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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

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Washing Machine Heart

Day 22, Story #2 is by @rosequartzstarswrites

Title: Washing Machine Heart Author/Artist: rosequartzstars - @rosequartzstarswrites (Because of Tumblr settings, this is posting from my main blog, but it’s me!) Pairing: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley (and background Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger) Prompt: 5+1 Rating: T (only for some strong language and non-explicit insinuations) Trigger Warning(s) (if any): none apply!

“I can’t believe I’m going through with this,” huffed Hermione, struggling to keep up the brisk pace Ron was marking on the sidewalk.

“You never believed you’d have to, did you?” Ron said gleefully, seemingly unaware of just how hard his long-legged strides were to keep up with.

“You never told me you were that good at chess!”

“No, more like you never thought anyone could be better than you at anything!”

Despite only having been friends, close friends, with them for a semester, Harry had already become accustomed to the constant bickering between Ron and Hermione, to the point even of endearment. Coming from the Dursleys’, arguments and rebukes were something he was used to, but the undertone of friendship with which Ron and Hermione faced off was a welcome change (and a very entertaining one). Still, he tended to side quietly with Ron, and this particular time was no exception: part of him was delighted at the prospect of seeing Hermione get a tattoo.

This had all started from a ridiculous bet, born of boredom in the lounge of their dorm building. Ron had eyed the communal chessboard, battered and chipped from years of usage, and challenged Hermione to a match.

Hermione had scoffed: “Only if you want to lose, Ron.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Ron had said, exchanging a look with Harry as a sly smile crept onto his lips.

“I’m completely certain.”

“Certain enough to bet?” Ron had prodded her.

The competitiveness that, before becoming friends, was all Harry had known of Hermione had flared up in her eyes. “I’m listening.”

“When you lose—”

“If I lose, and I won't—”

“When you lose,” Ron had reiterated, “you have to get a tattoo of my choosing.”

Hermione had smirked. “Game on.”

In Hermione’s defense, Harry thought, she hadn’t ever considered she might lose. There really was no way of expecting how good Ron had turned out to be at chess, especially since —Harry thought— Hermione had based her certainty on how abysmal his grades were, against her own straight A’s, in their proofs-based mathematics class, which relied entirely on strength of reasoning. But, as it turned out, Ron was actually a master logician, if only somewhat lazy at his math classes, and this he had proved by absolutely obliterating Hermione with the fastest checkmate Harry had ever borne witness to.

And that is how they had come to find themselves out on the streets of their little college town that night, wrapped in their scarves and their winter coats to battle the first of the December chill, walking to a tattoo parlor Ron knew in the area so Hermione could be forever reminded of her loss by a tattoo Ron would choose. And if Harry knew Ron well, and knew how much he relished teasing Hermione, the reminder would be a strong one.

“I didn’t even want a tattoo,” Hermione was mumbling, more to herself than at either of them. “I never wanted one— did you know that you might not be eligible to donate blood if you have a tattoo? I mean, not that it’s impossible, but it’s a factor against you, like your weight and your age. And my family has a history of needing transfusions— oh, God, what if my grandfather needs a donation, like, tomorrow? The three-month period of eligibility won’t have elapsed, and my father can’t donate, and– and–” She froze in the middle of the sidewalk. “Oh, God, have I killed my grandfather?”

“Relax, Hermione,” Ron said, throwing a fraternal arm around her shoulders and squeezing her half in an attempt to get her walking again. “You’re halfway across the country from home. You wouldn’t be able to fly out on such short notice anyway.”

Harry had to stifle a laugh at how Hermione gaped at Ron then, a billion other dire possibilities to worry about racing through her head now. Ron, however, was less successful at keeping down a chuckle. “I’m kidding, Hermione. Besides, a tattoo will make you look badass.”

“I don’t want to look badass!” Hermione squeaked shrilly. “I’ve never been remotely interested in looking badass!”

“Well, interested or not,” Ron said as they came up to a dark brick building with a neon sign reading LOVEGOOD’S flickering above the door, “it seems like you don’t have much of a choice, because we’re here.”

Hermione let out a noise that sounded somewhere between a gasp and a whine as she looked up at the storefront that, to her, was synonymous not only with her doom but apparently that of her grandfather.

“Ron, please?” she said meekly.

Ron, however, looked gleeful and would not be deterred. “A bet’s a bet,” he declared, grabbing her wrist and beginning to march her up the three or so stairs that led up to the door of the tattoo parlor from the sidewalk. Harry lingered behind for an instant, watching the backs of his two friends as they waddled up the stairs, smiling as he listened to Ron debate whether he would make Hermione get a skull or a sailor’s “Mom” arrow-pierced heart, and Hermione pleading shrilly with him not to do either of those things. Watching them, Harry’s smile widened. He was lucky to have them as friends, that much he knew, despite the short time he’d spent knowing them. Why he hadn’t found them his freshman year was beyond him— but now, now that he had these wacky outings and constant bickering to enjoy, he felt overwhelmingly lucky that they had found him.

“Harry, are you coming in or what?” Ron beckoned him. He had stopped on the topmost step and was still gripping Hermione, whose face was a mask of pure, crystallized terror.

“Absolutely,” Harry said, hurrying up the steps with a little hop. “This I’ve got to see.”

Ron pushed open the door to the parlor with a little too much gusto, and Hermione cringed at the metallic sound of the chimes above the door as they tinkled with the announcement of their entrance. The front of the shop, sealing off the rest with a counter that had seen better days, was empty, the backroom separated by a beaded curtain.

“Hellooo?” Ron called into the backroom, marching right up to the counter. “Is anybody here? We bring a very eager customer!”

Hermione began to protest, but just as she did, an employee came out of the backroom to stand behind the counter. Catching a glimpse of her, Harry felt as if the wind had been knocked out of his chest: she was stunning. She was tall and slender, her toned arms visible through the ripped-off sleeves of her vintage Hole tee, with a curtain of straight orange hair pulled back into a long high ponytail. Her bright brown eyes glimmered atop a button-like nose that matched her small, round mouth perfectly, the pale fine face finished by a spattering of freckles. Even before she had spoken a single word, Harry felt the confidence coming off of her in waves, simply by how she propped her elbows up on the counter and eyed their party somewhat playfully. He was frozen to his place with the sight of her, hoping his jaw hadn’t dropped as low as it had felt in the wake of his awe.

Upon seeing her, however, Ron had had exactly the opposite reaction. “Ginny?” he said incredulously.

“What are you doing here?” the woman —Ginny— said without any greeting, returning Ron’s frown.

“I thought you weren’t working today!”

“I’m covering a shift for Demelza, she had a gyn appointment today.”

“Well, if I knew that, I wouldn’t have come in,” grumbled Ron. The tips of his ears were beginning to pink, a sign Harry had learned to recognize as a hint of extreme emotion in his friend.

“Well, you’re here now, so… what can I do for you?” Ginny said. “I mean, you can’t possibly be the one getting inked, Ron. You’re too much of a wimp.”

“Shut up, or I’m telling mom you got your helix pierced. That’ll make for a fun Christmas greeting when we’re back home, I’ll wager.”

Then the similarity became apparent to Harry: the freckles, the aggressive red of their hair, the same glint in their eyes… Ginny was Ron’s sister. Somehow, he didn’t know whether that was something he should feel good or bad about.

“Tattletale,” Ginny said, swatting at him. “And it’s called an industrial piercing. Not that you’d know.” Only then did she seem to remark on the rest of the party.

“Harry Potter,” she said, and Harry gulped as she crossed her muscular arms over her chest and leaned back, surveying him. “Come to get a sixth tattoo?”

“A sixth— how do you know?” Harry said, befuddled. Out of all the opening lines he would’ve expected her to use, this had not been one of them.

“You can credit the rumor mill at school,” Ginny shrugged, still eyeing him with interest. “You’re a topic of interest. Or at least among the soccer teams.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Romilda swore you had a griffin tattooed on your chest, but I told her I’d heard it was a dragon. Much more macho, I thought.”

“Thanks,” Harry said dully. What else was he supposed to say?

“Don’t mention it,” Ginny gave him a conspiratorial wink. “And if I were you, I’d find out who on the boys’ team has been giving you the eye in the shower enough to count your tats. I bet it’s Ron.”

“It’s not!” Ron said angrily, the red from his ears bleeding out onto his cheeks.

“I bet it is,” Ginny mouthed to Harry, giving him another wink. “But it’s not you?”

“Pardon?” said Harry, for whom the ‘it-is-it’s-not’ exchange had grown somewhat confusing.

“For the tattoo?” Ginny said, and Harry felt like an idiot. “It’s not you who’s getting it?”

“No, ah, actually— it’s Hermione,” Harry was knocked back into his senses as he gestured toward Hermione, who had stood, utterly baffled, throughout that whole exchange.

“Hermione Granger?” Ginny said, and Harry was almost glad when she turned her gaze away from him and toward Hermione. “As in, Scamander Fellow Hermione Granger?”

“The one and only,” Ron declared proudly, happy to be back off a topic that bothered him (teasing Ron) and back on a topic that delighted him (teasing Hermione).

“I wouldn’t have chalked you up to the tattoo type,” Ginny said.

“Oh, she’s not,” Ron said, his face lighting up as if Christmas had come early.

Ginny’s eyes darted between the dismal face of Hermione and the cheerful face of Ron, her eyebrows rising as she took it in. “Okay, I’m not going to ask about whatever this is. What am I doing on you?”

“I’m designing it,” Ron said brightly. And if Harry had thought that Hermione’s face couldn’t get more desolated, he’d been wrong.

“Christ, Hermione, what has he got on you?” Ginny said, already opening a drawer on the counter to pull out a sketchpad and a pen.

“I’m such an idiot,” Hermione grumbled.

Ron pored over the sketchpad, shielding the paper from Hermione’s eyes as he sketched. When he was done, he handed it to Ginny with a quick flick of the wrist that, much to Hermione’s dismay, ensured she couldn’t even catch a glimpse of what was on it. Ginny looked over whatever it was Ron had drawn and then looked up at her brother with a frown.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, then,” Ginny shrugged. She lifted the counter to open a gap through which Hermione could walk. “Follow me.”

Looking like a lamb led to the slaughter, Hermione looked up to heaven as if making one last, futile plea before scrunching up her nose and following Ginny through the beaded curtain to the backroom. Because yes, she hated the idea of getting a tattoo, but she hated the idea of letting Ron hold one over her even more.

Ron watched her leave delightedly, relishing in the jangle the beaded curtain made as it swallowed Ginny and Hermione into the backroom. “This is going to be good,” he said, rubbing his palms together. “Oh, this is going to be so good.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister?” Harry blurted out all of a sudden. He startled himself as much as Ron when he said it, though he was glad he’d been able to pare down the question from what was actually swirling around in his head: Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister that looked like THAT?

Ron looked at him and shrugged. “I don’t know. It never came up.”

“You told me about every other one of your five brothers, but not the sister.”

“Nope.”

“Not the sister that seems to be about our age.”

“Nope.”

“Not the sister that seems to be about our age and plays soccer.“ And is hot.

"Nope.” Ron paused and frowned. “She’s a year below us, anyway.”

“Oh, then that explains it,” Harry said sarcastically.

“It seemed like more of a second-semester-of-friendship revelation.”

“I see.”

Harry held the silence between them for a few moments more before he allowed the next question out. “She plays soccer?”

“One more of the long line of Weasleys that get athletic scholarships to Hogwarts College. Except for Percy— no, he was a disgrace, he got in on an academic grant.”

“The family disappointment, truly.”

Harry wanted to ask more about Ginny, but he held his tongue. His friendship with Ron was the most precious thing his sophomore year of college had yielded him, and he didn’t want to jeopardize it by prying further or making it seem like he had the hots for his sister. Even though he did. He suffocated that small voice at the back of his mind: he hadn’t even spoken properly to Ginny, just stood there like an idiot and let her quip freely about his tattoos— which, mind him, apparently were fodder for locker talk back at Hogwarts.

The buzz of the needle in the backroom as it started up brought Harry out of his thoughts, just in time to see a shit-eating grin appear on Ron’s face.

“I wish I could see her face right now,” he said gleefully, and Harry let himself stop thinking about Ginny to join Ron in picturing what Hermione Granger must look like seated in a tattoo parlor chair.

“It really wasn’t so bad,” admitted Hermione as they exited the tattoo parlor and went down the little steps back onto the sidewalk.

Despite his pretensions of malice, Ron’s nobility (which had never been in question, even despite his teasing) had shone through and yielded a considerably modest tattoo: a small, capital “R” in his own handwriting. Hermione, who had almost cried with relief after Ginny showed her the design, had chosen to get it on her left thigh, on the side and at the very top, right under her hipbone.

“Why did you get it there?” Harry asked as they resumed their brisk walk back to campus.

“It’s not a place you usually show. That means if a sleeve shifts or an interviewer sees, I don’t know, my ankle or something, they won’t notice it.”

“As if a tiny ‘R’ would disqualify anyone from a job, let alone you,” snorted Ron.

“Professionalism is a virtue, Ronald,” Hermione huffed, though her cheeks had gone red. “Besides, since that part of me is always covered, I’ll save myself from having to explain the story behind it to anyone that spots it.”

“Yeah, except the bloke that eventually undresses you and sees you in your panties. Try explaining what that 'R’ means to him,” said Ron. But Harry suspected Hermione wouldn’t have to: from how Ron’s eyes had widened and his gaze had lingered when Hermione had pulled down the side of her jeans ever so slightly to show them the finished product, exposing a sliver of her underwear, Harry could almost wager that Ron would be the bloke in question.

They walked in animated chatter for the rest of the way, the tattoo forgotten until Ron made a quip about Hermione now having crossed the gateway to joining a biker gang and Hermione going positively beet-red in the face with outrage. Then Harry, his hands in his pockets, simply smirked to himself and resigned himself to their bickering for the rest of the walk, knowing he was no longer needed in their exchange. Instead, he let his mind drift to Ginny. She hadn’t really spoken to him again, merely ducking out from the beaded curtain backroom and instructing Hermione on how to take care of her tattoo, saying only a general goodbye to the three of them as they exited the shop. There had been nothing in Ginny’s manner to suggest that she might be thinking of him as strongly, as irremediably, as he was of her, and yet there he was.

The main quad was mostly deserted, except for a few scattered groups of late-night library frequenters or sneaking couples, as the three of them crossed it to get to their dorm. Ron and Hermione didn’t stop arguing as they climbed the four flights up to their floor (the elevator, as usual, was broken), and only broke it off because Hermione reached her room before the boys reached theirs, slipping inside it and shutting the door before Ron had a chance to get the last word in.

“Well, that went well,” Ron shrugged as he and Harry kept walking down the hall to their room.

“You actually got her to get a tattoo,” Harry said with some admiration as they reached their door.

Ron grinned as he swiped the key card. “I may drive her crazy, but if anyone was going to get her to do something like that, it was going to be me.”

Ron pushed the door open and let them into their dorm room. He closed the door and, without taking off his coat, immediately flopped onto his bed— or, well, what could be seen of the bed under mountains of dirty or otherwise discarded clothes. Away from his mother’s chore-mongering for the first time, Ron had let himself go wild and go to the other extreme, but even Harry had to admit that the army of socks draped over the foot of his bed was beginning to smell a little stale.

“So,” Ron said, propping his head up, “no parties tonight?”

“Well, it’s a Wednesday,” Harry said.

“So what? There’s no party spirit around here?”

“Ron, it’s the last Wednesday before final exams. People are studying.”

“I wasn’t aware I was rooming with Hermione,” Ron grumbled. Harry had to admit she might have gotten to him a little. However, Ron’s irritation was short-lived, a grin appearing on his face again. “Wait, but we’re not people. We’re not studying.”

Harry surveyed the room and, despite his desire to throw in the towel for the night and have fun with Ron, felt a pang of dismay at just how much grosser it would be if they caved and did that (last time they had, they’d had a Pringle-eating contest, with devastating results for their sheets, which still had some crumbs). “No, Ron. We’re doing laundry.”

Ron groaned. “Jeez, now I’m rooming with my mother.”

“Okay, fine, you don’t have to do the laundry. I’ll do it for the both of us.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go hang out with Dean and Seamus or whatever, see if you can get Hermione to do her second wild-card act of the day and make her stop studying to hang out with the guys.”

“Now I’m a man with a mission,” Ron said, perking up in delight at the prospect of teasing Hermione, or even seeing her once more that night.

“Just shove your clothes in the laundry bag before you go, won’t you? I don’t want to touch your nasty briefs more than I have to.”

Ron obliged, tossing all the clothes on and around his bed into his orange laundry bag and pulling the drawstring to close it. “I’ll update you on the Hermione thing,” he said cheerfully, hurrying out of the room and down the hall to the left to the room they’d left Hermione in.

Harry laughed to himself, wondering how long it was going to take Ron to realize why exactly he always seemed so eager to do anything Hermione-related, as he too threw his dirty clothes into a checkered drawstring laundry bag. Then, he hoisted one sack over each of his shoulders and opened the door using his ankle and leg to let himself out, his hands full with the laundry bags. He stifled a smirk as he passed Hermione’s room and heard the familiar bubbling sound of she and Ron rowing. If Harry knew her at all, he knew however much she might argue she’d be out of that room in an hour tops.

He groaned as he looked down the stairs, and rued the day he had been placed in the dorm with the shittiest elevator on campus. Resigning himself, he began to walk slowly down the poorly-lit stairs to the basement, where the laundry room was. However inconvenient this descent was, Harry was at least comforted with the knowledge that the laundry room would not be crowded, which would be the greater inconvenience once the elevator was fixed.

The basement was even dimmer, the white lights flickering and buzzing with electricity as Harry walked to the laundry room almost at the end of the hall. Sure enough, the laundry room was deserted, oddly quiet with none of the familiar hum and rattle of the machines as they worked. Harry knelt in front of a washing machine and began unloading the contents of the laundry bags into it, cramming them in so they’d fit because he sure as hell wasn’t shelling out quarters for two washers. When he’d made it all fit (which had involved the use of force to jam the door shut), he went to the shelf that held the communal detergent and poured it into the soap compartment. With that done, he dug out eight quarters from his pocket and inserted them into the washer’s slot, pressing the “Start Cycle” button when he heard the clink that let him know his quarters had been accepted. The washer rumbled slowly to life, jets of water trickling out as it began to spin in one direction and then the other, and it was a couple minutes before it was spinning at a hearty pace.

Rising from his crouch (he had always liked to watch the washing machine as it booted up to wash in earnest), Harry took the laundry bags and turned to head back upstairs, already thinking of what he might do to pass the time in the hour he had before he had to switch the clothes to the dryer.

He was so caught up in thinking of this that he didn’t see the person entering the laundry room at the same time as he was exiting, which ended in an awkward clash between them.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry blurted.

“No, it’s fine, I’m sorry too— Harry?”

Only then did Harry realize who he had bumped into, and only because she kept standing there did he believe it. “Ginny?”

She still wore her Hole shirt, but had discarded the ripped jeans, combat boots, and round-the-waist flannel he’d seen at the tattoo parlor. Instead, she wore frayed gray sweatpants and flip-flops, her hair pulled up from the long ponytail into a messy bun. She, however, somehow still managed to look almost unbearably beautiful. What’s happening to me?

“What are you doing here?” he asked, the only thing he could think of right that second. Spotting the laundry basket she was cradling, he added: “No laundry in your dorm?”

“No, yeah, there is one, but it’s always too crowded, it being a freshman dorm and all.” Harry nodded: his first year, he too had done entirely more laundry than he had to, and was thankful by the quarters he saved just by realizing he could wear a pair of pants more than once before they were dirty. “So I use the one here. Much quieter. I know Ron’s ID and password—”

“You do?”

“He gave it to me once so I could pick up his books from the library. And my memory’s great.” She gave him a half smile and looked beyond him at the laundry room. “Doing laundry?”

“No, I just like the ambience down here. The shitty lighting and bleach smell are really my style,” said Harry. Ginny laughed, and Harry felt a rush of pride at what was probably the first witty thing he’d ever said to her. “Need a hand?”

“I’d appreciate one, sure,” Ginny said, again smiling at him. Harry moved so she could walk into the laundry room, and watched her pick one of the washing machines that lined the wall. When she’d settled on one, he crouched down next to her and help her lob the clothes into the maw of the machine.

“Tattoo parlor let out early?” he asked as they placed the clothes inside.

“More like you guys came in really late. You were my last customers— I just cleaned up and closed after you left.”

“And you work there?”

“Sure beats a regular work-study, doesn’t it?” Ginny grinned. She tossed in a Tide pod that was left at the bottom of the basket, closed the door to the machine, and rose to find the quarters needed to activate it. “Oh, shoot, I left my wallet in my other pants—”

“I got you,” said Harry, digging for eight more quarters in his pocket. For once, he was glad of his bad habit of carrying an excess of loose change in his jeans, something Hermione already got on to him about (sometimes, like when she’d gifted him a money purse, not too subtly).

“Thanks,” Ginny said, picking the laundry basket up from the ground.

Harry listened for the telling clink and then pressed the button. The washing machine whirred to a start, but for once, Harry didn’t feel compelled to watch it boot up: instead, he turned to Ginny. “So how did you come to work there?”

“At the tat shop?” Ginny asked, hopping to sit on the top of the washer where her clothes were spinning. “My friend Luna’s dad, Xenophilius—”

“Gesundheit.”

“Shut up,” Ginny said, but the hint of a laugh was (to Harry’s satisfaction) visible on her lips again. “Anyway, Xenophilius owns the place. He set up in a college town because he knows college is the first time kids are truly free to make rash, impulse decisions.”

“Like getting a tattoo?”

“Exactly. And besides, all the college students love his New Age bullshit, they think it’s very 70s, so his shop is always full. He got a big boost after he started placing crystals in the shop windows.”

“He’s in with the kids, then?”

“Don’t tell him that, he’ll be mortified. But he’s great, really. A little eccentric, but great. He knows me from when Luna and I took an art class together in 10th grade, and he’s always complimented my art, so he helped me get my tattoo artist license as soon as I turned 18 and hired me.”

“Is Luna the girl with the shaggy blond hair and the weird glasses?”

“That’s her. Though I’m surprised you didn’t know her by her bottlecap necklaces. That’s usually what people comment on.”

“Does she work there too?”

“Yeah, though not as an inker, she’s useless with a needle. She designs a big chunk of the tattoos, though, both original designs and commissions or requests.”

“That’s awesome,” Harry said. He realized that was the first time through the whole conversation that he had stopped. He’d never hesitated on what to say next: conversation with Ginny had flowed easily, naturally, and he hadn’t had to think too hard to keep it going. Still, he was a little disappointed that it had stopped. Ginny, however, seemed to share in this, because rather than say goodbye and take her leave, she opened up a new topic.

“So how long have you and Ron been friends?”

“Er– since the start of this school year, actually.”

“Really? You’d think from how he talks about you, he’d known you forever.” Harry felt a flush of happiness at hearing that Ron talked about him.

“Well, I got him for a roommate this year, and we just clicked. Then it turned out we had a lot of the same classes. And we’re both on the soccer team, so it just got better from there.”

“It seems strange that you never crossed paths your freshman year.”

Harry shrugged. “I mean, freshman year is weird for everyone. I certainly felt like I was just bouncing from one place to another. I still hang out with a lot of the guys from last year, but my friends have changed. It makes sense— the first year, everyone is trying to meet as many people as possible, as if it’s a race, but by sophomore year you know more of what you want and what you’re looking for. In a way, I’m glad I met Ron now that I’m in a more stable place, now that I know my way around the college and have a better grip on things. I have a feeling he’s a friend I’m gonna keep.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re sticking around the Weasleys,” Ginny said, and Harry felt a tingle run up his spine. Was she… flirting with him? “And Hermione?”

“Oh, Hermione’s great, Ron and I would be dead by now if not for her— I don’t know how I got through a full year without her.”

“But she’s very different from you guys, isn’t she?”

“Well— on the surface, sure, but not in the things that matter. The fact that she went through with the tattoo tonight when she could’ve kicked up a fuss and bailed out tells you all you need to know.”

“So what I’m hearing is that Scamander Fellow Hermione Granger is as much of a bonehead as my brother at heart?”

“Stubborn, is the word I’d use. And only when Ron’s involved, actually.”

Ginny smirked. “Idiots. They haven’t even realized it.”

Harry knew exactly what she meant. “You think it too?”

“Oh, I’d bet on it. Ten bucks says they’re together by the end of the year.”

“Hey, did our visit by the parlor today teach you nothing about bets? They can be dangerous.”

“But I’m betting against you, aren’t I?” The way she said you made Harry’s heart skip a beat. “Fine, not ten bucks. But I’ll bet you a load of laundry, how’s that?”

“Deal,” said Harry, taking Ginny’s extended hand to shake it. The touch of her palm, with its long, slender fingers, sent warmth coursing down from his hand and the length of his arm. They let go and dropped hands, and perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but Harry thought he detected a certain reluctance in Ginny as they did.

Harry leaned against the washer, his propped elbow almost brushing up against her thigh. “How about you? How’s your first year going so far?”

Ginny winced. “As well as you’d expect, I suppose. Lots of people still behave like it’s an extension of high school, and I’m very much over that. But as things go, I’m having a blast. Being on the soccer team certainly helps.”

“Congratulations on that scholarship, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Ginny said, her wide smile revealing a row of perfect, square white teeth. “You’re on a scholarship too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. My aunt and uncle would’ve never paid a single cent for me to go to college, so it was the only way. But I’m sure they were glad to be rid of me anyway.”

“They sound like lovely people,” Ginny said sarcastically.

“I should introduce them to this Xenophilius sometime. My uncle Vernon would have a stroke just walking into that shop.”

“Well, if you ever swing by, you have an insider contact,” Ginny offered, and Harry loved the implication of something, even something as simple as an 'insider contact’, between just the two of them. “I’d be happy to arrange a meeting, especially for such esteemed patrons.”

“I might take you up on that, if I ever planned on seeing them again,” Harry said. The words came out a bit more harshly than he’d expected, and the second silence in their talk set in, brought on by the darker implications of his family situation. Desperate to break it, Harry cleared his throat and geared up to talk again: “So, do you have any tattoos?”

He was relieved to see the smile, that coy, almost lopsided smile, appear on Ginny’s face again. “Actually, no, not a single one.”

“Do you think you’d ever get one?”

Ginny thought for a second. “I might, if something meaningful enough came around. And only if I was 200% sure. But really, I feel like one tattoo would lead to another, and then I’d never stop and run out of room on my skin. So it’s more of a containment mechanism, really.”

Harry smirked. “Hm. Interesting.”

Ginny broke out onto a full grin as she watched him. “What?” she asked, but when Harry’s smirk only deepened, she shoved him playfully, her touch on his shoulders eliciting the same warm sensation as the handshake. “What, Potter, tell me! Why is it interesting?”

“I mean, since you work at a tattoo shop, and you’re wearing a Hole t-shirt, I just thought you might be the type—”

“The Hole tee? Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna gatekeep it, like you’re the type of guy who’d be like 'name three songs'—”

“No, not at all. As a matter of fact, I don’t know a lot of music by Hole. I really only know who they are because of that one Fall Out Boy song Courtney Love was featured in—”

Ginny winced. “Not Fall Out Boy, please.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Fall Out Boy?”

“Harry—”

“I know they get a lot of shit, but really, their first albums are pretty good—”

“Harry, you’ve gotta stop right here, or you’re going to make me stop finding you so attractive.”

And just like that, there it was, out in the open. Harry felt stun: he felt his mouth open to offer a witty retort, but no words came out. Because the girlish grin had evaporated from Ginny’s face and turned into a different, more mature look, her eyes smoldering slightly and her mouth slightly pouted.

“What about you?” she asked, her words slower, as if she was choosing each one individually. “If the soccer team gossip is true, I know you have five tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice having dropped as well. “Yeah, there were a few tat shops around my neighborhood where the rules were pretty lax.”

“What are they?” Ginny asked.

“The tattoos? Well, the first ones I ever got were my mom and dad’s birth and death dates, on my wrist,” Harry said, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to display two small lines of numbers, in plain black ink, on his forearm.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ginny said softly.

“Don’t be, I was really small when it happened. But I still wanted to pay them homage. Anyway, I’ll not bore you with my family history right now.”

“But tell me sometime?”

Harry was ecstatic at the implication that Ginny wanted to spend even more time with him. “Yeah,” he said, smiling at her. “Yeah, I will.” He moved on to the second tattoo, shifting the other sleeve up a bit to show Ginny a small black paw print in the center of his wrist. “This was my third one. My godfather was the only person my aunt and uncle would let me see while I was growing up, and even then only because he threatened them. And he had this huge, black shaggy dog, I think it was a Newfoundland, that looked almost like a bear, named Padfoot. I loved that dog, and every time I think of the happiest moments growing up, Padfoot’s in a lot of them. So when he died when I was sixteen, I got this to remember him by. It seems like a tribute to my godfather, too, so I like it doubly.”

He didn’t need encouragement from Ginny to keep going. He raised his left leg and propped it up on the washing machine by where Ginny’s legs hung, rolling his sock down a bit to show a green, line-art tuft of grass snaking above his ankle. “I got this when I got the soccer scholarship to come here. I wanted something to commemorate soccer, seeing as it’s not only, y'know, my passion, but also what got me out of that damn house for good. But I thought something like a soccer ball or a net or even the pitch outline would be too cheesy, so I got a bit of grass, y'know, as in the field…”

“Tasteful,” Ginny nodded her approval, and Harry felt newfound appreciation for that tattoo. “That’s three down, Potter.”

“I’m getting there.” Harry brought his leg down from the washer and turned his back to Ginny, taking his hand up to the nape of his neck and using it to shift the hair there upward to reveal the back of his neck where it turned into his back. “Can you see it?”

“The little lightning bolt?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the story of that?”

“That was my second one. To be honest, I was a little ink-happy after my first one, so a couple of weeks after I got it I went back and got this.”

“But why a lightning bolt?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, turning back around to face her. “I guess it was just cool.”

“Oh, very,” Ginny said, and the edge in her voice let him know she was teasing him. “That leaves us with one, then. The emblematic chest tattoo.” Again, the playfulness disappeared from her face and was replaced by that strange look, the one Harry couldn’t really decipher but really, really liked. “Tell me, then, Harry— is Romilda Vane right?”

It was only because of the suggestiveness in Ginny’s voice and the permanence of that look on her face that Harry did what he did next. His movements slow, he pulled his shirt off over his head, setting it on the washing machine right by where Ginny sat. He heard Ginny draw in a breath and it hitch in her throat as she saw him, her eyes moving over his bare skin to spot the ink blot that had brought this all on. Curled above his right pec was a small, S-shaped dragon, colored in red and gold.

“I win,” Ginny said, her voice still husky, as she extended her left hand to touch the dragon with her fingertips.

“Are you going to tell Romilda?” Harry said, his own right hand settling lightly on Ginny’s thigh.

“No, actually,” Ginny said, her palm now coming down flat on Harry’s chest. Her other hand had also drifted to him, and she had placed it on Harry’s left side, right below his ribcage, as if to hold the side of his torso. “I think I’d rather keep this moment to myself.”

And then she was leaning in and kissing him, touching her lips to his first with tentative softness that turned into a stronger, more determined fire as the kiss deepened. With both of Ginny’s hands on Harry, and one of Harry’s on Ginny’s thigh and the other supporting the weight of the kiss against the solidity of the washer, they leaned into one another. Harry’s mouth sought out Ginny’s eagerly, overcome by the fiery feeling pooling in his stomach and rising up to his throat through his chest, by the fact that everything he’d thought about on their walk back from Lovegood’s was coming true much sooner (and much better) than he’d expected. He felt Ginny’s tongue nudge at his lips and opened his mouth to let her in, engulfing more of her lips with his as he did so. Ginny kissed passionately, her tongue meeting Harry’s even as her teeth dug lightly into Harry’s lower lip, making him kiss her more deeply. With her this close, he was invaded by the flowery smell of her hair, by the soft feel of her skin, by the low humming sound she made as she kissed him. And everything was coming together, making the fire in his chest grow, and it was a good kind of burn, better than whiskey, better than anything—

The loud ding of the washer as it announced it had concluded its cycle startled them, and they pulled back from the kiss looking a little dazed, that one upbeat chime having been all they needed to bring them reluctantly back into the real world. Still Ginny didn’t take her hands off Harry, and Harry felt less than inclined to move his from her leg.

“I should, uh, switch to the dryer,” he said, the only thing that popped into his mind there.

Ginny tightened her hold around his middle and moved her hand from his chest, wrapping it around his upper back to draw him closer. “Oh, let it wait,” she said, and then she was kissing him again, and Harry was finding that the dryer could wait for hell to freeze for all he cared.

The sleepy sound of the chimes above the door didn’t even make Ginny raise her gaze from her stats study guide, which she’d pulled out to make the best of the not-too-busy lull at Lovegood’s. “We’re almost closed,” she announced to whoever had come in.

“You can’t make room for one last customer?” a familiar voice said, and only then did Ginny perk up immediately.

“Harry!” she said brightly, shutting the stats book as it became all-but-forgotten. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to add one more tattoo to the five I’ve already got,” said Harry. “Think you can give me my sixth?”

Ginny didn’t even need to say yes, just opened up the lift-up counter door and disappeared through the beaded curtain. “Flip the door sign to 'closed’ before you come through, will you?”

Harry obliged and flipped the sign before following Ginny to the backroom. He sat patiently on the tattoo chair as Ginny milled about, getting the supplies ready.

“Y'know, you never did tell me the story behind your dragon tattoo,” Ginny commented as she went through the sterilization procedure for the needles. “Seeing as we were, um, otherwise occupied…”

The memory of the kiss flooded through Harry with the same fire that he’d held in his chest ever since, the flame growing to engulf his whole body just hearing Ginny mention it. “Should I tell you now?”

“I’d like to hear it.”

“I got it as a tribute to my old headmaster back home, Albus Dumbledore. Funny old man, and incredibly cryptic, but he’s the one that first gave me the idea of applying for the scholarship and helped me get all my grades and papers in order so I could make it here. We were very close, and he had this saying that he used to tell me whenever I ended up in his office for getting into trouble— 'never tickle a sleeping dragon’, he’d say.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Harry laughed briefly and shrugged. “Hell if I know. But it was his catchphrase. So after I graduated, I wanted to get something to commemorate him, so I got the dragon from his favorite saying. He came with me and got it too.”

Ginny turned to him and eyed him quizzically. “Your headmaster got the tattoo along with you?”

“I told you he was a funny old man.”

Ginny pulled a pair of black latex gloves over her hands and rolled a wheeled office chair over to Harry, the needle in hand. “So by what I’m hearing, you only ever get tattoos of things that are extremely meaningful to you, right?”

“That’s right,” said Harry.

“So, Mr. Meaning, what’ll it be this time?”

Harry smiled. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it slightly upward, just enough to uncover his lower trunk. He pointed to a spot on the left side of his torso, right under his ribcage— right where Ginny’s hand had been, where her touch had been burned into his skin. “Right here,” he said. “I’d like a little washing machine.”

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest platonic #canon fest romantic #submission #hinny #harry x ginny #side romione

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reogou · 4 years

Text

Dating HCs with Kotaro Bokuto

pairing: kotaro bokuto x fem!reader

genre: fluff, nsfw at the end

warning/s: nsfw, smut, pegging, finger-fucking (?), overstimulation

a/n: this is for @janellion for her prize! I'm so sorry it took me so long to make your prize 😭! I think the nsfw was a lot longer than the sfw, just like what you wanted. i hope you enjoy this! ily bb!

credits: to @westxrlund for the header’s bg

SFW

Relationship with this owl is tiring but fun. For real. You will have no sleep. You will literally wake up at 3 am because he messages you to say he misses you.

3 am escapades are your relationship goals. He's craving for ice cream? He'll message you in the middle of the night that he'll be there in front of your doorstep in 15 minutes. You miss him? He'll take you to the beach and will make you sit in front of the car while he wraps his arms around your waist, sharing both of your favourite drink while staring at the sea.

But maybe if he's too lazy to drive, movie marathon in the living room while watching your favourite movie with a single blanket covering the both of you. Or if you want to, he'll cuddle you in bed if you cannot sleep.

But if there's an important event tomorrow, like a practice or official match or exam, you'll be the one to make him go to sleep or study because this man has no limits in his clinginess. Baby just want hugs and cuddles please spare him from the pain of having to study-

But even if he's clingy sometimes, he does know that school and match is important. He, after all, wants to become successful for you and your future together.

When you're inside the school, little notes and love letters are never forgotten when it comes to Bo. He'll slid in small notes inside your locker or your bag after you both finished eating lunch together. This man, despite his chaotic self, has good penmanship. And y'all can't tell me otherwise. Though there might be a few messy strokes here and there.

His notes and letters are a bit over the top but that's what you love about him. Though all the contents of it are just him telling you how beautiful you are and how much you love him or just some lame pick-up lines or vines he thought of or saw in the internet.

Mornings with him will probably consist of you being awake so early in the morning because Bokuto wants to jog with you. I swear your legs would be dead by the end of your jog because of how far this man jogs.

This guy loves to eat your cooking. May it be good or bad, he won't let the chance slip of getting to taste the food you cooked no matter how bad it is.

Also, expect music marathon with him too. You'll both be sharing a single earphone while eating chips and reading books or blasting them in the speakers while you two dance under the afternoon sunlight from the windows.

He knows you love reading so when he became a professional player, he uses some of his money sometimes to buy you books you're dying to buy. Will also bring you in a reading café so you both could read while chilling.

During summer, expect beach dates too. He will invite his friends over to go on a vacation with the both of you for a week or two. He loves barbecue so there'll be like barbecue party every two days. Will sneak inside you out on the shore to invite you over a walk by the sea.

Texting with Bo is sweet and funny sometimes. But often times, you just send cheesy text to each other or he'll just send you random funny videos or memes he saved on his phone.

You always make sure to be on his every game to support him and cheer for him. Everytime he scores, his names escapes your lips in a shout to show your undying support for him. Whenever he feels down, you always make sure to cheer him up so that he wouldn't sulk during the game. You are his energizer and personal cheerleader after all. When the game ends, hugging him has always been a ritual for the both of you. If they won the game, you always give him a kiss in the lips as a reward. However, if they lost, your shoulders are always ready for him to cry on while you calm him by running your hands on his back.

Whenever he's down, ice cream with you is always the solution for him. Sitting on the couch while you both enjoy the cold sweet treat as he snuggle close to you and become the small spoon have always been perfect for him.

But of course, there's no such thing as perfect relationship. There will always be a time where you both will have a fight or a misunderstanding, and during those times, you both try your hardest to understand each other and explain both of your sides. Bokuto doesn't like fighting with you. Because he believes it's pointless. But even so, whenever you two got into a fight, Bokuto may be pissed and you may be angry too, but a day or two of clearing up the both of your heads has always been the answer. After a day or two, one of you will step out of their comfort zone and say sorry to the other, depending on who's fault it is.

NSFW

warning/s: please be warned that after this note, nsfw content will greet you. Read at your own risk.

As calm as you both are in the outside, sex with Bokuto was never vanilla. You both always manage to spice things up weather it may be major suck as blindfold or minor such as changing positions. And you always love it. After all, this man has big d energy and you can prove it down there.

His favourite position is you, on all fours, while he rams his cock inside you. He likes seeing your sweaty back, just like how you love his back too. The way your back arc when he hits that sweet spot inside you, he loves seeing it so much, resulting to him pounding you even harder than he already is.

Most times, he likes it sweet and slightly slow. The first time you did it, he was so slow and caring that it was the best experience for you. He likes to see you squirm beneath him while you moan in pleasure, sometimes begging him to go faster. Of course, he would give it to you since he wants you to feel pleasure.

However, this guy can also be so so rough when it comes to the sheets. He'll be ramming his cock deep inside your wet cavern until you can't say anything other than chant his name over and over again. Marks and bruises would be present on your hips and neck cause why not? He loves marking you.

Overstimulation? You got it. This man can make you come almost two times just by his fingers alone. The squelching sounds motivating him to go deeper until he hits that spongy spot you love the most.

He can also be a little shit sometimes. Teasing you by brushing his fingers to your overstimulated front, giving you orgasm denial just so he can see those pretty crystalline tears rolling down your cheeks.

He loves putting hickies all over your body. So much. He will literally bite you everywhere just so he can gaze up and stare at his beautiful handiwork. He also have sensitive neck, and the first time you bit him on the neck, a loud whine escaped his lips from the pleasure.

Sexts is also an often occurrence in your relationship. When he feels horny and you're not together, he would text you in ungodly hours and will tell you how much he misses the feeling of your walls around his fat cock. You would shush him, saying its inappropriate to send horney text, but one message from his commanding you to take off all of your clothes and send him a lewd photo was all it took for you to get horny and obey him. You both end up on a video call while you masturbate and he watches you, hands palming the beast under his boxers as his eyes ogled on your fingers thrusting in and out of your hole, lewd expressions forming on your face.

He's a dom, all the way through. But he has a dirty little secret that he hides from you. He can't see you dominating him, but it's not really impossible. Bokuto hides it, but he's curious about pegging. He had so search the meaning of it in google and when he knew what it meant, he lowkey got hard when he imagined it. You, behind him, while wrecking him with tat straps of yours.

He knows how much of a sub you are, that's why he hid at most of the time. When he tried to tell you about it while you two were cuddling on the bed after 3 rounds, you were a bit shocked. You? Dominating him? Bokuto, who's a hard dom? You were stunned. So shocked that you can only nod your head when he asked you if you're okay with it.

The first time you two did it, Bokuto was so shy that you have to come out of your shell and convince him that it's okay. You both don't know what to do, but Bokuto did some research to help the both of you.

When you put on the strap, it was kinda...awkward and uncomfortable at first. Add the fact that you don't know how to put it on, Bokuto have to help you. When you get somewhat used to it, you reached for the bottle of lube and squirt a good amount on your hands.

Bokuto was lying on his stomach in front of you, his ass high up to help you somehow. When you pressed your fingers on his puckered hole, he jolted in surprise that you almost jumped to. Once he was calmed down, you started spreading the lube around his hole and slowly inserted your finger.

Bo's moan was so good, so erotic that it made your cunt wet just by hearing his moans. When you started thrusting your finger in and out, his moans got more louder from the new pleasure he's feeling. After a while, his hole started relaxing and it was now super easy to insert your finger inside him.

You tried to insert another finger, attempting to imitate his motion when he's the one finger-fucking you. And the reaction made your hole clench, your juices dripping down the strap on your hips. Once Bokuto gave you the go sign that he's already prep enough, you started inserting the dildo inside him.

As first it was a bit hard, since it was your first time and you're still not used to using the strap. But when you found his hole at last, you started inserting the dildo inside him. A loud moan escaped Bokuto's lips, one that's so erotic that even porn actors would envy. It was so erotic, so cute that you got lost in the moment and inserted almost half of it in, making him squirm below you. When he looked over his shoulder to tell you to be more gentle, his face was full of tears, cheeks so red from crying and from too much pleasure he's feeling.

You can't help but to feel so good and started fucking him, but still in a slow way so as to not hurt him any further. His moans were echoing on the four corners of the room, so lewd and so good that you can't help but to thrust a little bit faster. The whole experience was so fun and enjoyable to you even though it was a bit uncomfortable using the strap. But it was worth it nonetheless, since you get to see another side of Bo that you've never seen before.

But man, the aftermath was that your hips and legs were hurting so much as well as your back when you both finished. It was so painful that all you could do was lay on bed. Bokuto felt a little guilty but you assured him that you're okay and that it wasn't his fault. To make up for it, he decided to eat you out.

You were on your back, your legs spread apart as Bokuto dived in on your cunt and licked your clit, making you squirm. He held your thighs firmly to keep them apart and started fucking you using his tongue. The pleasure was so good that tears started forming on the corners of your eyes as Bokuto pleasured you.

Bokuto has always been so good in using his tongue that it was not a surprise that you squirted on your 3rd orgasm. He doesn't want to tire you even more so he stopped and cleaned you up before lying beside you and pulling you close to him, naked bodies locked together between his strong arms.

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shhhlikeme · 4 years

Text

THE SEXY

HALL🎃WEEN COSTUME 🎃👻💀🍬 YOU WEAR THAT MAKES YOUR VOLLEYBALL PLAYER GO: 🥵🥺 part 2

Haikyuu!!

Ft. Tendou, Kenma, Daishou, & Aran

Part 1 | Part 2 🩸 Part 3 🩸 Part 4 🩸 Part 5 🩸

Ojiro Aran -

A Pretty AF Princess👑👸

this hubby-material, absolutely perfect creation of a man has a royal kink. It’s not up for debate!

argue with your mother if you disagree

Not in some crazy cocky sense where he thinks he’s royalty or something...

It’s moreso that he literally sees you as his princess already..... and treats you like it—even though you two have only been on a handful of dates!!!

Where you wore cute and casual outfits only.

Sooooo when you’re dressed as how this boy actually sees you....mannnnnnnnn

Aran Ojiro is all: 😦😦‘s and 🥺🥺🥺🥺’s

and a whole lotta 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩’s

Be prepared for him to shower you with compliments and attention, god damn

At the Olympic Team’s sober bar hop yall go to, Aran’s telling you how beautiful you look and how much a crown on your head suits you every half an hour

It puts butterflies in your stomach every time.

He’s dressed as a Prince to match you (which you had to beg him to wear because he doesn’t like the attention) and the entire night your new boo thing was treating you so sweetly

Kissing your hand, holding you bridal style through door frames, bowing to you 🥺🥺🥺🥺 the whole nine yards

The twins, Bokuto, and even Sakusa kept making fun of him for being so simpy

But the man didn’t care lmao! he kept speaking over the boys when they chirped him, yelling at them that they are FORBIDDEN TO SPEAK TO YOUR MAJESTY WITHOUT ROYAL PERMISSION 💀

You couldn’t stop blushing, even though you were shy... you secretly felt like you were on cloud nine by the way he was being with you, honestly

You thought the dates couldn’t get better but here we are.

“Ojiro..........” You blushed as you watch the guy you’re seeing and falling in love with Oop— press his plump and soft lips to you hand again.

“Hm?” He asks, opening them and looking up at you through his long lashes. He never removed your hand from his lips. You swooned even harder as your heart pounded, looking away. You tried again.

“Umm.... you’re just being so kind treating me like this all night even though your friends are making fun of you, and you say it’s because I am your Princess but.... you do know that YOU’RE the one that gives off a Royal vibes, right?! Your entire aura and the way you carry yourself—even when I first met you—screams King. Plus everyone says it. That’s why people keep saying how much your costume fits you. You’re Like........” You gave yourself a beat to think. “—-you’re like the kind and gentle Prince who takes over his father’s throne and changes all the mean laws that were there.... then takes the peasant girl for his wife because he only cares about true love. That would totally be you. You’re like, amazing, Ojiro.”

You were still looking away from your crush when you finished, immediately wanting to sink in a hole caused by utter embarrassment.

What am I, a damn Disney narrator?🙄, you thought pathetically.

Aran studied your features when you said all of this, his eyes softening. As soon as you were done speaking, he romantically pressed his lips against your hand again and then brought your hand down between you two, holding it.

Next, he gently turned your chin with his free hand so that you were facing him, and so that you could see the sincerity in his eyes.

You whimpered from the intensity you saw there.

“Y/N,” Ojiro began in his gentle-king voice.

“I could really go on with a monologue right now about how you carry yourself the same way you just described for me—like a Princess who overtakes her father’s throne and denounces any preexisting closed minded laws, then decides to give the humble baker—that’s me, a shot at a life of euphoria with you...... but I’ll save that for another time....” he paused, and you swore that you would never forgive yourself if the tears you were feeling decided to fall and ruin this moment.

“No! It’s you, Ojiro. I’m not even close. You’re so perfect and—“ A handsome smirk graced Aran’s handsome face, making your butterflies explode. Somehow looking at that smirk you just knew that he could tell you were holding back tears with everything in you, so, being the modern Prince he is, Aran came to your tear-saving rescue. He lightened the voice, effectively lightening the mood; but his eyes remained just as intense. He chuckled cutely before explaining the reason behind the intensity.

“Okay well uhh, hey, if you insist on calling me a Prince.... Then... as my first order of duty 👑, I’d like to ask you, my fair maiden, if would consider being so kind as to call this Prince: your new boyfriend? I mean—damn—sorry, did they even use that term back then?!”

Your heart bursted, practically springing out of your chest:

Not Prince Eric, not Prince Charming and not even Flynn fucking Rider had anything on how amazing this Prince was!

Your emotions bubbled over, letting out giggles that sounded just like a real Disney Princess’.

“Yes, Aran!” You exclaimed, lunging forward to hug him. Aran laughed brilliantly, thanking you.

You just basked yourself in this ending: Not knowing that your “yes” was the beginning..... of your fairytale.

A/N: shoutout to my upcoming King Aran AU omg I am smitten 🥺🥺🥺

———————————

Kenma Kozume -

Gamer Girl 🕹🔌

When it comes to Halloween costumes.......

You and your boyfriend Kenma are both lazy.

So when Kuroo called and screamed at both of you because you promised to go to his work’s party tonight, (especially Kenma who would look really good to his superiors) you both reluctantly agreed .... again😑😑😑

While Kenma simply showered, dried his hair and put on your cat ear head band and called it a day,

You realized that you had to scramble for a presentable costume. Shit.

You scoured Kenma’s condo since you have been staying here and won’t have time to go home.

Freaking out because you found shit all, your bf told you that you really don’t have to wear a stupid costume because this party is stupid and Kuroo himself is stupid.

Speaking of the devil: kenmas phone starting ringing with the Kuroo ringtone, meaning he was calling.

Kenma tried to ignore it, so you went into his game room to retrieve his phone for him.

While you looked for his phone near his gaming set up, your eyes fell on your boyfriend’s Professional Gamer headphones.

You placed his headphones on, fixed your glasses and decided you’d go as a cute gamer girl!

Kozume followed you in after a while when he didn’t hear you on the phone, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw you.

“Th-those are my headphones.” Your youtuber says flatly, trying not think about how mind blowingly attractive you look with them on. 🤯🤯🤯

You just pointed at his costume.

“And that’s my kitty headband. What’s your point?” You retorted, winking at him behind your glasses. “I have a costume now: I’m a gamer girl. Do you like it?”

Cat boy could only nod, his eyes growing dark. He pictured you gaming and it made him suuuuuper turned on.

You noticed and like the little shit you are, you closed the distance between the two of you and wrapped your arms around his neck. You puckered your lips asking for a kiss.

Kenma’s cheeks flared up, unable to stop himself from looking down your tight black & white tank top at your boobs.

In true Kenma style, he ignored your ask for a kiss.

“Kuroo is probably ou-out-outside, Y-Y/N. We should go.” Obviously flustered, your boyfriend quickly collected his phone from his desk and made a beeline out of his game room.

You laughed, calling out to him from your place in the room. “I saw your boner, Kenma!”

“Shut up.” You heard your monotone boyfriend call back. You could picture his blush.

You smiled.

———————————

Daishō Suguru -

Poison Ivy 🧑‍🦰🌿🥀

Your boyfriend is a self proclaimed snake . 🐍 he even recently got one tatted on one side of his chest and it looks AH-MA-ZING

But anyways... like I said:

Your boyfriend is a self proclaimed snake .

.....And Snakes like leaves 🍃

Therefore, you dressed as a leaf.

LMAOOOOOOOOOO

After you got all ready,

You Facetime’d him because he was away at a tournament and you wanted to show him your costume

When Daishō answered while grocery shopping, he was not prepared. He dropped his phone, picked it up, stared at you in awe, then he quickly hung up on you.

He didn’t want to sport a boner in the fucking meat aisle so he practically raced to the cash and called you back when he got in his car. Lol

no but fr Daishou went gaga when he saw you dressed as the sexy Poison Ivy

Not only is he a DC > Marvel Enthusiast, but Daishō loooved Poison Ivy because he and the super hero/villain had similar personalities

Poison Ivy approached DC Universe situations the same way Daishō approached rival volleyball games: with a manipulative sense, a temptress grin, and ultimately being someone no one you can tell whether they are a hero or a villain.

With all of that to consider, your man wasn’t even thinking about that because he was too busy thinking you look like sex-on-legs

He stared at your body madddd hard

“Fuck me. I wish I was Clark Kent right now so I had x-ray vision.” He groaned as he covered his free hand over his face, opening his fingers to peek at you. “What are you wearing under those leaves? Anything?!” Your snake-like boyfriend tried to sound stern, but you knew better.

“Nothing.”

Licking your red lips, you lean toward your laptop so that your boyfriend could see a close up of those red lips.

You saw him instinctively lean closer to the camera and take a deep breath.

“Your Best Friends/Name isn’t picking me up for another hour, Dai. But you and I both know that really means two hours. Anyway, I’ll slip on underwear when she gets here but I was....... sort of hoping you could show Poison Ivy that snake of yours......before then. She hasn’t met him yet🥺.”

In his rush to get back to his hotel for some hot ass web cam sex, Sugaru forgot the groceries in the car. Oh well ;)

the extra grocery trip he’d have to take later that night was well worth it.

———————————

Tendō Satori -

Skeleton Chick w Dope Clown Makeup

“Y/N CHAAAAAAAANNNNN!”

you cringed and put your hands out in front of you to protect yourself, just in time before your boyfriend Tendou tackled you on the bed you two share

You expected this, and that’s why you had strategically placed yourself in front of the bed when you finally told your boyfriend you were done your makeup

3 hours ago, you had a long talk with your red head as he sat down with his legs folded like a kindergarten student:

“Ten. I love you, but you are NOT ALLOWED back in the room until I’m done my makeup. You’re too loud, and you’re making me shake. I need precision. I promise I’ll call you in when I’m done and have my costume on.”

Just like a kindergartener student, your boyfriend gave you puppy dog eyes.

“BUT—“

“Ztttt! No buts!” You shut your eyes so that you weren’t looking at his puppy dog eyes that get you every time. “Ten, you can come in as soon as it’s done.”

You heard him sigh, so you sealed the deal.

“Don’t forget that You’ll be the first to see it, my special boy.”

“Alright!!!!” Tendou jumped up.

“Please, bring me to the room and shut the door behind you.” Since your eyes were still closed, your boyfriend hummed and linked his arm through yours, doing exactly as you asked. He lead you to your vanity and helped you sit down.

“I’ll be waiting! Cant wait to see it! I’m going to bake a Halloween cake to waste time!”

You felt a familiar kiss to the top of your head, then you heard your bedroom door shut.

God you loved that Chocolatier.

***

3 hours later, you were questioning why you loved that Chocolatier🙄, because he was crushing you under his weight after tackling you

Your boyfriend quickly rolled off of you and began his chatter.

This was both of your favourite holidays so Satori has been gushing the entire week

“OHO, you look awesome, Y/N-chan! When I was young, no one would take Halloween as seriously as I did so they’d say hurtful things behind my back and it made me very sad.....!!! Last year Ushi actually dressed up as the peanut butter to my jelly which was cool, but he didn’t know the words to the song for Karaoke......” His eyes lit up. “But now I have YOU! Someone who loves October 31st as much if not more than me! Oh, and you look beautiful AND scary! How did you do that??? Can you do my makeup like that, my love?! I want to match you! I also want to make love to you..... and—“

You reached over and covered Tendou’s mouth with your index finger.

This cutie shushed himself, making himself cross eyed because he was now looking down at your finger on his own lips

You laughed. There is so much you could respond to, but thinking about a baby Ten being all excited for Halloween and his stupid bullies making him feel like shit for it tug at your heart strings, disallowing you to say anything else to your brilliant Chocolatier:

“Ten...........I love you. Happy Halloween.” 😌

This time, you hadn’t had enough time to put your arms out before you were tackled by an enamoured Tendou Satori again.

Who do you want to see react to your Sexy Hall🎃ween Costume next?

Part 3: 4/4 requested - closed 🚫

Part 4: 4/4 requested - closed 🚫

Part 5: (final part): 4/4 - closed 🚫

first come first serve - send me an ask!

Characters that are currently in queue: Iwa, Ukai, Daichi, Oikawa, Mattsun, Kuroo, Kyoutani, Akaashi, Tsukki & Noya.

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dstarstories · 3 years

Text

Randomness: Prompt / Bentley

Felt like writing something short & random so I found a prompt off an old list that screamed Bentley + Devon so...

“you can’t get tattooed drunk, come back in the morning and if you still want my name on your ass we’ll talk”

Devon had been working part time at the local tattoo shop for a few months now. It was more of a fun hobby that he got paid to do when he was in need of the extra cash flow. His passion still was in his full time gig at the garage, learning all he could about cars.

He especially needed the extra money now that he was trying to pay the bills on his own for the first time. Almost immediately after finishing high school, he & Bentley had gotten a shitty little apartment together. People warned them not to, knowing their relationship was an intense rollercoaster. Now, less than a year later, Devon realized they were right & Bentley was back at home with his family.

Thinking of his ex made his heart ache even worse on this specific night. It was the blond’s nineteenth birthday & Devon knew he was with their mutual friends at a party to celebrate. Regardless of where they stood now, he was determined to show up there when his shift here was over.

As he swept the floor in the now quiet shop, he heard the bell over the door chime, indicating a customer. “Marco’s on break so it’ll be about ten minutes if you’re looking to get inked,” he called over his shoulder without looking.

“I can wait,” Bentley laughed.

Devon spun around as soon as he heard the familiar voice. Along with the man were two of their friends. He greeted them then hugged Bentley. “Happy birthday. Why aren’t you at your party?”

“Why aren’t you at my party?” Bentley asked quietly. It was obvious in his eyes & lazy voice that he’d been drinking.

“I get off in an hour & was going to go straight there,” he answered honestly. It felt good to know that Bentley wanted him there. “You should know I wouldn’t miss your birthday, Bent.”

The blond nodded, slipping his index fingers into Devon’s front pockets. He gave him a slight pout. “I miss you,” he whispered.

“You’re drunk & you need to stop,” Devon murmured though he made no attempt to push his ex-boyfriend away.

“You want me to stop telling you that I miss you?”

“I want you to not say something while you’re drunk that you won’t mean tomorrow after you’ve sobered up.”

Bentley pulled his hands away, shoving them into his own pockets as he looked away. “Then why the hell are you going to bother coming to my birthday if it’s not...” He stopped. They’d fallen into a very predictable pattern by now. Madly in love to bickering nonstop before another breakup happened. It never lasted too long before one was coming after the other & they started all over again.

He’d expected Devon at his party to try to win him back. When he hadn’t shown, Bentley took it upon himself to make the move & demanded someone bring him to see the man he still very much loved.

“You know I want to be with you, Bentley. I’m at work right now & by the time that I get done here, you’ll be too far gone to talk about things.” Devon sighed softly as he watched the disappointment on Bentley’s handsome face.

“It’s my fucking party. You knew I’d be drunk. What? You were going to come make sure you were the one I fucked but you didn’t have any intention of us getting back together?” he snapped.

“Stop.” Devon was getting annoyed now & he couldn’t hide it. “I don’t know what I expected because you’re right. It’s a fucking party so I should’ve known everyone would be giving you drinks nonstop. You know damn well I was planning to go to get you back & not for a fucking hook up.”

“Are they here for a tat?” Marco, the tattoo artist who owned the shop, asked as he returned through the back door.

“No, they were...”

“Yes,” Bentley cut Devon off before he could finish. “I want a tattoo. The name Devon. Right here,” he pointed at the back pocket of his jeans. “Devon with an O.”

Marco grinned, looking at his groaning employee with a knowing look. “Alright,” he nodded. “Come back & we can talk about what kind of font you want.”

Bentley gave Dev a cocky smile as he tried to stroll past him. Devon caught his hand & pulled him back. “Don’t do this.”

“Why not? You thought it was a good idea last time we talked about it,” Bentley snorted.

“We were joking around. We agreed we’d figure out something we could both get to represent each other, something that really meant something,” he reminded him.

“You mean something,” Bentley said firmly, his voice low so that only Devon could hear him. “You don’t think I’m serious so maybe this’ll prove it.”

“Bent...” He sighed & shook his head. “You can’t get tattooed drunk. Come back in the morning and if you still want my name on your ass we’ll talk.”

Bentley considered it for a moment then pulled himself free of Devon’s grip. “Fine,” he finally conceded. Then he realized what he’d heard. “In the morning? Does that mean you’re not coming to my party?” He frowned, looking hurt at the thought.

Devon rolled his eyes, a soft smile pulling up the corner of his mouth. “You want me to come so bad, then I’ll come. One hour. You want to come back in the morning for the tattoo? I’ll bring you myself. Okay?”

Bentley smiled again, stepping closer & wrapping his arms around Devon’s neck. “Will you get one with my name?”

“I’ll do whatever stupid shit you want me to if it makes you happy, birthday boy,” he chuckled.

#teen bevon #Bentley Young #Devon Matheney #bentleyxdevon #dstar writes #random writings #writing prompt #non story #meekraincloud

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atths--twice · 4 years

Text

Next two chapters from the Kiss Prompt list. ❤️🔥

A Lazy Rainy Morning

Sometime after April 2000

Scully woke to the sound of rain falling heavily against the window and Mulder mumbling something, his weight pressing against her, though not unpleasantly. She blinked her eyes and stared at him.

“What are you doing?” she asked with a yawn as she attempted to stretch, but he held her still.

“Shh!”

“Mulder…”

“Did I not make myself clear when I said “Shhh!”?” He raised his head and looked at her from his position against her left side, before looking down again.

She was naked in his bed. Actually, they were both naked. He was currently lying beside her, one arm across her, his hand on the bed, supporting his weight as he stared intently at her stomach and her left side. He was moving his lips, silent words being said, but she could not understand them.

“Mulder—”

“SHH! Or I’ll lose count.”

“Lose count? What are you talking about?”

“Scully,” he sighed loudly and pressed a finger gently into her side, causing her to arch into him. His touch was like a drug, and she craved it like an addict. “46, remember that number. 46, 46. What was that number?”

“46.”

“Good.” He maneuvered until his left index finger covered the spot, as he stretched to reach for something on his nightstand. “46. Aha! Got it.” He held an uncapped pen and as he moved back into his former position, he drew a circle where his finger had been and she cried out with a laugh.

“What in the hell are you doing?” she asked, trying to see what he was drawing.

“Well, if you must know, I’ve been tallying them up,” he said, still writing something on her flesh.

“Tallying up something that requires you to brand me? Like I’m cattle?” He chuckled and she felt it against her body, stirring her desire for him.

“I’d hardly consider you cattle. And it’s simply so I know where to start when I begin again.” He finished his work, blowing lightly to dry the ink, creating goosebumps on her skin. Looking up as he dropped the pen over the side of the bed, he grinned the smile that made her knees weak and her blood race.

Her core throbbed with an ache to feel him inside of her. This overwhelming desire for him was new to her, as it had happened only a few times. She had always wanted him, but now… she knew the taste of him, and the way he filled her so completely. The thought of life before this, when she could only imagine the feel of their bodies joining together, was a life she did not want to live.

“What are you up to, Mulder?”

“Physically?” he glanced down and she grinned. “I’d say we’re livin’ on a prayer.” He wiggled his eyebrows and she laughed, her head back and her eyes closed, as he laid his head on her stomach, singing halfway there quietly.

She placed her hand on his head and stroked his hair, still chuckling. Opening her eyes, she watched her fingers disappear in the thickness of his hair, her fingernails scraping lightly and causing him to moan.

The rain fell harder against the window and she heard thunder in the distance. Closing her eyes again, she sighed, happy they had nowhere to be but in his bed, the sheets smelling of them.

“So, if I’m not cattle, why the 46 brand? If it’s orgasms you’re tallying, I’m sorry, but you’re way off.”

“By how much?”

“Hmm… I’d say at least 26,” she laughed softly and he raised his head as she opened her eyes.

“That means I’m at 20. Not bad for the amount of time I’ve put in,” he wiggled his eyebrows again and she smiled.

“More like I’m at 20, actually,” she teased and he tilted his head as she raised her eyebrows at him.

“You’re at 20 which means I have gotten you there, therefore…” he said, raising his eyebrows back at her and she shook her head. “No? What does that mean?”

“At least two, maybe four, have been… without you,” He stared with wide eyes and she pursed her lips together, her fingers still in his hair. “But, I’ll round up and call it 15 for you. With you.”

“Two or four… without me?”

“Hmm, yeah.”

“We’ve been together in one form or another for nearly three weeks, how… and… when?”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I was thinking of you and how you…”

“How I what?” he interrupted, his eyes flitting from her eyes to her breasts, causing her nipples to harden. He ran his fingers up her stomach and between her breasts, her breath catching. “Is it that?”

“Nnn… no,” she said, clearing her throat, her pulse racing and her legs shaking. “Not that exactly.”

“What exactly did you mean then?” He circled his index finger slowly around her nipple and she moaned, exhaling loudly, as she bit her lip. “It wasn’t this huh? Because it seems like something that would definitely result in at least one, if not two.”

“One for sure if you keep doing that,” she breathed, her head falling back as she gripped his hair and he continued his slow movements.

He scraped his nail down her breast and across her nipple and she cried out, squeezing her legs together, no control over her climax when he touched her that way.

“Mulder,” she gasped. “Oh, Mulder. You don’t… weren’t we… didn’t you want to know about the… the umm...”

“The what?” he whispered, palming her breast gently and squeezing her nipple.

“Fuck if I know,” she exhaled and he laughed. She looked at him as she licked her lips and he smiled.

“16 for me,” he smirked and she nodded.

“16. But not 46.” She glanced towards her side and he laughed, shaking his head. “You show me yours, Mulder, I’ll show you mine.”

“Oh, Scully,” he said, looking over the length of her naked body. “I think we’re past that.”

“Figuratively, of course.”

“Hmm,” he nodded, moving his hand from her breast, and shifting his body slightly. “Freckles.”

“Excuse me?

“I was counting your freckles,” he smiled and she frowned.

“My freckles?”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, kissing the spot where he had inked her and she frowned again.

“What are you—”

“I was counting them as you slept,” he explained, moving up and staring at her, his eyes moving across her face. “I can see them without your makeup.” He smiled and she reached up to touch his face with a smile of her own.

“Are you telling me I have 46 freckles on my face?”she asked with a teasing tone.

“No,” he chuckled. “Though there are quite a few and I love seeing them.” She nodded, her hand on his cheek. “It’s like when I first met you, so fresh faced and young. Not that you aren’t now.” He stopped her hand from leaving his face and moving away from him, as she huffed in mock anger.

“Stop it woman,” he said as he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her right arm to her side. “I’m paying you a compliment and you will listen to it.”

“That you prefer me fresh faced and young? Nice compliment,” she teased and he rubbed his face into her neck, his day old scruff scratching at her skin, causing more goosebumps.

“Prefer? No, and not at all what I said,” he kissed her neck and she sighed, her left hand in his hair. “Young Scully would never have let me do this.” His tongue licked under her jaw and she shuddered.

“Oh, you might be surprised to learn what young Scully would have let you do,” she breathed as she closed her eyes, memories of motel rooms and car rides where she had very unprofessional thoughts about him.

He lifted his head and she opened her eyes to find him staring at her in shock. She smiled slowly and winked at him as he shook his head.

“Well, shit,” he whispered and she laughed softly. He stared at her, his eyes serious, as she touched his face.

“It could have ended terribly. It might have been amazing. Maybe we would have been different, but that wasn’t our journey. This is, and I’m not complaining,” she whispered, as thunder cracked and lightning flashed and the light on the nightstand fluttered before glowing brightly again.

They both glanced at it and laughed as they looked back at one another.

“The gods have spoken it would seem,” he said with a smile and she nodded, pulling her right arm free as he loosened his hold a little.

“So, 46 freckles huh?”

“Mm-hmm.”

She smiled and ran her thumb across his lips while he stared at her intently. “Will you continue with your tallying? Shall I expect to have numbered circles all over my body?”

“Little rest areas along the freckled highway?” he teased and she laughed.

“Something like that, yeah,” she whispered.

“I plan to continue, yes, I gotta be thorough. Investigate everything,” he said, kissing her thumb on it’s second trip across his lips. “Now you owe me a tit. Or a tat. Not sure which it would be.”

“Well, you’ve had both this morning, so… I’d say we’re even,” she giggled and he shook his head.

“Not at all. You owe me two… or four,” he insisted and she sighed with laugh.

“It was two and you really should add it to your list of 15… 16 now, as I was thinking about you, so credit where it’s due,” she said quietly, running her nails softly down his cheek, his eyes closing briefly.

“So 18 then, but you haven’t told me what you were thinking. I think I know, but I want to be absolutely sure.”

Thunder cracked so loudly, she jumped. The light went out, darkening the room, but she could still see him; his beautiful face staring and waiting.

“You don’t know because I haven’t told you,” she whispered and he hummed. “It’s not what you’re thinking, but I do love that too.” He nodded and she smiled, her right hand on his shoulder, her nails running in circles.

“It’s the way you kiss me.”

Lightning flashed, highlighting his surprised face, and she smiled as she stared at his lips.

“I was getting ready for bed, alone in my apartment, when I thought of how you kiss me, when you take your time. When it’s slow… lazy… languid. I… I had to take care of the ache I felt or I might have gone mad,” she whispered, and his breathing increased as he swallowed hard.

“Just by thinking about a kiss?” he said in a low gravelly voice and she felt it to her core.

“Mm-hmm.”

“A slow, lazy kiss?” he asked, leaning closer to her, his lips close to hers, his breath warm and intoxicating.

“Ye… yeah…”

“Like this?” He pressed his lips to hers softly, his kiss unhurried. He kissed her again, opening his mouth and pulling her top lip between his, sucking gently at it and she moaned.

Slowly, he kissed her as he moved, his body now above her. She could feel that he was more than halfway there now and she shifted, allowing him to settle further between her legs. He ran his tongue slowly across her bottom lip and she whimpered, wanting more, but knowing this was nearly enough.

Nearly.

He slid inside of her and she broke from his kiss. Crying out at the feel of him, the way it was new and felt old all at once. An act they had perfected for years before they ever knew the whole story. He claimed her lips again, slowly kissing her, just as she said she had liked.

The rain continued, thunder shaking the windows, and lightning flashing; as though nature was capturing the moment, keeping it held safe for all of history.

Two bodies in motion, slowly learning how to physically love each other.

#x files fanfic #mulder and scully #fanfic #sexy times #lazy day in bed #rainy weather #naked conversations #freckles

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big-bad-a-detective-story · 4 years

Text

CHAPTER 06

Ah, the Ugly Duckling. Just your average hole in the wall gathering spot for the lowest of the low, just as grim and greasy as its name might suggest.

Actually, the place was named after the guy who ran it. In a place like this, you learn not to underestimate even the smallest of waterfowl.

“Something tells me they don’t serve milkshakes here.”

I could tell Felix was just as sickened and unimpressed by this place as I was. He was about to discover their lack of frozen confections was the least troubling thing about it.

“You’ve been quiet, Norman, are you monologuing in your head again?”

We steeled our nerves and we made our way inside. The dim lighting of the place wasn’t much brighter than the fading lights outside. Every face in the room turned to glance in our direction.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“Shhh,” I whispered under my breath, glaring up at him. “You’re ruining the mood!”

Some people just had no respect for the art of crafting a marketable story.

Still, even so, we entered deeper inside the bar-- curiosity our Virgil, as we were dragged along for answers that only the bottom feeders of society could provide. I sauntered up to the counter, Felix close on my tail. Perhaps too close, as I bit down a cry just as the guy stepped on it.

If my eyes had a trace of tears, I didn’t let it break my resolve as I leaned against the counter-- fedora tipped in such a way as to add a shroud of mystery to my persona.

It was the barkeep, a woman that put the UHG in ugly, that addressed us first.

“Not two faces I recognize, but what can I get you fellas?”

“A glass of milk, preferably,” answered Felix, breaking whatever rough and tumble airs we would have had. I pinched the space between my eyes, feeling the beginning of a headache coming on.

“No! No milk. We’re here to ask questions, preferably on the subject of ‘who’. What can you tell me about Larry Lemonade?”

The fact her face lit up over the name alone was enough to spring some doubt over the validity of the plan-- Felix’s plan, I reminded myself. The barkeep grinned.

“Larry? ‘S funny guy.”

Silenced followed afterwards, doing its best to stretch into oblivion, before I realized that was the end of her answer. I shook my head to wake up my senses.

“That’s… That can’t be it. You got to have more than THAT!”

The barkeep shrugged.

“Eh, won’t be different from nobody else’s.” Must have had good ears to pick up nobody, let alone their statement. She went on: “Makes us all laugh. Did a show tune on the counter last week, paid for the drinks and dishes he broke ‘cause of it. ‘S’not so bad.”

Clearly she wouldn’t be helping in the testimony department then. I grabbed my hat in frustration, pulling the brim down on either side of my face as I repressed the urge to howl.

That was when my pal Felix stepped up to the plate.

“Ma’am, do you know if there’s anybody he talks to frequently? Or perhaps anybody that can help us get in contact with him? We need to discuss some work related matters, I’m sure you understand.”

Then he threw her his award winning smile. One that said ‘you can trust me, girl’ and was only a moment away from spilling the tea.

It almost made me proud to call him my friend. Almost. I still hadn’t forgiven him for the milk comment.

The barkeep gave a smile of her own, one with less charm and fewer teeth, and leaned across the bar. I wished she hadn’t, but what she said next made her eye-watering aroma worth enduring.

“Oh, I understand. If you’ve got business with Larry, you’ll wanna talk to Rumpelstiltskin. He’ll know where to find him.”

She tipped us a wink and generously returned to her own side of the bar top. So we had a name, and not much else ... and it looked as if this lady was done sharing secrets.

“Rumpelstiltskin, huh?” Felix replied. “And where might we find this stranger, hm?”

The barkeep gave a lazy shrug. “Oh, he’s around here somewhere.” And then she wandered away, wiping a glass I’m quite certain will never be clean.

But no matter. We had a man to find, a few clues with which to find him. Luckily, my detective skills have been honed for years. I scanned the room, senses sharp, attention focused.

“You have no idea what you’re looking for, do you?”

I shot Felix a glare. Why had I brought him along again?

“Do you have a better idea, Felix?”

He only shrugged.

“I may have a suggestion or two.”

Okay, alright, so I may have flinched a little. But could you blame me? One moment we’re standing there alone, the next, there’s a tiny man sitting on the bar stool right beside me.

“GAH! Don’t DO that.” I cried, my instincts causing me to latch onto Felix for my-- I mean-- HIS emotional well being. Yes. This seemed to make the mysterious man’s eyes squint in glee, even as he took a sip of his drink. He finished doing so with a satisfying ‘ah’.

“Apologies, detective.” Was his response, said in a way that clearly showed he was NOT. “I just couldn’t help but overhear you were looking for someone. Specifically, me.” So HE was Rumpelstiltskin! “Now what can I do for you two charming fellows?”

“You seem to know an awful lot already, you tell us.” Was Felix’s mumbled response.

While it was true I should have been suspicious of the fact the guy knew my occupation, it was easy to assume he had heard of the likes of the Big Bad Wolf. So, I waved it off-- annoyed that my friend was trying to distract me from the matter at hand.

“Word on the streets is you were the last one to talk to the suspect I’m looking for. What can YOU tell me about Larry Lemonade?”

At this Rumpelstiltskin's impish tail swayed excitedly.

“What don’t I know? It’s my business to pick up on anything I can find, and I happened to be quite skilled at it. For example,” Rumpelstiltskin eyed Felix next to me, my friend actually shrinking some at the leer. “Mr. Fox here is keeping a terrible secret, aren’t you? Saying your special ginger scones are a family recipe. But I think we BOTH know you get them from the Muffin Man down on Drury Lane.”

I was just about to complain about this information-- who cared about something as trivial as all THAT-- when I was startled by sudden wails.

“It’s TRUE,” sobbed Felix. “I could never perfect the recipe! It was a harmless crime, it didn’t HURT anybody!”

Rumpelstiltskin took pity on the guy, procuring a handkerchief from who-knew-where as he passed it along to my blubbering pal.

“Oh, there there. I’m not the guy to judge you on that. I happen to know all about harmless crimes. And then some.”

It was then that lecherous leech looked in my direction, dulled yellowed teeth shining in the dimly lit tavern.

“However, you asked about my good pal Larry. What do you need to know, detective? His waist size? His favorite place he frequents for lunch? What about how Larry’s relationship is coming along with that pretty little nanny he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of?”

This guy was a grade A sneaky snitch, I was almost as impressed as I was wary. But crooked moral compass or not, this was exactly the type of guy I’d been looking for.

“I don’t care about any of that. Less talk of nannies, I need to know about grannies. One in particular, in fact.” I leaned in closer, and I continued in a lower tone, lest I be overheard.

“What can you tell me about Larry’s involvement with the sudden disappearance of Old Maybelle Fawcett, and a little girl wearing a bright red hood?”

The little man let out a short, deep chuckle I didn’t quite care for. I wasn’t a fan of that impish smile, either.

“Oh, I could tell you plenty. But I’m afraid information like that doesn’t come cheap.”

And, there it was. They say everyone has their price. Unfortunately, I found myself a tad short.

“I see. Wouldn’t you know it, I left my wallet in my other pants.”

“You’re not wearing any pants.” Felix felt the need to point out. So helpful.

“I don’t suppose you’d take an, I Owe You?” I gave the small man my best, most charming smile, and wouldn’t you know it?

It worked.

“Actually, yes! It just so happens I deal in, favors.”

Rumpelstiltskin was coyly playing with his straw, just waiting for me to ask my next question. WELL, no reason to keep the guy waiting, I supposed. And it was with me- tilting to that rude reprobate’s level-- that I asked:

“What KIND of favors, exactly?”

“Oh, nothing too serious. Just a tit for tat, you understand. Gave a gal a hand after she gave me hers, helping her find her fortune away from that no-good family of hers. Made one guy rich by pulling a prank on him-- told him he had to wear a bearskin for seven years. And would you believe it? He did it!” At this he laughed. “Oh, that kept me entertained for a while, let me tell ya.”

That… didn’t sound so bad, to be perfectly honest. I looked down at my person-- I heard of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but I wondered how ridiculous it would be as a bear. The man seemed to laugh all the more, causing me to remember where I was.

“Alright, mac. That sounds easy enough, but what do you WANT from ME?”

“Simple: a promise.”

Rumpelstiltskin touched my cheek, patting it like one might pet their dog. Insulting, was what it was! Rumpelstiltskin pinched my snout, causing me to jolt upright from the abuse even as he continued carrying on conversing.

“I’ll give you a map to Larry Lemonade, all at the simple price of promising to do whatever I ask of you. You won’t know when, you won’t know how. You’ll just get a call to meet me at another time for a drink.” He punctuated this with a sip, the gurgle echoing within the glass. “An easy payment, for the lives of two, wouldn’t you say?”

Felix scoffed at this.

“You… really aren’t going to take that deal, are you, Norman? It’s far too vague. He could ask for ANYTHING!”

I looked my pal in the eyes, his own harden look lessening at what was no doubt the gravity of my own. I turned to Rumpelstiltskin, his hand reached out lazily as if this really did mean nothing to that scumbag. I growled, even as I grabbed it.

“I hate to say it, but DEAL.”

Rumpelstiltskin tittered.

“Oh, detective…You made the right choice.”

#Big bad: a detective story #norman d wolf #felix fox #rumplestiltskin #chapter 06

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rareficsnstuff · 5 years

Text

A Different Kind of Challenge [Tendou, Bokuto (Kuroo)]

Summary: It’s an average night at the apartment and Bokuto is in the middle of his at-home workout routine. But when his roommate comes in, he has a brilliant idea to challenge himself further. Except… this wasn’t quite the challenge he was expecting.

Words: 2,111

AN: A sequel to this

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“Nine hundred eighty-seven, nine hundred eighty-eight, nine hundred eighty-nine…” Bokuto counted aloud from the living room floor. He was in the middle of the sit ups portion of his daily workout session and he paid no mind when one of his roommates walked in, pausing to stare at him skeptically.

“Yeah right. You just started counting at a really high number when you heard me coming, right? There’s no way. Quit showing off,” said Tendou dryly as he moved to lay on the couch. Bokuto only grinned and continued.

It was a regular thing at their shared apartment. Every night, Bokuto would monopolize the living room floor for his workout while one or the other of his roommates was away at their evening classes. It made for less of a hassle all around that he be in only one persons way rather than both. Mondays and Tuesdays were Tendou’s class nights and Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays were Kuroo’s. Saturdays were Bokuto’s break days where he didn’t workout (aside from his morning stretches).

“Nine hundred ninety-nine, one thousand!” he finished spiritedly, flopping down and letting out a dramatic sigh.

“Honestly, don’t you think it’s a little much to be doing this every day, Bo-Bo?” As he chided the larger of the two, Tendou tucked his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. Bokuto chuckled.

“Not at all! It’s fun and at the end of the day, it makes me feel better. And I actually think it helps me sleep.”

“Is that right?” Tendou said dryly.

“Hey, do you think you could help me out a little?!” Bokuto asked, suddenly very excited. Tendou peeked at him through one, lazy eye.

“How do you mean?...” he asked cautiously.

“Get on my back.”

“…”

“Come again?”

“Get on my back while I do my one thousand push ups! I could use the extra challenge!” Bokuto’s eyes were sparkling with the enthusiasm of his great idea.

“I’d rather staple my tongue to an active missile.”

“Oh, come on, Don’t be like that! All you have to do is sit there,” he pleaded.

“No.”

“Please?”

“Nope.”

“Pretty please ~ “

“Not gonna happen, big guy.”

“I’ll do the grocery shopping for you for a month!” Tendou tensed.

“You know what? I’ll do it to keep you from doing the shopping,” he said, rolling himself over to sit upright and fix a judgmental gaze on Bokuto.

“…Whaddya mean?”

“Do you actually think I’d trust you with that responsibility? For any amount of time?”

“I can shop – !”

“You suck at shopping, Bo-Bo!”

“I – … What?” said Bokuto dejectedly.

“Bokuto, my bud, you’re a kick-ass cook, but you can’t shop to save your life – and it could.”

“Yes I – !”

“You don’t know how to look for bargains, you don’t pay attention to expiration dates, you under or over-portion… and… man, you impulse buy snack foods and protein powder. No human on this earth needs to consume as much protein as you’ve got infesting our pantry.” There was a heavy pause in which Bokuto seemed to grow a cloud over his head. Oh good, now he was pouting.

“Dude, don’t. Look, I said I’d do it so skip the drama, wouldya?” Tendou said in his best attempt to ease the tension. Bokuto didn’t respond as he only continued his sulking.

“Hey… Okay?” Bokuto sighed.

“…Okay.”

“Okay! So how does this work?” Bokuto moved to the plank position before he looked over his shoulder at Tendou.

“I do push ups, you sit on my back.”

“Criss-cross?”

“Sure.”

It was an awkward process as Tendou tried to get comfortable and balanced without digging a heel or a knee too painfully into Bokuto’s back. As he finally settled, he leaned forward a bit and placed his hands on the larger’s shoulders to keep his balance. Bokuto waited patiently for the shifting and squirming stop, and when he heard a confirmatory sigh of ‘there’ from the red-head, he began.

“One, two, three, four…” Tendou was surprised at how smooth this was. He expected to struggle with his balance, but for the most part he was pretty stable.

“This is like one of those coin-slot carousel horses you find at a convenience store. It smells funny and it’s full of disappointment,” Tendou snarked.

“Don’t be mean! Shut up! You’re gonna make me lose count!” Bokuto whined.

“Alright, big guy, don’t blow a fuse now.” As Bokuto continued, Tendou remained silent well into the two hundreds. He was getting bored, though, so out of pure curiosity, he shifted his hands below Bokuto’s shoulders and rotated them so that the heels were together and gently curled his fingers into his ribs.

“Two hundred sixty-eigaaAA! Hey, watch it! That tickles!” he shrieked. Tendou’s curiosity was sated and he grinned.

“Honestly never woulda pegged you as the ticklish type, Bo-Bo.” Bokuto chuckled.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I’m as bad as Kuroo, but… Where was I?”

“Two hundred sixty-eight.”

As casual as anything, Bokuto continued, completely oblivious to Tendou’s hatching scheme and wicked grin. The red-head scanned the larger’s broad back, thick neck, and exposed underarms, trying to determine where might be the most effective spot to strike. He opted to press this thumbs into the meat between his shoulder blades. The effect was satisfying enough. He yelped as his back tensed and his elbows gave out, nearly causing him to face plant but he caught himself just in time. The jostle almost made Tendou topple off.

“Hey, common, man! What are you doin’ up there?! Take it easy!”

“Sure,” said Tendou passively before he quickly started squeezing the back of Bokuto’s ribs.

“Gahahah! Hehey! Alright yohou’re doing this on puhurpose!” Bokuto chuckled as his arms betrayed him and slowly lowered him to the ground.

“Nothin’ gets past you, champ,” teased Tendou as his fingers slowed to a stop.

“Lohook, Tendou, I’ve got seven hundred and eighteen more to go. You can tickle me after, but just let me finish this, please?”

“Well, you said you wanted a challenge…” He dug into his shoulders again, drawing startled laughter from Bokuto.

“Whaahahaho! Naha-stooop!”

“Okay, so here’s how this is gonna work: you’re currently in the ‘down’ part of a push up. Up, down, and back up again. You do that, and I’ll stop,” he bargained.

“Noho-that’s insahahaine! I ca-haha, I can’t!”

“Sure ya can; you’re a hulk. Now c’mon, up ya get!”

“Noho, no! I reheally cahahan’t! Please dohon’t!” It was only then that Tendou noticed the extreme lack of struggling Bokuto was doing. He looked behind him and saw how weakly he was kicking. He thought he’d be thrown off right away if Bokuto really wanted him off. Tendou grinned. This just got a whole lot better.

“Oh my god~ You’re the type that can’t move when someone tickles ya, huh?~” His laughter went up when Tendou wriggled his fingers under his arms. “So you don’t think you’re as bad as Kuroo... I donno, man, you seem plenty ticklish to me. At least Kuroo can move.”

“Daha-Please stohop!”

“You know how to make it stop, Bo-Bo. C’mon, up you go!” Bokuto’s arms had contracted in on himself when Tendou got under his arms, but the pure desperation to make the torture stop had him pressing his palms against the floor again attempting to heave his body and Tendou’s off of it. With all his concentration focused on the effort, his laughter deteriorated into throaty giggles. Tendou saw the near success he was having and redoubled his attack, digging in full-force. Half-way up, Bokuto’s laughter was renewed and his body lowered to the floor once again.

“Tehendou, I can’t!”

“Sure ya can. Try again, big guy.” But the poor guy really couldn’t do it, so Tendou decided to ease up and move the assault back to his shoulders. Snickering, Bokuto tried again, making it halfway when Tendou moved once more, this time to Bokuto’s neck.

“Tsehehehe! Staha-!” Bokuto tossed his head from side to side, tucked his chin, and pressed his ears to his shoulders, giggling like mad but finally straightening his arms in a full push up.

“Atta boy!” Tendou cheered, still tickling his neck. “Now you just gotta lower yourself down and push back up again and you’re good!” As easy as he made it sound, Tendou had no intentions of making it so. Bokuto shrieked when the red head suddenly clawed at his very vulnerable stomach, making him crash gracelessly to the floor and practically crushing Tendou’s hands as he wormed them into the sensitive flesh. And judging by his reaction, this was definitely a weak spot.

“Nahaaa! NONONOHO! Pleahese-Tendou! Sta-nahat thERE, THAT’S THE SPOHOHOT! PLEAHESE!” Bokuto cackled. Tendou could say one thing about him: he certainly wasn’t as timid about this as Kuroo was.

“Hey!”

Speak of the devil. Just then, Kuroo walked in the door, having come home from his evening classes.

“Hey there, putty tat ~ “ said Tendou, not stopping his assault on Bokuto’s belly. When Kuroo came into full view of what was going on, he tensed, looking a little nervous.

“Don’t call me that…” he said dismissively, hurriedly making his way out of the room. Tendou grinned at his poorly hidden panic. Meanwhile, Bokuto continued to die.

“KUROOOOHOHOHAHAHA! HEHELP, PLEASE!” he pleaded. Kuroo stopped and glanced worriedly over his shoulder at his two roommates as all Bokuto seemed to be able to manage in defence against the attack was a weak squirm.

“No power on this earth could convince me to get into that mess.” Kuroo left and the sound of a door being closed in the back of the apartment could be heard.

“Well, so much for that plan, huh, buddy?” Tendou teased.

“Tehendohohou! I-hi, I cahan’t get uhuhuhup!”

“That sucks. Guess I’m just gonna have ta tickle you ta death,” he said passively, wiggling his fingers in the little dips where his stomach meets his hips. Bokuto had had his head turned to the side, but in a moment of sudden bashfulness, he turned his face into the carpet, pressing his nose to the ground and muffling his laughter in the most hilarious way. Tendou almost fell of his back from the distraction of his own laughter.

“One more, man! One mohore!” he cheered, now tweaking and pinching the sides of his stomach.

“StaHA! Sohomewhere else! TIHICKLE SOMEWHER EHEHELSE!”

“Nope. Up.”

Part of him hoped that Tendou would just get bored and stop when he realized Bokuto really wasn’t going to get back up. But the other part of him knew how stubborn Tendou was. Once he set his mind on something… There was no way Bokuto was getting out of this without doing that damn push up. The guy was currently full-on torturing his absolute worst spot and it was honestly more than he could take. At this point, he wasn’t even thinking about it anymore – not that he could; all his brain could focus on was the incessant tickling sensations – but his body did all the work on its own, lifting him off the ground to sweet, sweet freedom.

As soon as he felt his elbows lock out, the tickling stopped and his mental paralysis dissipated, leaving him crashing to the ground once more. Tendou was giggling like an imp as he rolled off the exhausted Bokuto’s back.

“Wayda go, champ!” he praised teasingly as Bokuto struggled to collect himself.

“Youhu troll! You were ahactually gonna tickle mehe ta death, weren’tcha?” he chuckled breathlessly.

“Hey, that was all on you, Bo-Bo. If you had just done the two push ups like I’d said-“

“Ahare you kiddn’ me, man! Thehere’s no way I could’ve done thahat!”

“Sure you coulda!”

“I kinda couldn’t move with you tickling me, string bean.” Bokuto rolled onto his back, a wide grin still firmly in place as he wrapped his arms limply across his chest.

“So I noticed. That’s some handicap you got there, big guy.” Tendou chuckled, scribbling his fingers over Bokuto’s belly, making him twitch and snort. “Aaaaall that muscle and it’s toootally useless when someone tickles ya ~”

“Stahapit- stahap!” Bokuto snorted again, loudly, and Tendou withdrew his hand laughing as the other recovered once more.

“So, really: nothin’? You can’t move at all?”

“Nohot enough to do any good.”

“Why?”

“I donno. Tickling’s just an energy sucker for me, I guess.” Tendou laughed again.

“Well… you ready for those other seven hundred and eighteen other push ups?” he asked but was startled by Bokuto’s sudden full-out laughter.

“Are you kiddn’?! There’s no way! I’m pooped!”

“...Wanna watch that trashy ghost hunter show?”

“Sure.”

As Tendou stood to fetch the remote and switch on the TV, Bokuto didn’t even bother to sit up from his position on the floor, merely turning his head lazily to the screen as it blipped on.

“Tendou?”

“Hmn?”

“I’m thirsty.”

#haikyuu!!#tickle fic #Bokuto Koutarou #Tendou Satori #Kuroo Tetsurou

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thesportssoundoff · 5 years

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“Two title fights, a #1 contender fight and a whole lot more fun” The UFC 231 Preview

Joey

December 4th, 2018

It's December! Ya know what that means? Max Holloway is fighting! Max Holloway is fighting on his fourth straight December card and thank GOD he's making the walk for this one because it's a dandy. The UFC heads to Toronto with what is ultimately a decent step down from their last three December Holloway related events but a god damn good card overall. We've got two title fights, one long overdue and one we never knew we wanted until like a few months ago, and a plethora of really strong action fights and Canadian middle management fighters to round it all out. This card really does miss a great #3 fight (like Moicano vs anybody really) but beggars can't be choosers really. You have some important action fights at bantamweight, lightweight and featherweight outside of the two big fights AND THIAGO SANTOS IS BACK! If that doesn't have your heart skipping beats then I don't know what will. It's not UFC 232 or 233 but it's good and let's enjoy it, right?

Fights: 13

Debuts: Jesse Ronson

Fight Changes/Injury Cancellations: 2 (Renato Moicano vs Chad Mendes CANCELLED/ John Makdessi OUT, Jesse Ronson IN vs Carlos Diego Ferreira)

Headliners (fighters who have either main evented or co-main evented shows in the UFC): 11 (Max Holloway, Brian Ortega, Valentina Shevchenko, Joanna Contender, Thiago Santos, Jimi Manuwa, Eryk Anders, Gunnar Nelson, Cowboy Oliveira, Claudia Gadelha, Jessica Eye)

Fighters On Losing Streaks in the UFC: 3 (Jimi Manuwa, Matthew Lopez, Dhiego Lima)

Fighters On Winning Streaks in the UFC: 8 (Thiago Santos, Max Holloway, Brian Ortega, Nina Ansaroff, Carlos Diego Ferreira, Kaitlyn Chookagian, Elias Theodorou, Aleksandar Rakic)

Main Card Record Since Jan 1st 2016 (in the UFC): 35-16-1

Max Holloway- 3-0 Brian Ortega- 5-0 Valentina Shevchenko- 3-2 Joanna Contender- 4-2 Cowboy Oliveira- 6-2-1 Gunnar Nelson- 2-1 Hakeem Dawodu- 1-1 Kyle Bochniak- 2-3 Thiago Santos- 7-3 Jimi Manuwa- 2-2

Divisional Breakdown:

Featherweight- 2 Welterweight- 2 Women's Flyweight- 2 Lightweight- 2 Light Heavyweight- 2 Bantamweight- 1 Middleweight- 1 Strawweight- 1

Too High Up- Kyle Bochniak vs Hakeem Dawodu

I don't think this fight was originally scheduled for the main card and then it got the bump up when Moicano/Bektic fell out. It's not the WORST fight to get bumped up because of the majority of the dudes on the prelim slate, very few of them are prospects and most are just established names and keepsakes for their respective divisions. Bochniak is very much riding the Zhabit fight buzz right now which is good for him and I guess I'm glad the UFC is giving Dawodu that PPV rub. THAT SAID/having said that, maybe another women's fight on the main card could've been a better allocation of resources. No, the fight will probably not be as exciting but Gadelha vs Ansaroff could theoretically be a fight where the winner draws a Tatiana Suarez or one of the other names in the division (Waterson, Felice Herrig, Calvillo if something happens to Courtney Casey). I'd even be okay with Aleksandar Rakic (one of the genuinely intriguing 205 lb European prospects) vs Devin Clark getting the call up. Either way, I'm not mad about this fight being on the main card BUT it could be better.

Too Low- Devin Clark vs Aleksandar Rakic

Let's go back here right quick. Even if you don't move Esparza vs Ansaroff, it's a perfectly accepted prelim headliner. It may not have a finish in it (I think Ansaroff and Esparza have one UFC finish combined) but it's got some name value, it's good compelling matchmaking and I think everybody will be fine with it in this spot when all is said and done. Devin Clark vs Alexander Rakic is the third fight on the Fight Pass prelims. It's somehow below Brad Katona (off TUF undefeated) and Matthew Lopez (loser of two straight and owner of a 2-3 record in the UFC). It's below a really blegh fight between Elias Theodorou and Eryk Anders and even Olivier Aubin Mercier vs . AT THE RISK of being mean, it's even behind Jessica Eye vs Kaitlyn Chookagian which is absolutely positively going to be a fifteen round sparring session given Chookagian's style and Eye's propensity to brainfart in the face of anybody who can comfortably strike with her. Kind of not a fan of this burial of the fight given that Clark is a competent (if somewhat frustrating) fighter and Aleksandar Rakic just dominated Justin Ledet without too much trouble. Let's do better, UFC.

Stat Monitor for 2018:

Debuting Fighters (Current number: 38-41-1): Jesse Ronson

Short Notice Fighters (Current number: 32-33): Jesse Ronson

Second Fight (Current number: 42- 36-1): Brad Katona

Cage Corrosion (Current number: 22-37): Max Holloway, Gunnar Nelson

Undefeated Fighters (Current number: 35-24-1): Brad Katona, Brian Ortega

Keeping An Eye On But Not Really; Fighters with at least four fights in the UFC with 0 wins over competition still in the organization: Matthew Lopez

Twelve Precarious Ponderings

1- What is a fair buyrate expectation for this card? Let's start with the positives! Brian Ortega vs Max Holloway is the sort of fight that should not require the booker of the year award to sell. It's two compelling unique characters, dominant in their own ways and in their own base styles, from two unique backgrounds facing off. Both are on long long winning streaks in the UFC, Ortega is undefeated and Holloway has finished the greatest FW of all time twice. There's not a lot of trash talk but both guys are very clearly talking and trying to promote this fight within what they can say. Ortega has been a high profile fighter on a number of occasions and Holloway is headlining his third straight PPV. Now the negatives! Jim Cornette has a saying that I want to borrow for this one; Hurting your audience's feelings. Jim uses that sometimes to describe bad booking decisions which seem to have lasting damaging effects on business, scaring off fans and leaving them downright pissed off at what they got. Holloway pulled out of a March booking with Khabib Nurmagomedov due to a massive weight cut and nobody seemed to get too mad about it. Holloway a) tried to save the card and b) was up a weight class AND ON HIS COUCH when he got the call. The July one is a little bit more messy as Holloway pulled out AGAIN under vague circumstances as concussion symptoms turned to allegations that he had a seizure turned to rumors of water overloading to what is now rumored to be some sort of Vegas drugging. Holloway's done it twice now and despite being a warrior and super consistent durable fighter, even I'm of the belief that I'll believe Max when he's in the cage and the door's locked. Brian Ortega isn't innocent either here although his problem is a more subjective one. Ortega had the chance to fight some guys on short notice in July for an interim title. He turned it down. There were a few problems with that for fans; 1) Ortega got HIS big break through a short notice fight where Frankie Edgar stayed on the card to face Ortega as a fill in, 2) he didn't seem the least bit remorseful about it which hurt the feelings of fans who paid big money to see him vs Holloway. FOR the record, if I were Ortega, I would've done what he did---but the right decision is often the wrong decision. When you do something good, the memory is short but be the guy (Jon Jones) who totally lets them down in their eyes then they remember it. The customer is always right even when they're wrong and we see that all the time in the UFC. This may be a fight between the guy who has twice dropped out of PPVs vs the guy who turned down an easy opponent on short notice to stay on the card.

So what IS the buyrate for this? In a just world, Ortega vs Holloway as headliners would do great and with a proven back up draw in Joanna trying to become a two division champion, the buyrate would be very solid. That said, we don't know if the UFC audience had its feelings hurt. There's also the old adage I was always told about December PPVs; if you go before Christmas, you're competing to get people to spend money they have earmarked for presents. If you go AFTER Christmas, you have a shot to get a boost from folks who just GOT spending money from the holidays. Go too far into January and you'll catch them around tax time. Holloway's two December PPVs did what I think we can consider to be the UFC baseline (215K for Pettis, 210 to 220K for Aldo II) and Ortega is a first time PPV headliner. I wonder if the hope is to touch 300K but the reality is that anything over 200K should be fine. Let's see how hurt some feelings were.

2- It could just be recency bias but I can't help but shake the feeling this fight has some Fury/Wilder to it. Max Holloway, like Tyson Fury, can do everything absolutely right for 24 minutes. He can move perfectly, make Ortega pay for coming in sloppy, take him down when he's over aggressive on his plant foot and make Ortega's life miserable with body shots. The problem is that Ortega, like Wilder, has an equalizer that any given time can come into play. Ortega just has this freakish knack to fight with an inevitability; at some point you WILL make a mistake and when you do, it's over. One bad takedown attempt when you're under pressure? He's got your neck. Game over. Get a bit lazy in top control? Triangle. Game over. Even on the feet Ortega is really underrated (or was pre-Edgar) in how crisp he was not just with his knees and elbows but with his hands. Ortega brutalized Moicano with body work, slowing him down and pressuring him until Moicano panicked into a guillotine. He made Clay Guida miserable going for takedowns with crisp work on the feet and then when Clay was tired and falling behind, Ortega finished him with knees. Frankie Edgar made one slip up on the feet and it was over. Ortega fights with like a man who is so confident in himself and so confident that he IS going to win that nothing you do can bother him or deter him. Holloway basically has to fight a perfect fight for 25 minutes whereas Ortega needs ONE opening across five rounds to end this.

3- Can Holloway get Ortega's respect enough to stop the pressure? Holloway can fight going both ways whereas Ortega has at times struggled if he has to fight in reverse.

4- Max Holloway has developed into a pretty competent wrestler since McGregor bullied him on the ground and in large part, Holloway's wrestling is his secret weapon. If it's the path of least resistance and he can avoid getting caught with something stupid, he has zero problems taking dudes down. He controlled Jeremy Stephens on the ground and made Clay Collard wilt under relenting top control and back mount pressure through his wrestling. Thiago Tavares and Diego Brandao moons ago took Ortega down. I'm just not sure if Holloway wants to play that game.

5- So anybody more confident that we get Ortega vs Holloway happening than they are Valentina vs Joanna? Feels like we're about to get set up for another snafu.

6- The UFC's welterweight division has come a long way since Gunnar Nelson last fight. Colby Covington, Darren Till, Kamaru Usman, Rafael Dos Anjos, Elizeu Zaleski, Santiago Ponzinibbio and others have all basically taken steps up while Nelson has bee away. Gunnar USED to be the new hot act in town, aided by how uniquely calm he was and his relationship with Conor McGregor. Losses to Rick Story, Demian Maia and a finish vs Ponzinibbio (although it may have been somewhat controversial) have clearly put a cap on Nelson's potential BUT he is just 30 years old, good on the feet when he can operate at range and a fluid grappler. Cowboy Oliveira's struggles primarily have been against squirrely grappler types (a third round sub vs Gilbert Burns and a panic triangle loss to Cowboy Cerrone are his more serious blemishes) and so I can absolutely see Nelson spamming takedowns until Oliveira either stops him or makes a mistake, gets his back taken and gets submitted. Either way this is a great fight and a great test to see what Nelson's got.

7- WHY is Gilbert Burns being allowed to cut to 155 lbs again? He was pulled from a fight with OAM before due to concerns about the massive weight cut and then when he lost to Dan Hooker, Hooker (a dude who went up from 145 lbs to 155 lbs) basically said the only reason he got the knockout was because Burns had cut so much weight to get to 155 lbs that his punch resistance was cooked. Seems risky and all around stupid for the UFC AND Burns to do this at 155 lbs.

8- So what IS Thiago Santos at 205 lbs? We're in the midst of watching Anthony Smith run up the UFC light heavyweight rankings and Santos iced him pretty easily all things considered. Santos, like Smith, is an all action fighter who is defensively flawed but blessed with unique offensive gifts. If we were to compare them; Smith is younger, more athletic and maybe a bit more aware defensively while Santos wrestles better, hits a hell of a lot harder and lives up the mantra of a man who has a fucking hammer tattooed to his chest. Smith's first fight at 205 was a cooked Rashad Evans while Santos' welcoming challenge was a short notice 185er in Eryk Anders. Manuwa hits really hard and will be desperate off of two losses, painting the picture that there just may be some risk for Santos in this fight. I'm still betting he fights like said risk doesn't exist.

9- Hard pass on Anders vs Elias Theodorou. The hardest of passes.

10- Can Jessica Eye FINALLY get the title shot she's been chasing with a win over Kaitlyn Chookagian? Twice Eye has been in the driver seat for a big fight and twice she's been knocked back, the first a close loss to Alexis Davis and the second a thrashing at the hands of Miesha Tate. Chookagian is the sort of fighter who doesn't possess the big size difference Davis had or the ability to make Eye pay for her repeated mistakes like Tate did. She's a good kickboxer with zero pop, great TDD and a desire to stay on the outside. If Eye can't do it here then she's never going to be able to do it.

11- Can Nina Ansaroff hurt Claudia Gadelha? I think Gadelha is officially at the breaking point of her durability and Ansaroff does have power even if she uses it so seldolmly.

12- IF Holloway beats Ortega, can we FINALLY put him in the running for GOAT?

#UFC #MMA #Holloway #Ortega #Joanna #Valentina Shevchenko #Canada

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halloweeniegal · 7 years

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BTS Reaction: S/O Used To Be Wild As A Teen

Seokjin:

His eyes grew wide as you told him war stories of your teen years. He never would’ve imagined you being such a rebel, seeing how you were now. There was a tiny part of him that was bothered by the underage drinking and smoking you told him you used to do, but he loved you dearly so he easily let it slide.

“As long as you don’t do anything like that now, I’m okay with it,” he reassured, giving you a small smile. You sighed in relief, hugging him thankfully.

“I thought mama Jin would of been so mad at me for all of that,” you joked, burying your face in his neck.

“Do you still have tattoos and piercings?” Curiosity got the best of him as you pulled back to see his raised brow. You nodded slowly lifting your shirt to show him the rose tattooed beautifully on your ribcage, also revealing a small turtle bellybutton piercing at the same time. You couldn’t control the smile that grew on your face as Jin timidly reached out, tracing his fingers slowly around the tattoo on your side, causing small shivers to surge through you.

“That must of hurt.” You nodded heavily at his statement.

“Hell yeah it did, the bellybutton piercing didn’t though.” You pointed out the small turtle piercing adorning your tummy as you smiled softly at him.

Jimin:

Much like Seokjin, his eyes grew wide as you told him stories of your teenage years, but for a completely different reason. He was fascinated by the fact that you used to be such a troublemaker and he was curious about everything you did as a teen.

“So you used to smoke when you were with friends… what was that like?”

“I mean I regret it now, because it ruined my lungs quite a bit, but I guess at the time it was fun.” You shrugged, smiling at your curious boyfriend as he stared at you, questions reeling in his head.

“So any piercings and tattoos you have now?” He questioned, raising a small brow at you. You nodded your head, showing him the tattoo that adorned the top of your right breast, causing his eyes to widen slightly, not expecting a tattoo to be there of all places.

“And I have a septum piercing,” you said, pulling the tiny piercing out of your nose, revealing it to Jimin.

“How in the world did you hide that from me?” He asked, reaching up to mess carefully with the small ring.

Min Yoongi:

Most of everything you were telling him, he didn’t really care about, until you got to the tattoos and piercings part of your story. Yoongi seems like a guy that thoroughly enjoys things like colorful tats and random piercings, as long as they aren’t too showy.

“Show me your tattoos.” He demanded, wanting to see what you decided to permanently add to your beautiful skin. You lifted up the back of your shirt, displaying a tattoo you had gotten with your best friend when you both were decently drunk. Despite the fact that you both were fairly out of it, the tattoo still was pretty cool, and wasn’t anywhere near stupid.

Yoongi inspected it carefully, enjoying the pretty colors and the way it adorned your back so perfectly. He couldn’t help but reach his hands over to trace the tattoo that was inked on you.

“What about piercings?” He asked as he continued ghosting his finger around the tattoo, causing goosebumps to rise along your skin at the feeling of his nimble finger against your back.

“Well, I used to have a nose ring…”

“Anything else?” He leaned in to place a kiss against your tattoo as he lowered your shirt and pulled you against his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Um… I have a piercing somewhere that I never talk about.” You informed, grinning nervously up at your boyfriend, thinking he would hate the idea of having a piercing down there; you were wrong.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to show me that one later,” he suggested with a raised brow, moving his hands to ghost carefully along your inner thigh.

Jungkook:

Kookie was quite used to seeing teenagers doing rebellious things as such, just having graduated high school, so he didn’t really question you much when you told him all about your teen years, which wasn’t too long ago.

“I mean if you don’t do any of that stuff now, I’m chill.” He grinned happily at you, hugging you tightly against him. Everything was pretty normal after you finished telling him all of your war stories and you were now cuddling up to each other as you quietly watched a movie. His fingers were tracing slowly along your back before he decided to ask a question.

“Do you still have tattoos?” He asked, looking down at you, moving one of his hands up to gently mess with your hair. You nodded your head against his chest, too lazy to move to actually show him the tattoo displayed across your thigh.

“Do you ever wonder why I don’t wear shorts, like, ever?” You pointed out, turning your head once again to watch the movie as a look of realization painted Jungkook’s features.

Hoseok:

Hobie was definitely amazed as you told him all about your rebellious stage in your teen years. His loving smile never left as he listened to your every word, wanting to know everything about it.

“Tell me more… what was the worst thing you’ve ever did while drunk?” You were definitely surprised to see how okay he really was about all of it, but you were happy about it nonetheless.

“Well, I’m not exactly sure if this actually happened because well, I was drunk, but one of my friends told me that I got so drunk one night that I was barking at every man I found even a little attractive, gave a lap dance to a passed out dude, and later everyone found me in the host’s laundry room, eating froot loops on top of their washer.” You retold, not remembering a single thing from that night a few years back.

“Oh my god that’s hilarious.” Hoseok couldn’t help his bright laughter after hearing your drunken stories.

“Now about tattoos…” when he paused you rolled up your shirt to display the tattoo that was inked carefully on your stomach, right below your breasts. A loud happy squeal left Hoseok as he leaned in to touch your tattoo.

“That’s so cool,” he spoke, completely mesmerized by the fact that his girlfriend had a tattoo.

Kim Namjoon:

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” He questioned, not really believing anything you were telling him. Namjoon could not imagine you being like that, and he was greatly confused as you retold story after story of your teen years.

“I’m not kidding Namjoon. I wouldn’t make this shit up.” You laughed lightly punching his arm as you delved into another story about a night where you got so drunk that you couldn’t even remember anything the next day.

“Prove it then,” he challenged after you finished your third or fourth story, looking at you skeptically. You rolled up your long sleeve, getting frustrated as it stopped at your elbow, deciding to just take it off, showing your covered shoulders.

“I got these when I was a teenager,” you smirked, showing off your inked skin. Namjoon found it so unbelievably hot that you had tattoos displayed beautifully across your shoulders, and the fact that you were now shirtless really didn’t help.

“Damn,” he spoke, drawing his bottom lip in between his teeth, biting sexily.

Kim Taehyung:

Tae was definitely fascinated as you told him about your rebellious phase, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed about the fact that he didn’t know sooner.

“I thought I knew you so much better, oh my god,” he complained, looking out you with a small, cute pout. You shook your head with a small giggle.

“It’s okay TaeTae, I really haven’t told anyone about my past except for you, so feel special.” You reassured, smiling happily at him.

“Do you have any piercings?” He asked, completely forgetting about the fact that you didn’t tell him sooner. You nodded your head digging in your pocket to grab a little baggie that held your nose ring and earrings.

“I’m honestly surprised you hadn’t noticed the hole in the side of my nose,” you said with a giggle, pointing to the ride side of your nose where there was, indeed, a small hole where your piercing belonged.

#bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts fluff #bts #min yoongi #j hope #hoseok #jungkook #kim namjoon #kim teahyung #kim seokjin #seokjin #park jimin #jimin #fluff #namjoon #taehyung #smut

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urwarriorangel · 7 years

Text

just friends (stiles stilinski au ft derek hale)

National Suicide Hotline (USA): 1-800-784-8433

Hotline Masterpost

I love you all. I’m sorry times are tough, and I hope you see clear skies and rainbows from here on out. I hope you see a beautiful snow storm and a nice cozy thunderstorm with a cup of hot tea in hand.

Plot: Feelings don’t come in to play until you realize that what could’ve been is being threatened by what is.

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Reader, Derek Hale x Reader

Warnings: attempted suicide (graphic and emotional), language, protective!Stiles

A/N: sorry about the drought, the lack of writing! this is an old piece that is redone to fit Teen Wolf Characters. Stiles is a jock in this, Derek is a tatted punk turned jock, and Scott McCall is the angel that he’s always been. I really hope this isn’t too bad. I love y’all and I”m sorry I have writer’s block. Let me know what you think! XOXOX (no gifs are mine!!!)

Damn it! I knew this would happen. It's your best friend's first college football game and you’re already running late. You promised him you’d be there early, but noooo! You had to take a nap and snooze your damn alarm. Screw it. You brush on some mascara and toss on some skinny jeans with your school sweater before running down, phone in hand. Thankfully, your dorm was a five minute walk from the football stadium.

You made it to the field just as the choir finished performing the national anthem. Stiles was looking around before his eyes finally landed on you and he heaved a sigh of relief. You smile widely and wave at him as the teams make their way onto the field. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Stiles’ girlfriend Leslie holding hands with another player. You shake your head and brush the negative thoughts out of your head, thinking that maybe that’s her brother or really good friend. Stiles and Lydia have been together for a few years; she wouldn't cheat on him. You shrug and focus your attention on the game.

As part of your ritual, you send Stiles a good luck text and tell him you love him. This has happened in someway shape or form for about the last ten years before every game of his. You’ve been friends with the dork since you were five and he was six. He was a few months older than you and teased you about it every chance he got. You lived right next door to each other all throughout middle- and high school. Stiles was always the popular bad-boy jock that all the girls drooled over, and you were his nerdy, semi-popular semi-depressed, counterpart. You two managed to remain friends through the years & prove to everyone that brunettes actually have more fun. And now, here he was, paving his way to greatness in his first college football game of his career. You couldn’t be prouder of him.

A couple years ago, Stiles was going through a rough patch. It was your sophomore year and his parents were going through a divorce. You helped him through it and he managed to pull himself out. Although he claimed that Leslie was his light at the end of the tunnel, I think he was doing perfectly fine himself.

A loud whistle brings you back to the present just as your team scores a touchdown! Stiles is the quarterback and he tossed the ball straight to the wide receiver who ran to the end of the field and scored your team six points. The crowd’s gone wild, you’re jumping up and screaming for Stiles as the group of guys next to you pull up their shirts and reveal “NOTRE DAME” spelled out on their stomachs. Derek Hale, the dreamy receiver who scored a touchdown, does a little dance and makes the crowd cheer even louder.

The game went on and at the end of the fourth quarter, you were neck-to-neck. Notre Dame was up by three points and your enemy aka the University of Indiana had the possession. There were 12 seconds left and Indy was 10 meters away from a touchdown. Everyone was at the edge of their seats as the seconds ticked by and Indy's quarterback let the ball fly. You held your breath as one of their players seemed set to grab it, but you were all joyously taken by surprise when your cornerback intercepted the ball as the clock ran out. Everyone got on their feet and screamed in both shock and happiness. You laugh and make your way down the bleachers to see Stiles, only to be stopped as you reach the field. You look up and are met with a familiar face smirking down at you.

You smile back up at Derek. He looked oddly familiar. Sure, you saw him around campus a few times as he was a star football player, but you had never been so close to him. Holy hell, were you missing out.

"Hey there!" He smirks at your obvious staring as he yells over the crowd's cheering. "Did you enjoy the game?"

"Hey, Derek," you blush and look down slightly, almost peering over his shoulder to look for Stiles before looking back up at him. "I very much did enjoy the game. That was a great catch, by the way! Indy didn't see you coming!"

"Thank you." Now it was his turn to blush. "I didn't know a beautiful girl such as yourself followed our games this closely."

"Oh, I’m Y/N,” you smile and hold your hand out for him to shake, which he quickly accepts. “I won’t miss any regular season games. My best friend is on the team, Stiles?"

"So you're the best friend he asked us to stay away from! Is he keeping you for himself, or?" He looks at you, questioningly as his eyes widen in realization.

"No, he's dating Leslie," you chuckle and smile, removing your hand from Derek’s. "He's just super over protective of me. Speaking of the rascal, where is he? I ran here for him!"

"He probably went to the locker room with Leslie to get some post-game action." Derek laughs and shakes his head as you gag.

"I don't need that image. I see it enough already!" You laugh and nudge him as the player who caught the interception walks over and eyes you up and down.

"What do we have here?" He winks at you and you shake your head.

"Just because you helped us win our first game doesn't mean that you get a pass with that comment." You give him a teasing glare as he raises an eyebrow. "No passes, but that was a super cool catch, a life-saving one actually."

He blushes and smiles widely, dimples popping out in both cheeks. "I'm Scott. Scott McCall."

And before you’re able to respond, Stiles comes out from behind them and engulfs you in a hug.

"STILES OH MY GOD!!!" You squeal as he laughs and spins you around, obviously moving you away from his two teammates.

"Did you see my throw?!" Stiles puts you down and becomes really passionate as he speaks about the one thing he loves the most: football. "I didn't think I would make the pass, but then I remembered your text and I just threw the ball and BAM, Hale with the touchdown!"

"I did see your throw! It was a beautifully executed throw with a solid catch by Derek," by this time, Derek & Scott have made their way over to you and they're both blushing wildly.

"Bro, why didn't you tell us your best friend was so beautiful? And into sports?!" Scott punched Stiles lightly in the shoulder as he slightly tenses, trying to keep his cool composure as his teammates drool over his best friend..

"Because you buffoons would react exactly like this." Stiles forces out a chuckle and smiles at his friends.

As he and Scott continued their talk, Derek walks over and looks at you, just staring before something clicked both in his head and in yours. You knew he looked familiar! Derek opens his mouth to say something, but you grab Stiles before he has a chance to.

"Alright, goodbye boys. Stiles will see you in practice and I will be at your next game." You smile at both of them and leave with your best friend, trying your best not to look back.

Crap that was too close.

You pull Stiles away from Derek and Scott, leaving him slightly confused but still very happy. Once you reach the university campus, you slow down and look up at your best friends cute smile.

"I'm proud of you, Stiles," you smile and wrap your arms around him as you walk through campus.

"Thank you, Y/N." He smiles and kisses your forehead. “I’m sorry for leaving you to deal with the knuckleheads after the game.”

"It’s okay. I heard you and Leslie got in some quick action after the game," you chuckle and wiggle your eyebrows at him as you near his dorm.

"We got in some quick but very good action in after the game," Stiles smirks, swiping his ID and letting you into the building. You two walk past the RA and into the elevator; Stiles lived on the third floor but you were feeling lazy. "You're staying over tonight, right?"

"Yes, sir. Unless you want to kick me out to get some more action?"

"No, I think I could get some action in with you." Stiles playfully slams your back against the elevator wall and stands over you as you look up at him, rolling your eyes and trying your hardest not to blush.

"Please, babe. That’s not possible,” you pull away just as the elevator dings and the doors open, dragging him out by his hand. "Let's go to your room so we can sleep. I have an early class tomorrow."

You walk into Stiles’ dorm, using your spare key to open the door and trying to push down any unwarranted feelings for the doofus. You close his door and head to his bedroom to look for any clothes you may have left over previous times. You frown when you don't see anything of yours around.

"Stiles!" I stand in the middle of his bedroom with my arms crossed, more from confusion than anything.

"Yes?!" He runs in and cups your face, checking for any injuries. "What happened? Did you hurt yourself? Is something wrong?"

"No! No, I'm okay!” "I'm sorry. I just got scared,” he smiles and wraps his arms around you, oddly worried.

“I’m fine, I promise. Now, come on. Find me a shirt because I can't find any of mine." He laughs and kisses your head, pulling away .

"That's because I'm doing laundry. Actually, my roommate is. Hale’s doing laundry." Stiles reaches into a drawer and pulls out an oversized t-shirt. "Here you go."

"Wait... Derek is doing your laundry?! I had underwear here!" You blush and groan, covering your face as Stiles chuckles.

"Don't worry, he won't do anything. I've warned them all!"

"I think you want me to die alone." You pout and head to the bathroom to change, Stiles’ laughter ringing through his room.

You change and step back into the bedroom, only to find him sound asleep and in his boxers. You turn off the lights and lay next to Stiles. He cuddles close and moments later, you begin to drift off.

Flashback in a Dream

You graduated last week, top of the world and happy as can be. Of course, your happiness doesn't seem to last. It was like you had everything but wanted nothing. You were so tired of yourself, of all the burdens you carried around. You couldn't even wear your favorite dress to graduation because your stupid arms and legs were covered in scars. You hated yourself. You wanted this shit life to end. And what better place to end it than at the lighthouse? It was around seven in the evening, a nice chilly summer night. You told your parents You’d go for a quick walk and be back. They both smiled and asked you to get home quickly, little did they know you wouldn't make it back at all. You had a bottle of wine in your bag and a razor in your pocket. You chuckled sadly and ran the razor across your arms and legs and stomach, each cut an angry thought. You looked at your phone to see Stiles calling you for the fifteenth time. You shook your head and let the phone ring. You loved him, and that’s why you couldn’t--wouldn't hurt him. He couldn't know about this.

"Hello?" You heard a voice behind you and turned around. He was tall, and he was so so handsome. He had tattoos up and down his arms and across his bare chest, his green eyes were narrowed as he took in your crumpled appearance.

You quickly (drunkenly) hid your hands as he walked closer, feeling yourself dim out slowly. "What's up?"

"Why are you here by yourself? And why are you hiding your hands?" He reached back to grab your arms and you let out a soft yelp.

"Ow!" You whimper and pull your hands out, slurring your words as your emotions get the best of you. "I'm fucking depressed. I'm suicidal. I hate myself. Is that what you wanted to hear?!"

He quickly shakes his head no as you black out.

You keep drifting in and out of a daze for what seems like days before you finally wake up. Your eyes begin to adjust to the dim lighting and you see someone asleep with their head on the side of the bed. You softly nudge the person and he looks up, alarmed. It was the guy from the other night. Which meant... you weren’t dead.

"D-did you save me?" You whisper, your voice hoarse from the lack of water in your system. He notices and hands you water before answering.

"I- I just brought you back here. I didn't know if you'd make it, but--oh my god. OH MY GOD." He exclaimed, looking at you as though he'd just realized that you’re awake. "You're alive!" He laughed and leaned down to pay a celebratory kiss against my forehead.

"Why did you save me?" You whisper the dreaded question, managing to stop his celebrations as he looked at you, both confused and angry.

"Did you expect me to let you die?! No. Hell no,” He shook his head, barely able to look you in the eye. “You deserve a second chance. This is it. Life is fucking hard, and believe me I know it. I'm upset when I have no right to be. I'm given everything and I want nothing, but I will not die. I will not let my depression beat me. And I sure as hell won't let it beat you, Y/N." He looked at you, almost reiterating your own speech to you as you stared at him in awe. "I checked your ID, that's how I know your name."

You nod slowly and begin to sit up. "T-thank you..?"

"Derek. My name is Derek." He smiled at you as he realized that his words registered.

"As you know, my name is Y/N," you held out your hand and he shook it. "Thank you for saving my life."

"Not a problem. I don't want you to be like this anymore. Please promise me. No more."

"No more." You smiled at him, tears brimming in your eyes as he held out a pinky and you hook yours with his. You lean forward and press a shy kiss against his lips. "No more."

Dream Ends

You jolt awake and pant heavily, double and triple checking your arms for any cuts, relieved when you find none there. It's been three months and there are no more cuts. Three months since you’d last seen Derek. Three months since you opened up to Stiles. You promised Stiles, but you also promised Derek. Derek who spent one night with you and then flew back home. Derek who you didn't recognize until today. Stiles stirs in his sleep and looked up at you, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Everything alright?" he mutters sleepily and looks up at you.

"Yes, babe. We are all good. Back to bed." You smile as he holds his arms out to you and you gladly snuggle against your best friend, falling asleep in no time.

#stiles stilisnki au #college au #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #scott mccall au #derek hale au #derek hale x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski imagine #derek hale imagine #scott mccall imagine #college!au #teen wolf au #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf oneshot #teen wolf one shot #teen wolf fic

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orangeflavoryawp · 7 years

Text

“Cranes’ Wings” - ME fic

Part of a series called “Absolutes” - the pieces that made Mackenzie Shepard.

Cranes’ Wings

“The axis of Shepard’s world now spins around just two simple things: the boy she wants, and the baby she doesn’t.” - Shepard in the early days.

Can be read here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12317493/1/Cranes-Wings

And here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9285302

* * *

A wide arc of red sprays along the wall.

The acrid smell of paint, wet cement, rotting garbage in tepid water. The dank dregs of Earth on a nameless night.

Mackenzie Shepard sniffs loudly, wiping the sleeve of her sweatshirt across her nose. The air is chill and fog-touched in their little darkened alley, a lone lamppost spreading a hazy cone of light across their forms, and Shepard shakes the spray-paint can in her hand, glancing at Darren out of the corner of her eye.

He’s crouched before the graffiti-strewn wall, spraying something crude and purposely offensive along the brick. He grins, wide and unapologetic.

She rolls her eyes and looks back to her own work.

She never did like the color red.

Shepard frowns, huffing a breath of air out into the cold and shoving her hands, spray can and all, into the pockets of her hoodie. “Don’t you ever get tired of this shit?” she asks wearily, eyes raking up over the high wall, up and up and away, somewhere into the dark sky where beyond the buildings are stars and beyond that are worlds and beyond that is more precious dark space she has learned to yearn for rather than fear.

Her mother had always loved the blank space between stars and some part of her that remembers that – that remembers how her mother smelled liked ink and bread rolls, how her cups of ginger tea were always lukewarm and the color of straw, how she can’t remember the color of her hair but she remembers the intricate web of braids that had always adorned her head – that part of her wonders if something so dark and so far is worth loving.

Worth yearning for.

Shepard pulls her lip between her teeth at the thought of ‘mother’.

Beneath the heavy layer of her sweatshirt, her hand grips at her still-flat stomach.

“Marking walls is better than marking fucking lives, babe” he answers, like a sigh, like a regret. He stands from his crouch and surveys his work.

Shepard takes the moment to look at Darren – the torn sleeve of his leather jacket, his chapped lips, his thick brows, his lazy lean, his skin the color of burnt cedar. Something swells in her chest when he glances at her, a quick flash of teeth, a careless grin, a reminder that they were but children themselves.

Drawing indecencies on the walls of public service buildings and calling it rebellion.

Because if they were out painting society then they weren’t out busting kneecaps, and Shepard had held enough bodies down in the name of gang honor to last a lifetime. Or seven. Torque had been the most ruthless leader the Tenths had seen this side of Harlem in a long while, and no one, not her, not Darren, not any of the others, had enough lives saved up to test him. So they took their uneventful nights and savored them.

“Marking lives”, she mumbles into the cold air, pulling her shoulders in tighter. Her thumb strokes along her stomach absentmindedly beneath the fabric of her hoodie.

She can’t even remember a time she hadn’t run the Tenth’s colors. A time she hadn’t lived each day just to see the next.

And then Darren had come along. Funny, uncouth, upfront, reckless, free Darren. Just another Tenth at first, until he wasn’t just.

She likes to think it’s something called love she feels but she’s never felt it before – not even for her mother, because that was too young, and too abrupt, and she’s woken too many nights in tears to think anything less than regretful about her past – and she’s afraid this thing called not-love isn’t enough to bear this new weight between them anyway.

This new weight called ‘pregnancy’.

Because she hasn’t said the word aloud and doesn’t think she ever will. Not when they are each seventeen and stupid and rife with self-righteousness. The wronged youth of the world. The reckless rebellion. The owed, the misplaced, the misused. The forgotten.

How many years and how many crimes has it been since she first joined the Tenth Street Reds?

Shepard looks down at the scuffed leather of her boots.

It doesn’t matter really. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been because it’s all ending now anyway.

The axis of Shepard’s world now spins around just two simple things: the boy she wants, and the baby she doesn’t.

“You got the white?”

Shepard blinks at Darren’s question and stares blankly at him.

He’s standing with his hands curled before his mouth, blowing hot air into his palms, one eyebrow cocked her way.

And he looks so charming and so mischievous and she finds herself licking her lips unconsciously. Her hand still has not moved from over her stomach. “What?”

He chuckles, stepping closer to her, his head cocking contemplatively. “I asked if you had the white.” His eyes trail down her form, hidden beneath her baggy sweatshirt and loose jeans. His hand reaches for her hip and stays there.

She watches him a moment, her mouth open in sudden fearless need. But the words halt on her tongue. And as his fingers dip along her hip, and the heavy cold settles deeper into her bones, and she remembers just what kind of a world she’d be bringing a child into, Shepard finds this isn’t love at all.

Her mouth shuts tight, and she flicks her gaze to the floor by her feet, nodding to one of the cans spread along the alley floor. “There,” she says, chin jutted at the lone white spray can littering the cement.

White like their hearts might have been, in another life.

White like the crisp, linen-fresh uniform on the Alliance rep she met just the other day, lingering in front of the recruitment office, staring through the too-clean window with a used pregnancy test stuffed in her jacket pocket, held tight in a clenched fist. The Alliance rep had stepped up beside her and just stood with her, looking in with her until she finally turned to him, a sneer on her lips.

Even she couldn’t deny the hidden hope in that sneer. The desperate plea.

She thinks he might have known even then. He might have known she needed saving.

The man’s gaze falls to her busted lip and her bruised cheek. Fights are easy enough to find on the streets when you’re looking for a beating, looking for a deck to bring you back to reality – that sharp, jaw-cracking punch to remind you – this is your life.

So wake up.

He had taken one look, one slow, long look, and he had sighed. Sighed like he knew what she clutched in her hand, and what she clutched in her heart. Like he knew how brittle and worn her bones had grown just standing there. Just waiting for more. Just…waiting.

For a thousand years maybe, or just a moment, or just an eternity.

And then he had smiled. Not wide, not tender, not friendly.

It was a sad kind of smile, like the horizon at low tide. And then he said, “It doesn’t have to be this way, you know.”

Her throat had constricted at the words, the salt sting of tears fresh on her lids, and the rage that crept through her seething teeth had tasted like copper. Sharp and branding and bitter.

But she had nothing to say. So she just blinked at him, let her gaze linger on his dark skin, his close cropped hair, his unwavering eyes. Her stare followed the broad line of his shoulders and the barely discernible lift of his chin, the steady pulse along his throat, the starched and ironed collar of his spotless uniform.

The letters printed into the fabric read ‘Anderson’ and she tells herself to remember this name.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he had said.

Shepard watches Darren as he releases her hip with a smirk, leaning down to grab the white paint can. He gives it a good shake, the rattle of the metal pea inside the can suddenly jarring, suddenly loud.

Shepard blinks back into awareness.

Darren finds a clean stretch of wall and sets to work. He grabs the black can at his feet and adds on, and then the blue, and then back to white. Many moments pass between them with only the visible puff of their breath in the chill air, and Darren’s soft humming.

Shepard notices what he’s drawing just as he finishes a wing. “Is that a bird?” He’s never drawn something quite so…common before.

Darren flashes a rakish grin her way. “It’s a crane.”

Shepard pulls her hood closer around her face, some of her dark curls peeking out from the fabric. “A crane?”

“Yeah.” He stops to look at his work, and then leans back in to continue. The sharp prickle of the paint lights along the back of her nose as she watches him. “Old man Keito got me thinkin’ on it,” he says in explanation.

“What the fuck’s Keito got to do with cranes?” She doesn’t know why she says it so harshly, but something in her is quietly desperate and she wonders if maybe that’s how she’s always sounded.

There are old-timers in the gang that could tell you stories you wouldn’t believe, stories Shepard still doesn’t believe. And Keito was one of them. Old butcher down on Eighth Avenue, just across from Sal’s Subs. Says he used to run with the Eastland Locks, when they were still relevant. Now he cuts hide and tattoos on the side. Another life of nothing. Another window she’s tired of looking through.

“I saw him tatting this huge ass bird on some fucker’s back and shit looked hot, right?” Darren started, still spraying the wall with stark colors in the night. “So I asked him. ‘Hey man, what kind of bird is that?’ And he tells me it’s a crane.”

Shepard’s eyes are fixed to the white stretch of neck he’s just painted along the brick.

“So I said, ‘Cool, man, by why a crane?’ And he said, ‘It means creation through focus’. And I thought that was pretty fucking tight.”

Shepard blinks at Darren, at this man, this boy, this one-time almost-love of her life, and nothing has ever made more sense. Nothing has ever been more instinctual. He wipes a dirty thumb along his nose and Shepard suddenly realizes, without warning, without reason, that she will never see him again.

Up and up and the fuck away. Up and up and out of there.

“Creation through focus,” she repeats beneath her breath, almost reverently.

“Hm?” ��Darren stills his arm mid-stroke, and the abrupt end of the white streak catches her eye.

It’s so bright in the night, so stark and simple and everything she suddenly realizes she needs.

“It doesn’t have to be this way.”

She still wants the boy, but she finds she wants freedom even more, and – as she clutches her stomach – she doesn’t think she will ever want this reminder that she had put one away for the other.

So she chooses a different kind of creation.

And when next she sees that crisp, that linen-fresh white, that white like cranes’ wings, and white like a heart she might have had, in another life – her stomach has not grown larger, and her bruises have not grown lighter, and her love has not grown deeper.

But she is closer to the blank space between stars than she has ever been before.

Up and up and out.

This time, a wide arc of white.

This time, like the long stretch of cranes’ wings.

This time, free.

#femshep #mackenzie shepard #me fanfic #shepard origin story #series:absolutes #mass effect

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