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1kook · 3 years

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crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast.

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office.

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5.

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses.

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful.

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.”

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.”

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.”

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking.

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever.

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours.

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together.

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.)

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be.

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you.

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber.

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend.

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary.

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days.

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.)

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like.

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites.

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?”

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.”

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind.

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into.

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway.

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin.

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear.

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass.

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you.

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak.

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead.

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat.

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts.

They go like this:

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really.

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively.

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once.

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you.

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome.

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve.

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek.

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts.

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.”

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles.

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild.

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums.

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again.

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning.

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.”

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment.

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him.

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned.

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.”

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.”

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.”

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.”

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“—

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear.

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer.

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole.

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips.

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise.

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath.

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes.

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue.

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger. “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…”

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?”

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles.

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over.

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more.

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them.

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub.

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face.

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention.

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock.

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand.

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane.

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh.

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be.

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds.

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter.

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic.

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock.

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you.

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip.

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl.

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully.

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin.

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said.

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away.

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself.

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you.

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once.

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth.

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets.

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever.

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries.

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you.

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question.

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest.

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

#networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #Jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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misterghostfrog · 3 years

Photo

[IMAGE ID; a digital drawing of Martin Blackwood carrying Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives. Martin is a fat freckled white man with curly ginger hair that is shaved close at the sides. He has a pair of round framed glasses in a bright red, under the glasses he is wearing eyeliner, and a navy eyeshadow. He has black lipstick, two black snakebite piercings under his lip, and a small black nostril piercing. His ear has a large black piercing that cuffs a chain to a small black piercing higher up his ear, and one final black piercing in the middle. He has a black choker, and then a looser chain necklace with an eye ornament on it. He has a studded lather jacket on that is covered in multiple patches and pins, mostly hidden by Jon: of the visible pins there is a trans flag patch on his chest, and on his shoulder is a large dark colored patch that has A-C-A-B on it in white. Under the Jacket is a black shirt that he has partly tucked into his pants, the shirt has a large anarchy symbol drawn on it in red. Under that he is wearing jeans that are significantly ripped as far as we can see. On his right hand he has several black rings, and his nails are painted black. Jon is a skinny Jordanian man with brown eyes and shoulder-length grey-streaked dark brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck. He has a beard beginning to grow that appears to be the product of forgetting to shave. He is covered in a series of small round scars that vary in exact size. He is wearing a pair of rectangle-framed glasses, a plain t-shirt, a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knee, and converse. Martin is carrying Jon bridal style in his arms, and is looking away, he is blushing, though his expression is concerned and appears to be speaking. Jon has his arms wrapped around Martins neck, his cheeks are darkened and he is staring at hte ground with an expression somewhere between fear and the face one makes when they’re having to retrace every step they’ve taken to get here. END ID]

Punk Martin but make it Jonmartin.

Also I wrote a lil thing to go along with this under the cut, its only barely edited because it was mostly for fun so be warned its a big ol mess! But its s2 jonmartin nonsense with Martin being very cool and attractive and Jon being seven layers deep in denial (Also I may have written Jon as a touch autistic because its projection hours tonight i’m too sleepy to mask and that goes for writing too babey)

(Mentions of worms, past injuries, and Jon dealing with some internalised ableism and general foolishness)

Jon forgot his cane.

It’s a relatively regular occurrence, for a multitude of reasons. For one thing it’s something of a recent addition to the list of things he needs to keep track of when he leaves the house. Another lovely parting gift from Prentiss, a worm in his left leg that went just quick enough to start burrowing into the bone before it was removed.

For another, he really has other things to worry about. And if it doesn’t hurt, it shouldn’t matter. Most days he can get by just fine without it- it hurts of course. But not so much he can’t support himself, and really, does he need it otherwise?

Martin and Tim don’t seem to agree, though Sasha has kept respectfully to herself on the whole business. Martin, of course, he trusts. Albeit only recently. But that doesn’t make him right, his priorities are warped. Naturally. He doesn’t see the bigger picture.

(or at least that’s what Jon tells himself)

Which is what leads to this moment, sitting on a bench outside the shop, single grocery bag by his feet. He’d only run out to get a few things, but somewhere between the his flat the the shop his barely visible limp had become more pronounced as his hip began to throb, then he was halfway through the frozens when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to finish the trip. After that he’d barely made it through checkout to the nearest seat before all but collapsing into it.

And now he’s sitting, stuck. An insurmountable walk from home, without his stupid cane. Which, he notes, he wouldn’t need if he’d brought in the first place. Funny how that works.

“Jon?” A familiar voice jolts him out of his thoughts. Jon jolts upright. Martin.

He knows Martin lives in the area, a side effect of his... investigations. Though he was unaware he used the same shop. He looks up, a greeting or perhaps a question on his lips that dies as soon as he actually lays eyes on Martin.

Martin is wearing a leather jacket. Not just a leather jacket of course, but that’s the first thing Jon can process. He’s wearing a studded leather jacket covered in various patches that advertise various opinions and identities that Jon doesn’t have time to think about. His jeans are about as much rip as they are Jean, and he’s got piercings- and eyeliner. he’s dressed like he should be riding a motorcycle, not the beat-up red bike he’s got beside him.

“Are you alright?” Martin says, and Jon realizes he’s been staring.

“Are you going to a costume party?” Jon blurts instead of answering. A costume party would make sense, of course. Martin doesn’t dress like this, he dresses like- like-

It occurs to him dimly that he’s never encountered Martin outside of work, at least never in a scenario that would allow him to change out of his work clothes. And some part of him has always assumed that sweaters and khakis were simply how he dressed. It suited him, really. Or Jon had assumed, but then again he assumed anything familiar is suiting.

“Wh- A- no?” Martin answers, looking vaguely offended. Jon flushes.

“I- sorry, I just- I’ve... I didn’t think you seemed the type to dress... like that...?” Jon fumbles, pathetically trying to salvage the conversation. Judging by Martins expression, he’s failing.

Martin opens his mouth to say something, and Jon realizes there’s likely no coming back from this particular mortification. He snatches the bag by his feet and moves to stand. Some excuse already tumbling out when the reason for his sit-down, which had dulled to a shockingly forgettable throb, decides to remind him of his place in the world.

He lets out a cry of pain, and crumples. Only stopped from hitting the ground by a pair of arms that wrap around his chest and under his shoulder.

“Oh my god, Jon. Are you alright- what- is it your leg? Where’s your cane-” Martin babbles, Gently replacing Jon on his bench as Jon breathes through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine- i’m fine Martin I-” he sighs, studiously avoiding Martins gaze. “My cane is at home.” He tries not to sound chastised as he says the last part- he shouldn’t have to after all. He’s still Martins boss. He shouldn’t be looking away like he’s been caught at something.

“Jon” Martin sounds exasperated, and Jon crosses his arms. Once again, nothing like someone being scolded. He’s not being scolded. He’s an adult. “How long have you been sitting here like this?”

“I...” Jon begins before trailing off, he’s not actually sure. The period between sitting on the bench and the pain dulling enough for him to think through the fog is something is a blur. He is pretty sure someone asked if he was alright at some point. His lack of answer seems to be enough for Martin though.

“Just give me a moment.” He says, stepping away from Jon over to his bike- which has fallen over onto the ground -pulling it upright and over to Jon on the bench. He pushes down the rusted kickstand with a hearty kick- and Jon briefly notes he’s wearing steel-toed boots -and sets the bike gently upright.

“Okay, so! If you sit on the bike I can push it, and you can get home and rest that leg without jostling it too much by trying to walk without your cane.” He says pointedly. Jon makes a face,

“This... this really isn’t necessary Martin- I’m perfectly capable-” He grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. But a glance at Martins expression shuts him up quick.

“Do you think you can stand?” He asks. Jon pauses, the memory of the white-hot flash of pain still fresh in his mind. He grimaces, shaking his head. Martin hums thoughtfully. “Alright, would you be alright if I picked you up? Just for a moment to get you on the bike” He asks carefully.

Jon hesitates, looking between Martin and the bike. And weighs his options. After several seconds he nods. Martin smiles, and Jon feels something in his chest flutter. Anxiety at his decision most likely. Or perhaps nerves in relation to sitting on a bike, he’s never ridden one- of course Martin will be doing all the work but surely there’s some sort of balance required isn’t there? Really he shouldn’t be riding a bike like this-

Those thoughts are all swept away at the feeling of large warm hands gently scooping him off the bench. He instinctively throws his arms around Martins neck for support as he’s lifted into the air.

He can feel Martins chest warm against his side as Martin holds him close, one hand on his shoulder and the other supporting his legs. He’s being cradled by his subordinate, carefully as so not to jostle his leg. And all he can think about is how warm Martin is. He’s large and soft despite all the sharper accessories and he smells a bit like leather and tea on top of whatever soap he uses. Probably something that Jon wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to his head. And Jon can see the freckles on Martins cheeks and neck close enough to count if he wanted to even as he looks away, saying something Jon can’t quite parse because he’s too busy reeling from the realization he’d be happy to sit in Martins arms like this for the rest of his life.

His face goes hot and he forces himself to look down at the ground. The pain is clearly messing with his head, or perhaps the sleep deprivation. Or perhaps he’s still riding the high from that moment of realization that Martin isn’t trying to kill him, that he can trust him.

Either way he’s not thinking straight, which is why he’s dissapointed instead of relieved when Martin gently places him on the bike with the exact amount of care he took in picking him up. Which shouldn’t make him feel so oddly jittery but it does.

The ride is quiet, aside from awkward instructions from Jon on where to turn as Martin guides them carefully along the sidewalk. They miss a turn once because Jons too preoccupied with the feeling of Martins arm bumping against his shoulder as he guides the bike.

And then they’re at Jons flat, and Jon once again feels that misplaced disappointment. He wonders if perhaps Martin will carry him up to his flat, and his face burns again as the silliness of the thought hits him.

Martin does very, very briefly lift him to help him off the bike when he stumbles. But his leg has recovered enough that he can make it up to his flat without assistance, or so he tells Martin. Who looks unconvinced.

“Let me at least walk with you, yea? That way I know for sure you got home safe.” He insists, and Jon forced himself to be displeased with the situation.

It ends up being a good thing Martin came along though, a partway up the steps the railing is no longer enough to support Jon, and he ends up half-carried the rest of the way. Martins arm under his shoulder, his own loops around Martins back, gripping the jacket for support. He can feel his head drifting at the contact- Martin is just so damned warm and safe and Martin it’s impossible not to get distacted.

He forces himself to think about something else, anything else. The jacket- he can feel the leather under his fingertips and it’s as good distraction as any.

It’s a nice jacket, really. Clearly well-worn. And it does suit Martin, in an odd sort-of way.

Jon winces internally, remembering the conversation from earlier. He hadn’t meant to come off so... well. It doesn’t matter. Except that it does, even though it doesn’t, but it does.

Once they reach Jons door, he pushes off of Martin to lean on the wall while he fumbles for his keys. Martin lingers as he does so, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly in the silence.

Jon finds his keys and sighs in relief as the door swings open.

He nearly wanders inside and shuts the door before remembering basic human etiquette. He pauses in the doorway, turning to Martin. Who smiles awkwardly.

“Thank you.” He says stiffly, still leaning heavily on the doorframe. “That was... very kind. Of you.” Martin shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, really. Couldn’t exactly just leave you there, could I?”

Jon shifts awkwardly, wincing at the brief weight on his leg. He’s right of course, morally at least. If not logically.

“I... I suppose not.” He says, hesitating before adding “I’m sorry.”

“Look, Jon. I already said it’s fine-”

“No-” Jon grimaces “not for that. I- I meant... for what I said. About your clothes. They don’t... I just- I didn’t expect it, and I may have come off as... rude.” He mutters

“Oh.” Martin says flatly, Jons sure he’d forgotten about that until just now, and he wishes he could have kept it that way.

“they do suit you, though.” He says, after an awkward pause. “Your clothes, I mean. It looks- you look nice.” he finishes as genuinely as he can- he does mean it. Of course, he just doesn’t know how to make it sound like he does.

“Oh” Martin says again, brightening slightly, his cheeks going blotchy red in a blush. “I- er- thank you...? I suppose?”

“Yes. Well. Your welcome, I suppose.” There’s another awkward pause, Martin isn’t quite smiling at Jon, but there’s something soft in his expression Jon can’t quite parse. “ Have a good day, Martin.” He says finally, after a long pause. Martins cheeks redden again.

“Oh- yeah, er. You too Jon- and take care of yourself. Alright?”

Jon nods, and Martin smiles. And Jon thinks he’d like to see Martin smile a bit more.

He waves as Martin heads down the stairs, he can hear Martin humming as he goes.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #punk martin #fic #art #fanfic #fanart #ghostly doodle #ghostly doodles #Jons a mess!#and Martin has cool fashions #ghostly scribbles

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luimagines · 3 years

Text

Date Night with The Chain Part 2!

Masterlist

Part 1

Part two will include Four, Wild and Time!

Content under the cut!

Four

A sigh leaves your lips as you finally sit down after a long day.

There was a large stone jutting off of the side of a cliff where your group had decided to camp for the night. It had a high vantage point and the entrance was hidden by the surrounding foliage, making it a cozy secluded resting spot for ten weary travelers.

Your feet sighed with relief with the weight off of the them and you began to kick them back and forth. After some moment to yourself you pull your legs in and take off your shoes.

You resume kicking your feet into the wind, more relieved than you were before without shame.

“Rupee for your thoughts, my darling?” You hear him come up from behind.

“No thoughts, head empty.” You snort and glance over your shoulder. “Join me?”

Four has his hands on his hips as he stands there, watching you with a calm smile and hearts in his eyes. “If you’d have me.”

“As if I could ever turn you away.” You look back out into the distance, pointedly ignoring the commotion of Legend tackling Warrior in the background.

Four doesn’t even try to hide his laughter when he sees what’s happened but comes to sit by your side regardless of what is happening with the others.

You watch him as he lowers himself down and are only marginally confused when he shifts to sit on his hip instead- oh no wait- Four leans over after shifting his body around to place his head directly into your lap.

You grin and waste no time in running your fingers through his hair, taking his hairband out and letting it all fall across your legs. “Comfortable?”

“Best spot, hands down.” Four snuggles a little close and turns his head to look beyond what the rock has to offer.

The sun has begun to set and even if your friends are busy losing their minds in the background it surprisingly easy to tune them out with Four by your side. As the sky turns from blue to orange and reds with the feint outline of purple at the top, you and Four watch the day end with gentle smiles on your faces.

On a whim you begin to braid his hair, letting them collect in number even if it’s messy and unorganized.

“Having fun?” Four sighs and pokes your knee a little.

“Yes.”

“Good... Feels nice.”

You can’t help but grin to yourself and wait a minute before undoing it all and starting over with more purpose in mind. “I wish I had flowers or feathers or something... Maybe some ribbon... Make it look pretty and stuff.”

“And stuff?”

“And stuff.”

“Why not use my head band?”

“It’s too big and if I’m going to use ribbon it should be made out of silk or satin, only the highest quality of materials for my love.” You say and lean over to give him a kiss on his forehead.

“I don’t think it’s necessary.” Four raises an eyebrow and you can see that he’s on the cusp of falling asleep.

Everyone is tired.

“Maybe not but I say you deserve it, so it must be so.”

“I love you.” Four mumbles sleepily and you know that a this point if someone were to wake him up he’d be grumpy until the next morning.

“I love you too.” You smile and let him sleep against you.

The sun sets and it’s nice.

Wild

“Do you need any help?” You walk up to Wild as he’s beginning to take out whatever ingredients needed to get dinner started.

You stand a little ways behind him and wait for him to turn around. He pauses from arranging the vegetables and glances over his shoulder to look at you.

You smile as pleasantly as you can and laced your fingers together behind your back, trying to look at innocent as possible, trying to visually butter him up to let you help him.

Wild knows what you’re doing. You do this every time.

And every time he melts a little on the inside at your genuine joy and want to help him out. Not to mention that he thinks it’s cute and would give you his everything in a heartbeat before you could even ask.

“Of course you can help.” He grins and stands up. “I have to check the fire but do you think you can peel the potatoes and carrots for me please.”

“Sure!” You skip ahead and take his spot, picking up the peeler he left out and begin to get to work.

“Thank you.” Wild smiles as he turns away again, picking the fire and checking the temperature.

“You’re welcome.”

“If you could cut them too, that would be nice.”

“Are you asking me to?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course not.”

Wild smiles to himself at the exchange. The others are minding their own business, tending to their weapons or licking their wounds from the day and just simply hanging out with people who know what it’s like to be the hero more than any one in the history of Hyrule.

It’s nice.

Domestic even.

You start to hum a little tune that must be from your home because it seems like no one else can recognize it. It’s light and a little sappy if the way you’re swaying your head has anything to say about it.

Wild feels himself fall a little more in love with you, even if you’re not looking at him.

He’s been done with checking the fire for five minutes, but he doesn’t want you to stop for the sake of answering him again.

But he should probably start cooking the meat while the vegetables are being prepared.

Wild slides over to your side and picks up the Shekah Slate from where he left it. He chances a glance at you and thinks... it’ll be a last minute change to the meal he’s prepared in his head, but maybe he’ll cook your favorite tonight instead.

You deserve it.

“Ok, what else Master Chef?” You look his way and blink, instantly going a little red in the face. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just love you is all.” Wild leans in and kisses your forehead, snagging the cutting board from under you and spinning around to throw them into the pot.

“Hey...” You pout, trying to save face and failing. “That’s... not fair...”

“How is it not fair?” He laughs. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I... refuse to let you win.”

“Win what? What are you talking about?”

You step over and kiss his cheek. “You’re too good to me. And the carrots are going to burn.”

“Wha- Hey!” Wild spins back to attention and tries to save the carrots from the hot metal. “Ok- I- Hold up!”

“Do you want me to start cutting up the green beans too?” You smirk.

“This isn’t over.”

“Yes or no?”

“...”

“..Yes please.”

Time

“Ok, I know you said we were going somewhere tonight but why are we sneaking out of the inn like teenagers?” You say as Time looks around the corner.

“Shh...” Time puts a finger to hip lips as he looks back at you. “Do you really think the boys wouldn’t try to follow us if they knew?”

“Is it that important for them to not come?” You tilt your head. Sure, they were a bit rambunctious at times and a bit more rowdy than you knew what to do with but they were good kids and you loved them all- so the secrecy was a little lost on you.

“Is it so wrong to want to spend an evening alone with the one I love?” Time turns to you and takes your hands in his, lifting them to kiss your knuckles. “Just for tonight?”

The thought of being alone together hadn’t even occurred to you and it’s embarrassing to have Time basically spell it out for you. A blush blooms across your face and you bite your lip with a quick glance to your toes. It has nothing to do with the kiss, you’re sure.

“Ok.” You whisper. “Ok, I’ll be quiet. Is the coast clear?”

Time smirks when he sees your reaction, more than pleased with himself before he turns around and checks around the corner one last time.

He grins and gives you his hand, holding you gently as you creep through the hallways together. After a few twists and turns and near trips from walking on your tip toes, you make it out of inn.

You ignore the weird looks from the inn keeper as you leave. They don’t understand the length the boys would go through to spy and/or ruin this for you two intentionally or otherwise.

Time looks up to the window of one of the room you’ve rented before pushing you quickly out of its line of sight.

You follow him wordlessly and look back just in time to see Warrior lean up against the window. He’s not looking out, merely resting where the people below can see him but the thrill of not being caught shoots through you and you force yourself to act natural and look away from the inn entirely.

“What the plan, beloved?” You shoot a grin his way and skip to match his pace.

“I don’t have one. I wasn’t entirely sure we’d get this far.” Time admits and lets his child like glee show on his face.

Your heart swells when you see it. It’s not often you get to see this side of him and you’re happy to indulge him in these moments when he has them.

“We could just walk around?” You pull yourself closer to him and lean against his side. “Sight see? Shopping?”

Time lets go of your hand to instead wrap his arm around your waist and pulls you even closer so that you’re flush against him. “I’m not sure... I just wanted to spend time with you.”

“Wine tasting?” You try again, pointing to the sign outside of a small hole in the wall shop.

Time actually stops in his tracks and glances at the shop in front of you. “A brilliant idea darling. Shall we go have a look?”

“We shall.”

Together you walk into the shop despite the later hour and see couples with the similar idea and calmly sharing drinks with one another. Time breaks off from you as you wander further into the space. You glance around the sparely decorated room and glance at the various signs and bottles to see their designs. You pick up a bottle and swirl around the liquid inside, watching it rise and fall against the green colored glass.

Time comes back in seconds, glaring at one of the other persons without your knowledge when they try to make a move closer to you.

“Here.” He takes a calmly breath and hands you a glass. It’s halfway filled with a warm colored amber liquid and it piques your interest instantly.

“Thank you.” You take it and take a sip. It’s as warm as it looks and strangely smells like strawberries.

Time finally looks at you again when the person leaves and takes a sip from his own glass. It’s more crimson than you’d imagine possible and you have to wonder how it would taste. “Can I try?”

“Hm?” Time looks at the glass and back to you, handing it to you with out much thought.

He tries to it with your own but you’re faster than he is. You lean into his space on your tip toes and place a bold kiss on his lips.

They’re soft and laced with the tangy wine from his previous sip.

“Yum.” You wink and take another sip from your own wine.

Time stands there stunned before he smirks and takes you hand with the glass away before leaning down to kiss you properly. He takes it slow and holds you there for a moment despite the fact that you’re in a public space.

He pulls back just as slowly and finishes with a final kiss to your forehead.

“Can’t do that with the boys around.” He mutters to himself.

“Nope.“ You giggle and go back to sipping your wine. “But I’m not complaining.”

Part 3

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #hope I made Four's long enough #I was stop earlier and realized that compared the Wild's... it was like half the size #and all you Four simps deserve better

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lizbotw · 3 years

Text

it’s only sharing a disgustingly sweet milkshake at the local college town diner after both of your evening classes that suna graciously provides the answers to the math homework.

the spongy pencil eraser is easy for you to sink your teeth into as you puzzle over his handwriting. “you know,” you mumble around the nib, trying to figure out if that’s a 5 or a 6, “i never know why you do this to me every week.” this time the drink with two plastic straws floating in an unhealthy heaping of whip cream is a syrupy strawberry flavor.

rintarou tips forward to sip at one of them and in your peripheral, chunky pink-coated fruit pieces travel up the clear tube and disappear between his lips. he releases the straw with an annoying ah that makes you frown, even if you weren’t concentrating in the first place. “aw, don’t tell me you don’t like hanging out with me.” he feigns hurt.

a well placed sip of your own allows you to avoid having to answer that—you have a personal rule of never being sappy in the presence of calculus. if you didn’t like him, suna knows you wouldn’t be hanging out with him—there are just some things you can’t do, even if it’s for the sake of your grade. none of this has to be said out loud of course, but he decides to be annoying and ask anyway.

actually—well... maybe hanging out is... not exactly how this appears to bystanders.

sharing a drink like this, you two probably look more like a couple on a (terribly cheap) afternoon date, rather than two broke college students that split meals to save money and believe that sharing answers for homework isn’t cheating, it’s collaboration.

ha, as if it would ever be different—things like the former never come true. maybe in movies, but that’s about where the line is drawn.

as if he knows what you’re thinking, suna raises an eyebrow at you over the glass, a smile playing on his lips—the same stupid look he always gives you. it feels particularly worse this evening.

it’s hard to avoid eye contact with him mere inches away, but you manage when a car painted a very interesting shade of red rumbles past the fingerprint covered window. you’re grateful for the distraction.

the subject changes when you realize suna has terrible taste when it comes to ordering milkshakes. “what flavor is this?” you spit out the word as though the very concept of calling this a real flavor is more disgusting than the drink itself, smacking your lips and screwing up your face at the excessively saccharine, artificial strawberry aftertaste.

this is no ordinary strawberry milkshake. no, this is a so-bad-only-suna-rintarou-would-order-something-this-horrible-(and-not-necessarily-on-purpose-either) strawberry milkshake.

“valentine’s valor,” he states matter-of-factly like those words mean anything to you. you stare at him until he elaborates. “their valentine’s special,” he clarifies and is gifted with a sarcastic thumbs-up from you in thanks—it is pointedly ignored and suna slings an arm over back of his seat. “dunno the exact flavor though. forgot.”

it tastes like the embodiment of pink, you decide. valentine’s valor. what a stupid name. there are a million and one better words that start with v... you can name at least five with a little thinking. you should ask them to hire you as part of their marketing team, you decide.

maybe it’s fitting title though. you certainly need valor to even think about taking another sip of that... concoction—which you do because you are obsessed with getting your money’s worth.

“valentine’s day was half a week ago?” your mental calendar helpfully supplies.

the clatter of pans in the back kitchen somehow mingles charmingly with the way rintarou throws his head back to laugh—a scene straight out of a movie really. you decide you hate him in the moment. “right you are. want a prize?” ugh. you stick your tongue out at his tone.

great. as if to add insult to injury, of course you’re sharing an out-of-date love holiday special with suna of all people. valentine’s was four days ago and this is where you are on a thursday night. the sticky upholstery of the booth seat, ripped and fraying at the corners, squeaks and groans and attaches itself to the fabric of your jeans as you shift around, suddenly hot. what a strange situation to be in, you think. this has to be a metaphor for life—then again, you’d been thinking this whole... thing has been a metaphor anyway.

yup, ever since suna sat next to you in a calculus II lecture all those fated months ago and took pity on how much you fucking sucked at math, up until the present where he takes slightly less pity on you but does enjoy emptying your dorm mini-fridge and making you pay for his milkshakes—all of it. this entire thing with him. one big stupid metaphor.

the specifics of how you came to have a routine like this are certainly murky, but two things are for certain—one, your calculus grade is certainly a lot better than it would have been otherwise, and two, you have one friend more than you did at the start of the school year. (that last one is kind of a big deal, you think. the college social scene is brutal. the word friend has started to become more disappointing than exhilarating lately though.)

rin reaches to your left to pick at the fries you’d ordered as a side—you’ve learned not to try and stop him. “also,” he adds, mouth full, “you’re totally getting me a new pencil after this.” yes, true, the pencil you’re currently leaving frustrated teeth marks all over isn’t yours. very easy to forget in the moment. you’ve probably destroyed 15 of his pencils by now for the 15 weeks of the last semester—only 7 so far for the current one. you do the mental math.

instead of drawing in the sharp lines of the differential equation that should be going in the question box, you lightly trace in the curves of a 2 and then another one next to it in the corner of the worksheet, graphite underlining them both in one swoop. the horribly thin paper of the school library’s printer is scratchy as you write but soon you flip the pencil over and under your fingers to tap the eraser (that has seen better days) just below what you wrote. “this is pencil number 22.”

suna leans over to look at the number as if you hadn’t just told him what it said. what an idiot. “glad you’re keeping count.” he settles back into his seat. “when can i expect my reimbursement?”

“you’re funny,” you say, without a hint of humor in your voice. the pretty 22 you had written now has flower petals growing off of the sides as you get distracted doodling along the edges of your work. it’s quiet for a moment as he watches you, or maybe as he takes the chance while you’re distracted to shove more french fries down his throat—either option is plausible and you don’t lift your eyes to check.

something occurs to you.

“rin.” you take an extended pause in between the words as you continue drawing, just to annoy him. you don’t continue speaking until he grumbles in acknowledgment (you try to hide your smile). “do you ever doodle in your notebooks?” now that you thought about it, suna was surprisingly pretty straight-laced when it came to class—you couldn’t ever recall him ever slacking off to the degree that meant his pages were filled with hearts and stars and flowers and suns and atomically inaccurate animals and tiny people in different colored ink. your work was always certainly the more vibrant out of the two (perhaps that could explain your grades and how you understand like... nothing in your lectures, but you decide correlation does not equal causation).

“waste of time,” he says around another mouthful of fries, another one already halfway there to his mouth.

suna is also surprisingly negative at times—but the blue book flipped open to his homework says maybe he’s just a liar though. you squint at it.

“it’s still pretty early but we probably should get out of here soon,” suna says, pulling his phone out from his pocket to check the time and leaning his elbows on the table. “i’ll walk you back. your roomie doesn’t leave the gym until 9—before you ask, yes i’ve been keeping track. it’s not stalking if it’s for my own sake.”—rin is, of course, referring to the long standing rivalry between him and your (very nice, might you add) roommate you don’t really understand but which has cumulated in him deciding he would avoid them as much as humanly possible purely out of spite. (“the only person i like in dorm 302 is you,” he’d told you one time and the throwaway sentence maybe made your heart flutter more than it probably should’ve.)

the bell above the front door jingles behind you as another patron enters. rin glances up at the sound and then returns to his phone with a bored bat of his eyes, probably scrolling through twitter or replying to texts, and picking at his teeth with a toothpick (where did he even get that?).

you try to get back to work (copying) but something in your gut tells you there’s more to his notebook than the messy handwriting and crossed out words that meet the eye.

with suna distracted, you take the chance to carefully slide the book towards you and then, in a single quick swipe, pull it into your lap under the table, already leafing to the back pages—everyone knows that’s where the real secrets are—not sure what to expect. a flash of color makes you pause and you flip back to a page that has the corner folded into a tiny, crisp triangle.

whatever you were thinking suna had stashed in the back of his calculus notebook certainly does not match up with what’s staring you in the face currently. sparkly, gel-inked hearts in neon colors glitter under the fluorescent overheads. in each of them, written in capital letters neater than you thought possible for suna, is your initials, a small plus sign in the middle, and then S.R. (for none other than suna rinatoru) next to it. it instantly makes sense to you. “rin, what the fuck.” one side of the book dangles from your hand, pages fluttering, and you hold it up for him to see, other hand flying to cover your mouth because you don’t know whether to laugh or pretend to be mortified or what.

it’s very amusing to watch how suna goes from a disinterested stare, to widened eyes, to reaching over the heaps of school supplies to attempt to grab the book from you, frantic. you hold it just out of reach. “what are you—” an old lady at a table shushes him when he half-screams. “—give that back,” suna whisper-yells instead in the greatest verbal equivalent of tiny caps you’ve ever heard.

“not a chance.”

he looks like he wants to lunge across the table and pry his prized possession from your meddling hands, but also has half the mind not to make a scene. getting kicked out and then subsequently banned from his favorite diner all on a noise complaint and disorderly conduct accusation was not ideal.

you hum, flip back to your place, and observe the drawings covering the lined pages. you shoot him a venomous smirk over the edge of the cover, one that’s more theatrics than anything, and say with all the satisfaction of someone who knows they have all the power, “oh, this is gold.” he deflates and you feel grateful he doesn’t see right through your facade because oh man are you sweating inside right now. what the fuck? no way suna rintarou is drawing little hearts with both of your initials in it like a lovesick middle schooler. no fucking way. you almost want to tell him that you did the same thing once when the thoughts about him had gotten especially bad (you felt guilty afterwards though, thinking you never had a chance with him, but... now... if he’s doing the same—well, that kind of changes everything).

suna is utterly defeated you think—doesn’t even try to defend himself, just slumps in his seat with a groan. you at least expected a “i can explain!” from him, a last attempt at dignity, not the resigned “i’m never going to live this down, am i?” he mumbles after a few seconds. well, either works for you.

“nope,” you quip, maybe a little too cheerfully because the response you receive is a distressed wail and him banging his head against the table. the old lady shushes him again. you chuckle at that (it feels a little wobbly though because once again, freaking out here) and flip the page. you stop.

this one has similar perfect little hearts drawn all over it, but there are other things. cute, standard shaky drawings of misshapen dogs and volleyballs and other things you never thought suna would take it upon himself to create but all of which make sense are there. but there’s something else. little scribbles in the corners with your last name swapped with his and even him trying out his name with your last one—all of them are scratched out but not so much you can’t read them. a list on the right in a very tiny font that makes you think he was embarrassed even penning the words is titled “date ideas?” (the question mark is in red and the dot is a heart) and has several popular spots around town written down in the local lingo of unofficial names for them.

“listen... please let’s forget about this.” rin’s voice is muffled and he’s still faceplanted. “it’s fine if you don’t... you know... yeah.” if you don’t feel that way, he means. true, the doodles were a pretty good indication of his feelings.

what to do...

well... you take pity on him, let your lips upturn and your eyes soften to reflect the sentiment, and shut the book with a quiet thud. you slide it back across the table from where it came and back to him silently. you give it a resounding pat when suna peeks up at you, expression saying it all—he was so going to get you back for this. you stick your tongue out—acceptance of the challenge. and just like that, you’re friends again—maybe that’s what’s so great about suna.

as you get ready to leave and slowly begin the trek back to the dorm buildings with him, street lamps glimmering a pasty yellow, there’s no awkward tension, no need to ask questions, no verbal wonderings about what ifs between you two. it’s just joking and shoving each other around and challenges to see who can run to the next tree the fastest in the middle of the chilly february night. you know, maybe for now you’ll keep your own thoughts a secret.

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lady-of-the-lotus · 3 years

Text

The Undershirt

The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty - Suitang - 2k - G - first kiss fluff - AO3!

..............

“Hand it over,” orders Sui Zhou.

Tang Fan pouts, a pout somewhere in between his “I’m hungry, feed me” face and “Dinner was an hour late, I almost died” face.

“I ran out of clean ones,” he says when Sui Zhou holds out his hand, “and I had to pack in a hurry—”

“I had only three rules. Rule one: Don’t mess up my house again—”

“Alright, alright,” Tang Fan says before Sui Zhou can lecture him. Leave it to Sui Zhou to take an inventory of his clothes as soon as he got home, all because Tang Fan had left his things just the tiniest bit mussed! “Take your stupid undershirt back; it’s too big on me anyway.”

Sui Zhou turns back to his cooking as Tang Fan slips halfway out of his robe, making a face as he removes the undershirt. Missing Sui Zhou, Tang Fan had pilfered the distinctive draped-neck garment from his things after he’d left on his ill-fated “business trip.” “Happy now, Sui-baihu?”

Sui Zhou glances up briefly from the soup, eyes flickering over Tang Fan. Sui Zhou’s handsome features are soft in the warm yellow candlelight and the orange glow of the stove. “Better.”

Tang Fan stands there with his robes draped around his waist, chest exposed, shyly holding the undershirt in front of him, watching Sui Zhou’s strong, sure hands as they slice vegetables and meat and then, once dinner is cooking, assemble the dessert, grinding the sesame seeds and working the delicate mixture.

A swell of fondness fills Tang Fan’s chest as Sui Zhou puts the finishing touches on the little sesame cakes, decorating each with a pink circle of honeyed flower petals.

"Aren't you going to put the undershirt back on?” Tang Fan asks as Sui Zhou puts the last petal in place. Most of the shyness has worn off as Sui Zhou tells him about how he developed the recipe, his deep voice low and soothing as it fills the cozy little kitchen.

"Later." Sui Zhou glances up, eyes flickering once again over Tang Fan's bare chest before returning to his work. Perhaps it's the warm glow of the candle, but Tang Fan imagines there's a hint of color in Sui Zhou's cheeks.

Too late it occurs to him that he should have at least put his robes back up over his arms and chest. Jiejie had driven it through his head that to wear robes without an undershirt was uncouth and a sure way to get the robes dirty, but…

"Do you still have your prison clothes? That was a good look." The question escapes Tang Fan before he can censor himself. "I mean—your uniform is good too—I mean, your normal undershirt is better than that prison one.” He dangles the undershirt from his fingertips, as if this question was just an extension of him returning Sui Zhou's undershirt. “I mean...”

Sui Zhou cranes his neck away slightly, as if trying to avoid looking at Tang Fan but probably only checking to make sure Dong'er isn't nearby to see Tang Fan in this state of undress. "Be careful with that. You're going to set the kitchen on fire again."

Grinning, and more at ease now that the conversation is back in familiar teasing territory, Tang Fan sidles closer to Sui Zhou, waving his shirt near where the mutton soup is bubbling on the fire. "Oh, that was on purpose. You know, to get you to free Dong'er—"

Sui Zhou gives him that look of his, the one that appears completely expressionless but in fact contains a half dozen emotions from all corners of the spectrum. "You set fire to my house on purpose?"

"Well—"

"What about the time you fell asleep with the candle beside your bed, and the time you tripped and fell holding the lamp—"

"Fine, it wasn't on purpose. But the bad food was! I can cook, if I wanted to—”

"You can't cook."

Tang Fan inches closer. He's not quite sure why. "You could teach me."

Sui Zhou frowns slightly. "You step foot in my kitchen without me here, and you sleep outside with the sheep."

Tang Fan wrinkles his nose. "The sheep has a name ."

"Li Qing?"

Tang Fan almost drops the undershirt on the stove. "How did you—”

Sui Zhou turns away again as if to hide a grin. Li Qing is the main character of Tang Fan's magnum opus, My Sexy Lady .

"You didn't read it!" Tang Fan leans forward in consternation. He's not sure why he's so thrown. It's a brilliantly-written work, like all of his books, but somehow to have Sui Zhou privy to—to all that — "Wang Zhi told you or something—wait till I get my hands on him!"

Sui Zhou is definitely holding back a grin. "I liked the part where the ‘sexy lady’ sets fire to Shi Yang's house after she thinks he stole her necklace."

"That never happened! She never did anything half so crazy!”

Sui Zhou is no longer holding back his smile. "Maybe in the sequel, My Sexy Wife."

Tang Fan laughs out loud. People who don't know Sui Zhou think he's stiff and cold and completely humorless, but Tang Fan knows better. It's subtle, but Sui Zhou's sense of humor and appreciation of the outlandish is definitely there. If it weren't, Tang Fan doesn't think he would get along with him as well as he does.

Which, when he stops to think of it, is rather odd. His getting along with him so well, not the sense of humor. Despite having lived in the capital for years, and having many acquaintances, Tang Fan has few close friends. As he knows he’s a delight to be around, never complaining and generously standing people meals, he can only assume it’s a failing in other people.

A failing that Sui Zhou evidently doesn’t have, to appreciate Tang Fan’s virtues, both hidden and overt.

It’s not that Tang Fan annoys people. That can’t possibly be it, no matter what Jiejie says. But he can’t deny that not everyone appreciates him, and that hurts, sometimes.

A sudden thought, and Tang Fan abruptly stops laughing. Why did Sui Zhou pick that example? Surely it was just a joke after what they'd been talking about—he knows it is—but of all characters to pick—

Tang Fan had based a lot of Li Qing on himself. Like him, she's a beautiful genius often put-upon by those who fail to appreciate her properly, driven to do the right thing at whatever costs, someone who appreciates fine food and faces the world with a smile no matter how she's feeling.

No. Sui Zhou is just teasing him, as usual. That's it. He probably hadn't even finished the book...

He wants to ask Sui Zhou if he liked the book, but despite it being his best-selling work, he’s hesitant to ask. Sui Zhou is nothing if not honest, and what if he didn’t truly like it?

Tang Fan resolves to start work on a sequel that night. Perhaps Shi Yang could enter the imperial guards and, together with Li Qing, solve a series of increasingly exciting mysteries that pit them against the world. Back to back, they’ll chase justice and stand strong against the winds of—

“Here.” Sui Zhou slides the plate of sesame cakes towards him. “For coming to get me.”

Tang Fan grins. “You mean rescuing you.”

Sui Zhou turns back to the soup. "Just eat them."

Tang Fan inches even closer, more to annoy Sui Zhou than anything else, he thinks. "Go on, say it. I rescued you."

"Keep this up, and you're getting kicked out of my kitchen."

" Your kitchen? Why is it—oh, right. It's your house." Tang Fan looks down at the sesame cakes. It's almost a shame to eat them, they’re so beautifully decorated. "Am I allowed to eat them before dinner, or are you going to get all sulky?"

Sui Zhou gives Tang Fan a look as if to say, I'm not the childish one here, and reaches for a sesame cake just as Tang Fan does. Their fingers brush, and tingling current runs up Tang Fan's arm. Startled, he jerks away, dropping Sui Zhou's undershirt on the stove.

Spattered in mutton grease, it erupts in a column of flame.

"Augh!" Panicking, Tang Fan drops the shirt in the soup. “Put it out! Put it out!”

Sui Zhou snatches the shirt out of the soup and drops it in a pot of water. "What did I just tell you about setting my house on fire?"

Smiling weakly, Tang Fan begins sidling in the opposite direction as Sui Zhou comes closer. "You startled me! You grabbed at me just as I was trying to eat, I haven't eaten all day, I was hungry, you forced me to take a cake—"

He bumps up against the wall. Sui Zou leans over him, one arm framing him, his face a mix of exasperation and—and fondness, Tang Fan wants to believe, though it’s hard to when there's a charred, soup-soaked undershirt not five feet away.

"It wasn't my fault I burned your shirt!" Tang Fan continues bravely. Whining has always worked on Old Pei and Jiejie, though he still hasn’t quite learned the exact point Jiejie’s indulgence tips over into slapping-him-across-the-face territory, hence all the slapping. "Tired after weeks of traveling, traveling across half the empire to rescue you, if you recall, weeks of seasickness and danger and unpadded saddles and not being able to finish my rice noodles in the one good restaurant between here and I thought you were dead at one point, and that was almost as bad as the noo—"

Sui Zhou bends forward and kisses him.

Tang Fan goes rigid.

Did—did Sui Zhou just—

Sui Zhou kisses him again, as if to clear up any doubts.

"Well, that's one way to stop you from talking," he says.

Tang Fan's heart is beating like a war drum, but strangely enough it's not from nerves. There's a smile on Sui Zhou's lips (rather full lips, he notices. Until now he's been too distracted by his arms and shoulders and—well—all the rest of him, most likely), and there's definite fondness in his eyes.

"I once talked through an acupuncture session for a sore tooth," Tang Fan says boastingly, more to calm his nerves than anything else.

He’s never been kissed before. Or rather, being a man, perhaps it was more appropriate to say he’d never kissed anyone before.

He’d always changed the subject when Old Pei brought it up. The local girls had never interested him, and he’d never though there were other— options—

"You can ask him at dinner,” he blusters on, pulse fluttering. “I was probably able to give him some good tips and pointers, I once read a book on acupuncture that—"

Sui Zhou shuts him up again, cupping his face in his hand. It smells of honey and spice, the callused palm somehow soft against Tang Fan's cheek, his long fingers curling around the back of his neck as he kisses him.

Tang Fan is suddenly very aware that he's half-naked, but it's somehow nice being around Sui Zhou like that, not uncomfortable as he's sometimes felt in the past around others. Natural, despite his first-time nerves.

He suddenly realizes that Sui Zhou is looking down at him as if waiting for him to say or do something.

"Am I allowed to speak again?" Tang Fan asks.

Sui Zhou half-smiles. "Nothing could stop you from talking for very long."

"I want another one of your undershirts, but a black one this time. I saw one tucked away in the chest, but Dong'er said it wouldn’t match my robes, though what does she know? I want the black undershirt, and—"

"Black to hide any future char?"

"This was an accident! You startled me!"

"The one you were wearing today is mostly black now, after you set it on fi—"

Tang Fan kisses him.

"You're right," he says, grinning at Sui Zhou, who seems to have forgotten how to speak. "That does work."

AO3

#suitang #the sleuth of the ming dynasty #tsomd #tang fan #sui zhou #tangzhou #katie sleuth of the ming dynasty lotus

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hearts-hunger · 3 years

Text

dralshy’a ka’ra (brighter stars): chapter one || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Series Summary: In the lake country of Naboo, you and Din romance each other under summer’s brighter stars. || Part Two of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: After docking the Crest at the harbor, you and Din while away the afternoon exploring the city hand in hand.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Fluff, smut (eventually) | Word Count: 3.1k | Warnings: None!

A/N: So, I loved writing Mr. and Mrs. Djarin so much that I decided to give them a vacation after all the stress of Ciryc Ca’tra. Basically, it’s Din being the sweetest husband ever. It’s technically a sequel, but I’m fairly certain it can be read as a standalone series. Let me know what you think, and I hope you like it! ♡

“Isn’t the sunshine wonderful, Din?”

You tipped your face up towards the bright, cloudless Naboo sky, feeling the sun on your cheeks like a kiss from a dearly-missed friend.

You heard a soft laugh come through Din’s vocoder. “Yes, it’s wonderful.”

You looked over at him and gave him a bright, sun-squinty smile. “You’re not even in it.”

He was leaned up against the side of the Crest in its shadow, as relaxed as someone in full armor could be, his arms crossed over his chest as the sunshine glinting off the bay cast shimmering reflections on his beskar. You knew he was monitoring your surroundings with care - even in the port of Naboo, where you’d never known there to be any trouble, your husband was nothing if not observant.

“I will be,” he said patiently. “But there’s no use in me sweating through my armor before we’ve even docked the ship.”

You were waiting on the harbormaster to come by and check that everything was in place with where you’d landed the Crest, and even though you knew Din had done everything by the book, he still preferred to have a conversation with the person in charge wherever he left her. You came over to him, stepping into the shade from the Crest, and rested your arms over his.

“Hi,” you said with a smile, looking up at his helm.

He chuckled. “Hi, yourself.” He leaned in to gently tap his helmet against your forehead. “Are you happy to be back?”

“Yes,” you said, earnest and sincere. You’d only come back to your home planet once since you’d been married, and that was to let your family meet your new baby. That time, you had only stayed for a few hours - Din had worried about coming at all, as the authorities on Naboo surely knew the price on his head and didn’t care that the kidnapping was, in reality, the rescue of a youngling from a murderous Imperial warlord. But he knew how much it meant to you that your family be able to see and hold your new baby, and had whisked you and your foundling into your small village in the countryside under cover of night. The expression on your mother’s face when she held your baby for the first time was something you would always treasure, and you would never be able to truly thank Din for letting you have that, even as dangerous as it had been for him to arrange.

This time, you were here without the baby; you’d taken him to Sorgan, to stay with Omera and Winta for a few days, and you knew he was having the time of his life playing with the other children in the village for hours on end. Din had made good on his promise to take you on a trip after the frozen planet - somewhere warm, where you could rest and enjoy being with each other without a care in the galaxy. You also knew he was paying good money to keep your ship off the radar; an old ship like yours was bound to draw attention, and it was only with a generous amount of credits that it would be able to go by the New Republic regulations without getting flagged.

“Thank you for bringing me,” you said.

He nodded. “You’re welcome.” It was just like Din to treat grand love gestures as everyday kindnesses to you. You would have attributed it to the Mandalorian way of life, where selflessness was expected in every aspect of one’s relationships, but you knew the way he treated you with such gentleness and kindness without ever being asked or expecting anything in return was just in your husband’s nature.

“Are we going back to Trask after this?” you asked. You didn’t want to spend your holiday worrying about what you’d do after it was over, but you knew it had to be on your husband’s mind.

He studied you for a moment.

“I think so,” he finally said. You’d stopped there long enough to bring the frog lady to her husband and get the Crest halfway flyable again, and then taken it to Peli for more extensive repairs. It was almost as good as new, and it had taken you to Sorgan and then here to Naboo with little trouble.

“I still need to find the other Mandalorians,” Din continued. “I thought of letting you stay with your mother while I did, but...” He shook his head. “I don’t want to be apart from you like that. I can’t keep you safe if I’m not with you.”

You knew he was thinking of your baby as well as you, and you gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

“We’ll come with you to Trask,” you said. “I understand you not wanting to leave us for that long. But for now, the baby will be fine with Omera for a few days. You don’t have to worry about him.”

He sighed. “I know,” he said. “It’s just... it was harder to leave him than I thought it would be.” He seemed to think he’d said something wrong, and quickly tried to mend it.

“Not that I don’t want to be here with you,” he said. “I do. It’s nice to have a break and just be with you, cyare.”

You smiled. “I know what you meant,” you assured him. “It’s hard for me to leave him too, but he’ll be fine with Omera.”

You reached up and draped your arms around his neck; his hands moved to your waist and the small of your back, holding you close to him.

“And we get a few days all to ourselves,” you said. “With no broken ship and no horrible spiders and no frosty beskar.”

He gave a wry hum of agreement. “Basic requirements for any vacation, I think.”

You laughed. “I think so too, but with our luck, we should take what we can get.”

You could have stayed in his arms like that for hours, but you felt him straighten and pull away from you a little; you turned your head to follow his gaze and saw the harbormaster coming over to the Crest. You stepped back into the sunshine, content to let Din handle the logistics of docking the ship while you basked in the warmth.

“All set,” Din said after a few minutes, putting a hand on your back to gently get your attention. You opened your eyes and almost had to close them again at the bright shine of his beskar in the sunlight.

“Great,” you said. “Is that a defense tactic for you Mandalorians? Blind your opponent with your shiny armor?”

He laughed. “Knowing us, probably.”

You wound your arm around his and hung off him like a new bride, leaning your head against his bicep as you walked down the port street together. You drew attention - Din’s armor would always attract curious gazes wherever he went - but the people of Naboo were not aggressive or overly suspicious. Travelers of all kinds came to enjoy the sights of the beautiful city and the countryside, and as long as they didn’t cause trouble, the locals were happy to let them be.

“Do the people around here dress this fancy all the time?” Din asked.

You considered the locals that walked the streets, noticing their long, flowing dresses and ornately stitched suits that you’d grown up wearing and seeing everywhere in your childhood. You were so used to it that it hadn’t even occurred to you that it would seem out of the ordinary - you and Din were the ones who seemed out of place, with his armor and your plain shirt and trousers.

“Yes, but it’s not considered fancy,” you explained. “Even those who do manual labor still have some sort of detailed stitching or bright colors on their clothes.”

Din looked over at you, seeming to take in your outfit. “Do you miss it?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. Sometimes.” It had been a bit of an adjustment when you first married, but it just wasn’t practical to wear anything that ornate when you were the wife of a bounty hunter. It attracted too much attention and made for a clumsy getaway, if you ever needed to make one. It didn't bother you now, and you were happy to dress in a way more suited to your lifestyle, but you imagined it would be a fun change of pace to wear a pretty dress every now and then.

He put his free hand over yours where it rested on his arm, gentlemanly and comforting. “I’m sorry I can’t give you... nice things. The things you were used to when you lived here.”

“Oh, Din,” you said, looking up at him. “You don’t need to apologize. I love our life, and I don’t regret anything that had to change to let me be with you. I’d give up every nice thing in the galaxy to be with you if I had to.”

His laugh was a little regretful. “Haven’t you, for the most part?”

“No,” you said honestly, hoping he would understand how much you meant it. “I mean, yes, it’s very different from how I lived here, but I don’t care about all that stuff, Din. There’s nothing I’d want more than you and our son - nothing else would make me happy.”

His gaze was steady, and you wished you could see his expression.

“I love you,” he said finally.

You smiled. “I love you too,” you said, leaning your head against his arm once more. “And besides, your son would pull every last thread of beading off of anything I decided to wear that was fancier than this.”

He laughed, and you were pleased to hear that it was more relaxed. “You’re probably right about that, cyare.”

You walked arm in arm through the streets of the city, taking in the sights and sounds of the beautiful streets of Theed. Even when you lived on Naboo, you hadn’t ventured to the capitol much - your family lived in the hill country, and you only came into Theed for special occasions. In your travels with Din, you rarely visited such a bustling city center; most of his work was conducted on the scrappier, less hospitable planets.

You dragged Din to a halt in front of a market stall with all sorts of candies and sweets, spotting something you hadn’t had since childhood and now simply couldn't go another minute without.

“What is it?” he asked. He didn’t much care for sweets, but obliged your proclivity for them all the same.

“Plasma cloud,” you said, pointing out the pink swirls of egg whites and sugar. “My father used to bring them home to us when he came to the city on business.”

Din reached in a pocket on his belt and handed you a few credits, and you grinned at him with childish excitement.

“Thank you,” you said, giving him a quick kiss on the side of his helmet before you went up to the stall owner for your treat. You came back with a bag of them in hand and one already popped in your mouth and handed Din his change.

“I’ll save a couple for you for later,” you said around another bite. They were better than you had remembered them, and reminded you of long summer days spent playing and waiting for your father to return home from the city.

“I know you don’t like candy,” you said, winding your arm around his again. “But you have to try a bite, at least.”

He chuckled. “I’ll try them for you, cyare. Are they good?”

You nodded. It was all good - the sunshine, your sugar-sticky fingers, Din beside you for a leisurely stroll through the city. You couldn’t remember the last time you and your husband did anything with leisure besides collapse in your bunk at night, and you determined you’d make a better effort to make happy afternoons like this one a priority for both of you.

“So, lover mine, where are you taking me?” you asked, happy to let him lead the way. He hadn’t given you any details about where you were staying while you were here, and you’d assumed you were going to stay with your parents, but it would have been impractical to dock in Theed and travel all the way to the hill country. You guessed he could have wanted to stay in the city, but that didn’t seem like him, and you looked up at his helm while you waited for his reply.

He looked down at you. “It’s a surprise.”

You grinned. “Okay. Is it somewhere in the city?”

“No,” he admitted. “We can stay for a while longer, but we should be heading out of the city before the sun starts to set. If I was drawing attention earlier, I'll be the most popular guy on Naboo come nightfall.”

You hummed in agreement. “It’s because of your winsome personality.”

He laughed. “Yes, that must be it. Mandalorians are notorious charmers everywhere they go.”

“Well, mine is,” you said. You traced the Mudhorn signet on his pauldron, the one that matched the pendant you wore around your neck. “I hope our kids grow up to be like you, Din.”

He looked over at you, perhaps as surprised as you were by the unexpectedly serious and heartfelt sentiment. You blushed, but you didn’t quite know why until you realized that you’d said kids, plural, and it had slipped out before you thought of the implications.

He seemed a little lost for words for a moment.

“Thank you, cyar’ika,” he said, and you knew how much he meant it. “That’s... very kind of you to say.”

As always, his humility endeared him to you. You touched your fingers to your lips and then to the bottom of his visor.

He was quiet, and you knew him well enough to know that his cheeks were pink under the helm. Then, most likely with a gentle smile, he lightly nudged his shoulder against yours.

“I hope our kids grow up like me too,” he teased. “I’m what the Mandalorians call a ‘ramikadyc mando’.”

You smiled. “Oh? And what does that mean?”

He shrugged, easing his discomfort with the self-aggrandizing nature of the joke as he explained it to you.

“It’s used to describe someone who takes on the best of Mandalorian training and lives it to the fullest. Endurance, determination. Confidence, but justified by their skill. I’ve had the pleasure of knowing several Mandalorians who deserve the title.”

You wanted to say that he deserved the title too, but you knew he’d be embarrassed by it and wave you off. You settled for pressing closer to him, and he pressed closer to you in return.

You whiled away the afternoon in the city, window shopping and admiring the beautiful architecture as the sun sank lower in the sky. Music drifted from the concert hall, dreamy and elegant as it mixed with birdsong and people’s friendly conversations. You stopped to admire a great swath of flowering vines that had covered the side of a weathered stone building, the deep wine color of the blooms catching the fading sun.

“Millaflowers,” you said, recognizing them from a dress your mother had when you were very small, hundreds of the little blossoms carefully stitched into the fabric. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Din very carefully plucked one and tucked it behind your ear. “Even more beautiful on you, cyare.”

Your cheeks warmed as you reached up to touch his hand, surprised and delighted by the tender gesture.

“I love you,” you said.

He gave a soft laugh, affectionate and warm. “I love you too, ner sarad.”

You twined your fingers with his. “‘My flower’, right?” you translated.

He hummed in agreement. “It isn’t used that often, but I think it’s nice. I once heard an older Mandalorian say it to his wife, and I thought to myself that I’d like to call someone that one day.”

“Did you really?” you asked, endeared at the thought. “Oh, Din. You’re secretly a romantic, aren’t you?”

“Only for you,” he said sweetly. You leaned close and he obliged you with a gentle tap of his helm against your head.

“Let me take you to bed,” he said softly.

You blushed; better than anything, your husband knew how to make you feel desirable, and you were pleased with the affection and want in his voice.

You put your arms around his neck. “Okay,” you said, your voice a little wobbly and lovesick. He put his hands to your waist and drew you to him, and you suddenly wished there wasn’t so much beskar between you.

He held you for a moment longer before he released you to take your hand, leading you back through the winding streets until you came to the lakeside on the opposite side of the city from the bay. The warm lights of the city reflected over the water, and lights flickered from houses nestled into the mountains that wound around the body of water that seemed to go on forever.

“That’s where we’re headed,” Din said, pointing out a small cluster of lights just visible around the curve of one of the mountains. “Near enough to the city, but no neighbors.”

You gave him a wry grin. “Any particular reason that might be important?”

You would have bet good money he smirked under his helmet. “Yeah. I’m not very neighborly.”

You gave his shoulder a playful shove, and his laugh was bright and warm even though his modulator.

“We’re taking the ferry there,” he said. “It should be here soon.”

For the sake of Din’s dignity, you didn’t start jumping up and down with delight, but you wanted to.

“Are we really riding the ferry?” you asked.

“...yes?”

You grinned. “I’ve never been on it before,” you said. “Mother’s deathly afraid of boats, and we didn’t go into the city with dad. I’ve always wanted to, ever since I was a little girl.”

He chuckled. “Well, I’m honored to be the one taking you on your first ferry ride, cyare. I’d have planned our trip a little differently if I knew you were that easy to please.”

You knew he was kidding, and you wondered what else he’d planned. Everything so far had been lovely; you didn’t need anything more.

“What else do you have planned, Djarin?” you asked, teasingly suspicious.

He cocked his head at you. “Haven’t you ever heard that patience is a virtue?”

You laughed. “Sure, but we both know I’m as impatient as they get.”

He gave an affectionate hum of agreement. “Yes, cyare. I know.”

He put his arm over your shoulder and drew you close, his posture relaxed and open. You leaned against him as you waited for the ferry, watching the gentle waves on the water with more peace and contentment than you’d had in a long time.

Read chapter two!

pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekchic, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl, @stardust-galaxies, @theorganasolo ♡

series taglist: @kyjoraven, @sarahjkl82-blog, @remmysbounty, @bitchin-beskar ♡

(since this is a continuation of Ciryc Ca’tra, I kept the same taglist - I hope that’s ok 👉👈)

let me know if you’d like to be added to either taglist! ♡

#the fact that i have no self control and waited less than 12 hours to post the first chapter of the sequel <3 #love that for me #i think this is pretty cute and romantic!#husband!din is the best din #din djarin x reader #din dijarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian fluff #maddie writes stuff!#dralshy'a ka'ra

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wrienne · 3 years

Text

My Cheating, Amnesic Fiancé

Chapter 6: Lies and Pressure

Shoot.

Because it wasn’t as if though he had a famous girlfriend he had been cheating on you, his ex-fiancée, with for who knows how long. And though the amnesia had seemed to make him more mellow - probably because he recognized nobody else but you and therefore clung to that sense of familiarity - you would still not consider him a friend. Also, technically, he was still an idol and probably had an endless sea of fans that adored him in every and any way possible.

So, he was neither eligible nor a friend, in addition to being an idol, and here you were, wallowing in your feelings. Great.

Before you allowed yourself to sleep, you decided to check with Sejin. The man was pacing back and forth in front of the door, and opened his mouth to speak when he spotted you. Immediately, you put a finger across your lips, silencing him.

“He’s finally asleep,” you whispered as you poked your torso through the opening between the door and the frame. “I’ll stay here until morning, but then I need to head to school. I think it’ll be good if someone can be here by then to guard him against nosy journalists or stop him from being all too problematic.”

“I can be here by six-thirty,” said Sejin.

“That will be perfect,” you said. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” he said instantly. “I can’t even imagine how the situation would have turned out without you here. The kid is lucky to have someone like you.”

You blushed at the compliment. “I’m just doing what any good friend would do.”

“I thought you said you weren’t friends.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” you admitted hesitantly.

“Are you dating?”

“No!” you blurted, startled by the question. You slipped out of the room and shut the door as gently as you could after you, as not to wake Jungkook. “We’re just… family friends.” This was sounding a bit repetitive even to you now.

Kim Sejin regarded you closely for a beat, but then relaxed. “Good. He already has one girlfriend to take care of. I would have hated to see him grow up into a type of guy to have several women on the side.”

You were tempted to laugh, but managed to rein yourself in. “Agreed.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

You fell asleep almost before you had returned to the vacant hospital bed. Now, your plan had been to wake up before Jungkook and sneak out quietly as not to disturb him. But what you had forgotten from your earliest days of acquaintanceship - sleepovers, yes, there had been numerous of them during your childhood - was his eerie ability to wake up before anyone else. By the time your alarm went off, he was already awake, watching you in the dark.

You yelped.

“Scared you.”

You only barely discerned his smile through the dark. “Stupid,” you grunted as you tried silencing the harsh ringing. “I could have attacked you and injured you even more. Colored your eye to match the splint.”

“Didn’t take you for the fashion-conscious type.”

“You didn’t react to me threatening to throw a punch at you.”

“I know you’re violent,” he replied. “Besides, I know Taekwondo. I would like to see you try.”

His voice was smooth, like a soothing summer eve’s breeze. Or rather, as if he just had drunk from the glass of water standing on the bedside table between the beds. You sounded like a troll, and probably smelled like one, too.

“I know you do,” you grumbled as you sat up and fumbled for the glass. “Now, what did you just say about my fashion sense?”

“You never struck me as someone who cared about his or her appearance, that’s all.”

You downed the glass of water. “‘His or her’? Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Still tired?”

“Not a morning person,” you answered as you rubbed your eyes. “Why are you so talkative? Didn’t you drink last… er, about six or so hours ago? Shouldn’t you be the sour, surly one?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Did you drink so much you-- oh.”

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you - amnesia is contagious”

“Clever,” you said with a chuckle. “But no, it’s not. I just have a case of bad genes.”

Your body ached as you rose and you stretched. You hadn’t slept in the most optimal position, nor any way near the amount you needed, and your body and mind made sure to remind you of that.

“You were going to try and sneak out without waking me, weren’t you?”

“Yup,” you replied.

“You know you can’t lie to me, right?”

You threw up your hands defensively. “I merely thought you needed to sleep some more.”

“As do you.”

You turned on the lights and immediately found the room flushed with pallid light. You made a face and replied, “I don’t really have the freedom to do so. I have school and then errands to run because of you.”

You hurriedly unplugged your phone and checked the fourteen notifications you had received, thirteen of which were concerned texts from your parents’ driver. The last one was a message from Se-Eun, who wondered if you would pick her up as you usually did Monday mornings. You shrugged on your jacket and purse while replying to both of them. You didn’t think you could make it to Se-Eun’s, however.

“Try to rest, Jungkook,” you said absentmindedly while typing. “Be polite to the doctors and nurses. And eat something while you’re at it.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Just then, a growl erupted from his stomach. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I won’t sit here, being fed by some stranger who treats me like I’m an infant,” he said sternly, his large brown eyes defiant.

“Just like you won’t wear the hospital gown or follow any other kind of normal hospital regulations?”

“Just like that.”

“You don’t remember you’re a world-famous idol, but you sure do behave like a diva.” You snorted. “Have fun starving until I get back then. I don’t have time to force-feed you right now, but I will later.”

Jungkook snorted, too. You headed toward the door after refilling the glass when he stopped you.

“(Y/N), before you leave…”

You spun around. “Make it qui--”

You felt your chest tighten. He was holding up your engagement ring.

Jungkook had picked it up and kept it after you left him.

“Is this what I think it is?” he asked. “I mean, I don’t know what type of guy I was yesterday, but I don’t think I’d just walk around with gold and diamonds.”

“Maybe a new trend in the K-pop industry?” you managed stiffly.

“It’s too small for me,” he said as he slipped the ring onto his little finger. It stopped halfway down the digit.

You didn’t know what to say. This was your chance to tell him the truth: the two of you had been engaged ever since you were eighteen. But then, he had cheated on you and you had broken the arrangement. You could change all of that now. To be frank, you didn’t hate the idea as much any longer. You were the only person he trusted and, as you had acknowledged a few hours ago, you were starting to actually like him, no matter how scary that felt. And you would fulfill your promise to him - you would help him get through the amnesia.

But you couldn’t get the image of him and Park Yi-Jae out of your head. So even though it hurt more than anything else in the world, more than when you had broken your collarbone falling down a hill, more than all of Hye-Bin’s words and “pranks” combined, you decided to lie.

“There was a girl visiting you earlier,” you began as you felt your hand clutch harder around your phone. “Do you remember her? Slim and pretty, with short, curly brown hair.”

He frowned, but nodded. “Yes, she was just as weird as the guys.”

“You and she were--are in a relationship,” you went on while you inwardly prayed that you sounded convincing. “A romantic relationship. She is your girlfriend, Jungkook.”

“My… girlfriend?” The furrow between his brows deepened. “I don’t remember anything about a girlfriend. What’s her name?”

“Park Yi-Jae,” you replied.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“That’s the thing with amnesia,” you said with a voice you hoped sounded light and playful, at least in his ears. “You loved each other very much.”

“So you’ve seen us together?”

You forced yourself not to grit your teeth in anger. “Yes, I have. Just yesterday. You looked very happy together.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything. He simply held your gaze, his eyes trusting yet suspicious.

“If you say so,” he finally said.

“Yeah, well, anyway, I better leave now,” you said as you broke away. “I’ll be back sometime late afternoon with clothes and food. Call your parents if you want to be a bit helpful meanwhile.”

“I will. See you later.”

“Yeah.”

You left before he could add anything to prolong the conversation. You didn’t want to be there any longer. Still, though it pained you, you were proud of yourself. You had chosen the right option.

Yeah, sure you had.

Down by the front desk, you met Kim Sejin while he was purchasing some coffee from an old beverage machine. You doubted he had gotten much sleep, judging by the still present bags underneath his eyes, and gave him a half-hearted smile.

“He’s awake, hungry and probably a bit tense,” you greeted him with. “He’s not exactly convinced about the whole thing, but he has agreed to let me try and help him.”

“I’m afraid I have worse news,” he said grimly. “I spoke with a specialist just now, and he told me there’s a big chance that Jungkook won’t ever regain all of his memories.”

“That's not the worst thing in the world,” you replied, furrowing your brows. “He could have died.”

“Yes but with the situation being the way it is now, I don’t think Jungkook will ever be able to perform again, at least not with the rest of the kids. The director is already considering kicking him out of the group.”

“Why?” you exclaimed. “It’s not like he’s lost a leg or his mind or something - he can still dance or sing or whatever else you need him to do!”

You ignored the sharp look a nurse sent you as she hurried past. You were fuming. Here they were, this large company that probably made a fortune out of these seven guys - out of Jungkook. And they were just dropping him as soon as something - an accident - occurred?

“They just launched their biggest tour yet,” Sejin explained in a calm voice, though he also seemed disappointed. “The company poured a lot of money and planning into this. The boys are supposed to perform on a lot of shows and be on programs as well. But how are we - or anyone at all - supposed to work with a kid who refuses to cooperate with people he doesn’t know? Who can’t seem to recall a single song or performance with his members? And don’t make it anything personal - the director is desperate not to lose him.”

“But what are you going to do without him?” you wondered. From what you had heard from Se-Eun, Jungkook was one of the most significantly popular members of the group, which probably meant his mere presence generated quite the revenue. And judging by yesterday’s concert, he had the most lines in their songs overall.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, probably considering the same things as you. “They might make it, they might not. Chances are, however, that without Jeon Jungkook, the Bangtan Boys will disintegrate.”

You placed your hand against your forehead and exhaled. You weren’t sure exactly what the idol life consisted of, but you had caught bits and pieces from Se-Eun whenever she rambled with her friends about the group. It wasn’t what you would have chosen to spend your youth doing. It just seemed too risky.

And now, all of Jungkook and his hyungs’ accumulated effort from years of work, promotion and practice could crumble.

His childhood dream could crumble.

“I’ve grown too fond of them to let it end just like this, though.”

You shook your head to clear it from your brief reverie. “What can you do?” you asked, hearing a budding idea in his tone.

“I think I can convince the director to cancel most of the concerts,” said Sejin as he scratched his stubble. “Though it might be a little tricky, it won’t be impossible or detrimental to the company since the money is best in Japan, which is where the tour ends. If the kid could somehow perform by then, I might still have a job tomorrow.”

“But as you said, he can’t and won’t cooperate with anyone,” you pointed out. “Not even with medical personnel.”

Sejin drank from his coffee cup, then grimaced. It had probably gotten cold from all your talking. “The doctor told me there is an unorthodox way of reintroducing memories to a person with any kind of memory loss. Unorthodox because it isn’t scientifically proven and because, more often than not, it fails and proves fruitless.”

“What do I need to do?”

“You really are a great friend,” he said, giving you an odd look of sympathy. “All of this relies on your ability to remind him of his life before the accident. Since you’re the only one he trusts, he might be more receptive to you showing and telling him about the other boys, their music and their performances. All and anything that might cause it to fall in place inside his head.”

“This sounds like a movie trope or something,” you said skeptically.

“As I said, it’s unorthodox. But it’s all we really have. There are no known cures or proper treatments for amnesia.”

“Very well then.” You managed a smile even though you felt the heavy mantle of responsibility weighing your shoulders down. “I’ll try. I have at least until the end of the year on me, right?”

Sejin’s expression fell and he groaned. “Damn it, I forgot you don’t know their schedule like the back of your hand.”

“What is it?” you asked. “What do you mean?”

Tension and trepidation already tightened your throat, but your heart was beating steadily. When you had offered to help Jungkook that night, you had known it would be tough. And as the conversation with Kim Sejin had continued, you had had a feeling that whatever he was going to say would be the opposite of good. Still, you hadn’t lost faith in Jungkook’s recovery. Even now, looking at his manager, you knew it would be bad since his face said as much.

But you had never thought it would be this bad.

“The beginning of the end of their tour starts May 30th. That means you only have a little more than three months to restore him, (Y/N).”

#MCAF #wrienne #ao3 #bts fanfiction #bts x reader

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hoodoo12 · 3 years

Text

The Ties That Bind (And How to Follow Them) 3/?

@bunnys-beetlejuice-blog @werwulfy @mel-time @rainingpaint @infptarius @monsterlovinghours @turtlepated @strange-n-unbluusual @heresathreebee @sweetcat-666 @genderless-cryptid @fireflower1015 @go-whovian-universe

Monday at the archives went by uneventfully, though Pate did have some difficulty staying awake. She actually ended up going out to her car for her lunch hour and took a nap, the result being that she didn’t eat anything.

Pate was never quite sure these days what she might walk into when she opened her apartment door, but it was unusually quiet when she arrived home. “Beej?” she called out. He’d taken off once or twice before, taking care of she didn’t know what business she didn’t know where, but he’d usually be back before bedtime. Feeling a little more energized thanks to her nap but famished from her skipped meal, Pate changed into loungewear, scrubbed off her makeup, and started preparations for dinner. It didn’t take long, and she would ordinarily wait for Beetlejuice to return from his roaming but she was starved and quickly scarfed down her portion, keeping Beej’s helping warm with a foil tent over the plate.

Unsure what to do with herself with the specter gone, Pate curled up on the couch and put on an animal documentary to wait for him.

⁂

He worked it down to a system.

Find a crack, enlarge it enough to send a tentacle or two to start searching for the next one while he forced the rest of himself through. A few times he was slowed when the scouting tendrils took longer to find the next exit point, and once he was stymied because a crack was above the ‘window’. He had no idea if anyone on the other side of that mirror saw him, or what they thought as he shimmied up the inside of the glass like a striped spider right out of a nightmare.

As Beetlejuice expected, there was no rhyme or reason to any of this, and no way to determine where he was. He could have been halfway around the world or in the apartment next door to Pate’s. Nothing he saw when he looked out--and he looked out of every window--was familiar. Undeterred because he had nothing but time, he kept at it.

Just because he had time, though, didn’t mean he didn’t ache. He’d never worked his tentacles so long that they were sore, and his fingers felt more numb than not. He had no fingernails left and he could feel the scrapes on his face, left after he’d pushed through a hole that wasn’t quite large enough for him to get through.

Hours had to have passed. If he got to Pate’s mirror before she came home, Beej promised himself a rest. Till then, he pressed on.

It seemed a Sisyphean task, this endless clawing into the white space behind mirrors. Evilly, his brain started asking questions like, “how many mirrors were there in the world? What if he was going in a circle? What if Lillian had forced the illusion that he was making progress, when he was still just trapped in her one special mirror?” If he gave into those thoughts or despair, he’d be lost for good. Then, all at once, as he pressed his forehead to the inside of yet another pane of glass to look out, a piece of paper on the outside caught his eye. He’d been through plenty of mirrors that had photos stuck to them, but very few in a bathroom--with the same black and white striped shower curtain as in Pate’s! The photo had curled from the humidity. Around it was a smear of lipstick in the shape of a lopsided heart. She’d been so angry he’d used her favorite shade to add the decoration--with his finger, no less!--but she’d never wiped it away.

He couldn’t see the front of it, of course, but knew the photo: a spontaneous Polaroid shot on her balcony one evening during the golden hour, an old-school selfie taken just because. They’d both been laughing because it had taken time to line it up correctly and not just get hair or half of someone’s face. They’d wasted so much film trying to get a good one. The final shot was the two of them slightly turned towards each other, Pate’s forehead against his temple, her eyes closed and a wide grin on her face. His mouth was slightly open because he’d been caught mid-laugh, but he was smiling too. Both their arms were outstretched because they figured both of them holding the camera might work better. The tips of his hair were pink.

He was home.

Beetlejuice would have cried in relief if he wasn’t so tired. Now all he had to do was wait till Pate came into the bathroom, probably inadvertently scare the crap out of her, and get her to let him out.

⁂

She must have nodded off there on the couch because the next thing Pate knew she was startling awake, heart thumping in her throat. She’d been on the colorful road again in the foggy wood, running from she didn’t know what and towards she didn’t know where.

Pate rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands and sighed, swinging her legs to the floor. What she needed was a splash of cold water in her face. Rising to her feet, Pate stretched and squinted at the time on the cable box, noting that Beetlejuice still appeared to be absent. She frowned, slightly unsettled that he had yet to return home.

She padded to the bedroom and on to the bathroom, flipping on the lights. In the sudden brightness she was instantly aware of a figure in the medicine cabinet mirror that was not her own. The initial shock made her jump, but the oh-too-familiar green hair and striped suit made her huff a relenting half smile.

“Okay, Beej, that was a good one. You totally got me,” she said, turning to face him behind her only to find that the room was empty except for her. Brow furrowed, Pate took another moment to look around in case he was hiding and hoping for another shock but there was no sign of him. Turning back to the mirror, where his disembodied reflection still stood with a strange expression on his face, she flashed him a questioning look.

“What’s goin on, Bug?”

Looking more closely at him, Pate noticed that his already mussed hair looked even more awry than normal, and there were marks on his face. Growing concerned, Pate took a step closer, pressed against the counter to lean closer to the cabinet and the mirror with the growing suspicion that something was wrong.

⁂

Time still had no meaning here. He tried the same things on Pate’s mirror that he had in Lillian’s, pounding on the glass with fists and tentacles, to the same zero effect. He even did his best to simply wrench the glass from the wall, but unlike the odd cracks he’d found that was seamless, like it was one solid piece of material. Eventually he gave up and just waited. It was like being in a tomb. He’d had plenty of practice with that, although this was unending light and he could see a portion of the bathroom. That was almost worse torture than just laying in the dark. Pate had to enter here sometime, however. When she did, looking a little like she’d just woken up, it actually startled him. The light was blinding for a moment and he jumped. Pate did too, when she saw him there, and then tiredly derided him for the scare.

He shook his head and said, “No--Pate, baby, you gotta let me out!”

She didn’t see it. She had turned to look behind her as if expecting him to be there.

When she turned back around to face him, she looked confused. She asked him what was going on.

“Pate! Pate!” he shouted, the volume in his voice increasing. “I’m stuck here! I can’t get out, you’ve gotta let me out! I went to see Lillian and she trapped me in her mirror, and then I kept moving from mirror to mirror until I found yours--how long have I been gone? Let me out!” Beej watched her gaze shift from his eyes to his mouth, and realized with growing panic that one, she couldn’t hear him, and two, he just word vomited so much so quickly there was no way she was able to lip-read everything that spilled out of his mouth. He put one hand flat on the glass towards her and licked his lips to try again. Enunciating as best he could, voice still just one notch below yelling, Beetlejuice said, “Pate. I’m stuck. Stuck! Help me get out, baby!” He put his forehead on the glass. The fingers on his outstretched hand, the one pressed palm side to the interior of the glass, trembled as well. The specter lifted his eyes back to her. “Please,” he pleaded.

⁂

Ordinarily after pulling a scare on her, Beetlejuice would be preening like the cat that caught the canary, punctuated with nuzzles and kisses to her forehead and cheeks and statements that he simply couldn’t help himself, she looked so cute when he caught her off guard.

This time, though, he looked positively frantic. His eyes were wide and desperate, his hand pressed flush against the inside of the glass. Pate’s eyes narrowed as his lips moved but she couldn't hear him. She did her best to discern what he was saying by reading his lips, but even then she could only make out a few words.

She thought she caught him say the words “stuck” and “help”. She swallowed, feeling an apprehensive flutter in her stomach. Something was terribly wrong. He was scared, and anything that could scare Beetlejuice was something to be deeply concerned about.

Questions began forming in her mind; how had he gotten himself stuck in her mirror? How could she get him out? The first thought that occurred to her was breaking the mirror, but somehow that didn’t seem like a good plan. What if it hurt him or something?

‘Come on, think!’ she told herself, reaching up to press her hand over the spot where his was in the glass.

Nothing Lillian had taught her seemed to be of any use, it was all about how to keep spirits and specters away, not letting them loose. At that thought she wondered darkly if Lillian might have something to do with this.

“Beej,” she said slowly, in case he couldn’t hear her, too. “Did Lillian do this? Because if she did, I’ll go talk to her right now.”

If the older woman somehow sealed her demon lover away, surely she had the ability to release him, Pate reasoned. And if it meant finally coming clean about having Beetlejuice around, if Lillian refused to teach her anymore because of it, then so be it. She just had to get him out of there.

⁂

Pate putting her hand against his, unable to touch, felt like they were miles apart instead of separated by a layer of glass. He swallowed and ran his free hand through his hair, hoping it wasn’t betraying his rising panic with some odd color. She must have picked up something from his spill of words, because she hit on the person who had done this: her mentor. Beej nodded at her query, but Pate’s announcement that she was going to talk to the older woman right now made him pound a fist on his side of the glass in anger and fear. “Yes it was Lillian! But baby don’t--don’t leave me here!” he shouted. “Pate--!” Frustrated and increasingly worried she was going to follow through with her idea to go to Lillian’s right now, walking away from him after he’d clawed his way and only by chance ended up where he wanted to be, Beetlejuice continued to pound on the mirror. A terrifying thought skipped through his head: What if she went back to Lillian’s and he needed to be in Lillian’s mirror to be let out?!

He’d have to get back to the old woman’s apartment. Frantically he glanced in the direction he’d entered this space and to his ultimate fear, it was once again plain unending white. There was no broken seam, no evidence he’d ever been anywhere but where he was right now. That threw him into a state of even more panic, and without warning Pate, he stepped away from the window.

A tentacle immediately nosed the spot he thought he’d come in, but found nothing. His fingers found nothing. The seam he’d torn apart was nonexistent. He’d have to find another to try and leave this mirror, and who knew where that would take him. Where would he be? Could he find his way back to Lillian’s? A whine that he now knew Pate couldn’t hear escaped his lips. Beej pushed himself back to his feet and went back to the window. “Please don’t leave me,” he whispered.

tbc . . .

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Ties That Bind

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be11atrixthestrange · 3 years

Text

Waking Up In Vegas: Chapter 4

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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More Chapters

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Chapter 4

[Hermione]

Hermione breathes a sigh of relief when she enters her hotel room, and the door shuts behind her. She pulls off the Chudley Cannons t-shirt and boxers, throwing them into a pile on the floor by her suitcase, before making her way to the bathroom for a shower.

Her suite's bathroom is an assault of color, too happy and cheerful to match her sullen mood. The tiles form an elaborate design which Hermione guesses is supposed to be a mermaid, but who knows, really. She stopped trying to identify any cohesive theme to the hotel's elaborate decor the moment she arrived.

As she scrubs herself clean, she can't help but wonder about last night. Did they really have sex? If they had, it would be a first for her. She's had sex before, of course, but only within the boundaries of a committed relationship. Never a one-night-stand, if that's what that was.

The idea that she and Ron Weasley might have shagged last night doesn't bother her in the way she'd expect — in fact, there's a small, but very present part of her that hopes they did. Hermione's only slept with one other man before, and her anxiety surfaces every time she imagines having sex with someone else — someone who might see her differently than her ex-boyfriend Viktor. She often wonders if there's anyone else out there that finds her attractive enough, and hates to admit that insecurity led her to stay with Viktor much longer than she really should have. It's that same fear that makes the thought of taking her clothes off in front of another man so daunting. She's often tempted to numb her worries with alcohol, and get it over with. Maybe last night she did.

Hermione glances down at her body and tries to keep her insecurities at bay, but she can't. She's never been one to concern herself with cosmetic endeavors, not like Lavender, who is always talking about tanning lotion and bikini waxes. She wonders what parts of her Ron had seen and touched, and oddly, she's desperate to know if he liked it.

She's imagined sleeping with Ron before. Not intentionally, of course. It's just a passing thought that occurs with any single, attractive, age-appropriate man, but for some reason, it happens more frequently with Ron. Neville, Dean, and Seamus, Harry's other groomsmen, are all just as attractive, but she isn't nearly as curious to know what it would be like to shag them. Maybe it's the way that Ron bickers with her and irritates her — there's something so focused about it. It's like he knows exactly how to push her buttons. Her need to learn more about him in bed must be purely academic — if he can drive her mind crazy, what might he be able to do to her body?

It's tempting to reprimand herself like she might a friend after a one-night-stand, but she doesn't feel guilty. If there's any reason to be angry with herself, it's not because she slept with Ron; it's because she can't remember it, and she really, really, wants to. For science, of course.

Unable to avoid the day any longer, she turns the shower off and reaches for her towel to dry herself. Any guilt she feels is mostly about ditching Ginny last night. This week is for Ginny, and as her maid of honor, Hermione has a duty not to abandon her to rendezvous with her brother.

She wraps her towel tightly around her body and heads back into the bedroom. The bathroom's aggressive color scheme continues into the rest of the suite, but the mermaid tiles are now replaced with lime-green area rugs, lava lamps, and an ombre accent wall that fades from white to teal. The whole ordeal feels both retro and modern, like she's entering both the past and future at the same time. While rummaging in her suitcase, she finds her phone, blinking with dozens of missed messages from Ginny. Scrolling through the messages tells her that Ginny was really worried about her last night.

Where did you go?

Are you ok?

Are you with someone?

Please text me back, I'm worried!

The phone buzzes and startles Hermione. She glances down to see Ginny's name again, this time accompanied by a new message.

Don't forget about brunch! You owe me a mimosa and an explanation! 11 am :)

Okay, Ginny doesn't sound too angry. Hermione checks the clock and groans. 10:55 am.

She extracts a clean change of clothes from her bag, which happens to be a periwinkle sundress that Ginny convinced her to buy for the trip. It's a little shorter and more revealing than Hermione would typically choose, but seeing her in it might make Ginny feel more sympathetic. Plus, if she shows up looking perfectly put-together, she might have a chance at convincing the girls that she did not get blackout drunk and shag Ron Weasley last night. Still, she imagines showing up to brunch in Ron's boxers and Chudley Cannons t-shirt, and the picture brings a smile to her lips. Of course, she'd never do that, but the look on Lavender's face might be worth it.

Hermione sends Ginny a quick text to tell her she's on her way and pulls the sundress over her head. She then stations herself in front of the bathroom mirror to work on both her hair and an alibi.

One step into the god-knows-what-themed restaurant gives Hermione an instant headache. The music, the conversation, and the smell of breakfast food and alcohol instantly remind her of her hangover. She passes the giant, decorative goblet in the middle of the room and spots Ginny's red hair, standing out against the forest-green wall paint behind her. Ginny sees her too, and waves her down.

"Hermione Jean Granger!" says Ginny as soon as Hermione sits down at the creaky bamboo chair across from her. Also at the table are Luna, Demelza, and Lavender, who eyes Hermione's dress suspiciously. "Dish!"

Ginny's already halfway through her first mimosa and is smiling brightly. Hermione instantly relaxes at her demeanor, her guilt melting away. "Dish? About what?"

"Where you ran off to last night, of course!"

"Ginny thinks you shagged someone, but I think you just went back to bed," says Lavender, and Hermione is briefly tempted to wipe the smug smile off her face with the truth, but she resists.

"What does everyone else think?" asks Hermione. Maybe they'll come up with a better alibi than she has.

"We took bets. I think you ran off and shagged a stranger, because I know there's a rebel in there somewhere," says Ginny, waving a lazy finger toward her face. "Lavender thinks you just went to bed early like a party-pooper. Luna thinks you got lost. And Demelza thinks you disappeared with Ron."

"What?" says Hermione, glancing curiously at Demelza, "Ron?"

"Yeah," shrugs Demelza. "It would make sense."

"Would it?"

"Not like that," chuckles Lavender, rolling her eyes. "It would make sense because he's the best man. Demelza thinks you two are planning something for Ginny and Harry, and that's why you two disappeared. We can't figure out where he went either, but Harry's working on finding out," she adds bitterly.

"Oh," says Hermione, breathing a sigh of relief. "I thought you meant—"

"We didn't," laughs Demelza.

"Definitely not," says Lavender cooly. "You're not his type, anyway."

Hermione turns away from Lavender, ignoring the prickle of insecurity ignited by her comment. "Well, not to let you all down, but I had too much to drink last night, so I just went back to my hotel room early. I meant to send a text, but I passed out pretty quickly."

"Knew it," says Lavender.

"As for Ron," she adds, turning back to face Lavender, "I did run into him. He was with a girl, but I don't know who she was. Super pretty, though." Hermione can't help but enjoy the flash of jealousy on Lavender's face.

Lavender meets her eyes with a scowl before dropping her gaze to Hermione's exposed legs. "Nice dress. Who's it for?"

"Sorry? Who's it for?"

"Your dress is awfully short," she adds matter-of-factly, taking a strategic sip of her mimosa.

"Oh, well," Hermione shrugs. "It's warm out."

"Well, you look very attractive. Almost like you're trying to impress someone." Lavender's cheery tone juxtaposes her icy stare. If only there was a prize for backhanded compliments, Lavender could finally consider herself a winner.

"I just like this dress," says Hermione through gritted teeth. "Who would I be trying to impress?" The table has gone awkwardly quiet, the air suddenly thick with tension.

Lavender shrugs. "Nobody. Wouldn't be worth your time," she says, bringing her mimosa back to her dolled-up lips.

Hermione rolls her eyes. Lavender doesn't seem to like Hermione, and Hermione cannot figure out why. It might have something to do with how often she and Ron talk to one another. Lavender has a habit of inserting herself into their little arguments and trying to redirect Ron's attention as if she's trying to save him from Hermione's incessant pestering. Maybe she means well, but Hermione finds it condescending.

They only ever talk about wedding logistics — It's not like they flirt. As far as Hermione knows, Lavender has nothing to be jealous of. Either way, Hermione doesn't have time to mull it over because Luna breaks the tension. "Are you sure you didn't get lost?"

"Sorry, what?" asks Hermione, having already forgotten the previous conversation.

"Last night," clarifies Luna. "You weren't lost?"

Oh. "No Luna, I wasn't lost. Why?"

Luna shrugs. "I just checked your room before I went to bed. You weren't there."

Hermione feels Lavender's piercing stare once more and tries to send a quieting glance to Luna, but Luna remains oblivious. "Are you sure you didn't get lost?" Hermione retorts. All the girls, except for Lavender, laugh.

Luna smiles wistfully. "Maybe I had the wrong room."

"Probably," says Hermione firmly, then in an attempt to change the subject, "Another round of mimosas?"

Ginny's beams. "Sure! But this round's on you!"

"Sounds good," says Hermione, rising to her feet. "I'll be right back."

It's probably in her best interest to keep the drinks flowing.

Hermione is waiting at the bar for another round of mimosas, tracing the playing cards ingrained into the counter with her finger, and mulling over her conversation with the girls. Something feels very off with Lavender, and she wonders if she suspects anything. Hermione glances down at her dress; it is awfully short. She tugs self-consciously at the hem. Lavender doesn't think she's wearing this dress to impress Ron, does she?

Sure, she wore this dress the day they arrived in Vegas, and at one point, she noticed Ron's gaze drifting from her face to her chest then to her thigh. Normally, she'd react by calling a man out on that, but with Ron, she said nothing. It was such a fleeting glance, probably because Lavender was watching, and he might not have wanted to offend her. But she also liked it. Something about his eyes on her body made her feel sexy, and it's been a while since she's felt that way. The memory of Ron's wandering eyes and how they made her feel might have been part of her motivation to wear the dress this morning. A small part, but a contributing factor nonetheless. Maybe Lavender can sense that. She seems to detect any possible interest in Ron like a bloodhound, and clearly, she still thinks Ron is her man.

A sudden voice startles her out of her reverie.

"Hey! Good to see you again!"

Hermione turns to see a woman about her age. She doesn't recognize her at all. "Hey," she says tentatively.

The woman is wearing a green jumpsuit that almost camouflages her into the restaurant's decor. Her bright pink manicure reminds Hermione of claws, and her large gold spectacles magnify her eyes, giving her the appearance of an insect. She looks like she's intentionally trying to dress as an animal, but hasn't decided which one.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

Did Hermione meet this woman last night? "I'm okay. Doing better," she adds, hoping her tone is neutral enough to be non-committal.

"Okay, that's good to hear! We had so much fun last night, by the way!"

Hermione is more confused than ever, but she feels like her opportunity to admit that has passed. "Thank you," she says instead. "I… did too. I think."

The woman laughs, an almost-maniacal cackling sound that makes Hermione shudder. "Honestly, I'm so honored that you included me. I know we just met last night, but I already feel like I've known you two forever!"

Okay, what the hell is happening?

"Oh, of course, I feel that way too!" she lies. Hermione needs to find a way to end this conversation.

"I'm glad I found you! I tried to send you this photo, but I realized this morning that I didn't have your number." She pulls her phone out of her pocket and scrolls through her camera roll. Hermione curiously looks over her shoulder, hoping that maybe this photo will spark her memory of last night. "Here it is!"

The woman shoves the phone into Hermione's face, and Hermione's jaw drops.

"I know! It's so cute, isn't it?"

It feels like her heart has stopped. She's looking at a photo of Ron holding her up, one hand is under her knees, and the other supporting her back. Hermione's arms are laced around Ron's neck, and their lips are pressed together in a passionate kiss. Above them is a sign that reads Just Married.

"That's definitely one you should get framed!" says the woman excitedly.

Hermione tries to steady her breath, but she feels about to panic. This has to be some sort of joke. "Yes, thank you," she says in the giddiest tone she can manage.

"Go ahead, send it to yourself!" says the woman.

"Right, right," says Hermione. A few clicks of the keypad later, Hemione feels her phone buzz again in her pocket. She hands the phone back to the woman.

"And now I have your number,'' she says! "We should definitely celebrate again. I will text you!"

"Yeah," says Hermione mechanically, although she knows it won't happen. "Of course."

"Congratulations again!" The woman hugs Hermione before sauntering away.

As soon as she disappears into the crowd, Hermione pulls out her phone to examine the photo. She recalls how horrified Ron was to wake up next to her and has no idea how she'll be able to have this conversation. She's tempted just to delete the photo, but she knows that won't make it go away.

Then, something jumps out at her. On the wall below the words Just Married are the words Follow your heart's desire! They're small and easy to miss, but it sounds like bad branding.

She switches her screen to search those words. A single click pulls up a website.

Erised Elopements

Follow your heart's desire!

Maybe there is a way to make it all go away.

She saves the address into her phone, right as the bartender pulls up with five mimosas. "Sorry about the wait!"

"No problem," says Hermione distractedly, pocketing her phone. She smiles and pays for the drinks before heading back to a restless table of girls.

"What took you so long?" asked Ginny.

Hermione shrugged, setting the drinks down on the table. "Busy, I guess."

"Are you ok, Hermione?" asks Luna.

"Yes, why?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine." Ginny looks at her with concern, and Hermione waves her off. "I'm great."

"Are you sure you haven't seen a ghost? This hotel is haunted, you know."

"No, Luna, I haven't seen a ghost." Just accidentally got married.

"Okay," says Ginny. "If you're feeling ill, just let us know. You can go back to your room and rest…"

"Actually, that might be a good idea," says Hermione quickly. "Are you sure you won't mind?"

"No, of course not," says Ginny, although Hermione can sense the disappointment in her voice.

"Sorry. I'll be ready to rally tonight, I promise." Hermione snags her purse and slings it over her shoulder. She slides her untouched mimosa across the table to Ginny. "An extra for you."

Ginny perks up and takes a sip. "Feel better, Hermione!"

"Thank you," says Hermione as she waves goodbye and turns to leave the hotel restaurant, still aware of Lavender's eyes on the hem of her dress. At first, she heads in the direction of her room. Then, checking over her shoulder to make sure the girls aren't watching, she pulls out her phone and searches the address from the website. She'll be able to fix this; she's sure of it.

#romione fanfic #ROMIONE #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #hpromione #romione fics #muggle AU #waking up in vegas #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #ron x hermione #Ron and Hermione #ronweasley #hermionegranger

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “On a Hill.”

Still working on my ability to write fluff. Hope I am getting better at it :) Hope you all have a great day.

Sunny marched down the hall with great purpose, the words of her brother ringing in her head, “You know Sunny, if you want to do something special for him, why not try doing something human. I mean fighting is all well and good for Drev, but I wonder if he gets tired of getting the crap kicked out of him on a normal basis.”

Her brother was right of course: Adam did sort of have a habit of catering to her needs and wants rather than his own. It did seem more than fair to give him what he wanted for a change.

So, she had done some research, going around the ship and asking the other humans about what they considered to be special. Of course she threw a lot of ideas out on principle because she knew Adam enough to know that he wasn’t going to be interested. It was, surprisingly, Maverick, dateless, lone-wolf Maverick that made the suggestion that caught Sunny’s attention.

“Come on, what better way to a man’s heart than through his stomach. Take him somewhere cool beside that and you’ve got him hook line and sinker.” Of course Sunny didn’t understand the metaphor, but she thought she understood the feeling of it.

So, with her plan all pulled together, she made her way up to the captain’s quarters and knocked lightly on the door.

There was a muffled yip from inside followed by a voice, “Oh Calm down. It’s nobody you don't know. COME IN, DOORS UNLOCKED!”

She pressed the panel to the side of the door, and it hissed open. She walked into the large room leaning down to pet waffles as she ran over tail wagging.

Adam was leaning back on his bed, UNSC issued grey shirt and grey camouflage ACU pants.

In his left hand he was holding a book, turning the pages with his right hand.

Sunny squinted at the cover slowly sounding out the words to the human alphabet.

War of the worlds

On the opposite wall, the TV was turned low with some sort of vintage zombie movie playing in the background.

“I thought you were a sci fi geek, not a fantasy nerd.” She said walking over to stand over him.” He set down his open book on the side table, “What is more sci-fi than zombies? Some sort of strange disease turns everyone into cannibals. Besides sci fi and fantasy are the same thing, the only difference between them is that sci fi attempts to explain its magic with logic and science, while fantasy creates completely new systems for the way it does things.”

She shrugged, “HAs it ever occurred to you that you are commanding a fleet of spaceships under the command of a galactic council of planets, and you're dating an alien. Does it really get more sci-fi than your life?”

“Leave my nostalgia alone, once upon a time I didn’t think any of that was going to happen…. Especially that last one.” His eyes dropped down from her face focusing in on the object she held in one of her right hands, “That’s a big ass ammo can, what are you doing with it?”

“You’ll see.” She said wryly. Walking over to his closet, pulling out an extra blanket tossing it to him.

He nearly fumbled it as he stood head tilted to the side with confusion, “What is all this?”

“You’ll see, now come on.”

She led him out of the room and down towards the docking bay where a shuttle had already been prepared for them.

“Do I need weapons?” He wondered nerouvly stepping into the shuttle.

“No weapons needed.”

“That is very unusual coming from you.”

“Just pilot the damn shuttle will you.” She said taking the copilot seat next to him and setting the large ammo canister down on the floor. He did as she ordered, sliding into his seat and pulling on a headset, hands flying through the preflight checklist without so much as a thought.

“So where are we going.”

“Just followed the pre programmed instructions.”

He glanced over at her, his eyebrow raised, “You make me nervous. You know that?”

She frowned and waved a hand, “Oh calm down, I promise it’s nothing big. You’ll like it.”

He shook his head, but finally followed her instructions, lifting the shuttle from the airlock bay and out through the opening airlock doors while lights blinked red over their heads. He followed the instructions to the letter, coming into low orbit with the nearby glowing planet.

They had gone and done a preliminary search of the planet only yesterday determining that it was more than habitable and rather temperate. Plants were already being put together for some kind of scientific colony in it’s northern hemisphere.

“Alright, alien planet is cool.” he said, dropping them into the atmosphere with a sudden rattling, and an eruption of flames out the front window.

That soon dissipated as he slowed the shuttle, and expertly landed them on the pinnacle of a tall spacious hill with a pretty awesome view if she did say so herself.

He shut off the shuttle and stepped outside allowing the warm air to wash over them with a hiss. Adam tilted his head back, nose raised as he took in a deep breath and sigh, “Wow.” he muttered.

Sunny didn’t have as good a sense of smell as Adam did, but even she could detect the clear crisp air and the slight tang of dewdrops on moist soil. The smell made her hungry as they walked a little further onto the top of the hill, where a strange tree waited for them.

The tree itself was not dissimilar to earth trees, maybe twenty feet tall with a narrow black trunk and spongy yellow blobs sticking to it’s branches blocking out a distant glowing sun. Together they turned to look at the view, and Sunny hummed with pleasure as the human stood open mouthed and gawking.

The ground they stood on was a light greyish blue in color with little yellow flowers poking up every now and again. The tree they stood next to was the only lone tree upon the hill which sloped down into a wide- rambling valley. Purple and blue plant matter made up much of the ground while yellow topped trees added a sharp contrast. The sky above them was a deep blue, almost too dark to be a morning sky, though the sun shone bright through its murky blue haze. And then there were the planet's rings appearing as Massive white arches in the sky which plunged down below the horizon. A crystal blue/purple lake glowed at the center of the valley, reflecting a mirror image of the sun and the rings in the sky above.

“Holy, shit, Adam muttered.”

“Nice view, huh.”

Adam rubbed his eyes and shook his head a few times as if he wasn’t believing what he was seeing, “No kidding.”

Leaving him to gawk for a few seconds, she grabbed the blanket from under his arm and then awkwardly worked to spread it out over the grass under the shade of their lone tree.

She was having trouble, but just managed to flatten the blanket out most of the way when Adam turned to look at her. He paused and raised an eyebrow again, smiling a little, “What are you doing?”

She smoothed out one last wrinkle and then took a seat on the blanket legs stretched out in front of her, “What does it look like.”

He walked over as she plopped the ammo can down between them.

He shook his head, “I’m still not entirely sure.”

Sunny reached out and flipped open the latches to the large canister popping open the lid. Adam peered inside and all at once began to laugh. The smile on his face was enough to tell that it wasn’t a mocking laugh or anything. He just seemed genuinely surprised.

He reached inside and pulled out a water bottle still laughing, “An Ammo can?”

She shrugged, “I am told a picnic basket is usually preferable, but we didn’ have one of those on the ship.”

Adam continued to laugh shaking his head in either disbelief delight or both, “What prompted all this.” He asked motion towards the ammo can, now picnic basket.

She shrugged, “I have been made aware that we do a lot of things that are very Drev, but not a lot of things that are particularly human, so I thought maybe I should do something human for you.”

He still had a smile on his face, but this time he shook his head resting one hand over hers, “Its thoughtful of you, Sunny, but I was ok with what we were doing.”

She shrugged, “I know you are, but you often let me have my way, so I thought it would be a good way to show you that I care, to do something that I have never done before.”

He smiled and lay back against the blanket a soft breeze tugging at his shirt, “Well consider mission accomplished. This was a pretty great idea.” He cracked his one good eye to look at her, “So, who did you ask?”

Sunny shrugged a bit sheepishly, “it was Maverick’s idea, but I DID go looking for her myself.”

“Maverick? That sly dog, I would never have pegged her as the type to come up with something like this.”

“Yeah she is….. Hmmm… how shall I say.”

“She should have been born Drev. I don’t think she has ever dated anyone but I’m pretty sure she would consider kicking the snot out of someone the perfect way to spend an afternoon.”

“She does have the heart of a Drev.” Sunny said nodding, leaning back on the blanket next to him to stare up at the great rings in the sky above.

Adam chuckled again after a few minutes of silence, “Ammo can.”

“Shut up.”

He laughed again and sat up on one elbow digging through the canister until he came up with a sandwich before sitting himself cross legged on the blanket and taking a bite.

Sunny reached in after him and pulled out an apple.

She liked human fruit, though with apples she had to be careful to avoid the seeds. Humans could probably handle them without too much issue, but she had learned from experience that accidentally ingesting an apple seed made her very, very sick.

Adam was about halfway through his sandwich, when a slight movement from the corner of her eye caught Sunny’s attention. She paused eating her apple mid crunch and turned to look towards the movement.

She paused, eyes widening a little.

“Adam…. Don’t look now, but we have company.”

He paused, sandwich halfway to his mouth and turned his head pausing and staring as she had done as a troop of fuzzy foot and a half tall- bird-ish things came waddling up the hill towards them.

Again at about a foot and a half tall, the creatures walked on two legs like a bird. They had very big fluffy bodies and little heads that sat atop their ample fluff. A short thick beak sat at the front of their faces.

“Stay very still.” Sunny muttered from the corner of her mouth as the little troop of about fifteen creatures waddled up the hill.

They didn’t seem scared of the two strange looking aliens as they approached. Adam, despite Sunny’s warning leaned over to get a better look as one of them moved closer, “what are these?”

The creature was now only a foot or so away from him, and as Sunny watched, it’s small head rose up from it’s fluffy body suspended on the end of it’s long furry neck as it extended and nibbled at Adam’s sandwich.

He let off an exclamation of indignation as he pulled his sandwich away, “Ack!”

As soon as the strange noise came out from his mouth a chorus of other voices followed, “ACK.” As the entire troop parreted the sound back at him.

He was surrounded now on all sides, and from his opposite side another fo the creature’s extended his neck in an attempt to take a bit from his sandwich.

“Hey!” he shouted leaning the other way and huddling closer around his sandwich.

Sunny laughed, watching as the strange troop of birds began curiously pecking at him.

Two of them were pecking at his bootlaces, another was tugging at his pant leg. One of them had crawled into his lap in search of the sandwich, while two others were busy plucking at strands of hair atop his head. He had his hand raised high over his head in order to protect his sandwich.

She continued to laugh as their curiosity led one to stick it’s head down the front of his shirt.

He yelped in surprise.

And the group chorused the sound.

Sunny couldn’t hold back the loud barking laugh that spilled from hier, and just like that the group of them scrambled in fear hiding behind Adam in an unruly mob.

Adam frowned, and turned to look over his shoulder, looking back at Sunny with a frown.

One of the birds poked its head out from behind Adam, and upon seeing her it parroted Adam’s yelp of alarm and hid again, “Why aren’t they all over you?” Adam protested

Sunny snorted, “They can sense the danger.”

Adam frowned, ‘i’m dangerous.”

That made sunny laugh again, “You! You’re a marshmallow and they can sense it!”

Two more heads poked out from around Adam’s back, and the birds slowly began to wadner forward. One of them crawled back onto his lap, while the others moved to their palace at his bootlaces again.

A couple of them wandered over to sunny where they stood in a semi straight line to just stare at her. She stared back

Adam huffed in frustration, and Sunny turned to look at him, holding his sandwich above his head again, “I could eat you for lunch if I wanted.” He pointed over at Sunny, “She’s a herbivore.”

They didn’t seem to care, and continued to peck at him.

Eventually he was forced to stand up just to eat his sandwich, while they parroted any noise he made that wasn’t speech.

Sunny stood after he was finished eating, walking a little ways down the hill with him. The troop followed in a line at Adam’s heels, keeping to his left, where Sunny was on his right.

“Leave it to you to immediately make new alien friends.”

He squeezed her hand, “You have to admit, I’m pretty good at it.” He looked up at her out of the corner of his eye, “You being exhibit A.”

“Hmmm, I think you were a bit too good when it comes to me.”

His mouth twitched slightly, “Yeah, I sort of didn’t intend to make you fall head over heels for me.” She smiled openly now, “But who could blame you. I am pretty irresistible.”

Sunny would later insist that she shoved him very lightly, and he was just off balance enough to fall over and go rolling halfway down the hill with a troop of birds squawking after him. She would also deny the fact that she laughed when a few of the birds lost their footing and went rolling down the hill after him.

Of course she could be seen awkwardly running down the hill after to see if he was ok, only to come to a stop laughing again when she found him sprawled on his back with one of the creatures sitting atop his chest and another one pecking at his ears. She carried him back up the hill when he proved unable to walk due to dizziness.

“I thought you were a fighter pilot immune to dizziness.” She said

He crossed his arms just over the bird who had refused to get off his chest, and was not receiving a ride back up the hill courtesy of Sunny, “I AM but only when given warning. Generally I am not launched into flight without my knowledge.”

She snorted as she turfed him down back on the blanket, The bird squawking indignantly,

He frowned at it, “What is this?”

After a few minutes, the others followed, returning to their curious adventuring in his clothes and hair. One of them stuck it’s head into his sleeve without warning pradding him in the armpit and forcing him to make another yelping noise which they soon parroted back at him.

Sunny sat pointing and laughing at him as he suffered, though it could hardly count as suffering considering he was smiling so much, and seemed to be more than enjoying it.

Her sides hurt with how much laughing she was doing as his expense and couldn’t help but take a few pictures of his predicament.

It would have seemed strange to an outsider,, if they had come around a few hours later.

A drev and a human lying atop a blanket. The human using the Drev as a pillow, while both of them were surrounded by strange sleeping birdlike creatures, one resting on top of the human while the others hunkered down around them.

Eyes still closed Sunny asked, “So, despite our…. Uninvited guests. Did I do good.:

Adam didn’t open his eyes either, “This is probably the best time Ive had in the past week ,and that’s saying something.” he paused, “You did good.”

She smiled, “I know, I’m pretty amazing.”

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dessarious · 4 years

Text

Guilt and Consequences Pt7

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They were about halfway through breakfast and Lila had started to let her guard down. She was still on guard for any repercussions from the incident in the bakery but that left her open to interrogation on other matters.

“So Lila, I’d like you to write down the names of the three therapists you actually saw.” Mme. Cheng’s voice was friendly, cheerful even. Lila glanced at Marinette to see if she would react but there was nothing. It seemed like an innocuous enough request.

“Okay, though I don’t see the point.” The woman didn’t respond and Lila went back to her food, not really thinking about it further. As she finished a paper and pen appeared almost out of nowhere and she wrote the information almost on instinct. Mme. Cheng took the paper as soon as the third name was finished and she honestly would have thought she imagined it if the pen wasn’t still in her hand.

“Now why don’t you girls go up and finish up any homework you have. And I mean homework Mari. I want all of it done before you get distracted.” Marinette had a sheepish look on her face but Mme. Cheng turned her attention to Lila immediately. “You do have your school things with you?”

“I don’t do homework.” The look on Mme. Cheng’s face said plainly that wasn’t the right answer. Marinette was looking at her like she’d lost her mind.

“And why is that?” The woman’s tone was strange, almost soothing. That was odd.

“It’s an inefficient learning strategy at the best of times for one. I’ve already learned the material previously for another. It also seems rather pointless given that I normally am only in a school for a few weeks at most.” They were both frowning at her now and she still didn’t know why.

“It’s a way for the teacher to measure students' progress in the material.” Lila hadn’t considered that. Given how illogical everything at that school was it sort of made sense though.

“But it doesn’t. For the most part it just shows how well you can find answers in books or how much their friends and family know since a lot of people do homework as a group activity. If that is why they do it, it would be far more efficient and accurate to just have daily or weekly quizzes on the material. It would also be far more beneficial for students since trying to force the recall actually helps with memory far more than simply reviewing the same material over and over.” Now Mme. Cheng looked exasperated more than anything else. Marinette looked thoughtful though. Was that not common knowledge? Maybe she should show them the research she’d found on learning and memory.

“I have to go help Tom. Please just go do your homework.”

------------------------------------------------------

When Lila returned home she found a note from her mother saying she would be out of Paris for a week for work. No details, but that was normal. Under regular circumstances she would use it as an excuse to call herself off from school, but if she did that Marinette would be facing the class alone and she couldn’t allow that. Tomorrow was going to be a nightmare. Lila’s phone let out the notification for an Akuma and she pulled it from her pocket to find over three dozen messages from Alya, each one getting more hysterical. Well, shit.

“Hello Lila.” She spun around to see an Akumatized Alya at the open window. Her outfit was some weird bastardization of the way old time reporters looked in movies but the color scheme was neon green and violet. It honestly made her eyes water. “I am Journalist, and I’ll get the truth no matter the cost.” It took everything in her not to roll her eyes at both the name and what she actually said. This should be entertaining. Journalist pointed a pen at her and Lila tensed up just as the beam hit her. Well she didn’t feel any different.

“And what exactly was that supposed to do?” The least she could do was stall her to give the heroes time to get here so she didn’t go after Marinette.

“Where is your mother?” What kind of question was that?

“On a wine tour in the south of France.” Lila blinked and tried to keep her expression neutral. She had no idea where her mother was; why did she say that?

“What about your father?”

“He’s dead.” She didn’t know that either. What the hell did her powers do?

“How did he die?”

“He ran into a burning building to rescue my sister and me and ended up dying from his injuries.” Sister? Well that made the dream make a lot more sense but… oh no. If Alya’s powers did what she thought she needed to get out of here before the girl realized it.

“And what did Marinette do to you to make you say you were lying?” She felt her rage boil up at the question and completely forgot why she needed to find a way to escape.

“Marinette didn’t make me do anything! I told you I was lying because I was and the only one who made me do that was you and the rest of the morons when you decided that ‘punishing’ Marinette for things she didn’t do was a valid option.” She probably would have kept going but at the moment Ladybug appeared behind Journalist and used her Yo-Yo to heave the Akuma halfway across the city.

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.” Lila didn’t even have time to respond as Ladybug grabbed her and threw her over her shoulders. The were on a rooftop somewhere Lila didn’t recognize before she recovered enough to think properly and Ladybug was about to swing back towards Journalist.

“Wait!” The heroine turned to raise an eyebrow at her and Lila suddenly felt very self conscious. Her interactions with the heroes so far had been… less than optimal, but she had to do this. “Alya’s beam makes you tell the truth.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Her tone was dry and Lila frowned at her.

“No, I really don’t think you do. Even if you don’t actually know the truth it will still come out of your mouth. I don’t think she or Hawkmoth realize that though.” Ladybug was studying her and Lila shifted uncomfortably. Getting combative was instinctive but she really needed to stop doing this.

“If you don’t know the answer then how do you know that what you say is the truth rather than just what Journalist wants to hear?” She blinked at that question. If not for the last thing she’d asked Lila wouldn’t have been certain.

“No, if that was the case I would have told her that Marinette threatened me or some other form of ridiculousness. But like I said, they don’t know that. If Hawkmoth had any idea that her powers were functioning that way he would have made her ask me for your and Chat Noir’s civilian identities. At least I would assume so. You need to be careful.” The heroine just kept staring at her for a moment before nodding and heading back to the fight. Once she was gone, Lila’s legs gave out and she sat there trying to process what had just happened.

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@readeracctagmepls @aestheticnpoetic @akana-sama @schrodingers25 @runestarchild @paradoxal-occurance @heaven428 @animegirlweeb @deepestobservationwombat @iggy-of-fans @yin-390 @thehufflepuffranger-blog @trippingovermyfeet @misslenamooney @ladybug-182 @zalladane @pale-lady-dreamer @smolplantmum @peachedpocky @bezzy-d @naoryllis @sassakitty

#miraculous ladybug #lila rossi #lila redemption #angst #bad parenting

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aethersea · 3 years

Text

you know what, I never do these things, but actually I’ve decided I would like to get to know people better! I would like to partake of the mortifying ordeal! I would like to talk about myself for a bit!

ok for the next...let’s say five days I will answer any of these things that people tag me in, or any random personal questions you plop in my ask box. I don’t have an ask meme on hand but just....pick one you’ve seen recently, or make up questions of your own, and I’ll answer. (the answer might be ‘nope that’s private’ but I will answer.) (@ the anon who asked for book recs - I see you, I’ve been thinking of books all day, I’m going to give you SUCH a long answer, I hope you don’t regret your choices bc it WILL be full of gushing)

alright, let’s go!

🌻 Tag 9 people you want to get to know better

Tagged by @booksandchainmail

Last Song: I’m currently listening to “Falcon in the Dive” from the Scarlet Pimpernel musical on loop. I watched one or two Scarlet Pimpernel movies when I was just barely too young to fully get what was going on, and the story’s held an odd but deep-seated place in my heart ever since. A few years ago I found out there’s a musical and most of the songs are pretty stellar (go listen to “Madame Guillotine” if you like big ensemble broadway numbers, it’s a banger, the bit where he cries out for God has been running through my mind on and off for a few days now haha not like that’s topical or anything), so every once in a while I spend a few days listening to them a lot.

Sometime last year I read the actual book, and got super into the whole concept of the Scarlet Pimpernel for a while. I plotted out Pimpernel aus for several fandoms, I read the entire wikipedia article, and I went looking for bootlegs of the musical. I didn’t find one, but I did find a full radioplay-style recording of the script, complete with full musical numbers, and listened to it like a podcast.

Reader, I was so disappointed. The play adds some scenes, bc a lot of the dramatic tension of the novel comes from internal conflict and that doesn’t stage super well, and the very first scene of this play – a play written in the NINETIES – features our dashing hero rescuing some aristocrats from a French prison, and then saying to the person in the next cell, who begs for rescue but is not an aristocrat, “We have enough of your kind in England.”

Enough! of your KIND! What in the merry frickety HECK my dudes!! The book has some rather unfortunate™ takes but it is from 1905, it’s regrettable but sadly to be expected. This play is from 1997. It has NO excuse. This scene wasn’t even in the book! What! the heck!

I was so disheartened that I lost my excitement for the play, and a couple songs later I stopped listening. It occurred to me just a few days ago that you could actually stage that ironically, with the person in the cell giving the audience a “can you believe this” look, and then the rest of the play could feature assorted non-aristocratic ensemble members constantly looking at the audience like they’re on The Office. And hey, maybe that’s what they did, or something similar – maybe that was never meant to be taken as a cleanly heroic stance, and the play deals with it in a complex way. It’s possible. I wouldn’t know. Kinda doubt it though, based on song lyrics.

Favorite Color: red, probably

Last Movie: I watched that new lesbian christmas movie with my family for christmas, the one with kirsten stewart and the guy from schitt’s creek. it’s very sweet and good and kinda sad, and I really enjoyed it. it also incidentally has the best gay best friend trope in probably anything ever, bc it’s not a trope (I didn’t realize until several hours after watching that it technically fits), it’s just a guy who is the protagonist’s best friend, and they’re just all gay, and then when he Gives Relationship Advice as a gay best friend always does, it’s advice about how to deal with your partner’s hangups around coming out.

actually every part of the gay best friend trope becomes better when they’re just best friends who are both gay. the big dramatic gestures (in this case, driving some ungodly distance in the snow on no notice) go from “haha how kooky” to “queer man will do anything he needs to to rescue his queer friend from an isolating & potentially triggering situation”. the relationship advice isn’t “honey you deserve some self-respect, treat yourself”, it’s a deeply sincere reminder of the vulnerability that is shared across almost everyone’s queer experience, and look I could ramble about this for a long time before reaching a coherent point but I’m INTO IT, okay? I’m into it.

Last Show: you want me to remember what show I last finished???? impossible, cannot be done, it was a long time ago and the adhd has eaten everything that happened before last week. here, instead I’ll tell you about another movie I watched, late at night with my mom in cozy companionship just a couple days ago. it’s called Quigley Down Under and it’s about a cowboy who goes to Australia and kills a bunch of racists, 10/10 would watch again. it’s from 1990 but it feels much older, with the music choices and the cinematography of a 70s Western. the cowboy is great, honorable and fearless and kind, but the breakaway star of this movie for me is the woman who attaches herself to his side and refuses to leave. her name is Cora, and she’s crazy, in the sense that she’s not altogether tethered to reality, but this never for a second diminishes her agency. she’s fierce and clever and compassionate, and she basically never does anything she doesn’t want to in the whole movie. her arc is about overcoming trauma by taking charge of her own fear and facing it head-on, she is never belittled or dismissed by the narrative or the protagonist, and look she’s just so cool. I love her. she’s so vibrantly alive. her story could probably have been handled with a bit more nuance, but honestly for the 90s it’s pretty great. I’m no expert, but I found nothing objectionable in it, just a bit of heavy-handedness.

anyway the theme of the movie is that racism is evil and racists deserve to be shot, and this too could have been handled better (not a single aboriginal character speaks a single line of english in this movie), but it follows through on that message in every way, while still being a fun kinda campy cowboy movie. overall a very good time.

Currently Watching: started showing my sister Hilda the other day, and she’s liking it! I love that show, it’s so incredibly cute. can’t wait to see season 2

Currently Reading: lmao I wish. lately the brain has firmly rejected all attempts to read anything of any length. currently pending, bc I was halfway through them when my brain stalled out, are tano’s fic What Does Kill You Can Make You Stronger, Too, a Toby Daye book - I think it was The Brightest Fell, I got like half a chapter in and haven’t picked it up in over a month, the Locked Tomb series, and probably a few other things too. ooh! also a book called Making Sex by thomas laqueur, which is my fancy academic reading that I’ve been doing in short bursts for the past year or two when I feel fancy and academic. it’s about the development of the concept of biological sex and of gender in Western society, and it’s fascinating. has among other things introduced me to the idea that until quite recently, fathers were a matter of faith. the mother? yeah, you can watch the baby pop out, we all know who the mother is. but the father? how can you know? how can you really know? we have paternity tests these days, but for all of human history up until now, we've just had to take fatherhood on faith. (not to mention we didn’t even know what fathers were contributing to the production of a fetus. clearly it was something, since you can’t get pregnant without a penis getting involved, but we have literally not known what until the past few decades. and that is wild. it has colored ALL of human history, all of our conceptions of society and family and kinship and gender, all of it, and it hadn’t even occurred to me until it was spelled out for me in this book, and it’s just......wow.

Salty, sweet or savory: for christmas my sister and I made seven different types of cookie, most of them involving chocolate somehow.

Craving: no bc I ate so many cookies. unless sleep counts. or maybe pringles, it’s been many moons since last I had a potato chip and I miss them.

Coffee or Tea: no thank you

Tagging: @coloursisee, @krchy-tuna, @sam-j-squirrel, @xzienne, @mirandatam, @viciousmaukeries, @sepulchritude, @elidyce, and @navigatorsnorth bc it’s been a while since we’ve talked, and I’m super hyped that you’re married now. v happy for you!

#finx rambles #finx has friends on the internet #be sure to tag me if you do this so I can go read it!#also you don't have to yammer on as much as I do #I'm just Like This you know #hmm perhaps I should readmore this actually #hmmmmmmm #I think I will use the excuse that it is 6 am to not do that #on account of how surely there are not many people up #and anyway this isn't meant for reblogging; you will only have to deal with this post once

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dirt-cup-draco · 4 years

Text

George x Reader- Day Off

Could I please request a post war George x Slytherin!reader where the reader always had a thing for George but never spoke to him because different houses. But she's in Diagon Alley and goes to his shop, and they have a moment and she asks him on a date? And just a lot of fluff. Thanks! @obsessedwithrandomthings

1993 You huffed, blowing a piece of your hair out of your eyes as you strolled down the wide hallway. Your hands were curled tight within the sleeves of your sweater as the chill of the dungeons began to get to you. You’d just come from your common room and you were hoping to steal some hot chocolate from the kitchens before anyone noticed your absence.

It seemed luck wasn’t on your side as you were nearly knocked over by a slender redhead that you recognized all too well. “Watch it Weasley!” You hollered after him as you had to press your hand against the chilling stone wall. You scowled but when he stopped and looked at you, something in his bright eyes tugged hard at your heart.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” He winked at you and you couldn’t fight the blush that spread onto your cheeks. All the while, the twin’s expression lit up and he glided over to you, long legs carrying him to his side far too quickly.

“What’s a Slytherin doing out past curfew?”

“I didn’t know it was any of your business,”

“It’s not, but it might piss off the prefects headed this way,”

At that moment you heard footsteps and voices drifting down the hall. You startled and grabbed the boy’s sleeve so he couldn’t run and leave you to deal with the fall out. “Get me out of this and then I’ll tell you,”

He flashed you a grin, a strand of his longer hair falling down in front of his face and the inexplicable urge to tuck it behind his ear came over you. His eyes were chocolate covered amber and it gave him a constant aura of warmth that you couldn’t deny was helping you stay calm as your prefects drew closer. You’d be put through hell if they were to catch you slipping out. Again.

“Hope you like running,”

“Wha-”

And then the freckled boy you didn’t even know the name of (didn’t all weasleys look the same?) was dragging you away, letting his long legs carry the both of you further than you thought. His fingers were intertwined with yours and you squeezed tightly to keep up with him. You thought for a moment about how his hand completely engulfed yours.

Your moment of wonderment was cut short by the boy stopping all of a sudden even as your legs still carried you forward until you slammed into his back with a small grunt. His hand tightened around yours to make sure that you remained upright.

“S’pose we’re even then,” He mused with a smile you hadn’t seem fade since you’d first seen him.

“Excuse me?” You huffed, brushing the front of your sweater down so the wrinkles faded.

“I bumped into you, now you bump into me. We’re even,” He explained with an impish grin and you snorted.

“That was definitely your fault,”

“Was it? If you hadn’t been so distracted by my clearly handsome features, you wouldn’t have bumped into me,”

“Your back was to me, you don’t know what I was looking at,” You blushed, itching your nose with your sleeve to try and hide it. Thankfully, it was dark.

The redhead only grinned and dropped your hand after you failed to let go first. It was then you realized that he had dragged you to just the place you needed to be. You smiled at the wonderful coincidence. “Thank you for helping me,” You spoke honestly as you both hovered outside of the kitchens. You stuck out your hand. “I’m Y/N”

“George,” He said, engulfing your hand once more to give two strong shakes before returning his hands to his pockets. “You going to tell me what you were up to then?”

“Nosy, aren’t we?” You teased. “I’ll tell you if you’ll join me for a cup of cocoa,”

“Somehow I feel like you’re never going to tell me,” Yet, he followed.

You sat on one of the counters, George directly across from you as he warmed his hands on the mug you’d given him. “I think I have a pretty easy guess about what you were planning on doing,” He smiled over the rim of his cup and you gave him a shy smile back.

“Congratulations on not being completely daft, that’s rare for a gryffindor,” You poked fun.

“Congratulations on not being incorrigible, that’s rare for a slytherin,” He shot back and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up.

“You’re preaching to the choir,”

You fell into a peaceful silence, drinking the sweet drink and warming up from the cold night. The kitchens held a certain warmth that your house would never hold and it was why you often found yourself here after curfew.

Then, a thought occurred to you. “You know why I’m out past curfew, but I don’t know why you are. Care to share?” With a long sip at your cocoa, you fixed George with a curious stare. He smiled and crossed his lengthy legs on the top of the counter, elbows on his knees and mug set to the side as he peered back at you.

“Me and my twin, Fred- you’ve probably heard of us-” He winked and you snickered, rolling your eyes. “We were playing a prank on filch but we got interrupted halfway through and split up. He’s probably asleep by now, but I ran down to the dungeons and ran into you,”

“You probably wish you were asleep like him,”

George thought for a minute, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t think so,”

“Why’s that?” You asked and you cursed yourself for how breathy it came out. You took another swallow of your hot drink to cover up your blunder.

“He didn’t get hot chocolate,” George pointed out. He didn’t get to meet a brilliant girl. Is what he wanted to say.

George and you continued to talk until the sun began to rise, a dewy blue light flooded the kitchen. You rubbed your eyes and let out a yawn. “I should be going now,”

“Nice meeting you,” George said honestly, stretching his back after it had been in an odd and cramped position all night. “See you ‘round I hope,”

“I”m sure you will,” You smiled, swatting his hand when he ruffled your hair.

And George did see you after that. But every time he looked your way your eyes darted anywhere else and when he approached, you bolted. Eventually, he gave up. He knew it was a bad idea fancying a Slytherin.

1999

You let your feet guide you through diagon alley, pretending you didn’t have a particular destination in mind. Ollivanders Wand Shop and Potage’s Cauldron Shop passed you and you looked at them with a fondness in your heart. Eeylops Owl Emporium looked as it always did and you stared into the dimly lit windows to find that there were several owls staring back through the bars of their cages. Oh, how excited new students would be to get their very own owl once they began Hogwarts.

You frowned. When would new students be able to roam the shops and experience what you and your peers had for the years that you had spent at Hogwarts? The battle had ended a year and five months ago and you were still reeling.

The loss of your friends weighed heavily on you, as did the absence of your parents. They were wonderful, spoiled you silly as you grew up and loved you with more than they had to give. Unfortunately, they’d been on the wrong side of the war. Their fear of Voldemort kept them under his thumb and they hadn’t believed they’d make it out alive if they’d opposed him.

They were in Azkaban now, despite your best efforts to get their case reviewed. It was a headache and it kept you up far later into the night than you needed to be. It was hard to not be able to see them. Admittedly, you didn’t do much else outside of working, trying to free them, and sleeping. Which was why you’d decided today, you would take a break. It was your day off and you ought to get out of your childhood home.

You were living there while your parents were away, you didn’t want them to come out of Azkaban having lost so much only to realize their home was no longer theirs. You could do this one thing for them, if nothing else. Being home had it’s own negatives. You were surrounded by too many memories, and without your parents there to reminisce it felt bleak and empty.

In comparison, Diagon Alley looked like a dream. The streets weren’t as packed as you’d seen them before. You knew that people were still finding their way back to where they’d been before and you weren’t sure anyone would ever be the same but you hoped that they got there one day.

Finally, you stalled in front of the most colorful shop there was. The stunning red around the windows stood out even more against the warm light that was glowing from the inside out. A caricature of the twin’s similar likeness was built into the frame of the building, the large hand pulling away a top hat to show a surprised mechanical rabbit. You couldn’t help but smile.

It was something the Weasley twins were very good at. Their pranks and jokes, their fireworks and shenanigans, all brought smiles to the faces of those who feared they didn’t have anything to smile about anymore. It was a reminder of better times and a reason to create your own little slice of joy in bleaker days.

The bell above the door jangled as you entered and your ears were filled with a buzzing and popping noise, some music playing throughout the bright store. Their shelves were still stocked to the brim. Some families were scattered throughout, a few couples holding hands as they looked at candies, a group of friends chased each other throughout.

“Looking for anything specific?” Came a voice directly behind and you jumped out of your skin at the shock of it.

“Freddie! How many times have I told you you can’t go scaring guests!” Came the voice you were hoping to hear as he momentarily popped his head from the shelf he was working on arranging neatly. It was much like Fred’s, but softer and smoother around the edges. Fred was large bangs and showy lights during a firework show, George was the smoke and memories that remained when there weren’t anymore to be lit.

“Sorry-?” Fred offered, an apologetic yet playful look on his face. It took you another few seconds to realize he was asking for your name.

“Oh! Y/N,”You offered, cheeks pink.

Fred extended a hand and it was only then you noticed he had a can supporting him. You had heard he’d been gravely injured during the war and you told yourself that’s why you hadn’t visited the shop yet You shook his hand with a firm grip and your eyes went back to his.

“Y/N?” George mimicked, head poking back out as he stared at your back. You had to suppress the shiver that went down your spine.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” You winked as you spun around to meet the boy you hadn’t been able to get out of your head for the past six years. One thing had changed. He was definitely not a boy anymore.

In a moment you were gathered into a pair of strong arms and you were sure it had been all the quidditch he’d played during school. You grinned and squeezed him back. You weren’t surprised by the affection, it was something you had come to expect from George. Despite your many attempts to avoid him in case he saw how flustered you got in his presence, you’d been observing. He always had a grin on his face, always had his arm around someone’s shoulders.

“It’s been-”

“Six years,” You finished with a hefty sigh as he set you back down onto the floor.

“You know each other?” Fred questioned, eyebrow quirked as his twin stared down at you with clear adoration.

“Uh yeah, she made me hot chocolate,”

“He kept me from getting detention,”

George smiled and ruffled your hair. “He did that too,” You tried to sound put out but you felt lighter than you had in months and it was solely because of his presence and the aura that filled the joke shop.

“So are you looking for anything specific?” George repeated his brother’s question and you shrugged.

“If I said you?” You mumbled, eyes quickly avoiding his as you picked at a loose thread on the end of your sweater.

“I-I” George stammered trying to collect himself as Fred gave him a sly look before disappearing. “I’d be surprised, we didn’t talk much after that day... We didn’t talk at all actually. sort of thought you hated me.”

“The opposite actually,” You blushed. “I just figured you wouldn’t be interested in talking to the odd slytherin girl... Got in my head about it and avoided you every chance I got,”

“I like odd,” George shrugged.

You laughed softly as you looked around the shop. “I’m seeing that now,”

“But I get what you mean, I eventually started avoiding you too. How do you tell the girl you talked to once that you fancied her?” George added and you paused.

“You what?”

George blushed now, the hue coloring his pale cheeks nicely and making his freckles stand out even more. “You were cute, you were funny. I had a good time talking and well Fred has always given me a bad time about falling too fast for someone,”

“I’d be lying to you if I said that I didn’t feel the same way. There wasn’t anyone else I would rather be saved from detention by,”

George smiled and reached out to play with the ends of your hair. “Is there a point to us dwelling in the past?” It wasn’t bitter, it was simply a question that needed to be answered. You’d held it in for too long and now that the world had settled down you were looking to do the same. Dating was hard, you hadn’t had much luck. It might be because every time you made a cup of cocoa you only wanted to share it with one person.

“Um-” You became bashful. It had been so long, you had no clue if George was seeing anyone. You had hoped not, and his friendly greeting gave you hope but that was how he was with everyone. Had his feelings stayed in the past? “What if I say yes?”

George smiled a bit more and twirled your hair around his finger. “Is there something you’re not saying Y/N?” You blushed a deeper shade, lips pursed as you pouted. George Weasley knew damn well what you were trying to get at.

“Do you want to go on a date you git?” You finally decided on and George’s grin got impossibly wider as he let out a laugh that had the patrons staring.

“What if I say yes?” He mimicked and you groaned.

“Actually, I take it back! I forgot how difficult you could be” You turned to leave but George’s hand caught your own and you noticed for the first time that he was missing an ear. You hadn’t heard about him getting injured in the battle... Had it happened before? George coughed in embarrassment and you tore your eyes away.

“If you say yes,” You tried to recover. “Then I’d ask if you wanted to go to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour?”

“It’s September,” George pointed out.

“So that’s a yes?” You hoped for the best, seeing as he hadn’t said no immediately.

“Freddie!” George called out and he got a muffled shout in response. “I’m going on my lunch break,”

“Wait, now!?” You sputtered as George held your hand and let you out of the door.

“We wasted six years, why waste more time?” He had a good point.

You squeezed his hand back and followed. Your day off turned out to be much better than you’d hoped.

#FLUFF #george weasley x reader #george weasley #george x reader #george weasley x slytherin!reader #ask #request

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