the map and take a good look at it. What she finds has her eyes widening and her mind screeches to a halt for a second there because this just couldn’t freaking be and let’s be serious.

But this wide, fucked up world has convinced her that things can go either way at any second. Since it hasn’t blown up by now in their timeline, she has let herself believe that nothing quite like what they have encountered can possibly bring about this. This sort of rapture in their reality. Maybe shei being overly dramatic, but Nami guesses that maybe the world has already blown up right around now because this wasn't right. It couldn't have been right. Even if they got sent five hundred years into the past this couldn't have been slightly right. Not for this over the top, flipped around world. Not in what she used to call their world.

"W-W..." The word lodgead inside her throat doesn’t want to come out and it’s all for the better, a cynical part of her still working brain believes.

Robin bites her lip, trying hard not to give in to the tidal wave of desperation because Nami needs her as moral support and she can’t do that to her. But even the usually clear minded former assassin is having a hard time believing that this is the place called home in the future. Not knowing what to do, she calls out the first name to roll on her tongue.

"Chopper!"

The small reindeer has been exploring the strange ship's deck ever since they embarked, but pauses at the strange tone Robin has spoken in and follows it upwards in surprise. The dark haired woman is supporting Nami's shivering form, though she does not seem to be doing too well herself. Mind already whirling, the Zoan user enters his doctor mode automatically.

"What's the matter, Robin?! Do you need a doctor? Is Nami okay?"

Robin waves the string of questions away and answers shakily. "I need you to call everyone over here, please."

Chopper blinks, but nods nonetheless and sprints away to inform their friends.

"You look positively horrified." The old woman comments absently, judging them behind her grey, judgy eyes, Nami’s mind sneers. "Why?"

Robin's smile is awfully sour. "It a shock."

"Why?" The old navigator repeats her question as if just asking it will unlock some goddamn secret treasure chest. Nami would have known if this was the case.

The archaeologist chooses not to respond this time around and studies instead the lines of the map, trying to memorize everything she can.

"Nami-swan, Robin-chwan!" Sanji's shout breaks her concentration. The cook is watching them with clear written concern under his usual fool façade.

His stare manages to snap Nami out of her shocked stupor.

"What happened?" Franky bows over the group, looking at the map over their heads. "Somethin' wrong with the map?"

"Lots of things are wrong with the map!" Nami rasps, slamming her palm next to the piece of paper and successfully attracting everyone's attention.

"Can you read it to us, Miss Nami? I'm afraid I don't understand everything there..." Brook says softly, though he still manages to scare the crap out of the two standing on the other side of the barrel.

Nami sighs in frustration and ruffles her already disheveled locks.

"You see this?!" She jabs a finger at two jagged sets of parallel lines drawn vertically in the middle of the map, spread further apart.

"Uh-huh..." Luffy agrees as he rubs his chin in deep thought.

"This-" Nami's index finger contours the mass of land covering what is supposed to be half of East Blue in their time. "This isn't in our world!"

The echo of her exclamation leaves the colorful group in a grim silence, but the navigator can't be bothered by it. She is on a roll now.

"This land is connected to the Red Line itself. Well, it doesn't look too solid judging by the jagged lines that indicate possible ruptures of the land, but even so, how can it be?! And there're no islands! Look!"

The Strawhats eye their navigator warily. She seems to be so into it that she forgets to breathe for a couple of moments there. Chopper unknowingly releases a sigh in relief when he hears air whooshing out of Nami’s nose.

“But it looks-“ Zoro points at a few circular masses thrown like random dots on the ocean.

“Okay, there are a couple of them.” Nami grunts. She moves her finger downwards to South Blue. "This is the almost same. And North and West Blue, too!"

"But where is the Grand Line then?" Zoro insists impatiently. He crosses his arms, index finger tapping his forearm restlessly.

"It isn't marked with anything..." The orange haired woman stops and starts mumbling to herself. What she’s saying, only Nami herself knows.

"What sea... this?" The foreign words leaving Zoro's mouth take them all by surprise, but the small, old woman seems more indignant than perturbed. She watches Zoro from under the thick, black rim of her glasses and she seems to ponder if he is really worth giving an answer to.

Most of all, she raises an eyebrow at the rudimental way of speaking, but grudgingly approves that they at least know a little of the language. Though it seems at various degrees and only that black haired woman knows it best, but credit goes where it’s deserved. The old navigator's mouth pulls taut, not liking the strange group and their out of nowhere appearance on her boat. It is best they are left alone, especially after seeing the orange head's reaction to finding out what the old woman feels that is general information. Even for someone that has lived under a rock in the capital. These kids look the part. So why are they acting like surprised maggots when even provincials from the Outer Rim, like the village they were picked from would not find this so earth-shattering. But she also knows that whatever their business here is, they are now travelling under her care.

Actually, she has heard that strange language before and now whenever they speak it, it reminds her of dangerous lands and bad people. Dark places and overcast skies filled with smoke and ash from a thousand burning corpses and trees. Most of all, though, it’s the haunting vibes that would never stop bothering her for the rest of her life.

Even so, she decides that answering will be the best option in this case. Their faces are as white as the clouds on the sky and most look on the verge of passing out which will not be beneficial when there isn’t any real doctor aboard. She’d hate another death at sea to be on her hands.

"This is the Grand Blue. The one and only sea of this world."

It takes Nami two days to calm down and analyze the situation from an objective point of view. In that time, their ride passes swiftly through what should be the Calm Belt and enters the hypothetical Grand Line, making full speed towards the New World.

Or where the New World should be.

Though if any of them had any doubts that this is the same sea they have been travelling on until a short while ago, the often Sea Kings attacks and very rare, but still certainly there, illogical behavior of the weather convinces them otherwise quickly. Which is a short lived relief.

Unfortunately, it rapidly becomes a presence that serves to remind them of their own time, which to Nami seems like a far, far away dream even after such a brief span of time. And it makes her want to cry whenever the treacherous thought sneaks inside her mind.

"Nami-san, are you hungry?" Sanji startles her from her latest and depressive trail of thought. Light brown eyes glance up in quiet surprise at the soft smile the blond is displaying and her stomach doesn't hesitate to growl pointedly.

"It seems so." The navigator giggles quietly as she gratefully accepts the bun and small cooked fish. It isn't one of Sanji's most amazing masterpieces, but it will have to do. She barely remembers the last time she ate.

"I'm glad to see that you're back, Nami-swan!"

In all honesty, she should have expected this kind of reaction. But she is still surprised at how calm Sanji was when he's said it. This act in itself signals that something is on the cook's mind and Nami has no qualms about asking, desperately wishing to escape her own muddled head for a little while.

"Something wrong, Sanji-kun?" The orange head asks nonchalantly as she shoves a third of the bun in her mouth. Her gaze never strays from the blond and she watches Sanji's lips tighten into an ironic upturn.

"I suppose it's the same thing that's been keeping you occupied for two whole days.” He says. “Robin-chan has been fighting a losing battle with the old woman. She wouldn't show the map to us anymore."

Nami's mouth goes taut as she considers his words. A part of her really wants to inspect it further, but the other screams and trashes that it wants nothing to do with it anymore. She wishes more than anything to call this all just a bad dream and pinch herself on the arm until she wakes up. But it won’t work, of course. Nami may be a dreamer, but she isn't delusional. She can only continue to hope.

Heaving a shaky sigh, she munches on the rest of her meal quickly, unmindful of Sanji's advices to slow it down and stands up when she is finished. She pats away the dust on her jeans and glares at the shining disk on the sky with more determination than she had just ten minutes ago.

"Nami-san?"

"Mind helping me convince that stubborn crone?" Nami grins slyly and the cook mirrors her expression after a second’s hesitation.

"It will be my absolute pleasure!" Sanji intones in obvious delight as he shakes a cigarette from his pack and lights it up in one fluid motion that always managed to impress Nami.

The cook consider his choice to take a new package before disembarking on No Name Island has been his best one yet.

The duo maneuvers easily around the working sailors, spotting some of their friends along the way as they direct steady steps towards the main cabin’s doors. Nami does not hesitate to knock on the weathered wood three loud times before she takes a step back and crosses her arms, her foot automatically starting to tap an impatient rhythm on the ground.  

Her mental count is at 86 seconds when the old woman decides to throw the door open, face as unconcerned as ever. Her eyebrows draw up though, when she spots Nami's narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

"What is it now, girl? Haven't you had enough of moping around?"

Nami mostly understands the first part, but only catches a whiff of the main idea in the second. The question is, at least, one that she can answer.

"I see map again. Please?"

There is no answer as she has feared. She might have to start begging with gestures because she doesn't want to risk saying stupid things besides the word 'please', but Sanji chooses that moment to intervene.

"Please, miss Zahra." The cook insists politely and Nami doubles back at the form of address for which the old woman – Zahra, apparently – rewards him with her attention. "It is important."

"Why? What else do you want to see?" The older navigator asks catatonically. "Haven't you already seen enough?"

Sanji's eyebrow pulses, a sure sign that he is struggling to keep up with the sudden accelerated rhythm of conversation and Nami can sympathize with him on that matter. But otherwise he appears nonplussed by the words coming out of the old navigator’s mouth.

"Then you explain, please?" The orange head decides to tackle the subject another way.

"About islands and map." Sanji helpfully includes his two cents and Nami applauds inside her mind for their collaborative creativity. It seems that he has practiced speaking the language and got even better than her during her short seclusion from the world.

Zahra takes a minute to make her decision. Rubbing her temples, she turns to reenter her room.

"Gather your friends then."

Sanji grins victoriously and Nami winks at him before dashing around the deck in search of the others with the cook hot on her heels.

"This," Zahra begins, pointing to the irregular mass of land where the Blues are supposed to be, "continents."

"Continents." Robin translates for the benefit of those not knowing the word.

The old woman purses her lips at the horrid language, but does nothing to reprimand her.

"This is the only sea, Grand Blue." She contours the water.

"That is the Grand Blue, the only sea. What is this?"

Zahra's grey eyes barely acknowledge Robin's pointing finger, tracing it towards their time's Reverse Mountain.

"We call it the Gate. The capital has carved passages through it and created a way for ships like ours to enter the other parts of the Grand Blue. Of course, the continentals did not like it too much. Been having wars with them over it for centuries!"

"What'd she say, Robin?" Chopper asks curiously, having trouble understanding everything even after looking through Robin's notes.

"They call Reverse Mountain 'the Gate' and apparently the capital has created it to allow ships to travel to the other Blues, I suppose. There was something about a war with people from the continent." The archeologist taps her chin silently before another thought occurs to her. "Are there islands, too?"

Zahra scoffs. "Of course! But not many are known or are too important."

She moves her finger to punctuate along the ocean.

"The kingdom of Alabasta. Shandora, Wano, Dressrosa. Water's Seven and the capital itself." Her finger pats an accumulation of islands drawn as little, scattered circles, but otherwise unmarked. "Others are either not inhabited or discovered yet."

"Water's... Seven?" Franky chokes from the back, clutching Robin’s journal like a lifeline.

Zahra's eyes don't lose any time in fixing him up with a glacial beam. "That the name, blue hair."

"Maybe that's how they call it in this time." Usopp lifts his shoulders in a shrug, trying to offer a little support at the curious name. "Why that name?"

The old woman hesitates, apparently judging if the long nosed kid is an idiot or has really been living under a very uninformative rock. Sadly, neither is true.

"Water's Seven docks. The city has seven docks and it's built on water." The intended duh makes Usopp wonder if the word would sound the same in the ancient language.

Robin bites her lip when she sees her theory proved true right before her eyes. And she isn't sure if she would rather weep with joy or remain thoroughly disappointed.

"This... wasn't how I wanted to find out about this. If I am to be completely honest." The black haired woman releases an airy laugh devoid of any amusement that successfully confuses her crewmates.

"Did she say anything else, Robin?" Franky prods gently, hoping to not upset the archaeologist further, but wanting to know if anything about his home city was added.

"I only caught the names. She was listing islands, right?” Zoro doesn’t seem to mind the subdued atmosphere. “And then something about Water Seven's name or whatever."

He crosses his arms, brow furrowed in concentration. The swordsman isn't exactly sure if the countries on the list are the only ones remaining or not. Or the only ones that exist at the moment, though this particular thought does not sit right with him.

"Yes." Robin agrees softly. "At this point, there are only these five islands. Others are not discovered or inhabited so they didn't write them down. Also, she was pointing toward the capital just now."

"Oh. And what has you so worked up then?" Luffy asks bluntly, basically confused why this is such a big deal and partly concerned about his friend’s grey face.

One corner of Robin's mouth pulls upwards.

"Because I was right – Shandora being called Shandora means that we have been sent back to the Void Century." The historian turns around to face her friends and extends her arms in a un-Robin-like gesture. "This 'capital' being here means that we've been sent more than nine hundred years into the past."

Usopp swallows heavily, past the lump in his throat, past the sickness he knows he was coming down with since it was only a matter of time. And now past the uncharacteristic way Robin is eyeing them. As if she thinks that she is dreaming.

At some point, he manages to croak.

"Ni-Nine hundred?!"

"Damn." Zoro clicks his tongue, decidedly not in the mood. He wonders if there is any alcohol to be stolen from under the deck.

"That means that this is the ancient language and we are now heading towards the capital. So we should expect to see many differences to our own world." Robin nods as she speaks and Nami resists the urge to rub her temples. If this is her friend’s way of having a breakdown, she would have been decidedly happier with anything relating to crying and shouting. Hell, suicidal thoughts all the way. But an out of character Robin is too creepy to not give anyone nightmares. Damn, they always manage to get into the worst situations without any visible way out.

Her questions more or less answered, the navigator turns towards Zahra with a small smile.

"Thank you for... help." The orange head recites the word out of Robin's little notebook. It has become their one and only dictionary in this apparent past.

Zahra nods and rolls up the map, departing without another word.

"So," Brook begins, looking to be debating whether a song would be appropriate in this situation or not, "what do we do now?"

"Go to the fucking capital and find some damn answers!" Zoro roars, his temple twitching visibly. Many men stop and throw him irritated glares over their shoulders while others simply wish to see what the green haired stranger is so worked up about now.

Sanji clears his throat and jabs him in the small of his back. It thankfully seems to do the trick.

"I second that!" Usopp nods fervently, half hidden behind his swordsman friend now that he isn’t in homicidal mood anymore.

"I suppose it's the best bet we have." Franky lifts his sunglasses on his forehead, watching his crewmates' half shouts of agreement.

"Come on, you guys!" Luffy complains loudly. When he knows he got their attention, he allows his usual wide, confident grin to overcome his features. "This is an adventure! We should have fun, too!"

Chopper sniffs, but readily agrees. There is no point in arguing with Luffy anyway.

"Yohoho! Luffy-san really knows how to lighten the mood!" Brook hums, feeling pumped up for the road ahead. At least someone has to be.

It takes only four more days until they arrive at the Red Line and, consequently, to their time's Sabaody Archipelago. But there is nothing there to be seen but a relatively small patch of trees. They are half the size of the Yarukiman Mangroves they are used to encountering and look like they offer no shelter. There’s certainly no island underneath their branches. Only bare roots and the ocean.

A few ships are in sight, but then again, ships have always been in sight ever since their ship entered deeper waters. None of them even remotely resemble a pirate one. Rather, the locals who own them are busy fishing just like Luffy, Usopp and Chopper are doing after having robbed some poor sailors of three fishing rods.  The trio is busy making funny faces at the people on the other boat that floats closely to theirs while the rest of the crew is relaxing near the railing.

"Water Seven is the place where Pluton was constructed," Robin recounts slowly and Franky nods behind her in silent agreement, "and then it was shipped off to Alabasta.” She stops, flips another three pages. “Technically. But there was no mention on the Poneglyph about Pluton's whereabouts in Alabasta the last time we've been there."

"What!" The shipwright's jaw falls at the news. "So it didn't tell you anything about it?"

"No details as far as I'm concerned. It has been only mentioned in passing. The real information is still out there somewhere." Brown eyes glint in the sun's rays. "Now closer than ever, it seems."

"I wonder what this 'capital' is all about." Nami mumbles distractedly, making air quotes with her fingers and noticing with a prayer of thanks that Robin is back to her usual self.

"The better question would be what we'll be doing there when we arrive." Sanji exhales a cloud of smoke, stubbing his consumed cigarette on the railing he is leaning up against. He makes a mental note to beg tobacco selling places out of Zahra. "We have zero clues and now there’s important we are careful not to stand out..." The blond trails off, eyes his friends and promptly reformulates his earlier statement. "Too much."

"The even better question would be how do we get to the New World?" Usopp leans back to stare at them all, only to receive blank stares in return. “What? Am I the only one who thought about that?!”

When only blank stares greet him again, the sniper fights hard not to lose it.

“C’mon guys!”

"Sanji-kun is right, but Usopp's words are worrying me. Though I believe that Fishman Island must be still here. Or at least some form of it." Robin gazes at the commotion around the deck with interest.

The ship has slowed down noticeably in the last hour or so and they are now floating through the calm waters, heading straight for the dark red mass of rock towering over them imperiously.

"Let's begin, boys!" Zahra appears on deck then, her eyes scanning the crowd of fully equipped sailors critically. Most are holding barrels and buckets along with large brushes and cloths in their hands. Her critical gaze stops on the Strawhats and the old woman opens her mouth to reprimand them. "You kids stay out of the way. Got it?"

Most nods with the exception of Luffy. He still doesn’t understand any of her words.

“Is lunch ready?” The captain asks as he wrestles with a fish his size.

No one answers him. Instead, they watch as the workers move as one, starting to apply a sticky substance to various parts of the ship.

"They are... coating it. Please tell me they are coating it." Franky whispers in awe with a hint of fear, watching the men work carefully, but efficiently.

"So we're going under like usual." Zoro is glad that at least this is something they are familiar with.

"I wonder how long this will take." Chopper rubs his cheek, his bright eyes more interested in the current proceedings on the vessel than his latest catch.

"Chopper, it's pulling!"

Only Franky has been around the Sunny when it was coated before and he is honestly surprised by how little it takes the sailors to finish the job. Granted, the last time there has only been one fishman to the job with small help from the cyborg when Den allowed it. These guys’ collective effort took half an hour and by then the Strawhat pirates have already caught two big fish and a smaller one that were to be served for dinner later in the day.

Robin and Nami – the newly formed annoy-Zahra tag team, as the woman herself put it– have been pestering the old navigator with various questions about the nature of their next part of the journey, but have been left with barely a grumbled out response in return. This has them stuck with even more curious inquiries. For the moment though, they've been assured that their underwater journey will be taking only half a day at most after which there is a five days' journey to the capital if the winds are in their favor. If her calculations are correct, Nami concludes that the islands they are sailing toward can’t be too far into the New World.

"Or maybe it's because the weather isn't so abruptly changing and so they're going at full speed?" The revelation only manages to bring about horror and she spends the next few minutes moaning and groaning because of the unfairness.

Sanji takes it upon himself to solve the upcoming issues of their arrival and speaks to Zahra about the port they are going to dock at. He finds himself surprised at how willing the old crone is to tell him all about it. But either way, the cook brushes it off and concentrates on catching everything she is saying, gritting his teeth when he sees that she is slowing down and using simpler terms intentionally. Sanji swallows his frustration and nods along. By the end of his little chat, he has acquired enough information to formulate a good strategy for the visit on the main island of the so-called capital.

As last minute preparations are being done, Sanji returns to his friends' side, ignoring their burning stares full of curiosity.

"We'll talk after we sink." He explains briefly, wondering how strange that sentence really sounded.

Barely a minute later, three fishmen and one merman surface on opposite sides of the ship. They exchange a few rushed words with Zahra before another middle-aged sailor, starts tying thick ropes on the masts and railings.

"What those for, Zahra?" Franky asks, excited as he gives a helping hand in tightening the knot on the foremast.

The old woman raises an eyebrow, but decides to humor him. "For those who will carry us." She indicates in the water's direction where two large, multicolored fins are protruding its surface.

She smirks at Franky's impressed whistle.

"Everyone grab onto something and keep tight! We don't want to have our friends here run back in vain for your stupid asses!" Zahra's voice reverberates over the deck and, as one, everyone clings to anything glued to the ship.

"Make sure you guys keep an eye on Luffy and the others, alright?" Nami shouts over her shoulder, bracing for something like an impact to come.

But there was none.

"But is it going to be fine?" Usopp is glancing around nervously. The water level is past their heads now. "We've been sinking for a while now."

"Yes, ever since they finished with the coating." Robin agrees, prompting the sniper to release an undignified shriek. "I don't know what they did, but the rate of sinking was so slow, it was barely noticeable."

"Maybe it has to do with the mass of the ship?" Brook proposes, double checking his hold on the railing. "I don't sink if I run fast on water."

"You mean to say that this ship's extremely light?" Franky asks from behind Luffy’s wild tuft of hair. The shipwright has one of his massive hands wrapped around their hyperactive captain, keeping his struggling form in place.

"Could be, seeing as we've got here in, what, four days?" Zoro guesses, lounging on the ground and entirely too unconcerned.

"It took six, you stupid algae brain!" Sanji grunts from his side and receives the stink-eye in return. "But I agree with the idiot. It can be one of the reasons."

No one has time to offer anything else. The ship suddenly lurches forward and sinks the rest of the way into the water. A wave of nostalgia and wonder hits Nami as she takes in the underwater landscape once more and its array of different life forms. She is also able to take a good look at the large creatures pulling the ship. There is a Sea King with pale green skin with colorful dots are splotched all over its body that is guiding their ride from the front, while another one swims by next to him. The beasts are very tame with the fishmen handling them and their kin is avidly avoiding the vessel at all costs.

"This is new." Chopper confesses, looking all around them with wide eyes. "Usually they won't hesitate to attack ships."

"Yeah. Seems like these guys know what they're doing." Usopp agrees, tapping his fingers on the wooden floor nervously. "I wonder why everyone's still latched to the ship, though."

"Probably as a safety measure." Franky concludes. "We should take their example and do so as well." He added mostly for the benefit of his impatient captain still struggling in his hold. Luffy only huffs and crosses his arms.

"Now you better start spewing, stupid cook." Zoro blurts out, eye narrowed on the back of the man's head, daring him to argue. "What did that hag say to you?"

Sanji sighs, knowing he has landed in the middle of them for that very reason. "Alright, don't get your panties in a twist, algae."

"You-"

Now that he has their attention, Sanji continues. "So I asked her about the city mostly. What we can find there and who we can talk to about some important stuff. She finally told me at some point, but first insisted I know about the islands themselves."

He stops, feeling the desperate need for a cigarette, but doesn’t want to risk the old crone's wrath by lighting it up underwater and having her yell at him that he'll set fire to everything. It won't be the first time, either. Seeing as no one is planning to interrupt his monologue, the cook continues on, swiftly recalling the shocking next bit he is about to relay.

"The main island of this capital where we'll be docking on is named Raftel."

"What!" Nami's shout makes even the Sea Kings turn their way, but it unfortunately is quickly covered by a series of unintelligible stammering from the others, culminated by Chopper's strangled yelp.

Sanji sees Usopp's face gradually lose all color so that it is in the end as pale as a sheet of paper. Franky whistles again in that annoyingly unconcerned manner of his that makes the cook want to deck him for being so stupidly unimpressed with anything they stumble upon – especially the goddamn island that has sparked so many legends in their time and caused everyone to lose their shit and minds over. For which they would trade a civilian life for something resembling an endless and futile search. Brook releases a nervous laugh that seems more in tone with the problem here and Sanji approves and turns his head to see Robin's taut mouth and Zoro's shuttered expression. It’s rewarded with a glare from the cook because why does he have to be so damn unexpressive when there is the obvious issue at hand and is he the only one at least a bit concerned about it. Luffy simply continues to regard him calmly, urging the story on. Which gives Sanji all the thumbs down needed to know that his captain either isn’t buying it or is slowly coming to the conclusion that things won’t go his way this time around.

"The four surrounding it are Poseidon, Pluton, Uranus and Atlantis – Fishman Island, in our time."

"So they are named after the three Ancient Weapons-" Robin stops abruptly, eyes going wide before she bursts out laughing. "But then again, of course they are!"

Nami cleares her throat uncomfortably at the exclamation.

"And Fishman Island seems to be on the surface. It's kind of great, actually." Usopp flashes a wavering smile full of dashing hope and Sanji, heart heavy, inwardly prepares to destroy it.

"This means that the city before us is just a small settlement then, no?" Brook would smile, had he possessed muscles to do so.

Heads turn just in time to see the first coral roofs rise in the large air bubble. There are noticeably fewer houses than the Fishman Island they know, but this is only expected of such an early settlement. There is little agitation inside the city, but their guides carefully avoid it by swimming around the bubble full of air. The pirates use this chance to study the small crowds, so familiar yet full of strangers.

"I suggest we admire the sights for now." Brook says, hoping to share in the thirst for adventure. "Yohoho!"  

Five long days that seem to stretch on endlessly later and the time travelers conclude that Zahra has not, in fact, lied to them. In front of their very eyes, sprawled on the horizon, Raftel's high stone buildings and towers spiral into the clouds over the island as they come into view – competing with one another in height and architectural design. After the initial shock, the crew’s expectant gazes settle on the approaching port, lined with merchant vessels and civilian fishing boats alike that creates a solid fence for the city limits.

"This is. Something else." Robin says, breathless all of a sudden as the others disembark behind her.

The archeologist glances up and down the wide street, to the unique decorations hanging on houses and stalls that consist of flags, lanterns and an array of exotic and colorful flower arrangements. Finally, Robin looks to the mass of cleanly cut marble and stone of the large palace sprawling not far out in front of them. It feels so gigantic against the ordinary buildings and in turn makes Robin feel so small in comparison.

"It’s. It's..." Nami trails off, light brown eyes impossibly wide and sparkling with the usual reflection of money as one hand covers her mouth in shock.

"It's made of gold!"

The navigator's shout echoes down the street, attracting a few confused stares. Usopp offers them sheepish smiles and a small wave in return and, luckily, the citizens carry on with their business.

It falls on Sanji, as it is, to thank Zahra and the sailors for getting them there. But if it is for sweet Robin-chwan and Nami-swan, the cook will do it without grumbling. Too much.

And so, after learning this convenient combination of words from the magical little notebook of one of his objects of affection, he decides to get this over with.

"We thank you for the help!"

And the blond bows to the small woman to add effect.

Zahra scoffs and inclines her head jerkily. "You kids better not cause trouble around here."

"Yes-"

"Now get lost!"

Zoro chuckles as he sees the stupid cook manhandled by the old hag.

"I'm glad it was so funny to you, stupid water caricature freak!" The cook grumbles as he takes out a cigarette from his rapidly emptying pack and curses. He forgot to ask Zahra about it as he should’ve. He inwardly hopes that he'll be able to find some tobacco around here since it seems like a rich city. Especially judging by how everything sparkles in the sunlight-

Sanji's feet draw to a stop as the man himself gapes like a fish out of water. "What."

"Look at this! Look!" Luffy shouts, jumping up and down in the middle of the street. "It's all gold!"

"Oh my god, it really is!" Usopp exclaims from his spot next to the nearest building, touching it with overwhelming reverence that borders on something less healthy.

"It seems like Shandora wasn't the only city of gold." Robin smiles with bemusement at the crew's antics.

"Yow, bro! How many Berri do you think a single house here makes?" Franky rubs his chin and smirks as his businessman side takes charge.

"More than ten million for sure!" Nami screeches obscenely loud again, her eyes definite Berri signs and knees shaking. The navigator looks like she could melt into a puddle at any given moment because of the luminescent sight of so much precious metal splayed right in front of her.

"Really?!" Chopper's jaw hangs open and the reindeer hugs the nearest statue of gold that he finds in his path with a white knuckled grip.

"Come on, stop fucking around!" Zoro scowls, eye narrowed at the too relaxed attitude of the others. They are in enemy territory, damn it!

"Yohoho! I believe it will be better if we’d find a change of clothes first." Brook proposes, walking with hunched shoulders in the hope that not too many people will notice his ghastly appearance. Of course, that is a futile wish since his height is outstanding on its own, but many luckily assume that it is a costume. "I can see a large variation in clothing styles!" The musician points out from his vantage point.

Zoro wants to groan at the sight. The skeleton is right – the clothes are totally different and he is certainly not looking forward to put such things on. Some are different, probably signaling that there are natives of other cultures visiting the island. He spots a few Alabastian outfits and others that would belong to Wano, judging by the samurai-styled clothing. There are also normal ones in the sea of white and color, but of course the Strawhat pirates won't go for normal. They have to go for more than normal so the completely abnormal will be covered expertly.

Sanji finally snaps out of his fit of admiration for Nami and Robin and straightens as he clears his throat.

"Brook’s right. Our first stop is a shop with clothes!" The cook announces to the audience in general and grabs Luffy by the scruff of his vest. He gestures Usopp and Chopper to detach themselves off the golden objects they are holding onto lest they get arrested for being too weird for this timeline.

They are being the too-obvious outsiders in this moment and the blond is starting to feel self-conscious.

"Zahra showed me the general direction the nearest shop is in so we should leave before someone decides we are too out of place and does something about it."

Zoro raises an eyebrow at the tense posture of the idiot, but bites his tongue. He doesn't like agreeing with the guy on principle, but he is right this instance.

They end up going the wrong way two times and it isn't because of Zoro, shockingly. The third try is the charm and the pirate crew finally find themselves standing in front of a large shop’s entrance. It is decorated with colorful lanterns and garlands hang from its roof and over their heads in a mildly irritating manner. The inside is equally as cheerful and it smells of lily perfume and incense.

"Are you sure this is a shop for men, too?" Zoro grounds through his teeth, watching Robin and Nami converse about a dress they've found through the folded materials. Another look and the swordsman knows that there are only dresses in here.

"Yes, I'm freaking positive!" Sanji growls back. "Now shut up and go find some rag to wear. We don't have money for you, too!"

The swordsman rolls his eyes and mouths sarcastically. "Enough only for Nami and Robin, of course."

"Of course, algae." Sanji replies and sticks out his tongue, though he is distracted from a possible stare off with said water plant when the salesgirl approaches them with a hesitant smile and a skip in her step.

"How may I be of help to you?"

Robin intervenes before Sanji can begin bewitching in another language.

"We search for suitable clothes to wear."

The brown haired woman nods in understanding and helpes select garments for everyone. The process is a little tedious and seems complex at first sight since there isn't any scale of measurement besides the naked eye. This coupled with some of the more unwilling ones and it is way past noon when the crew had barely managed to cover half of its members.  

Needless to say, there isn't only Zoro in the Disgruntled Club, but Usopp and Franky too. The trio isn’t willing enough to wear those long dresses – considered unmanly – but they do not have a choice in the end because Robin, Nami and Sanji working together prove to hold a little too much persuasive power over them.

In complete contrast, Brook seems totally content with the way his new white attire covers his bony body and makes it so much easier to pass of as normal. He combined it with a black scarf wound around his neck high enough to cover up to his nose and his hat hangs low over his eyes. Now the musician can easily say that he is artfully camouflaged.

Chopper uses the same method to cover his furry body as much as he can while keeping his hat on and hoping that his antlers will appear to be part of it. He spins around in a circle and grins happily, watching his white toga and blue embroidered shawl covering it swish with each movement.

Nami gets herself an outfit not unlike the one she has worn in Alabasta. The only difference is the large, orange flowered shawl wrapped around her waist and draped over one shoulder that hides her midnight blue bra and exposed back. The navigator was hesitant to cover herself up in this heat, but the salesgirl warned her about walking around in only that. Even if she is an Alabastian, it was advisable to wear it because of the sudden bouts of rain the rainfall season often brings. So Nami consented to the beautiful shawl in the end.

Usopp is standing in place awkwardly, not feeling up to walking around or even breathing as a matter of fact. He still doesn’t understand why he can’t keep his pants on underneath, even though he will probably die of overheat. The others look pretty happy with their dresses, but the sniper doesn't feel extremely comfortable without his pants. The cream colored toga and yellow and brown shawl are a nice touch and they certainly appeal to his artistic side. He has to hand it to the shopkeeper – she has chosen colors based on his former clothes well.

He is also forced to reconsider his earlier thoughts when he discovers the amazing inner function of hiding his satchel behind the shawl without it appearing to be anything there. These long clothes aren't that bad and this definitely awards the garments points in the sniper's book.

In the end, Usopp opts to just watch in amusement as Luffy bounces around in his new acquisition. Their captain is grinning widely, whirling in place continuously as he tries to make his own white toga and flaming red shawl fly along with Chopper's. His trusty straw hat is perched safely on his head, gaining the approval of his navigator and cook in style and color palette.

Robin smiles down at her lavender dress and gold embroidered shawl before her head lifts to watch Zoro and Franky's protests with infinite amusement. She was surprised to see the shop having such a large tunic for their uniquely shaped shipwright, but the salesgirl surprised the archaeologist when she got one out for him to try on.

It is white with blue embroideries and has a matching striped white and blue shawl over it. The color is slightly darker than his hair, but it matches well enough.

Zoro on the other hand, looks to be contemplating bloody murder under that green toga and white and red lined embroidered shawl. The color is very close to that of his coat so the archeologist can't understand why he is being such a baby about it.

"It doesn't look too different from what you usually wear, Zoro." Robin knows that she is threading into dangerous territory, but she cannot help herself.

The swordsman glowers at her predictably furious. "That was a long coat and this is a freaking dress. Check your eyes woman!"

The black haired historian grins teasingly and drapes a yellow veil over his head. "This will go nicely with your hair."

"Hey-!"

"You better take Robin-chan's gift! It will hide your ridiculous locks, y'know?" Sanji snickers behind his yellow shawl as he exits the fitting cabin leisurely, sporting a white toga embroidered with golden stitching.

Taking the bait right off the bat, Zoro plunges into another swear fest right on.

"Um. How much?" Nami asks, uncertainty creeping inside her chest. All these clothes are amazing, but she is afraid of the price they now have to pay.

The salesgirl smiles sweetly and answers without much thought. "These will be thirty Pons."

The navigator raises an eyebrow at the surprisingly low price, but does not complain and hands her the money with a grateful smile as the others fill out of the shop. Her light brown gaze lingers on the discarded clothes they have been wearing until now, not sure if they should take them along, but considering they do not know the extent of their stay here Nami supposes they are better left behind. Flashing another grateful smile to the brown haired woman behind the counter, she turns around and follows her friends out into the street.

Her mind flashes briefly to the small coins jiggling inside her bag and she takes one out curiously, flipping it on her palm. On one side of the golden coin is a circle with four large dots placed at its diameter points with another, larger one right in the middle of them. Nami frowns in confusion at the simplistic and overly strange picture. There are a few small characters in the ancient language that she'll have to ask Robin about, but the image itself reminds her of the World Government flag even though it did not look like it at first glance. But then again, these might represent the archipelago they are in.

Nami flips it to the other side and her eyes widen when she makes out a ship behind which there is a faded skull with a crown over its head. There are more ancient words on this side and her curiosity flares.

"Where should we go now?" Brook asks, walking at a leisure pace in front of Nami's distracted form.

"Robin!"

Robin raises an eyebrow at her approaching friend. She somehow seems out of breath, but her mind is clearly elsewhere.

"Can you read what's written on these?"

Robin nods at the simple request and accepts the golden coin thrust into her palm.

"Let's go eat!" Luffy declares loudly, pumping a fist in the air. Usopp, Franky and Chopper immediately agree with the idea, but Sanji is having none of it.

“Now wait a damn minute!” The cook protests vehemently, even though starving is a big no-no in his books, too. “We have no way to make money so we’ve got no way of filling Luffy’s bottomless hole. Understand?” He eyes his captain pointedly, but it is the others who nod in his stead. Sanji sighs, left with no other choice but to follow.

They move slowly through the crowds, trying to find a nice and cheap restaurant while also making sure Zoro doesn’t get lost in the influx of people populating the streets. It is a nerve wrecking half an hour of Nami and Sanji inspecting different places and deciding if they are suitable enough, but most prove to be simply too high or low class or not fast enough when it comes to cooking a large variety of dishes in a short amount of time.

In the end, their navigator has the mercy to announce that they will be stopping at a rather small establishment filled with cozy sofas and low tables. Everything looks nice without it being too expensive. It also offers a good side view of the palace and the pirates are now able to inspect the large structure more conspicuously.

"It's big." Zoro observs, feeling an incoming headache as he drops in his proclaimed seat.

"And made of gold, too." Usopp adds with honest incredulity. He shifts his legs left and right, not sure how to arrange them under a dress so he takes Nami’s feminine example. "Just how rich are these people?"

"Very, if the gold houses are any hint." Sanji puffs out a smoke cloud, keeping his eyes fixed on the golden building glittering in the late afternoon sun.

"It only says 'capital' and its amount. In this case it's one hundred Pons." Robin relays the information to Nami, who thanks her and pockets the coin.

"This means," the navigator's eyes pin Luffy down with a merciless glare, "that Sanji is right and you can't eat too much. Who knows how much an inn costs and we need to survive here, got it?"

The raven head pouts, but he knows that his friends won't budge and, frankly, he understands why the situation is so dire. None of the money from their world work and it isn’t like they had much of those with them either. And until they figure out how this world goes and why they are here in the first place, working is out of the question. So they should take care of the remaining amount for now.

The captain nods grimly, surprising his crewmates with his mature way of responding.

"This… went better than expected." The orange head whispers to no one, accepting the simple sheet of paper that composes the menu that their waitress handed to her with a smile.

“I can’t read any of it.”

“Yohoho, me neither! So what is our next move, Sanji-san?" Brook asks after the waitress takes her leave.

The blond startles out from his inspection of the building. He assesses his friends' expectant faces and licks his dry lips.

"Zahra – even she didn't know where we could talk about our, uh, special situation."

"Did you tell her anything?" Zoro interrupts, ready to gut the idiot if he had spilled anything.

"No, but she took a wild guess." The cook sighs in resigned defeat.

"And was she right?" Franky approaches carefully.

"Close enough to not be entirely comfortable. But anyway," he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "she only said that we might be able to find somebody who could help us if we go to the palace. She said to ask to speak with the head of Science."

"Science then." Robin translates for everyone. "Probably a department of some kind."

"There is something like that here?" Usopp blurts in shock.

Sanji gives him the stink-eye, but does not make any effort in explaining the matter further. "After we eat, I suggest we go see about that."

The Strawhats agree, faces grim and determined.

"That old woman really has it in for you. Giving you so much free info." Zoro can't help himself anymore and makes sure to couple his words with an appropriately teasing smirk and wiggling eyebrows that leave the cook itching to kill him and on the verge of gagging.

"At least I was useful for something, you ungrateful moss ball!" The blond clicks his tongue and kicks Zoro’s seat strong enough to inconspicuously move it a few inches, not in the mood to argue with the damn bastard. Instead, he focuses on the nice looking lady shyly approaching their table to ask for the orders and beams like nothing happened.

Zoro shakes his head, feeling that the day is not done making a fool out of them yet.

Chapter 3