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1kook · 3 years

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one man, no hands

— a some way, some how jungkook drabble summary “Just my mouth,” he reassures you, rough hands slipping beneath the sides of your skirt, urging you to lift your hips as he nudges it over your tummy. “Promise.” warnings established relationship, mechanic jungkook, business woman oc, cunnilingus / eatin out, jk is dirty like in the literal sense rating m (18+) wc 2.5k

notes am i confident in the title? no. am i stubborn and feel like it has to follow this pattern out of some weird self made obligation? yes, please help me. anyway here is 🔧⚙️ jk and his hot girlfriend once more <3

For the most part, you like to believe you were a pretty composed person. Sure, there are a few instances in your personal history where you exploded, sobbed, cursed the planet to hell and back. But given your chosen career track and the amount of stupidity you dealt with on a daily basis, you’re significantly more mild-mannered compared to your peers. That being said, you were by no means the dictionary definition of serene. After a long day of meeting clients around the city, a rather unsatisfying lunch, and atrocious city traffic—all while breaking in a new pair of heels—there was nothing more satisfying than pulling up to Jungkook’s empty auto shop and huffing out one long, “fuuuck.”

Jungkook doesn’t mind. “Hey, gorgeous,” he calls from over his shoulder, looming over the open hood of yet another innocent vehicle. The metal table beside him holds every tool imaginable. “How’s my sexy department manager doing today?”

“Terrible,” you confess, heels clicking against the concrete floor. You realize he’s hunched over his own car today, a rather rare sight if you’re being completely honest. Jungkook wasn’t the biggest fan of working on his own car(s) at the shop, something about pride and refusing to admit something was wrong with them in front of people who looked up to him. Men, you chuckle, finally closing in on him.

He’s terribly sweaty, the sweltering heat turning the inside of the garage into a human microwave. “How’s my sexy mechanic doing today,” you hum, throwing all reservations aside to lean over and press a kiss against his cheek. Jungkook, as always, makes sure to nuzzle into the touch.

“Pretty good,” he replies, taking advantage of your affectionate nature to set aside the tool that had been in his hand. You watch his sturdy fingers reach for the hood of the car, carefully shutting it because he knows you hate the smell of metal. The rag tucked into the pocket of his red jumpsuit is littered with stains, and the half-assed wipe of his hands against it doesn’t help.

When he turns, that same hand attempts to reach for you, the remnants of oil buried beneath the tips of his fingernails. “Hey,” you warn, intercepting him at the wrist; you’ve spent one too many nights at the local laundromat trying to remove oil from tweed.

Jungkook frowns, shakes his head to the side in that infuriatingly sexy way that not only lets you see the dark furrow of his shapely brows, but also has the tendons in his neck bulging just the slightest. “Give me a kiss,” he pouts, pretty pink lips fighting off a smile. “I missed you.”

Hands holding onto his wrists, you lean forward, your pointed heel tapping against the dirty toe of his work boots.

One of your greatest contributions to society was introducing Jungkook to strawberry flavored chapstick, a deed that the universe pays you back tenfold with each kiss he bestows upon you, lips so soft and sweet. If you look past the distinct smells of the auto shop and Jungkook’s own natural scent, you swear you can smell the strawberries.

It is as you’re trapped in this train of thought that Jungkook manages to overpower you, abruptly stepping forward enough to throw you off balance. Your gravity shifts, and while your heartbeat may spike for a moment, you know he’d never let you fall. “Easy there, beautiful,” he grins, one tatted arm wrapped around you. He’s got that stupidly cocky grin on, the one that usually proceeds some stupid or horny thought.

Lo and behold, a second later he says, “can I eat you out?”

You roll your eyes, placing two hands against his chest. Jungkook takes it as a sign of your approval and moves in for a second kiss, only for you to shove him away with a huff. “You haven’t even showered, smelly,” you chide, straightening out the front of your blazer in a rather snooty manner that has Jungkook scoffing.

“Please?” he tries again, not the slightest bit phased by the unimpressed look you throw his way. “I’ll wash my hands.”

“Jungkook,” you level, settling into one of the many rolling seats that decorate the floor of Jungkook’s garage, your cell phone placed down on the metal table nearby. From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of the familiar paper wrapping of the deli down the street, crossing your arms over your chest. “Did you eat at Shin’s for lunch? I don’t want your onion breath on my intimates.”

Jungkook steps in front of you, looking down at you with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Well then,” he says calmly, and then, drops to his knees in front of you. It has you jolting in surprise. Before you can accidentally send yourself rolling across the floor, Jungkook catches your ankle in one hand, tugging you forward until your knee presses against his side. “It’s a good thing that was Jimin’s lunch and not mine.”

“Kook,” you gasp, the muscles in your legs weak against the grip he has on the back of your knees. The muscles in his forearms tense up as he slowly pries your thighs apart, leaning down to place a rather soft kiss against your knee. The tenderness of his kiss shouldn’t be surprising, but it never fails to make you inhale sharply, hands slowly coming to rest against his shoulders.

The brush of your fingers against him has his eyes flickering up to meet yours, strawberry sweet lips curling into a smile. “Just my mouth,” he reassures you, rough hands slipping beneath the sides of your skirt, urging you to lift your hips as he nudges it over your tummy. “Promise.”

One shaky exhale later, you find yourself slowly nodding along, fingers burying themselves within the dark tresses of his hair. “No hands,” you remind him one final time, letting him manhandle you out of your panties. “And be gen—“

Your words are swallowed up by the surprised squeak that slips through your lips upon Jungkook’s first long lick over your slit. “I’ve got you,” he chuckles, the low and breathy kind that makes your skin tingle. “Hold on to me.”

“What the— fuck!” you exclaim, pulling at his hair in sheer fright when he whirls your chair around suddenly, pushes you the three feet until your chair is bumping against the front of his bumper, appropriately named. “Jungkook,” you scold, roughly yanking him up by his hair. “Don’t do that.”

“Shh,” he hushes, but the shock still has your heart thumping a little too quickly. You pinch his ear. Jungkook shakes you off just as quickly, throws you a childish glare. “You’ll need the support.”

The opportunity to question him never comes, because a second later Jungkook is tugging you forward in your seat, knees neatly placed over his shoulders for easy access to your pussy. You did need the support, you realize, back pressed against the curve of the hood as Jungkook begins the rather torturous process of teasing you.

As promised, his hands rest over your thighs, thick fingers digging into the soft skin as he descends upon you, one featherlight kiss pressed against your mound. The polite greeting of his lips is followed by the not-so-polite greeting of his tongue, the warm and wet muscle caressing your clit.

Your breathing hitches, a pleasant warmth settling in your core. It blossoms quickly, stamps out the remnants of fear from a few minutes ago. Jungkook’s tongue plays a key role in that change, nudging your clit back and forth carefully as he listens to the subtle alterations in your breathing.

After the day you’ve had, the delicate way Jungkook laps against you has you melting, both into his touch and against the cold metal of the hood behind you. “Oh,” you pant, eyelids fluttering at the kiss he places against your labia.

He’s relatively quiet today, just soft sighs against your cunt. Without his hands, you’re surprised by how easily he navigates his way along your lips, tongue nudging your folds apart. The round tip of his nose throws you for a loop as he kisses down your slit, the soft skin unintentionally brushing against your throbbing clit. (Or maybe intentionally— you never really knew with Jungkook.)

At your quivering entrance, he pauses, pulling back with glistening lips and dark eyes. “Good?” he murmurs, tongue peeking out at the corner to trace across his red lips. Another shake of his head, dark strands tickling his cheekbones.

“So good,” you exhale, releasing one hand from it’s trembling grip in his hair. You press it against the side of Jungkook’s face instead. Briefly, the tips of your fingers brush against his ear, an action that makes his eyelashes flutter, mouth dropping open just as your thumb presses against his lower lip. “Make me cum,” you command, as if you aren’t completely at his mercy right now.

Still, Jungkook humors you. His pearly teeth playfully bite down against your thumb, a smile making its way across his features when you pull away. “You got it, boss,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “You’re the boss here,” you mumble, shivers running down your spine when he ducks back down once more.

Lips suctioned around your clit, your thighs quiver beneath his touch. A soft whine pulls itself from your throat, hand jerking forward to grasp at the white undershirt he’s got on, stained like always. Jungkook ups the intensity, pulling away with a loud pop only to bestow a chaste kiss against your sensitive clit. “Please,” you whimper. It takes every last remaining ounce of self-control to keep yourself from accidentally clamping your legs shut around him, hips jerking forward as he licks his way down your slit once more.

His tongue dips its way between your folds, over your quivering opening, as if he’s circling where he’ll pleasure you next. A second later, you feel your entire body tense up momentarily as he slips his tongue in. It’s nowhere near as girthy as his cock, barely comes close to two of his fingers. But there’s something about Jungkook being so close, mouth against your pussy, that sends a shock of electricity straight there.

“Oh— Oh, god,” you sigh, head lolling back, tapping against the hood of Jungkook’s car.

The fingers digging into your skin tighten to the point of bruising, his hands growing anxious with every breathless moan drawn out from you. His plush lower lip is warm against your puffy skin, hot breath fanning over your wet folds as his tongue slowly works its way in and out. Slow, painstakingly slow. The speed has you growing restless, legs threatening to lock around his head, pushing him against your cunt until he can’t breathe.

It’s a good thing Jungkook is the one in control, his flattened tongue trailing one, long lick over your pussy. It starts at your entrance, glistening with arousal and his saliva, and ends at your clit. You’re almost certain you can feel your heartbeat through the bundle of nerves, releasing a loud cry at the way the tip of his tongue flicks against it once more.

The muscles in your legs, tired from walking all across the city, spasm beneath his ministrations. Your shoulders, tight from the weight of your responsibilities, relax back against the warm metal hood. Every kiss Jungkook places against you has you melting, feeling so unbelievably pampered. “Fuck, J- Jungkook— baby,” you whimper, letting go of his shoulder to bite down on your knuckles.

Jungkook breathes harshly against you, brows furrowed together as he focuses on making you feel good. The sight of his handsome face buried between your thighs makes you shiver, jolt when he pushes his tongue into your entrance once more and begins slowly thrusting it in and out. It’s so wet, mixes with your arousal and makes this lewd sound that only fans the flames of your pleasure, fingernails pressed against his shoulders and then burying themselves against his scalp.

It doesn’t take much longer, fatigue and pleasure catching up to you all at once, accumulating in a toe-curling orgasm unlike your usual ones. It’s quieter, filled with stuttered gasps instead, Jungkook’s name occasionally finding its way into the mix. By the end of it, you find yourself fretting over the state of your boyfriend’s scalp, having pulled it roughly at the height of your pleasure.

“How cute,” Jungkook hums softly, eventually releasing one of your trapped legs from over his shoulder. He rubs the back of his hand over his mouth and chin, transferring a dark stain of something onto his porcelain skin. In that moment, you’re glad you banned the usage of his hands on your pussy. Without anything to hold it up, your leg slips down, the impact of your heel against the concrete sending a tingling pain up your leg.

“Ouch,” you murmur, and then find yourself demurely covering your exposed pussy, still glistening with cum and saliva. At your modesty, Jungkook snorts, releasing your other leg only to surge forward and knock his forehead against yours. “Ouch,” you repeat, the stinging pain exacerbated when Jungkook pushes himself closer.

“So, what do you say?” he asks, smiles that devilish smile that makes him look like a Calvin Klein model. His hands are at your waist, helping you tug your skirt back down. It’s nothing grand, but your rose-tinted view makes you swoon at the way he manhandles you. He’s dangerously handsome, has you mindlessly wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Say about what?” you mumble, hypnotized by the cherry hue of his lips, and the fact they probably taste like you.

Jungkook tilts his head to the side, like he’s going to kiss you. Instead, he pauses just in time to say, “how was my onion breath?”

You’ve never pushed someone away fast enough, nearly impaling him with the sharpened heel of your shoe against his chest. It sends him tumbling back, a rough cough mixed with a boyish chuckle, the dorky kind as he sprawls himself over the dirty concrete floor of his auto shop. It’s as you’re glaring down at your immature boyfriend and what you’re certain is a tiny puddle of motor oil beside his head, that you realize this is your life now. Men, you think bitterly.

“I hate you,” you announce childishly. You find your discarded panties on the metal table beside a goddamn wrench. You fling it at his chest, only the slightest bit turned on when he raises it up for a sniff. “Mmm,” he purrs, letting the flimsy fabric rest over his eyes. You don’t even have it in you to scold him on how dirty that is, instead nudging his side with your shoe. “You know,” he says, catching your ankle in his hand. He guides your foot over him, surprising you when he places it directly over his chest. “I had a dream like this in high school,” he confesses, making your face heat up. “Think it was because of those 50 Shades of Grey books we found in your attic.”

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jjk smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jjk x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #bts fic #mine #swshd

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forthehpfanboys · 3 years

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Gold Strings & Red Picks- PT 1

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: The Weasley's invented a band! Having a band, means you need a band manager; someone to help find venues, gigs and sponsors. After finding one, Ron seems to be hopeless drawn toward them.

Warnings: flirting, swearing, bickering, sexual tension??, Punk Pining Ron but also Smug Ron, naming a guitar ‘Cherry Popper’, dm me if I missed any.

Notes: I plan on having some chapters kinda spicy. I made an entire gif for this and yes it is Rupert playing 👀 and god is this self indulgent. Hope you guys like it!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWERE~

It was a Friday morning when you quit the Static Dragons and posted the news on every piece of social media you had. It didn’t take long for you to edit your bios to state you were looking for a new band, and it managed to catch someone's eye just as quickly. It was Monday evening when you got a dm on Instagram from a user called ddchrmrs-official. The user basically sent you a paragraph about how he was the lead singer of a band he and his siblings threw together and they were looking for a new manager. You agreed to meet with them and talk about the potential of the band and he agreed, using more than a few explanation marks after his reply. He even sent you a few of their songs once he deemed you worthy enough.

So, you found a dining hall, an equal distance from your house and theirs, and with the lead singer's approval, Fred, you booked it for Tuesday afternoon. Fred even made a post explaining the good news- why he was acting like one of the Weird Sisters followed him back, you weren’t sure. You couldn’t help but be excited too. The songs were good- more punk-rock than you assumed from the band's name. Something about the name Daydream Charmers gave off a softer, boyband type.

The day of the band meeting couldn’t have gone much worse. You missed your morning alarm, you couldn’t find your laptop charger and the clothes you picked out the night before ended up covered in stains from breakfast. GPS even gave you the fastest route and you still managed to be 10 minutes late, but you managed to find the right hall. It was a bit different compared to the pristine image shown on the website.

The roof looked like it was caving under an invisible weight and the actual size of the hall looked like a small barn. The walls were made of red and black bricks, most of which seemed to be chipped, broken or bending, like it was being crushed. The door frame was slanting, the door’s white paint was chipping, the sidewalk was splitting at almost every corner. You were desperately hoping the building was enchanted so it was bigger (and nicer looking) on the inside.

You parked your car on the pebble covered asphalt, right next to an equally old and rusty blue car. You had no idea how four people, a sound system, a bass, an electric guitar and a full drum set fit inside of the small wagon, but figured they managed to spell the inside bigger. You weren’t bothered by it- how could you be? You felt your wand hit your laptop inside the bag as you threw it over your shoulder after climbing out of the car. Shutting the door, you hurried up the broken concrete, shoving your keys in your pocket.

You chewed on your lip, adjusting the collar of your shirt as you approached the door. A smile pulled at your lips at the refreshing sound of genuine laughter and bickering. You had an internal battle of whether you should knock or just barge in. It sounded like they were having their fun and you didn’t want to interrupt anything. Soon enough, the laughter was dying down and someone was strumming a bass quietly, practicing a few chords from one of the songs Fred gave you. You raised a fist to knock on the door and the silence that followed was close to defining. Soft footsteps followed the silence and you swore you could hear soft breathing behind the door before it was yanked open.

“Hey! You made it! We were worried you got lost on your way here.”

You weren’t expecting to be face to chest with an individual. Their band's logo was printed across the front, red letters with a gold outline that clashed drastically with the bright orange fabric of the tight shirt. You tilted your head up, meeting cocoa brown eyes and a crisp white smile. His ginger hair was spread across his shoulders, his ear lobes were pierced with two shiny black flat stud earrings and the little white nostril piercing on the left side of his nose was reflecting the sunlight.

“Fred?” You asked, matching his smile. You could tell he had fun, you could sense it. His arm raised, inadvertently showing off his muscles, and rested against the door frame.

“The one and only.” He grinned, clearly just joking. Before he could say anything else, he was rudely interrupted by a foreign voice behind him. Fred’s smile dropped into a frown like he was suddenly slapped across the face.

“Is it the pizza guy?” The voice asked from somewhere behind him, excitement clearer than crystal. Fred looked over his shoulder to respond.

“No, Ron. That’s not for another twelve minutes.” He rolled his eyes after looking back at you and letting out a loud sigh. “I’m sorry about him. His appetite is larger than Big Ben and it literally never stops. Anyway, I hope you like pizza! I tried to message you about it.” He pulled his phone out of his front pocket, unlocking it and scrolling through his messages and swiping right on notifications he didn’t care for.

“I was using my phone for GPS. Must’ve missed the messages.” Your hands slid into your front pockets, your weight shifting between your feet as embarrassment began to settle in. Maybe this wasn’t the best first impression. Before you could think about it too long, a low whistle was resonating from beside Fred.

Without warning, Fred was being nudged aside by a slightly shorter ginger, his piercing blue eyes staring into yours. They didn’t stay there very long though. They slowly dragged down your body, taking in your form, and his head tilted in appreciation.

“Oh.. I’m not gonna complain about the pizza when Merlin delivered us a cutie.” He gave you a dizzying side smile. “What’s your name, sweetheart? Surely, it’s something as handsome as you are.” Just as quickly as he appeared, Fred was pushing him back, faking a gag while driving the unnamed individual back with Fred’s hand against his forehead.

“Ew! Ron, down! Seriously? Keep your yap shut! He’s our new band manager and I’d actually like to keep this one, thank you.” Fred groaned, a sneer pulling at his lips. He blocked the smaller ginger from the door with his body before turning back to you with a sigh. “I’m sorry. He’s usually not like this. Usually he’s moping about his ex-” You could see Ron jumping behind Fred to get another look at you. The reaction had you snorting into your hands.

“Fred. Fred, move, mate. I wanna see ‘im again!” The ginger whined, tugging at his older brother's t-shirt. He was dodging around Fred’s constant moving hands to get one more peek at you.

Fred let out a groan, his head falling backwards in agony before letting out a loud “George, please help!”

“Wait! Wait, wait!” Ron’s voice matched the panicked hand trying to hold onto the door frame before it was hilariously slapped off the wood and was dragged into the mystery hidden behind the lead singer. His begs and pleas began to echo and soften which you thought caused you to giggle a bit.

“I’m sorry. We’ll put a muzzle on him or something. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” Fred shifted out of the door way, allowing you to enter the hall. It was bigger on the inside than the outside, that much had you relieved. Fred shut the door behind you with a satisfying click and let you soak the place in while he sat himself down on a velvet red coach. It was dimly lit, about half the lights were on, and the walls were painted a light tan, which easily could’ve been mistaken for white, if white wasn’t used for the tiling.

Next to Fred on the couch, was a girl with long, slightly darker, ginger hair. Her hair went well past her shoulders, and a bright orange base sat on top of her crossed legs. She had gone back to laying a few chords once you entered, just relaxing as her two brothers basically wrestled each other.

“Ginny, this is (Y/n).” Fred spoke up, pointing from his sister to you, then back to her. (Y/n), this is the youngest Weasley in the family, Ginevra.” Fred smirked, but it turned into a pained expression when she landed a hard slap to his chest.

“Except if you call me that, I will break your legs. It’s Gin or Ginny, nothing else. It’s nice to finally meet you, (Y/n). Fred hasn’t shut up about you.” She smiled at you, reaching a tattoo covered hand out to shake yours.

“Really?” You couldn’t help but grin. You shook her hand proudly, knowing it was probably your reputation that kept the oldest Weasley in the band chatting up a storm. “It’s nice to meet you too, Gin.” You gave her a cheeky grin before turning to the other side of the hall, noting another Fred standing in front of Ron, who was sitting in a chair quiet grumpily.

The double picked up a deep red guitar covered in stickers and shoved it into Ron’s lap, causing the younger to gasp out a wheeze. It was obvious he had chewed Ron out for his behavior, but nevertheless, he gave his unplugged electric guitar a few strums, which seemed to satisfy Fred 2 because soon enough he was storming back to the couch, shaking his head the entire walk there.

He sat himself down on the arm of the couch, right next to his doppelganger. His arms crossed back over his chest once again. Fred 2 had the same length hair, different piercings though. He only had one set of black earrings, but had an industrial across his left ear. He had a straight line of freckles across his cheek bones and right across his nose. The spots went down his neck and across his forehead.

“He’s bloody useless.” He grumbled out, his snake bite moving to the right as his tongue ran across it. “Oh, hi!” Fred 2 scooted over to the edge of the arm rest, reaching his hand out to shake yours. “You must be the band manager! I’m George, Fred’s twin bro-”

“Younger twin. I’m the oldest.” Fred interrupted, smirking again as he pointed a thumb to himself. His smirk dropped when he was smacked in the chest again- by both George and Ginny.

“I’m his twin brother. Ignore him, he has a God complex.” George rolled his eyes, smiling at you while he shook your hand. He pulled his hand away before scooting back to rest his back against the back of the couch. You could tell he wasn’t comfortable, but he seemed dedicated to the spot. “I’m sorry you had to meet Ron the way you did. Usually he’s tamer than that.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, your gaze turned down to your shoes. Your cheeks were beginning to heat up as his flirting rebounded through your head again.

“Nah, he wasn’t that bad.”

“I wasn’t?” Ron’s sudden voice behind you had nearly jumped out of your skin. You spun around, your backpack strings nearly catching on one of Ginny’s bass strings. You swallowed down a squeak. “Georgie was trying to convince me I was being inconsiderate and rude and that mum would smack me if she saw.” He was still holding the guitar by the neck, and that was when you noticed the bright gold strings with a red pick trapped between them.

“Well, it’s not like you were asking about my shoe size… “ Your eyes landed on the hands holding the black neck of the instrument and you couldn’t help but gawk at them. Rings covered his finger knuckles, veins popped out from beneath his skin. “Wow.” You didn’t mean to verbally gawk over the hands, so you had to force your gaze down to the instrument and ignore the urge to stare at the pale, freckle covered skin that was making your mouth dry.

You shook your head, looking at the shiny strings. You had you stop yourself from reaching out and caressing the polished neck, the textures strings and hidden pick. It was clearly loved and carefully taken care of.

“Beauty, isn't she?” Ron grinned, showing off the red body drowning in decals- most of which were bright orange Quidditch themed or terrible chess puns. You almost forgot to check if they were a muggle band, but this told you enough. “My best friend got it for me, he’s a blessing. Mum didn’t approve, of course, said we all had better purposes, but dad said rock on.”

“She really is. I’m guessing you named her?” The second the question fell from your lips, the three sharing a spot on the couch groaned in agony, but Ron was grinning in pride.

“Of course I have! Her name is Cherry Popper and she’s the love of my life. Unless,” Ron was taking a step closer to you, a twinkle in his eyes as he continued speaking, “you plan on cha-” His flirting was cut off suddenly.

“And that’s enough of that! Please sit down and, for the love of Merlin’s beard, rename the damn thing!” Ginny cried out, almost knocking her own instrument straight into the tiled floor. She ran a hand through her hair, her free hand holding the bass hard enough to make her knuckles pure white.

“I mean, come on! Name it something classic like ‘Bertha’ or ‘Jasmine’, or, and here’s my personal favorite, don’t name it at all!” Fred waved his hands while he spoke, counting the names on his fingers before doing jazz hands at ‘don’t name it at all’.

“Fred, that’s hypocritical. You named your mic.” George spoke up, pulling two white marble drumsticks from his jeans pockets and began to spin one between his fingers.

“That was a joke.” Fred stuck his tongue out at his twin. “At least I don’t do it seriously. And leave Echo out of this.” Fred ripped the non spinning drumstick from George’s hand, holding it out of his twins reach.

“Shut up and give me Crystal back!”

“No, if you wanna talk about terrible names, we can talk about the band's name! Merlin, Fred, were you sky high when you made it?” Ron shot back, his arms crossing over his chest, one still holding the guitar.

Knowing this kind of fight could go for a good while, you slipped past him, patting Ron on the shoulder while you walked past while a pained gasp rented the silence that flooded the hall. You set your backpack on the white table, opening the zipper and pulling out your laptop. You sat down, pulling the laptop onto your lap before opening the notepad application.

“I made the name! And dammit, I think it was clever! It even has a unique backstory! At our school, we had a um- small business and it was quite successful. By ‘we’, I mean George and I and by successful, I mean we run an online joke shop. I thought it fit the shop pretty well.” Fred held a look of pride- a smirk was, once again, drawn across his lips as his eyes twinkled.

“Mate, it’s horrible.” Ginny spoke up, not even bothering to throw the truth as a curve-ball causing two of her older brothers to nod in agreement. She copied Fred’s movement by yanking the drumstick from his hand, but handed it to George, smiling at him.

“Why couldn’t it have been something cool? You named your shop something cool. Why’d you give the band something’ shitty?” Ron rolled his eyes, leaning his back against the door, the guitar balancing on his sneakers and leaning against his ripped jean covered legs. His attention didn’t stay with his siblings for long. Soon it was shifting over to you, like he was naturally drawn toward you. He grinned at you, sticking his tongue out. The little gold ball stamped into the middle of his tongue had your full attention.

You swallowed thickly. The ball and his guitar strings were the exact same color and reflected the same light. You felt butterflies fill your stomach from the simple action and noticed, almost suddenly, the ginger was actually quite attractive and funny. You sucked on your tongue, hoping the blush across your cheeks didn’t give too much away. Ron looked back at his brothers, his side grin screaming he basically saw your body temperature rise.

“I was led to believe you all loved the name, but no! I’m starting to think you guys are just trying to embarrass me in front of the (Y/n), but since you think it’s so easy, come up with a new one.” Fred cried out, crossing his arms over the printed long sleeve t-shirt, and was pouting like a child now, sinking lower into the couch.

“It makes us sound like a cheesy boy-band going after 12 year olds.” Ginny scoffed, propping her bass up against the couch. She looked over at her slightly older brother, nodding her head in Fred’s direction.

“It does. We could’ve been Fire Wicks.” Ron pointed at Ginny and the teaming up began. “Or like Solar Skips.”

“Or The Red Bloods.” Gin nodded, pointing back at Ron while her other hand pulled out her phone. The game was ‘Who-Cares-If-It’s-Bad-Let’s-Prove-Fred-Wrong’ and you could tell it was for shits and giggles. You were going to pitch in an idea, but someone beat you to it.

“Or FireBolt Bitters.” Spoke up George, who was now gazing up at the ceiling, shaking his head in mock shame, but you could see the edges of his smile growing at the corners.

“Ooh, I love that one!” Ron leaned over, stretching his arm as far as it could to give George a high five, before turning to look at you. He grinned at your confused expression. “Are you writing these down?” He pointed at your computer before giving you a wink. The butterflies came back, doubled in strength, and you couldn’t help but laugh. You shook your head no, laughing louder when he waved his hands in a panicked manner. “Write them down, mate!”

You rolled your eyes, typing random shit down just to please the younger one. Your eyes trailed across the dumplings, noting three quarters of them were smiling. Fred’s crabby expression made it was clear he didn’t get picked on very often.

“Charlie texted saying ‘The Copper Horntails’ would’ve been better.” Ginny said, looking up from her phone. She dropped the phone onto her lap, wincing a tad when the device collided with the instrument on her lap. She quickly forgot the pain and leaned back, enjoying her brother's pain.

“You asked Charlie?!” Fred squealed loudly, his hands holding his head. Right beside Fred, George had begun to tap his sticks together, improvising a beat to go with the arguing.

“You know what? That’s a great idea! Let’s ask Percy next-” yelled Ron over Ginny’s laughter and Fred’s agonizing scream. His smirk only grew when Fred tossed his head back.

“Ok, damn! I get it! But I already made t-shirts so deal with it.”

“Fred, we have magic. We can always change the print.” George piped up, tapping the white wooden sticks against his thighs in some random pattern, his head nodding to a beat. He shrugged his shoulders, not focusing on his words all that much,

“George!” This time it was Fred’s turn to smack George in his chest. He glared at him before leaning over to whisper in his twin's ear. It was something you couldn’t make out, but you figured they were debating over your status. You rolled your eyes, reaching behind you.

With a clear of your throat, you gained their attention before pulling out your wand from your backpack. While waving it, you locked eyes with Ron, playfully chewing on your lip to try to hide your smile.

“But-” Fred scrambled to grab his phone. You knew he was going to pull up one of your profiles to show none of them mentioned magic or wizarding or anything.

“The quidditch stickers were a dead give away.” You pointed to Ron’s guitar with the tip of your wand before putting it back in your bag. “That, and the tiny blue car that somehow carried four band members, and all of their equipment even though, that should’ve been impossible. I do enjoy Firebolt Bitters, though.”

Your own smile grew when the siblings broke out into loud snorts and sniggers, save for Fred’s. Ron walked over to you, and you were sure his cheeks were hurting from how hard he was smiling. He laid his arm across your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he faced his band members.

“I like this one.”

A smile stretches across your face as your cheeks get warmer. Out of everything to come out of today, this was something even the strongest and most willed seer’s couldn’t have predicted. It wasn’t even half past noon and you’d already started to develop a crush on a punk guitarist who shares a band with his siblings. You were clueless on how you were going to do your managing and keep it strictly platonic when he grinned at you like you were everything he wanted.

#Ron Weasley #ron weasley x male reader #ron weasley imagine #hp x male reader #x male reader #male reader #ron weasley smut #hp imagine #hp fic #punk!ron weasley

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touyasdoll · 3 years

Text

Complicated - Chapter Two

Chapter One: Here

Pairing: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x reader

Warnings: self-degradation/self-doubt

Word count: 2.2k

A/n: Gonna rework this and ditch the first person POV, jsyk.

A/n pt. 2: This story does contain spoilers for the show/manga. The dates/ages of characters are going to be shifted around a bit.

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

It's been two days. Is he gonna call? Text? Completely forget I exist?

I sigh, trying to expel the anxiety balled up in the pit of my stomach.

Why would he call? We talked for, what, five minutes? He seemed older too. You were in your damn school uniform, idiot. He's obviously got more important shit to do than chat up a schoolgirl who can't mind her own fucking business.

"Ugh," I groan to no one but myself in my apartment. "I'm really just the biggest fucking jackass, aren't I?"

Flopping down on my bed, I let out another weighty sigh and bury my face in the plethora of pillows piled beneath me.

Relax. Maybe he'll text. Maybe he won't. And if he doesn't he's just sparing you the embarrassment that you would inevitably bring upon yourself.

A yawn escapes my lips as I feel a wave of drowsiness wash over me. Glancing at the clock, I could see it was hardly 5 PM.

Fucked up sleep schedule, here I come.

The familiar comfort of my bed allows me to quiet my thoughts enough to fall into a shallow sleep, until I'm startled awake by a vibrating sensation coming from underneath my chin.

I blink against the harsh light emitting from my phone, squinting to see who was disturbing me.

What the--oh shit!

It was an unknown number. Recognizing that it could be him, I sit up faster than I have ever managed to after a nap and fumble the phone into my palm, eagerly sliding my thumb across the screen to accept the call.

"Hello?"

My breath hitches and I bite my lip in anticipation as I wait, eager to hear his deep, silky voice on the other end.

But the pause on the other side of the line seems just a little too long. Something is off.

Is this him? Is it..just some creep? A prank? What the hell?

"We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty."

My eyes slam shut, a shake reverberating through my spine as a cocktail of anger and embarrassment wash over me.

That's it. Hope is off limits from now on.

"Fucking great."

I tap the end button, half ready to throw my phone out the window.

Instead, I decide to check and see if I missed anything else while I was out.

Hope is off limits.

I shake my head, trying to erase the little embers of hope that persist, praying that maybe he did reach out.

To my surprise, there's a text from an unrecognized number.

Unknown: You free tonight, doll?

Holy shit.

Looking above the message, I see: Today 6:58 PM. I wince as I dare to look at the clock, which mercifully reads 7:26 PM.

Tapping the text box, I don't give myself the chance to overthink this opportunity.

Me: For you? Sure thing.

Tossing my phone onto the bed, I nod my head, processing the sudden burst of confidence I seem to have found.

I'm not like this. What is it about this guy? He's just that--a guy. One that I don't know. And now I'm just gonna meet up with him?

He's literally a stranger. Who the hell do I think I am?? Is my vagina just running things now? Gonna run out and meet up with some strange dude, because he's pretty and charming?

You know who else was pretty and charming?? Ted Bundy.

That's right, you said it. This is dumb, logically. This is everything everyone’s ever warned you about.

My phone buzzes and my heart rate spikes in response, tearing me from my spiraling doubts.

Unknown: Our spot. 30 minutes. See you there.

A noise that I've certainly never made before eeks past my lips as I process his instructions.

Fuck it. The possibility of this guy being a serial killer has been assessed. I'm going, risks be damned.

You're an idiot. You're an idiot. You're an idiot.

I sigh for the umpteenth time today, waging war in my own mind.

I don't know what it is about him, but I have to see him again. Nothing bad is going to happen. It'll be fine.

That's what I tell myself as I exhale, until I catch my reflection.

My hair is disheveled, my mascara askew. I didn't even bother to take off my uniform before I passed out.

As if I weren't flustered enough, now I gotta make myself looking somewhere near presentable and get down there in time.

Here goes nothing.

Fifteen minutes fly by and I think I've managed it as I step back to look myself over in the mirror once more.

The shortest pair of high-waisted shorts I own, paired with a low-cut black crop top and my favorite slip-ons. My make-up doesn't look perfect and there's not much of it, but it's touched up, and my hair is at least brushed.

Okay, no turning back now.

Grabbing my keys, I tuck my phone in my back pocket and make my way to the meeting place.

+++++++++++++++

Our spot. The man is smooth and I think that he knows it.

I re-read the last message he sent for probably the thirteenth time in the past five minutes.

The clock in the corner of the screen reads 8:02.

Maybe he won’t show. Maybe this is a joke. He and his buddies with come around a corner and laugh as they speed off.

Damn, can I chill? No. He’s going to be here. And I’m going to act like a human fucking being. A normal girl. Someone he could like; I’m capable of that.

Aren’t I?

Scanning my surroundings yet again, I take in the scenery. I never really get out at night, but the city looks so pretty this way. There’s not too much traffic, especially considering that it’s a Friday night, but there are some people milling about up and down the sidewalk. Some look like they’re on their way home. Some look like they’re on their way out for a night on the town.

“Hey there.”

My eyes are quick to follow the sound of his voice. I look up and he’s strolling up to the bench where I’m seated, the same one where I bandaged his arm the other day.

His hands are shoved in his front pockets, thumbs pushed through the belt loops of the tight, black jeans he’s sporting. His white t-shirt dangles off of his frame in a way that suits him, offering a glimpse of his muscular chest. A black coat completes his ensemble and he certainly looks the part of the typical bad boy.

But, damn, does it look so good on him.

“Hey, there. How’s the arm?”

I scoot over a bit, allowing for ample space between us if he were to take a seat. To my surprise, he sits towards the middle of the bench, so that his thigh brushes against mine as he settles.

I tuck my hair behind my ear, glancing down and covering the noise I want to make with a quiet clearing of my throat.

“It’s good. You do make a pretty decent nurse, sweetheart.”

He grins and pulls his coat sleeve back, revealing the still bandaged wound.

“Wait, have you changed that?”

You’re such a mom. You better hope he’s into MILFs, because otherwise this ain’t gonna get you where you wanna go, girl.

His brow furrows in an expression that tells me all I need to know before he even speaks.

“What do you mean? Changed what?”

A quiet sigh leaves my lungs as I hold out my hand.

“May I?”

His puzzled expression doesn’t falter, but he shrugs and offers his forearm up for inspection.

Carefully, I pull back the tape holding the bandages together and slowly begin to unwrap them.

That is, until the smell hits me. I barely catch of glimpse of the reddened skin before my nostrils detect the scent of burned flesh and excess viscera.

“Oh, dear. Have you even unwrapped this thing?”

Trying not to agitate anything further, I delicately wrap the bandages back around his arm, taping them down once again.

“No, should I have?”

I look up and my gaze meets his, a sense of true ignorance evident in his expression; I try not to laugh. I really try, but a soft giggle escapes nonetheless.

“Yes! I mean, if it doesn’t hurt, I’m sure it’s not that bad right now, but you should be cleaning and redressing a wound like that once every 12 hours at the very least. It’s been what, like, at least 50 at this point?”

His good arm reaches for the back of his neck, scratching at it as he dons an apologetic half smile.

“Sorry, I’m not exactly nurturing by nature, doll. I don’t know the first fucking thing about this kind shit.”

I cock a sympathetic smile as I look at him, sitting there looking almost helpless. I guess he is, in a sense. It’s actually kinda cute how he doesn’t seem to have an inkling of how to properly care for himself.

Because that’s absolutely what you want in a potential relationship. Someone to fix, how fun! Why not open up a shop for broken boys? Girl, when will you learnnn??

“Well, I don’t have anything on me right now, but if you don’t mind coming back to my place, I could clean it up there? And I’ll teach you how to keep up with it this time.”

I guess not today, motherfucker.

“Coming to my rescue again. You must be in a hero course, huh, doll?”

His smile is so naturally disarming as he stands and offers his hand out before me.

“I don’t mind, if you’re sure you don’t. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable and I don’t wanna be a burden. I didn’t ask you out tonight for you to have to play doctor on me again.”

He seems so sweet, so genuine. Maybe he is broken, but everyone deserves kindness. He looks like he hasn’t seen much of that. And as cliché as it is, maybe I can help him. Maybe he can help me.

I slip my hand in his, smiling as flirtatiously as I can manage as he pulls me to my feet.

“I don’t mind. I was kind of hoping I might get to play doctor on you again anyway. Maybe you could even return the favor.”

I brush my fingers against his as our hands disconnect, taking a page from his own book and watching his expression as my skin glides against his.

Or maybe we could just do this. This works too. No muss, no fuss. But oh my goodness what if what I just did was weird and he’s not even interested??

His eyebrows rise for just a moment as he chuckles and glances down, still grinning as he puts his hands in his coat pockets.

“Well, sweetheart, I don’t know much about medicine, but I do know how to give a pretty thorough physical exam.”

Something twitched deep inside my belly as my breath caught in my throat and I damn near tripped over my own two feet as we started walking.

Thankfully, his reflexes were quicker than my inate ability to fuck things up and his good arm reached out to steady my frame as he stepped in front of me.

The delicious scent of his cologne mingling with remnant cigarette smoke nearly made me dizzy as my hands connected with his chest, now completely unable to ignore the muscles just beneath his thin shirt.

“You all right there, doll?”

Long, slender fingers find their way under my chin. His thumb just barely brushing the edge of my bottom lip as he strokes it over my chin.

His eyes are practically piercing mine as he carefully lifts my face to his. Who knew being in such close proximity to someone so beautiful could be this paralyzing.

Holy fuck. Forget fixing me. He can break me and I’ll probably thank him for it.

The strong hand on the small of my back threatens to rob me of my breath all over again and I have to fight to keep any semblance of composure in his arms.

“Yeah.” I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear and will myself to break eye contact. “You always have girls falling for you this quickly?”

I pity laugh at my own joke, wishing my quirk was something that would allow me to disappear.

But then he’s chuckling too. It’s melodious at first, but then it morphs into a deep reverberation that sends all the right chills down my spine as I level my eyes with his again.

He looks like an enigma personified. His eyes look so gentle and warm, but his smile reads so sad. The words that leave his lips sound like both a warning and an invitation to my flushe red ears.

“Trust me, princess. You don’t wanna fall for me. I’m no good for you.”

Oh, but it’s too late for that.

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redhoodedwolf · 3 years

Text

Happy Halloween!

AU - College/University | Sterek | 2.2K | AO3

“Dude,” Stiles exhaled heavily, hands reaching up to cup Derek’s furred cheeks. His breath smelled of cheep beer, but his eyes were mostly clear, so Derek knew he wasn’t completely inebriated. “This is new.”

Derek snorted and hoped the low lights of the house party hid his blush because Stiles was only further trailing his fingers up and down Derek’s face, tracing the ridges over his nose, fingertips brushing his lips where his fangs pushed them out. “It’s a special occasion,” Derek joked. “Low budget costume.”

Stiles stared at him with wide eyes. “Really? Wow, okay.” Stiles’ fingers found his ears and traced the pointed tips, and Derek felt his eyes flash icy blue and a growl build up in his chest. It was more of a purr, but Derek would never admit that.

“You constantly amaze me,” Stiles sighed again, pressing his body closer to Derek’s as a group of three inebriated people with overfull solo cups wedged their way by them. Derek instinctively (carefully) brought a clawed hand up to rest on Stiles’ back and keep him out of the splash zone.

Derek dropped his gaze away from the passing crowd, back to Stiles, and found the younger man’s gaze was trained on his lips.

“Are they sharp?” Stiles asked.

Derek bared his teeth. “I could rip your throat out with them,” he responded with a light snarl which choked off in his throat when Stiles moved his wandering hands towards said fangs, pressing pointer fingers against them.

He hummed. “Very solid,” Stiles added, after a beat, thumb brushing Derek’s lower lip.

This... this was flirting, right? Stiles was flirting with him. Right?

Because Derek had been pretty obvious (he felt) about his feelings towards Stiles for the past few months, since Stiles declared himself “recovered” from his last disastrous breakup. And Stiles had seemed receptive, teasing Derek back, ogling him during pick-up basketball games, and inviting him over to his dorm despite the fact they they literally shared a suite.

But he’d never made any kind of definite move. This felt pretty definite. And he was feeling more of Stiles than he ever had, except for that one fainting spell incident that Stiles refused to let Derek ever bring up to anyone.

Stiles was pressed against his front now, and Derek hovered his hand still at his back. Even when Stiles was given the space, he stayed put. Stiles met his eyes, and Derek swallowed thickly, visibly, and the younger man’s gaze wavered to watch the motion.

“Tell me, Wolfman--”

“Stiles.”

Stiles chuckled. “Sourwolf, then. How, uh. How interested are you in staying at this costume party?”

Stiles had mostly divested of his costume within the first forty-five minutes of the party. He went with a last-minute sheet ghost with an old painting drop cloth Derek had shoved in the back of his closet from the beginning for the semester. Now, it was tied around his waist like a really weird looking skirt, his white tank top plastered to his skin with sweat.

“Not much left of your costume anyway,” Derek chose to say, allowing his sweeping gaze to linger on Stiles’ exposed neck before meeting his eyes once more.

Stiles licked his lips. “I think I’d rather just chill tonight. Got the free booze. Would rather pop on Hocus Pocus and...” his words trailed off as Derek found the courage to reach for Stiles’ hand, still on his face, and intertwine their fingers.

“Movie night sounds good to me,” Derek followed up with in the ensuing silence between them.

“C-cool, cool, um. I’m just gonna--” Stiles cut himself off, squeezing Derek’s hand with his while the other cupped the back of Derek’s neck. Derek’s breath hitched, and he felt his eyes flash again. “Before I lose the nerve.”

And then Stiles’ lips were on his, and Derek exhaled a groan, finally allowing that hovering hand to wind around Stiles’ waist and pull him close. Stiles made a surprised noise that turned dark and husky as he pulled back from the kiss, meeting Derek’s eyes.

“Oh thank god,” he breathed, and Derek chuckled softly.

“I wasn’t sure if--”

“Me neither,” Stiles interjected, his face flushing a delicious red.

“Shall we?” Derek indicated to the door, and Stiles pushed himself off of Derek’s chest slowly as he nodded.

They held hands as they walked from the off-campus house back to their dorm, the full moon lighting their way, and Derek retracted his claws, so that he could properly squeeze back, and Stiles responded by brushing his thumb over Derek’s knuckles.

Stiles fished out his keys when they arrived, ushered Derek into the building and then raced ahead so that he could open the door for Derek to his room.

“Ever the gentleman,” Derek commented with a smirk.

“But of course, only the best for my sourwolf.” Derek snorted. “Speaking of which,” Stiles started wiggling out of the drop cloth sheet around his waist and Derek resisted the initial urge to help, “we should probably de cos--...tume.” Stiles stared up at him with wide eyes and let the sheet pool to the floor. “When did you...?” Stiles wiggled his hand around in Derek’s face.

Derek narrowed his eyes in confusion before he realized what Stiles was asking. “Oh, after we left the house I shifted back. In a house of intoxicated people I can get away with it, but even on Halloween a werewolf has to be careful.”

“Right, yeah, uh-huh.” Stiles was nodding his head like he understood, but his jaw was still dropped, and his heartbeat had suddenly sped up. “Of course. Wouldn’t want people to think it’s real. Or anything.”

Derek shuddered. He recalled childhood threats of hunters in their territory, tense weeks when he was forced to stay home for everything except school, always on guard. “Yeah. There’s not any hunters around here that we’re aware of, but they can hide even easier than we do.”

Derek shook his head. He didn’t want to get into that kind of talk right now. He’d finally kissed Stiles, and he was planning on turning this evening into a date, if he could manage it.

“Anyway,” Derek said, and Stiles’ jaw snapped shut. “I do want to change into something more comfortable. Want to set up the movie while I do?” Derek jerked his thumb towards the bathroom that connected their rooms.

“Sure!” Stiles squeaked. His heartbeat was still fast, but Derek hoped it had to do with them growing closer, not something like... like Stiles regretting his choice.

Derek closed himself into his room and shook away the thought. This was Stiles, he reminded himself as he shucked off his jeans and looked for his comfortable sweatpants. He knew Stiles, trusted Stiles, in a way that he had rarely been able to with other humans.

After changing, Derek rapped his knuckles on Stiles’ bathroom door to announce his entrance. Stiles’ heartbeat spiked, but leveled once Derek slipped back in to the room. Stiles had changed into sweats as well, keeping the tank top on. The sheet was on the floor next to his laundry bin. He was settled in bed, facing the TV atop his dresser, the Disney+ app loading on the screen.

“Still feeling Hocus Pocus?” Stiles asked as Derek took a seat next to him on the bed, a hand’s width apart.

“Sounds great,” Derek agreed, and watched Stiles scroll down to the Halloween section.

He highlighted the movie, but Derek saw Stiles hesitate to press the play button. Derek tensed, a sense of dread running through him that Stiles was about to admit he’d made a mistake.

“So you’re a werewolf,” Stiles said instead.

Assuming Stiles was setting up for a question, Derek responded with a flash of his eyes, “Yes. And?”

For a man like Stiles, Derek had been surprised at the lack of questioning regarding his supernatural status, but had always expected it to come eventually. He settled in for an interrogation that was months in the making.

Instead, what he got was another slack-jawed Stiles with wide eyes.

Derek felt the sudden drag of fear slip down his spine, like someone had shoved an ice cube down the back of his shirt. Derek scented the air, and Stiles smelt of fear.

Derek jumped off of the bed and crossed the room, getting as far form the human as possible, wishing he had never learned what Stiles scared (of him) smelled like.

“Wait!” Stiles shouted as Derek hastened. “Don’t leave!”

“You want me to stay?” Derek shot back, hysteria filling his voice. “You’re scared of me!”

“Like a baby bit, but honestly I’m more amazed than anything. How did I not know this?!”

“I thought you did!” Derek shouted. “I never would have shifted in front of you if I had--” Derek cut himself off, shaking his head. He clenched his fists at his sides and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“I’m not scared, Derek,” Stiles responded, voice closer, and Derek raised his gaze to see that Stile had stood from the bed and was inching towards him. “Surprised, totally. Flattered that you trusted me enough to tell me, even if, you know, you didn’t. Why did you think--?”

“It just seemed like you knew,” Derek stated. “You’re smart, almost too smart. I mean, I never stay in the dorms on full moons, and when we decided to share a suite this year you said--”

Stiles’ eyes widened as he seemingly recalled their conversation.

“Other than your full moon excursions,” Stiles had wiggled his eyebrows up and down suggestively, the breath sizing in Derek’s chest at the sight, “I know everything else I need to know.

“A-and you’re okay with that?”

“Derek. I wouldn’t agree to this if I wasn’t, dude. You be you.”

Stiles flailed his arms and shouted, “I thought it was a booty call! Which made me extremely jealous of your moon-day lover, but I was willing to deal with it if, um...” Stiles scratched the back of his neck, gaze drifting, “... I could still be with you.”

“I go to the woods. Usually,” Derek blurted, and Stiles’ head snapped back up. “I wanted to spend Halloween with you, since we always do, even if it’s a full moon tonight because I can handle it, I don’t need to, ah, let loose. It just is nice to have that option. So other than things like this, with you, I just camp in the woods.”

Stiles’ lips quirked into a little smirk. “The woods? I feel like you’re a cliché, Derek.”

Derek ignored the blush he could feel on his face. “It’s perfectly usual. And I do it alone, by the way. Unless my family is visiting, or I’m home with them.”

“A lone wolf cliché, too,” Stiles teased, and Derek groaned. “I can work with that.”

Derek unclenched his fists. “You were jealous?” he asked, remembering that little bit of revelation. “But that was before the summer. You--”

Stiles rushed at him and slapped a hand over Derek’s mouth, hissing, “I know, okay, my crush on you has been long and pathetic.”

Derek pulled Stiles’ hand off of his face, stopping himself from licking his palm instead in revenge. “But your ex?”

“Got over him immediately. Well, after my week of mourning.” Stiles admitted. “I was enjoying having you dote on me, a little. You didn’t spend a ton of time with us before you were forcing me out of bed to rejoin the world. And then after that, you didn’t go easy on me.”

Derek licked his lips and inhaled, then stilled the words on his tongue. Stiles stared at him expectantly, gaze darting about the room every few seconds. Derek scented him, just a bit, and there was no fear left at all, just the usual scent of Stiles, a bit of embarrassment, and an undertone of arousal.

Derek took another deep breath and then said, “Okay.”

Stiles arched an eyebrow. “Okay?”

Derek dropped Stiles’ hand and put some space between them. “Stiles,” he declared. “I trust you, and I have for a while now, and you know that’s not easy for me to do. I also really like you, romantically, but that is not why I want to tell you this.”

“Derek--”

“I am a werewolf. My family are werewolves. I’m sure you have questions, and I will answer as many as I possibly can, but what I’d really like to do now is have a nice date night where we relax and watch some movies and maybe kiss for a while. And I promise to keep the fangs away.”

“You charmer,” Stiles cooed, reaching for Derek’s hands and pulling him back towards the bed and their previous spots, this time pressed against each other. Derek took hold of the abandoned remote and pressed play on the idle screen.

Derek was proud that Stiles lasted five minutes before opening his mouth. “So, you were smelling me earlier, right? You can smell emotions?”

Derek tipped his head back and groaned. “I regret it,” he declared.

Stiles pulled him into a kiss and forced him to take it back. He did.

#sterek #eternalsterek #sterek fanfiction #sterek fic #fanfiction #fic

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skinsharpenedteeth · 3 years

Text

Coming Up Easy - The First Dance

You can also check this out on AO3!!

Michael reclined in bed against the pillows he’d stacked against the wall so he could read his phone, drink a beer, and be semi-comfortable. It’d been a long, long day and he was having trouble winding down from it. He’d put on one of Isobel’s Spotify playlists on random while he dicked around on his phone. He knew what he wanted to do. He’d been scrolling through his photo’s gallery for ten minutes staring at the few pictures he had of them together. He wished he had more. He was pointedly trying to stay out of the private file he had that definitely showed more of them together because he’d been visiting that file way too often since Alex had moved.

Finishing his beer, Michael chucked the empty bottle into the trash and opened a new one. Feeling daring, he shot Alex a text.

Me 10:02 p.m. >> You up?

Alex 10:03 p.m. >> I am. In fact, I’m cooking.

Me 10:05 p.m. >> I call bullshit. You hate cooking.

<<Alex is requesting a video chat session: Accept?>>

Biting his lip, Michael had a second to wonder how he was going to look before saying ‘Fuck it’ and pushing his thumb against the accept key. Alex’s face filled his phone screen and Michael would be lying to say his heart didn’t flutter a little at the sight of his slightly red, smiling face.

“Oh my God, I missed your face,” Alex said without preamble. Michael found himself smiling despite himself.

“Yeah? Need me to send you pictures daily?” Michael teased.

“No, I don’t want to get spoiled. This is a treat for me. I’ve been looking at strangers for weeks now,” Alex replied. Michael was trying not to stare because Alex looked so good and it just made Michael want to go over to his place and tackle him against the refrigerator. He couldn’t though. That sort of thing would take planning and plane tickets and passports and so much more work than it did a month ago. Sighing to himself, Michael tried to keep the conversation flowing.

“Any cute ones?” Michael asked, kicking himself immediately. Alex’s eyebrows drew together for a moment before he wiped the expression away.

“Uh, not yet. I’ll probably have to get on a dating app or something to really meet people,” Alex replied awkwardly, smile turning brittle as he spoke. Faintly, Michael could hear music in the background of Alex’s kitchen.

“So what are you listening to while you cook? And what are you cooking? You burned a peanut butter and jelly sandwich once!” Michael exclaimed, eyes flitting around the screen trying to see behind Alex’s head. Alex rolled his eyes, but his smile was more genuine.

“I’m listening to that new Miley Cyrus song “Can't Stop”. Have you heard it?” Alex asked, moving closer to his Bluetooth speaker and turning up the volume so Michael could listen in.

“No, I haven’t. I’ll have to listen to it later, sounds good,” Michael commented. Alex was closing his eyes and the phone was swaying like he was dancing to the music.

“Oh shit, I’m going to put you down on the counter. I gotta stir,” Alex exclaimed a moment later and suddenly Michael could see much more of Alex’s apartment kitchen and of Alex himself. He was wearing his old MCR t-shirt they’d spent one night turning into a tank top and sweatpants. The large, gaping armholes showed off the hint of muscle on his back and chest and made Michael’s mouth water and his entire body ache with want to touch him. He watched Alex grab a spatula and start stirring it around a frying pan, hips still moving with the beat of the song as he concentrated. Michael had to clear his voice as his mouth went suddenly dry at the visual of those hips in action. Alex had always been good with rhythm, but being best friends with Liz had also given him a swivel to his dancing style that was frankly indecent.

“So, uh, what are you cooking?” Michael asked again, trying not to get too mesmerized by Alex dancing and mouthing the words to the song into the end of the spatula when he wasn’t stirring.

“Stirfry. Something so basic even I can’t fuck it up, hopefully,” Alex joked. He picked the phone up so he could turn the camera for Michael to look in the pan. Looked like soggy frozen veggies mixed with overcooked chicken in something that might’ve been brown sauce.

“Looks great,” Michael lied as Alex put the phone back down. Alex looked at him for a moment and started laughing.

“Okay, it looks like dog vomit, but it’ll be edible. Someone never taught me how to cook, despite being excellent at it,” Alex joked, giving Michael a dirty look through the phone. Fuck, Michael wanted to kiss that look off his face.

“I was trying to make my friendship indispensable to you. Apparently, I failed since you moved to another country and left me to languish in the desert alone and lonely,” Michael said dramatically. Alex barked out another laugh before turning back to the pan and shaking his head down at it. He moved it off the heating element and flipped the dial. Michael watched him as he bent over and settled on his elbows in front of the phone. He looked… well, Michael was glad his own camera was facing front.

“You’re indispensable to me no matter what, even without the cooking lessons. Just you wait, you’ll come up here for a visit and soon I’ll have a roommate,” Alex joked.

“We’ll see about that,” Michael retorted as another song came on. The song immediately sent him back to a small, dusty shed that smelled like sweat, metal, wood, and damp cotton. He could feel Alex’s warm hands on his hips nudging him to shift with the beat to the left and right while they both stared at his bare feet.

“Is this….?” Michael started but stopped as he became sure that it was. Alex had been looking over his shoulder towards the speaker and when Michael spoke up, he turned back to the phone. His cheeks were slightly pink and he looked sheepish.

“Yeah, this is Hellogoodbye. Remembering the same thing I am?” Alex asked, looking at Michael nervously through the phone. Michael let his head fall back against the wall behind him and he took a long pull from his beer before answering.

“Yeah, I think so. You teaching me to dance for prom?” Michael asked, not looking at the phone but hearing Alex clear his voice.

“Yeah, that,” he answered, voice subdued. They fell into silence and Michael had no doubt they were both trapped in a shared memory.

“I don’t even want to go to prom. I’ve managed to miss every other dance in high school, I don’t see why Isobel is so insistent I go to this one!” Michael raged, walking the length of the Mane’s shed back and forth while Alex watched from the futon. They were both shirtless and slightly sweaty, only partially dressed after their makeout and hand job session. Alex was leaned over with his elbows on his knees watching Michael warily.

“It’s just a dance, Michael. Go if it’ll make her happy. I’m going, you can come hang out with me,” Alex said, tone slightly exasperated. He’d been listening to Michael bitch about Isobel’s insistence for him to go to prom for a week already and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. Michael stopped and looked at him, arms raised and expression clearing asking ‘Are you actually agreeing with her?!’. Alex just kept looking at him blankly. ‘Yes,’ his expression replied. ‘I’m agreeing with her.’ With a defeated sigh, Michael let his arms drop suddenly and slap against his sides.

“I don’t even know how to dance,” he mumbled, almost too low for Alex to hear him. Alex gave him a complicated look, somewhere between amusement and pity.

“That’s easy enough to fix. I can teach you that much,” Alex replied, standing up.

“What? No, I don’t want to know! It’s just going to be weird. I’m not going to have anything to do except stand around and drink punch. It’s going to be expensive and lame,” Michael whined, even as he watched Alex go over to his iPod and put it into the stereo he’d brought out to the shed. He ignored Michael’s protests and found a song with an easily recognizable beat. It started up, sounding poppy and electronic, and Michael rolled his eyes. Alex caught him at it.

“Hey, this is going to be easy. Quit being such an ass about it,” Alex griped, coming to stand in front of Michael. He placed his hands on Michael’s hips and looked him straight in the eyes. “Okay. Just follow my movements. Right now we’re just finding the beat.”

Michael swallowed and nodded, throat suddenly dry at the feeling of Alex being close to him and semi-nude and touching him. It seemed Alex put him on a hair-trigger to want sex. With a gentle push and pull, Alex moved Michael and himself back and forth until they were swaying with the beat.

“Okay, this is literally the most basic form of slow dancing. It’s just swaying from side to side. Put your hands on my shoulders and just keep following me,” Alex instructed. Michael raised his arms and lazily draped his arms over Alex’s shoulders like he’d seen every girl do in every teen movie ever. He’d rolled his eyes again as he did it and Alex pinched his side for his sass. “I’m doing you a favor, dipshit. Be nice.”

“Ow! Fine, fine. I’ll be nice. Now what?” Michael asked as they continued to sway. It felt so weird to be standing there in Alex’s shed just shifting his weight back and forth. Without warning, Alex began to pull Michael’s body closer to him while he moved back too. Michael stumbled a little, his foot stepping on the one Alex had kept still.

“Okay, sorry, I didn’t explain. That’s my bad,” Alex apologized once they’d untangled themselves. He grabbed Michael’s hips again and began the original swaying. Once they’d gotten back in rhythm with the song, Alex tried to explain. “So we’re going to basically be moving in a box. Whoever’s leading, so me this time, is always outlining the box with their movements while whoever’s following, you, is tracing the inside of the box.”

Michael gave him a confused look. Making a discontent noise, Alex stepped close until his stomach and hips were resting against Michael’s. Michael gave him a wide-eyed look, wondering if Alex had decided to save dancing for later and more fucking for now…

“Close your eyes,” Alex ordered. Michael closed them obediently, waiting for the gentle pressure of Alex’s lips against his. Instead, Alex continued talking. “Now follow my lead.”

Michael felt the pull of Alex’s body to the right and he instinctually followed. Then Alex moved him backward. It threw Michael off for a second, but then he felt the gentle pressure of Alex’s left leg pressing against his right and he moved that leg back. Then they glided to the left and then Alex was pulling Michael forward. This time he felt which of Alex’s legs was staying still and which was moving away and followed suit. They did this two more times before he felt Alex’s breath by his ear.

“This is a box step. You’re dancing,” he whispered. Despite the heat of the spring day which baked against the poorly insulated shed walls, Michael felt goosebumps break out along his shoulders and chest at the feeling of Alex’s breath against his ear. Opening his eyes, he pulled back to look at Alex’s face and immediately stepped wrong and made them stumble.

“Damnit!” Michael yelled, dropping his arms.

“No, Michael. It’s fine. It just takes practice,” Alex consoled.

“I’m just not made for dancing,” Michael grouched, turning away and taking a few steps to put space between them. The song changed to some other top 100 pop slow jam, and after a minute he felt Alex hook his chin over one of his shoulders and press his chest to Michael’s back. His arms wrapped around Michael’s crossed ones and he immediately started swaying them again.

“You are. Dancing isn’t so different from fucking. It’s about tempo and rhythm and matching or counterpointing movements. You’re great at fucking, you could be good at dancing,” Alex said quietly. He started kissing Michael’s neck and shoulder intently and heat started to pool in Michael’s gut at the feeling of Alex pressing against him and moving slowly. “Maybe you can dance with me at prom and I’ll make sure you don’t make a fool of yourself?”

“You want to dance with me at prom? Isn’t that a bit… public?” Michael asked. He didn’t really mind it being public, but he didn’t want Alex to say something and not realize the consequences.

“We’ll be out of here in a couple months anyway. Fuck ‘em if they can’t hang, right?” Alex said, voice tight behind his teasing tone.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll dance with you at prom then,” Michael replied easily. He turned his head and Alex kissed the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a good friend. I wouldn’t have anyone to dance with either without you,” Alex said. Michael’s heart ached against his ribs, but he nodded anyway.

“We didn’t get to dance at prom,” Alex said simply when the silence stretched.

“No, you had to go get into a fight with Valenti before I could get in from pictures with Iz and Max,” Michael agreed.

“Wish we had,” Alex replied, sounding wistful.

“Yeah, me too,” Michael agreed. The silence was sad now and he hated it. Michael tried to think of something to say. Clearing his throat, he went with the first thing that came to his mind. “So you adding rice to that stirfry or something?”

“Uh, I was going to just get some like minute rice and dump it on top when I reheated this,” Alex explained. Michael grimaced and Alex laughed.

“Jerk,” Alex said, but a smile was back on his face.

“Just let me know if you end up in the hospital with food poisoning. I’ll send you flowers,” Michael replied with a grin.

“Ugh, shut UP! It’s fine!” Alex exclaimed, grabbing a fork from a drawer and scooping up some onto it. “See?!”

He put it in his mouth and Michael waited. He saw him grimace and chew slowly.

“So good, right?” Michael teased.

“It’s fine,” Alex said after swallowing. Michael waited, Alex and he looked at each other through the screen, before Alex grimaced and then stood up abruptly. “UGH, FINE! It’s gross!”

Michael chuckled.

“Poor baby,” Michael cooed. Alex flipped him off but laughed along with him.

“Yeah, poor me. Well, shit. Now I have to clean all this up and I have nothing to show for it,” Alex groused. Michael watched him rub his hands over his face in frustration and stare at the pan of ruined food.

“Going to try again?” Michael asked. Alex looked over at him and shook his head.

“No. I gotta get to bed. It’s already late. This was just kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision anyway,” Alex replied morosely.

“Hey, you’ll get it next time. Just call me and I’ll walk you through it on video,” Michael offered. Alex sighed and nodded.

“Probably for the best,” he agreed. “Well, I better get to bed. It was nice seeing your face.”

“It was good seeing yours. Miss you,” Michael said before he could chicken out.

“Miss you too. Night,” Alex said with a smile.

“Night,” Michael replied before the call ended. He took a deep sigh and set his phone down on his chest before taking a sip of his lukewarm beer.

Damn, he missed that fucker.

#coming up easy #CUE update #wip wednesday #malex wip #malex

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woodrokiro · 4 years

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Do It For the Band, Part One (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: When Tatsuki said she wanted their sophomore album to be the next Rumours, this is NOT what she meant. Band AU. Finally writing this fic idea.

Did Tatsuki once say she wanted one of her band’s albums to be the Japanese version of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours? Sure. Guilty as charged.

… Did that mean she thought that would include the same chaotic drama of her favorite album? She should’ve… But no. No, she did not.

If she knew what hell was to come, she would very much have preferred they stayed an insignificant, dimly lit coffee shop band to this. She is this close to running away to a wedding cover band, because this is more excruciating than any cheesy rendition of You’re the Inspiration can get.

Chad and Tatsuki are silent as they listen to the track, watching as Ichigo’s jaw tick and his face flush as Rukia’s high notes soar through the studio.

It’s… A really good song, to be sure.

Oh you got stars in your eyes, baby

If you think we could work

I can’t follow your galaxies

Can’t fall for your smirk

Not this time, not this time…

It’s about broken promises. It’s about not believing someone you love, even if they love you, that it’s gonna work out.

It is very clearly about Ichigo Kurosaki.

Tatsuki shifts her gaze from Ichigo’s reddening face over to the one person he’s glowering at…. Rukia. The petite vocalist lifts her chin at his glare, staring straight back with piercing violet eyes.

Tatsuki just wishes they would make out already.

The Karakura Soul Society had innocent beginnings… Or: as innocent as an Alt Rock band can be.

Ichigo, Tatsuki, and Chad always kinda knew they wanted to get into music—well, Ichigo and Tatsuki talked about wanting to get into music, while Chad was the one who actually knew how to play a bass guitar—and the two friends finally learned when they were around fourteen. Tatsuki knew she was drums (the choreographed chaos of it was electrifying, and besides… Girls that played drums were hot) and Ichigo figured he’d be lead vocals and guitar.

Ichigo could sing, for damn sure: a low, gravelly tone that could melt girls’ hearts, even if he himself was as obtuse as a rectangle around women.

But what I really like to do, he slurred to her in his garage, Kirin in hand because the idiot was a total lightweight—is write.

And he really did write some incredible songs--at the very least, his lyrics had potential. It started with some weird Shakespearean metaphors and bad rhymes, but everything had a good start that Chad could find a beat for. He only got better, and the coffee shop and dive bar gigs were really receptive, and then the call came from some industry weirdo named Urahara that he was interested in managing their band and well… Things were going good.

That is: until Urahara suggested they get a keyboardist to double as another vocalist.

A female keyboardist, he noted, eyes dark under his green and white striped fedora, would be perfect for your team. I know just the one.

And, yeah, the way he said it was kind of creeptastic… But he did have a point. As great as Ichigo’s voice was, it was missing the harmony a softer, more feminine could contribute.

Convincing Ichigo to at least let the girl audition for them was like pulling a damn tooth.

“I don’t see why we need another person,” he grumbled, leaning his chair back with both feet on the café table. The band was waiting on the girl to arrive at this empty coffee shop, with a lone piano waiting for its player on the stage. “We’ve already got a groove going between the three of us. Why do we need another? When we need a keyboardist can’t we just… I don’t know. Ask for one?”

“Number one: for the love of God and our careers, don’t ever say ‘groove’ again. Number two: stop tipping your chair like that—”she slams her hand up on the seat, causing his chair to throw him upright. It may or may not give her a sadistic thrill when he yelps. “Number three: we need a keyboardist. Period. We can’t just conjure one up with a poof that’s gonna work well for us unless they’re regularly with us. Number four: we could use a female vocalist. We’re an alt rock band. Get over it.”

He scowls at her, but she sips her coffee nonplussed. She’s known him since they both were seven years old; she’s not about to let him throw one of his tantrums now.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him turn to their bassist. “Chad, what do you—”

“Don’t even try, Chad agrees with me n’ Urahara.”

Chad shrugs helplessly and Ichigo rolls his eyes. “Dunno why you guys are even so hard pressed to get this chick. For all we know it’s Urahara combining his artists for gimmick. it’s not even like we know whether she’s good—”

“I’ve been doing this a year, and I’ve been signed with Urahara longer, so…. Yeah. I suppose I’d call myself good. Maybe better than you.”

The whole team turns behind them to look where the soft voice is calling from the cafe’s swing door.

She looks like an eighth grader, Tatsuki thinks before she looks a little harder at the form beneath the baby blue dress and realizes—ah, no. Just short. Her raven hair curls prettily into two low pigtails, and lightly shadowed violet eyes look them each up and down with pursed, pink lips.

She’s cute, for sure.

… But “cute” is definitely not their band’s vibe.

“You’re late,” her bandmate beside her scoffs—at whether he’s thinking the same thing she is or he’s embarrassed to be overheard bitching, she’s not sure.

“I’m not—oh, look! Urahara set up the exact piano I asked for. That’s wonderful.” She floats past them to the stage area, beginning to the fiddle with the said instrument’s keys. “He can be an absolute idiotic pain sometimes, a great manager at others… I’m sure you all know what that’s like. And no I’m not late: on the contrary, I was early. I didn’t see you all enter until about five minutes ago, so I figured I’d wait it out at the park across the street so you could all get settled… So technically: you’re the ones who are late.”

Ichigo grits his teeth, raps his knuckles annoyed on the table. Tatsuki grins. She may not know whether the girl’s a good fit for them, but hey—she’s got guts.

“Soo… What do you got for us?” Tatsuki asks.

The girl says she’s got an original—a ballad called For Hisana, if they don’t mind. The bandmates agree that they don’t.

Ichigo clears his throat stubbornly, anyway.

“Sure, but just a heads up: we’re looking more for a keyboardist… Piano is nice ‘n all, but that’s not really our style.”

“I do both. I’ve just been trained in piano first so… It’s a habit, auditioning with it and all. I can show you what I can do with a keyboard anytime after, if you’re impressed enough with this.”

“…All right.” Ichigo shrugs. “Show us what you got then, pianist.”

“My name’s not ‘Pianist.’” She looks straight at Ichigo, before lowering them back to her keys, and Tatsuki strangely feels like she’s just intruded on something. “It’s Rukia. Rukia Kuchiki.”

Her fingers hit the keys and she starts singing.

She’s… Really good, in a way that the drummer can’t quite describe. Her voice is like a mix between Regina Spektor and Joni Mitchell—all folksy, high notes and yeah that sounds super gimmicky and lame and yeah no definitely not their vibe—

But maybe that’s also why she’d be kind of brilliant.

And the way she plays that piano…

Everyone in rock n’ roll will tell you that a good musician makes love to their instrument, and while she’s always thought the metaphor grimy, Tatsuki knows what they mean. They need to know the ins and outs of whatever they’re playing, for the instrument to be a second limb—for their expressions to be in complete bliss, ecstasy as they play.

Rukia’s face… It’s not quite so explicit as all that. But the way her eyes are dreamy and half-closed, how she bobs her head ever so softly to the heartbreaking beat, her mouth closing delicately over warbly vowels… Sure, with a little more vocal work she could be better, but all in all: she’s wonderful.

Tatsuki turns to Ichigo, about to ask if he’s thinking what she’s thinking but stops dead at his expression.

He’s watching her so… Intensely. His jaw—always so sharp, so tight and ready to grimace—has softened, and his eyes are locked onto this petite woman in a way Tatsuki has literally never, ever seen him look at a woman before.

He is captivated with Rukia Kuchiki, and she can’t decide whether she’s happy for her friend or panicked for what this means for the band because fucking yikes.

He hums and haws after Rukia leaves, nitpicks when they meet alone with Urahara about how some of her keys were clunky, she needs more vocal training, blah blah blah.

But when the vote is cast, he agrees she needs to be on the team.

And that, Tatsuki pinpoints, is when the beginning of the end started.

#ichiruki #ichigo kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #bleach #my stuff #how did it end up like this it was ONLY A ONESHOT #IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ONLY A ONESHOT

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fleetwoodmactshirt · 4 years

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roadtrip headcanons (requested)

i think they’d all have a different vibe and a different energy. i didn’t really rank them best to worst, i just explored what i think the vibe of a road trip with each of them would be like. i also let loose and slipped in some super self-indulgent personal hcs/one-shot au idea that is a WiP about ezra as an intriguing handsome stranger you encounter on your solo cross-country road trip. as a treat. s/o to @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa for suggesting whiskey’s fav song.

frankie morales is the road trip king. no matter how spontaneous, frankie can whip a road trip plan together smoothly. he’s got a spacious truck, he’s got a cooler, he’s got the coziest blankets, he’s got the travel pillow, he’s got the camping gear, he knows the best scenic routes, he’s got the best classic tunes, he’s got the best snacks. he makes homemade sandwiches and burritos, wraps them tightly in tin foil. he heats up frozen pizzas, cuts them into slices. he stores it all in the cooler for lunches. when the supply runs out, you gorge yourselves on burgers and fries at roadside diners. but every morning he’ll stop in the nearest town to buy some apples, or some fresh fruit/veg of some kind. if they’re ripe he’ll get avocados that he’ll cut in half for you both to scoop out with a spoon to eat plain while you sit together in the bed of his truck in the shade of a lake you’ve stopped at for the afternoon. but he surprises you with your favourite junk food and snacks. he lets you borrow his cap if the sun is in your eyes; he’s got a spare, more threadbare one in the glove box. he’s low key done the research on the best places for stargazing; you lie back nestled together under a blanket, in the bed of his truck, gazing upwards; you listen as he describes the constellations, tracing them out with his finger.

max phillips. business road trips but max’s...condition necessitates driving at night only. liminal spaces. driving through the night, sleeping in business hotel rooms during the day, dust motes floating in the thin streams of sunlight peeking through the cracks in the curtains you’ve pulled shut. you see incredible sunsets and sunrises from the highway. you also see some undeniably weird shit late at night on road trips with max. he watches you eat breakfast food at 2 am in neon lit 24/7 diners. while on the road he passes you lots of candy throughout the night; he stocks up from the hotel vending machines. but no matter how much caffeine and sugar he tries to fuel you with, sometimes you’re lulled to sleep by the peacefulness. you nestle your head against max’s shoulder; it’s not the most comfortable position to drive in but he can’t bring himself to readjust and shift away from you. solitary brightly lit gas stations that are like an oasis of light breaking the pitch darkness. the two of you feel utterly alone sometimes; the world has shrunk down to only you, max, in this car, driving along this empty, dark stretch of road, a blush of purple on the edge of the horizon signalling the dawn.

based on how oberyn canonically took his daughters to explore an abandoned holdfast, i think his road trip energy would be all about the journey and not the destination. road trips with oberyn and ellaria would be meandering and adventurous. sometimes you’re riding shotgun and sometimes you’re sitting in the backseat with ellaria laid out and napping beside you, sun hat dipped down covering her eyes, her long legs stretched across your lap. if the three of you come across a motel you enjoy he’ll feel no urgency to leave; the days blur together and soon you’ve spent a week soaking up sun by the pool and sleeping in late entangled together in a pile of limbs after long passionate nights. day by day you may not even travel very far; he wants to stop and explore. hike amidst rock formations, swim in hot springs, explore the local museums; whatever catches his or your fancy. if he sees a billboard on the side of the road advertising local caves, or a petrified forest, or hears rumour of nearby ghost town that’s all but disappeared off the map, you’ll suddenly find yourselves veering off down small country roads, hours from the highway, seeking out pleasure, adventure, mystery.

marcus has a hilton rewards card so you’re staying at hilton garden inns every night. clean sheets. comfortable beds. complimentary breakfast. it’s very pleasant. middle class fancy. holds out his hand for you to drop some snacks into his palm so he can remain focused on the road while you’re both munching. let’s you curate the spotify playlists.

roadtrips with javier are always last minute decisions to just take off, head to a gorgeous but isolated beach you’d heard about that’s a few days from here. he doesn’t get many opportunities for long stretches of time off, so when he does you don’t hesitate. you might not even wait for a rational time to leave. it’s midnight and you guys just speed off into the darkness. you just threw some essentials into a bag, jumped in his jeep, and booked it. you gotta buy toothpaste and toothbrushes at a gas station, and you borrow javi’s deodorant stick because you forgot yours. greasy fast food containers, half-empty cigarette packs, and snack wrappers litter the dashboard. his aviators perched on his nose, one hand resting on the wheel, the other curled around your thigh, javi on a road trip is relaxed. he’s leaving all his burdens, his worries, everything weighing on his chest, all of it, behind him. literally, the more distance you guys put between yourselves and where you were, the more uplifted his spirits. when your favourite song comes on the radio, and you’re shimmying in your seat, he can’t keep his eyes off you, his gaze flicking between you and the road. he sings along under his breath, bobbing his head almost imperceptibly and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, a slow smile spreading across his face.

whiskey pulls up to your house at 5 am on the dot, the obnoxious custom sound of the horn of his bronco rattling the windows and scaring the birds out of the trees lining the street. country music jams ONLY. you argue over his taste in music; does he enjoy being a walking cliche? he will not accept any song that doesn’t have a twang to it. he’d be an aux cord hog if he knew what an aux cord even was. so much for your favourite spotify road trip playlists. “spot fly? spot what fly, where?” still has mixtapes he made himself, the same ones he’s been playing since forever. forces you listen to all his favourite songs, the ones he knows all the words to, while he obnoxiously sings along and ignores your eye-rolling. but he doesn’t ignore how your feet start tapping absentmindedly to toby keith’s ‘whiskey girl’. the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk that quickly becomes a broad grin as he reaches over to smack your thigh, laughing he’ll make a country girl of you yet. startled out of your daze, you vehemently deny you weren’t enjoying the song, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. he insists he knows the best places to stop, which means you always end up driving far off the highway to some little mom and pop diner that has killer apple pie for lunch. in the evenings you always end up in some honky-tonk bar that’s joined to a motel and yes, there’s line dancing, and yes he manages to twist your arm and convince you to join in.

ezra…..as a man who’s floated from planet to planet, following jobs and leads, for the better part of his life, he’s found himself smooth-talking his way into being a lot of people’s unexpected travel companion out of necessity over the years. road trip ezra is on the run from someone or something; maybe the law, maybe not. all you know is this beautiful, mysterious stranger you met under dubious circumstances somehow, with his roguish grin and drawling accent, his kind eyes and eloquence, convinced you to let him ride along with you. you ran into him in the grungy diner attached to an even grungier motel in some desolate nowhere town. you recognized him; he’s unmistakably the lone figure on the side of the dusty road, his thumb stuck out, that you drove past yesterday. you’d driven past but that blonde streak had been unmissable and you won’t admit it but you’d felt his gaze on you long after you’d left him in the dust. ezra’s endless chatter on the road isn’t unwelcome; he knows seemingly innumerable facts about local folklore, flora, and fauna, and he never seems to be depleted of stories. you’d made the conscious and contrary decision to make this cross-country road trip alone, rebelling against a lot of cautionary advice, but somewhere along the way loneliness had creeped in under your skin and settled there. this handsome stranger may have an edge of danger to him but later when he’s bringing you to heights of ecstasy in a motel room you won’t give a damn.

maxwell lord flies everywhere in a private jet. the worst.

din djarin’s entire life is basically one long never-ending road trip. but in space. i figure earth-bound din on a conventional road trip would basically be how we see him: no nonsense. no frivolities. no music; travels in total silence. gets where he needs to go. stops for soup, as needed. stops for repairs, as needed. stops to work an odd job with some really sketchy people for some gas money, as needed. din’s road trip energy would be like that john mulaney joke. you’d see the mcdonalds sign lit up and shining in the distance and plead for him to stop so he’d pull into the drive-thru, order one black coffee and keep driving. except if you’ve got the baby with you; he gets a chicken nugget happy meal for the kid. he’s a good papa! and of course you’d get whatever you wanted too, he provides and cares for his loved ones after all.

SEND ME ANY QUESTIONS/HC PROMPTS/REQUESTS YOU HAVE

#pedro pascal x reader #javier pena x reader #ezra prospect x reader #frankie morales x reader #agent whiskey x reader #oberyn martell x reader #frankie morales headcanons #javier pena headcanons #ezra headcanons #agent whiskey headcanons #oberyn martell headcanons #all the boys headcanons #headcanon requests #fleetwood writes

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everwitch-magiks · 4 years

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dance with somebody (ch. 2)

(ch. 1)

Dex takes a deep breath. Then another.

It doesn’t help.

They’re at team breakfast. Dex is arguably listening to Hops, who’s going on about the data management class Dex took his sophomore year that Hops is taking his sophomore year. More importantly, though, Nursey is sitting right next to Dex. He’s quiet, which is basically Nursey’s standard setting in the morning, but every now and then he makes his presence known, leaning slightly on Dex’s shoulder or brushing his hand against Dex’s as he reaches for something across the table.

It’s… Nice, mostly. Except that it’s also confusing. Because really, Nursey could just be holding Dex’s hand. He absolutely could. They’re actually dating now, as opposed to just dancing around the idea of a relationship, and the whole team knows, and everyone is extremely cool with it. Which means that Nursey should have exactly zero reasons to be settling for these frustratingly featherlight, ridiculously careful touches whenever there’s more than one or two teammates around. Really.

And yet, here they are.

From the other end of the table, Dex can feel Whiskey's watchful gaze.

And if that isn’t a whole other fucking conundrum.

It’s been less than two weeks since Dex asked Whiskey to be his alternate. It’s something they’re still both getting used to, perhaps Whiskey especially – Dex isn’t entirely sure that Whiskey has any clue what he’s supposed to actually do, just yet. Still, Dex doesn’t doubt that Whiskey was the right choice. Not even a little bit. Even if Whiskey doesn’t seem to quite believe that himself.

And speaking of things Whiskey doesn’t acknowledge – when Dex glances over to meet his eyes, Whiskey abruptly looks away.

Again.

Almost as if he’s actually convinced himself that Dex hasn’t caught him looking at him and Nursey, yet.

Dex reluctantly shifts his attention back to Hops, who is now in the middle of a longish rant about database management systems. Nursey’s hand brushes softly (and really not very subtly) against Dex’s fingers as Nursey reaches for his cup of coffee. Out of the corner of his eye, Dex spots Whiskey following the movement. Just like before.

Dex takes another deep breath, and forces himself to actually pay attention to Hops.

“You seemed kind of out of it, today.”

They’re walking back to the Haus with the team, except Nursey and Dex are kind of trailing behind everyone else. Nursey is watching Dex from the side. He’s almost frowning.

“Yeah,” Dex admits softly. “I’m just… I feel like there’s a lot going on, right now.”

Nursey hums, and after a quick glance towards the rest of the team, he reaches out to carefully intertwine their fingers.

Fucking finally.

Dex breathes deeply, in and out. For the first time that day, it actually grounds him somewhat.

“You know, I’ve kind of missed you.”

Nursey’s laughter is soft.

“I’ve literally been right next to you, all morning.”

“Not like this, though,” Dex disagrees. He squeezes Nursey’s hand a little. “This is real nice.”

Nursey grins.

“Sure is.”

“You know,” Dex begins carefully. “If you’d wanted to, like, actually hold my hand at breakfast? You could have done that. That would’ve been fine.”

Nursey slows down a little bit.

“That’s… We’re usually a bit more low key? With the team around, I mean.”

“True,” Dex admits patiently. “But, like, holding hands? Dude. These guys have seen a lot worse than that.”

“Yeah, but it’s just… I dunno.” Suddenly, Nursey looks a bit unsure. “It feels a bit weird when you go into, y’know. Captain mode.”

“Captain mode?” Dex repeats incredulously. It’s only Nursey’s unusually serious expression that keeps him from laughing. “Oh my God. What does that even mean?”

“Chow actually came up with the name – we were talking the other day and realized we had, like, the exact same feelings about this.” Nursey’s almost smiling in a way that Dex isn’t entirely familiar with. “But it’s not really a bad thing? It’s just like, there’s regular Dex, and he’s our best friend, but then there’s captain Dex. And we’re only just getting to know him.”

“Really,” Dex says faintly.

Nursey grins.

“Seems like a great guy, though,” he teases. “Got our backs, y’know? But even so, captain Dex isn’t regular Dex. And I don’t wanna, I dunno. Make everything weird when you’re having captain convos with the Waffles and Scones.”

“Captain convos,” Dex repeats, a bit hysterically this time. “Oh my God. What the fuck.”

“These shiny new terms are all going in the bylaws, by the way. Tango’s putting together a whole glossary.”

“... Wait. Really?”

“Nah. Kidding.”

Dex rolls his eyes at Nursey’s widening grin.

“Anyway. On the subject of handholding.”

“On the subject of,” Nursey chirps, looking absolutely delighted. “And they say I’m the English major.”

“I love holding your hand,” Dex soldiers on, because apparently he’s determined to provide Nursey with an endless stream of perfect chirping material. “It’s honestly ridiculous, how much I fucking love it. And for me, it wouldn’t feel weird if we did it more often. Even when we’re hanging out with everyone? But like, if that makes you uncomfortable, it’s cool. We don’t have to. Obviously.”

To Dex’s great relief, Nursey actually pauses to consider that.

“I just don’t want to, like, overstep? Or make things super awkward. I mean, you’re actually my captain, too.”

“I am, yeah.” Dex squeezes Nursey’s hand again. “I can see how that might be difficult to navigate.”

“It’s usually not,” Nursey elaborates. “Like, at practice? Easy. The C’s right there on your jersey. And when we’re alone? Crystal clear. Couldn’t be less confusing. It’s just that in between those two, there’s more than a few gray areas.”

“Huh.” Dex ponders that for a moment. “Well. For what it’s worth, I really do think we could get away with, like. Occasional handholding? When we’re all just hanging out, together.”

“I guess, yeah.”

Dex frowns. Because Nursey still sounds more than a little bit unsure.

“Would it maybe help if I… Promised to let you know if I ever felt like it’s not the right time? If I’m in the middle of a serious talk with someone, or whatever. Then you’d know that you aren’t bothering me, or making anything weird.”

“... Yeah,” Nursey says, after a beat. And this time, his tone is both surprised and… Sort of a little bit hopeful? “Actually, yes, that’d be so great.”

“Okay.” Dex smiles. “Good.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for, like. Being open with me about this.”

“Hey, it’s chill.” Nursey grins slightly. “Imagine how proud Shitty would be, if he could hear us right now.”

“He’d cry,” Dex agrees immediately. “Maybe he’s actually crying, right now, because some part of him just knows.”

“Entirely possible.”

Nursey tugs at Dex’s hand a little, and it takes Dex a second to realize that Nursey wants him to move closer. He does, and it’s so, so worth it when Nursey’s lips brush softly against Dex’s cheek.

“Noone saw that,” Nursey murmurs, even as he lingers to kiss the corner of Dex’s mouth. “Or that. Noone’s looking.”

“Yeah,” Dex mumbles in agreement, despite the fact that he’s got reason to believe that Nursey is, actually, completely wrong. “We’ve literally just invented being discreet. This is how it works.”

Nursey pulls back again, his smile a little sheepish.

Dex barely glances forward, and sure enough – Whiskey immediately turns around, almost as if he never looked their way in the first place.

Well. Evidently, Whiskey is still… Processing something, at his own pace. Although Dex has a strong feeling that whatever is going on in Whiskey’s mind, it might not actually have much to do with Nursey and Dex, specifically, so much as the idea of, well. Affection? Reciprocation? Or something not entirely unlike it.

That’ll be an intriguing conversation, eventually.

Dex looks back at Nursey, and finds it so easy to return his smile.

“Come on. Let’s go catch up with everyone else.”

(ch. 3)

#nurseydex #check please #omgcp #omgcheckplease #checkpleaselastslice #spoilers #spoiler #dance with somebody #derek nurse #william poindexter #connor whisk #so this is a series now #evie writes #fanfiction

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pleasefeedthebirds · 4 years

Text

A Relatively Deep Dive Into My “Crème de la Crème” MCs - #1. Mavis Linnet

(From the astonishingly crisp interactive fiction by @hpowellsmith! ...It’s not weird to tag, right?)

Mavis “Miss Linnet” Mallee-Linnet

she/her/hers

Light brown complexion and loosely curled brown hair

Favors conventionally masculine fashion

Accommodating

Manipulative

Traditional

Exceptional Poise

Noteworthy Wit and Intrigue

Commonplace Spirit

Unremarkable Flair

LOADS more info and spoiler content under the cut!

I envision Mavis as having grown up in a wealthy household, where she was still raised reasonably well about the importance of non-profligate spending. Her parents both taught at Olmstead’s Valley School, where she was in attendance for the bulk of her college-age years. Sailing was manageablely smooth. Mavis got along well in her studies, had time for both dressage and lacrosse, and—for her genuine interest in the subject matter—made it on the good side of many educators there (albeit not as often her fellow students, being for all the world their definition of a teacher’s pet!).

Her life took an abrupt shift in its trajectory when Mr. Mallee, her father, had a shameful affair come to light. Their rural community was small enough that such a thing made waves. Her other father, Mr. Linnet, sent Mavis off to Gallatin with the still-favorable Linnet name, and spent a pretty penny to do so. Primarily, he did this to save her from suffering by association, and was very vocal about these intentions. He’s definitely also relying on her to save their social standing, and despite the point being markedly unspoken, Mavis quietly understands.

So, Mavis feels an immense pressure to make the most of her time at Gallatin. She tries to conform unfalteringly to the school’s every long-winded social expectation, which exhausts her utterly. However, by her proficiency in book research, and her sincere knack for studying people, she has grown excellent at “playing the game” in high society.

More than ever, Mavis is dedicated to her studies at Gallatin, even when the prescribed syllabus is less than stimulating. She keeps her head down so to never risk rocking the boat. This mode of being doesn’t make her happy per say, but the Gallatin atmosphere has her shoehorned into believing there’s no feasible alternative. She’s cognizant of surface level flaws in the system, but plays along because she thinks she has to. After all, it’s her way out of rural smallmindedness and into an academic world. That said, things certainly can change, particularly when one can’t help but notice atrocities being committed against literal children!

5’10”, with broad shoulders but slender hips. Her body makes an upside-down triangle shape.

Prone to acne, her skincare routines are extensive, and she’s usually up at the crack of dawn every day to get her proverbial ducks in a row.

Her hair is thinner than it looks, and she takes especial care when rationing it about her scalp. She feels vulnerable with it all the way down, so favors hair styles with low centers, such as looped pigtails, a nape bun, or double braids. Also labors to hide her considerable widow’s peak.

A heavy tea drinker. For all of her wits, she doesn’t realize that her mug o’ choice (earl grey) is highly caffeinated. She slugs the stuff down each day without ever realizing, because it “makes her feel better” about mornings.

Though it’s hardly polite, she LOVES gossip, and writes down every secret she hears as her guiltiest pleasure.

Miss Dalca and Mr. Griffith both make her uncomfortable—the former for her extreme progressiveness, and the latter for his gruff demeanor. Mr. Blanchard is her favorite teacher, and I bet she’s accidentally cried in his presence before. She’s scared of Lady Renaldt, and makes herself known to the headmaster only out of necessity.

Virtue: 91%

Popularity: 75%

Coursework Grade: A

Exam Mark: A+

Extracurricular(s): Birchmeier Society and the Gallatin Swans (goalkeeper)

*[Though not doable ingame, I like to think that she overloaded her schedule and dropped the Swans halfway through the semester. Mavis is never the type to drop anything, so having to take that step back was a double-edged blow to her confidence, in addition to being a sheer relief on her stress levels. Since the Birchmeier Society was where her heart truly lay, she managed to build herself back up there with Freddie’s support.]

Entanglements: Romantically engaged to Freddie.

Besties and then some with Freddie. They’re both hardworking scholars with each their own zest for learning, and by preparing for classes, exams, and Birchmeier Society biz in the same shared spaces, Mavis spent disproportionately more time with her than with anyone else. Freddie encouraged Mavis to be a bit less hard on herself, and was brave enough to stand up to her whenever Mavis’s fatigue was turning her curmudgeonly. Mavis helped get Freddie out of her own head on multiple occasions, taught her to break the most overwhelming situations down to deal with day-by-day, and bolstered her confidence anytime it faltered in the face of the Gallatin sphere. The engagement was Mavis’s idea, which she accidentally blurted out in a rare impulsive burst of feeling. After processing the implications, she was ashamed to have second thoughts upon remembering Freddie’s financial situation. It seemed for a while that the engagement was off, following a hard conversation that soured their relationship for awhile. I don’t think Freddie would easily bounce back after having her family standing scrutinized. However, the mine plot—when Mavis had to ultimately turn her back on everything she’d built at Gallatin—spurred character development enough that Freddie deemed her worthy of a second chance.

Friends with Gonzalez, who couldn’t help but respect that Mavis was competent in lacrosse, academically accomplished, and generally pretty nice to people. I don’t think she realizes that Mavis keeps a stiff mask. Mavis found Gonzalez refreshing, albeit off-puttingly honest, and couldn’t find a way to fault her spirited nature. I can’t imagine them engaging much off of the field (i.e. post Mavis quitting the team), but the two were mutually supportive in their interactions, even if Mavis was probably repressing some criticisms of Gonzalez’s fast and loose attitude all the while.

Friends with Max after he tutored her in flair, per Lady Renaldt’s instruction, via a sick dance sesh. I like to imagine him groaning about the task, assuming that Mavis would be a hopeless case, and then being pleasantly surprised at the fact that she can absolutely hit it (even just in the name of compliance with authority). He tried to make a move on her and was politely rejected. I think he supports the idea of her at a distance after recognizing that she’s not trying to breathe down anyone’s neck, and really is a kind, tired gal being squeezed dry by the system.

Friends with Hartmann, who was initially confused about which “side” Mavis was on in her prefectural feud with Max (Mavis shushed him at the opening commencement, which she liked, yet supported Max when he dipped out the common room window). They came to understand each other in the later game, bonding over how ill-affected they both are by the pressures of their respective positions. They don’t “hang out” much, but a couple of key deep conversations put each in the other’s good books.

Pleasant acquaintances with Karson. Mavis rarely went out of her way to talk to them, but whenever they crossed paths, she was good to Karson, and sympathized (albeit at a respectable distance) with their situation as a servant. When trouble in the mines was first coming to light, Mavis got sniffing, and sussed out enough clues that Karson eventually passed Blaise’s note on to her directly, trusting her moral compass enough to do so.

Unpleasant acquaintances with Delacroix. His unconventional take on life, passion for the intangible, and apathy towards collegiate procedure all make her uneasy. In his own right, Delacroix probably takes her for a stuffy, self-centered dud, which after all the times she’s reflexively shut his occult talk down, is pretty fair.

Acquaintances with Blaise. Mavis made nice in the early game because she had to, and was secretly relieved when she “resigned.” This was short lived, and turned into a misplaced sense of guilt after what actually happened to Blaise came to light. Mavis didn’t end up in the mines herself, but she did everything she could to help her, Miss Dalca, and eventually Gonzalez escape. When all was said and done, Blaise still made Mavis uncomfortable, and she let her be to get on with her life.

Approached Rosario at the punch table in an attempt to court the princess in the room… absolutely blew it. Ended up tripping over her own tongue when she realized that the heir is not so predictably wooed by traditional measures as originally anticipated. I like to think of that moment as a point of deeper connection for Mavis and Freddie, where both were totally overwhelmed by the noble sphere at Archambault and turned to each other for comfort. Otherwise, Rosario was a Rosari-no for Mavis.

Was weirded out by Auguste. Mavis fears any authority figures who don’t like her right away, and they’re too close to the ever-frigid Lady Renaldt for her comfort. She did totally trash them (benevolently) at dressage on sports day, though.

Gave Florin the widest possible berth. Mavis wanted nothing to do with that kind of scandal, but definitely found her shallowly cute.

Some Choice Plot Pieces (cue spoilers):

Gathered evidence against Miss Dalca in compliance with Lady Renaldt.

Had an adequate working relationship with Miss Benton.

Gathered information for Annick against Lady Renaldt.

Endgame (cue SUPER spoilers):

Worked in secret against Lady Renaldt.

Sent Gonzalez to the mines, but most everyone got out (I believe Miss Dalca died?!).

Settled things quietly with Kathrili Burgin.

Went on to study at Gessner.

Joined Freddie for the summer.

#creme de la creme #mavis linnet #if ref #choice of games

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hecohansen31 · 4 years

Note

Tinder date anon here (again!): write more please!

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

Ahhh can you believe that a few days ago I literally went like ‘I need to write something christmass-y for Ivar’, and then I wrote it and then you asked… so… this is low key creepily magical!

But on a more serious note, my period has started (TMI), so if you want anything with Ivar, because that is my actual mood, I am more than happy to write and in the meanwhile I hope you’ll like this little babe!

Have a nice day!

WARNINGS: Family Drama, Abandonment Issues, Problematics Relatives, Talk of Medical Problems and Family at Christmas In General (also I know… I am the only person who can write Christmas fic… AFTER CHRISTMAS).

You hadn’t expected this to happen so quickly.

But when Ivar had asked you to come to meet his family for Christmas’ Eve dinner, you hadn’t been able to reject the proposal, mostly when you, yourself, had no plans for it…

… and you would have loved nothing more than to spend it with your boyfriend.

So, it was all settled, although you had had to rush all your gifts for his bothers and his parents, since he had let you know about the proposal only a week before Christmas.

‘I didn’t want to seem like an obsessed kind of type…’ he had mumbled, once you had asked the reason behind his timing ‘… I didn’t want you to feel rushed’.

Well you certainly weren’t feeling rushed for that, but it didn’t mean that you weren’t feeling less anxious about meeting Ivar’s big family, although you already knew Hvitserk, who was fine and nice, once you understood how to take him.

(And to ignore the condoms laying around all over his and Ivar’s shared house, which had come quite handy a few times).

‘… well then you have seen the worst of us’ had mumbled Ivar, after you had asked him to prepare you for what you were going to have to deal with ‘… Ubbe is nice, if you ignore the fact that he is annoying as hell and that his wife is a bitch, Sigurd is a bitch, but he is not a threat, and Bjorn won’t probably come…’.

The fact was that you weren’t exactly worried by Ivar’s brothers.

Who truly worried you was Aslaugh, Ivar’s beloved mother.

If you were Ivar’s love, Aslaugh had been his first love and you could see with the way he constantly talked about her, valuing her opinion as if it was the Law which both irritated you and made you anxious about her opinion of you.

Would she consider you not enough for his son?

And what would Ivar do in that case?

Would he discard you without a second thought or would he dare to go against his beloved mother’s opinion?

You had tried to push any of those thoughts down, but the day you had had to get ready to reach Ivar’s childhood house, they all came back to you and you tried not to panic hard in front of Ivar and Hvitserk, who were the calmest, even going as far as joking around, rather brotherly.

And you were tying not to throw up, in the car.

When you finally arrived, you tried to focus on the luggage that needed to be brought inside, helping Hvitserk, meanwhile Ivar insisted he could get also something.

‘You are wearing heels, woman, for Odin’s sake!’ he swore, looking at your polished booties, which you had worn to try to impress Asluagh with a classier look, having stalked her profile on Instagram to try to match her style, in order to impress her.

‘I can handle, sweetie’ your tone was sickly sweet, and Ivar sent you a confused look, before he turned around, giving up on his mission and going to knock on the polished door of the beautiful manor.

Although Hvitserk and Ivar referred to it as a simple ‘house’, for you it was a manor, with a perfect garden and even a swimming pool, which Hvitserk had suggested you used for the traditional ‘Lothbrock Christmas Swimming’, on Christmas morning.

You followed Ivar a few minutes later, with your backpack on your shoulder, carrying two suitcases (yours and Ivar, trying not to swirl and fall onto the iced surface, since all around the manor there was snow, in a beautiful winter-y atmosphere that looked like it was brought out of a winter legend.

It wasn’t Asluagh that opened the door, but an elderly man, although he looked as handsome as he had been in his earliest years, but his age was evident, alongside the wolfish grin he held, taking you in, although surprise quickly blossomed in your eyes as Ivar’s hand tangled with yours.

Your boyfriend, also, seemed surprised by the vision and it was Hvitserk who made the man known also to you, gently saluting him:

“Hey dad!” he muttered, quickly hugging him, as he dragged himself and the rest of the luggage inside, leaving you and Ivar blinking for the surprise “… didn’t know you would be there”.

And apparently didn’t Ivar, who after a first moment of holding his eternal grudge, moved in, bringing you alongside him, grabbing ahold of his luggage, trying to avoid with expertise his father, who still managed to catch him.

And more importantly: you caught his attention.

“Hello there, Ivar!” mumbled his father, once he got away from Hivtserk’s hug, who soon moved away towards what you thought was the kitchen “… and you brought a little friend”.

You didn’t know much about Ivar’s father: he had abandoned his family after Ivar’s birth. but he had still tried to be present in his sons’ lives.

At least economically.

“… dad, I thought you were dead” mumbled Ivar, no sarcastic tone his voice, and Ragnar quickly realized that he wasn’t welcome there, as his son quickly sprinted away, suggesting he was tired and would bring the suitcases to his room, on the first floor.

Leaving you with a rather sad Ragnar.

“He is just tired, he tends to get grumpy when he is tired” you tried to justify the situation, not even knowing why you were trying, but feeling a bit bad for the man: he wouldn’t have won best father of the year, but he had showed up “… I mean he is constantly grumpy…”.

“That’s the Ivar I know!” smirked Ragnar, softly as if he was remembering sweeter times, before gently offering his big hand to you “… I am Ragnar by the way, Ivar’s asshole dad”.

“I am (Y/N)” you mumbled, accepting the hand graciously “… Ivar’s…”.

“Oh you must be (Y/N)” a chirping voice exited the kitchen and a blonde girl a bit older than you appeared with an older woman that you recognized as Aslaugh: they both looked like they came from a cookie batch competition, but Aslaugh managed to seem regal even covered head-to-toe in flour.

She looked at your cryptically and for a minute.

You were wondering whether she was analyzing each flaw she could find, but then she gently smiled at you.

“Poor (Y/N)” she mumbled, pushing Margrethe, the blonde girl, which you had recognized as Ubbe’s wife a bit away from you“… five minutes she is in here, and she already gets stalked like an animal… I am sorry for my husband and son’s behavior, mostly Ivar’s, he should know better than to leave a woman, alone…”.

Ragnar found this as his cue to move away, sending you one last smirk at you, as if he knew all too well that you were going to go through a lot

“He was a bit tired and said he would have gone to his room to lay down” you suggested trying to shift the conversation away from you, having received more attention than you had hoped for, since Margrethe also kept on looking at you, definitely trying to find any weak point you owned.

“Still… he knows better than to come here, without at least letting his poor mother that he is still alive” she mumbled, huffing annoyed, although you could detect a bit of worry in her tone “… I also am rather sorry for not properly presenting myself to you: I am Aslaugh, Ivar’s mother… I hoped he told you this at least, and I would gladly hold your hand, but… I have flour in places I didn’t know flour could get…”.

You laughed, a bit relieved that Aslaugh was this fun and gently nodded, before you showed her the direction, Ivar had gone to, although you felt like she already knew, getting Margrethe to grab your coat and show you the wardrobe where you could store that.

‘I’ll check on my son a few minutes and then we can meet in the kitchen for a few cookies, hoping Hivtserk hasn’t eaten all of them, in the meantime, you and Margrethe can have a good talk over tea’.

You doubted you could have a ‘meaningful’ conversation with Margrethe, although you’d have to admit that you were used to ‘small talk’ having had to deal with Elaine all your college and work life, but you still didn’t like it, in the slightest.

Also, with the ‘totally weirded-out’ look she kept on sending your way, you didn’t feel in the slightest at ease with her, although you could understand why.

Ivar had confessed you that one of the reason why he didn’t feel comfortable having sex, was that once he had tried to hit it off with Margrethe (‘I was young and stupid and all my brothers had had their own experiences with women… it made me feel… self-conscious’) and he hadn’t been able to ‘raise up to the occasion’.

And Margrethe had laughed at him, taunting him enough that sex for him had been a rather taboo topic and only lately he had been more open even getting some control visit to see if it was truly some kind physiological problematics or simply psychological.

So, you understood that the blonde girl was trying to understand what you were staying with Ivar for.

“Oh Gosh, we weren’t certainly expecting you” her voice was slightly noisy and you couldn’t help but feel like it had some haughty tone that made you feel even more at unease and were secretly thankful that Aslaugh quickly reappeared.

“… but I am definitely glad that you are here, (Y/N)” her tone held an immediate warmness that you couldn’t help but appreciate, feeling more at ease, as she joined you on the table you had set down onto, before she quickly grabbed from an ‘hidden location’, as she called it, a jar of cookies “… and my son will join us shortly, I gave him quite my piece of mind about not leaving his pretty girl all alone, I was once also all alone in some stranger’s house, so I know it can be intimidating”.

You dared a shy smile at her, meanwhile Margrethe applied onto her face a smile of circumstance.

“Thank you, I truly appreciate it, but I stopped trying to get Ivar to do what I want… he will… eventually” you joked and Aslaugh laughed lightly, before adding.

“He was also a stubborn child” and then her eyes grew a bit sadder, a memory flashing in them “… he had to be, because… of how he was born”.

“… it never stopped him from doing what he wanted” you reassured Aslaugh and she sent a small smile at you, gripping your hand.

The sudden gesture made you flush lightly and you were happy when Ivar appeared on the kitchen threshold, quickly setting himself between you and Aslaugh, donning both you and his mother with a quick kiss onto your cheeks.

“Oh cookies…” he mumbled, trying to grab some from the jar, but Aslaugh slapped off his hand “… ouch… mom!”.

“Cookies are for people who don’t leave their girlfriends all alone” she mumbled, and you smirked a bit, meanwhile Ivar just flushed and pushed himself a bit closer to you, something which didn’t go unnoticed to the other women in the room.

The cookies didn’t go unnoticed so long to Hvitserk, who walked in the kitchen fascinated by the smell of freshly baked cookies, fighting with Margrethe for cookies, meanwhile you slipped one of yours to Ivar, who kissed your hand in a gentleman way to thank you.

“Sorry for having left you there…” he whispered softly into your ear “… I just wasn’t expecting him to be here”.

You simply patted one of his hand, before dragging him closer, in an almost kiss.

“… just don’t do it again” and then pushed him lightly away from you, making him giggle, and he managed to set a little kiss on your forehead.

“… cross my heart and hope to die” he whispered back, softly kissing your cheek, meanwhile Margrethe looked at you half disgusted and half weirded out “… do you think that Margrethe has something stuck in her eyes?”.

“Only her dignity” you mumbled, gaining an immediate smirk by Ivar, as Hvitserk joined your side, hoping to gain some cookies, with his puppy eyes, but he didn’t get none, moving onto trying to plead Aslaugh, who eventually relented.

“… oh, by the way, where are Ubbe and Sigurd?” asked Hvitserk, mouth half full of cookies, probably to know if he should just rush in eating the rest of the cookies before they came back from wherever they had gone, or if he could consume them more calmly.

“They went out grocery shopping, for a few missing things for the dinner” which low key surprised you since Aslaugh didn’t seem the type who missed anything for her ‘perfect dinner’ and soon Ivar solved the enigma.

“… they went to get dad a Christmas present, didn’t they?”.

Aslaugh nodded darkly, before some softness washed over her face.

“He just came here a few days ago, saying that old age is making him value what truly matter and what doesn’t”.

“It never seemed to stop him before” muttered darkly Ivar, gaining an annoyed look by Aslaugh “… oh c’mon, mom, you certainly can’t be happy to see him here, he left you! For another woman!”.

“I am certainly not happy to have him, here” her tone was stone cold, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were an outside to all this drama “… but I still have to recognize that he is your father, and he still deserves to see you and make peace with you, before it’s too late”.

Something broke in Ivar’s eyes and he relented in the word-fight with Aslaugh, meanwhile Hvitserk stopped eating his beloved cookies, probably understanding the graveness of the situation.

“… I still… it is strange…” mumbled Ivar.

“Well, then get used to strangeness because he is going to stick around at least till tomorrow morning” Aslaugh now donned her motherly tone and Ivar didn’t seem to have any intention to disobey her, meanwhile Hvitserk stood on his toe a bit more upright “… and now won’t you help me setting up dinner?”.

—

You couldn’t help but feel definitely inexperienced about dinners once Aslaugh got everything ready for the night, mostly because she made it seem so easily, as it it wasn’t something that came from experience or such.

Margrethe was quickly able to follow her commands, meanwhile you were extremely clueless and were glad for Hvitserk and Ivar’s back up in the kitchen, since they had also been put to use (‘I didn’t raise my sons to be some annoying sofa-warmers’ had mumbled Aslaugh, ordering them to get ready the vegetables).

But what made the experience even more nerve-wracking was the constant chit-chat going on between you and Aslaugh, which seemed harmless, but again… you didn’t want to fail her interrogation.

She asked a few personal questions of circumstance, asking whether you were still in college or working, and what you did, if you liked it or were aiming for something more., probably trying to sound out whether you were a gold digger or not.

Then she pushed the themes onto your and Ivar’s relationship, involving also her son in the questions: how long they had been together for, how they had met (Hvitserk bumped in this question, explaining the entire ‘tinder date’ thing, gaining quite the annoyed look by Aslaugh) and if you felt well together.

“Aren’t three months a bit too little for meeting the family?” asked naively Margrethe, the tone calm only onto the surface, under it, there was some kind of intent to break her apart to see what was going down, behind closed door.

“Ahem… yes…” you honestly wanted to reply that it was ‘none of her business’, and it was what Ivar’s face said, but you thought ‘kill her with kindness’ “… but I felt like I was personally ready for it, and Ivar didn’t make me feel rushed into this, so I think that timing only counts when you feel like it”.

Margrethe looked like she had been smacked, meanwhile Aslaugh gave you a soft smile.

“Ah, you are completely right, (Y/N)!” she smirked, before moving her examining glance to Margrethe “… also weren’t you and Ubbe already ‘dating’ a few weeks after having met, and with ‘dating’ I meant that you were coming over here, and acting like you owned the place”.

That seemed to shush her for quite a bit, for which you were thankful, because it made the conversation more lighthearted.

Finally, at 5 p.m. the two wandering brothers came home, bringing some grocery bags, meanwhile they hid badly a bag form a jewelry store, as they passed a horrendous Christmas card with a sloth to Ivar and Hvitserk to sign it.

And meanwhile this happened, they presented themselves to you: Ubbe in a more heartwarmingly way, even going as far as to hug you, meanwhile Sigurd simply gripped your hand in a loose shake, looking at you as if he had a unicorn in front of him.

And then they moved onto their brothers, giving a similar treatment as they had done with you, with Ubbe hugging warmly his brothers, before he moved onto kissing softly Margrethe and you almost shipped them, then and there.

Meanwhile also Sigurd hugged Hvitserk, he simply acknowledged Ivar, with a look of hostility in his eyes.

“… we weren’t expecting you to bring her, here” he muttered, more a whisper than actually anything, not wanting to be heard by you and Aslaugh, who was looking through the groceries “… we all thought she was some kind of fake joke…”.

Before Ivar could kill him, you gently pushed him back, suggesting you went to change for the dinner, gaining a little nod of approval by Aslaugh, who suggested that she brought you both the towels and something to wear.

You didn’t know what she meant with ‘something to wear’ but simply nodded, pushing Ivar away from the kitchen and Sigurd.

As you were under closed doors, and you had actually smashed your face against Ivar’s fluffy comforter, thankful for a few minutes alone with your mind, before Ivar smashed against you, making you let out a loud ‘ouch’ and him a laugh, as he kissed onto your neck to ease the pain.

You moved to face him and kiss him, gently, feeling him melt against you and you gently smashed your finger into his hair, getting a low moan from his chest.

“… we are making out like two teenagers, and we are even in your childhood room” you joked meanwhile he started nibling onto your neck, his way of releasing stress from Sigurd’s affirmation was to worship your body, getting lost in it.

“You are the first one” he blushed, shyly, his inexperience always surprising you, even more when he would kiss you like that.

“Am I not lucky?” you giggled softly, pushing him softly away, to get a look at your luggage, in order to decide what to wear, meanwhile Ivar got himself in the shower, as you told him to shout if he needed any help “… also what was your mother meaning with ‘sending us some clothes for dinner’”.

“Oh, mom is probably going to lend you some clothes, nothing on your fashion style, but she has her own clothing etiquette for Christmas Eve dinner…” he shouted from the shower, before water poured over his voice.

Although it was obvious that Aslaugh didn’t mean it badly, the clothing thing still made you feel a bit at unease, both for the lending and both for the clothing and as you were in the shower, you heard Ubbe walking in the room and quickly exchanging a few words with Ivar.

And when you walked in, Ivar was already in his expensive suit, and your elegant burgundy dress was waiting for you: it was rather conservative and definitely a bit different from what you were expecting.

“Is this your mother? Or does she buy new clothes for your girlfriends’ each year?” you mumbled “… because I don’t know which is creepier”:

“They are some of her oldest dresses, and she adapts the one she doesn’t use whether for charity or friends” Ivar explained to you, meanwhile he helped you adjust the dress, pushing the zip up, meanwhile he laid one last soft kiss at your neck.

“Is there something that your mom can’t do?” you mumbled a bit worried that you couldn’t ever be half as amazing as her.

“Stop us from screaming at each other, each dinner” he joked, before he made you turn to him and look at him “… and you shouldn’t compare yourself to her: I know that you are fucking nervous, but you are the most perfect thing that has ever happened to me, whether my mom approves or not”.

“I am still…” you mumbled, lowering your eyes, just for Ivar to push them up.

“You are perfect, never ever fucking forget that” and then he entangled your elbows together “… now let’s go to eat, hoping Hvitserk hasn’t eaten everything”.

You giggled and dragged your handsome man by his tie, meanwhile he smirked at you.

Once you were down the only thing that had stopped Hvitserk from eating anything on the table was the fact that Aslaugh was looking at him like she would straight up disown him had he through about eating anything, before everyone was down there.

After you and Ivar, followed Ubbe and Margrethe who had changed in a stunning icy blue dress, that highlighted her delightful completion and her pretty eyes: you were almost jealous, hadn’t Ivar sent her the same look he had given in the lamp, illuminating the stairs.

Last but not least came Ragnar, who just looked around curiously, probably checking his sons’ reactions to his presence, smirking softly at each of them, trying to avoid the pure hate glares he received and you couldn’t help but pity him a tiny bit.

As you settled down you were sat on Ivar’s right, meanwhile Aslaugh set up on his left and Ragnar onto your left, and in front of you there was Sigurd, on his left Hvitserk and on his right Margrethe and Ubbe.

It all started with a little appetizer, alongside wine, for which you were grateful, because the situation was kind of awkward: Ivar kept on looking at Ragnar, as did Aslaugh, but whereas she was more checking whether he was still there or not, Ivar was sending him his constant reminder that he wasn’t welcomed.

As did Ubbe and Sigurd.

Hvitserk was too bothered by sniffling the appetizers, meanwhile Margrethe had set herself up on the most distant place of the table to avoid the drama, which was a smarter move than you would have thought from someone like her.

In all this you tried to keep polite conversation between your two in-laws, not wanting to get on their nerves.

Ragnar mostly seemed interested into knowing details of your relationship, as a proud father would, sending rather shiny grins over at Ivar as if to say “that’s my boy”, meanwhile Aslaugh tried to keep the conversation also on you, asking your interests and hobbies and suddenly your worst nightmare had become true.

You were the center of attention.

And you were secretly thankful when Aslaugh had to take a bit of a break to gather the first dish, bringing alongside Ragnar, asking for his help with bringing the plates and you were already full but were thankful for the distraction that broke the main conversation in different smaller groups.

You risked spitting out all your wine, when Sigurd talked next, staring blatantly at you.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore we all know that the only way Ivar can land a girl like you is through money”.

“Excuse me” you shot back, pushing your glass of wine down, because you were quite sure that you would have certainly splashed Sigurd with it “… I don’t think I heard what you said quite right”.

“You either are doing it for money or for pity, I am sure” he mumbled back and, you were extremely thankful that you had put down your glass.

“I am sorry but that is none of your business first of all” you mumbled, meanwhile Ubbe tried to stop Ivar from getting up “… and second of all, you might not see it, but Ivar has qualities and I am with him for that, not for money or pity”.

“Oh, you’d be the first one to like Ivar because of his personality” mumbled Sigurd, his tone sarcastic and your tone immediately matched his, in your reply.

“At least he has one, unlike someone else” and with a roll of your eyes you sent him a look that meant that that ‘someone’ was him.

Silence fell down upon the table, but you felt Ivar’s hand gently push itself onto your thigh in an attempt to calm you down, but you were far too gone and turned to him, kissing him on the lips furiously.

You weren’t the expressive couple in the slightest, both you and Ivar taking PDA to a bare minimum, although you would always have your hands on each other, in a subtle and elegant way.

But you just felt like in that moment it was the right thing to do, and as soon as Ivar’s plush lips were onto yours, you were very much in heaven and only separated at a slow clapping of hands, found Ragnar looking at you even more fatherly-proud.

Ivar quickly hid his head into the crook of your neck and you were almost thankful when Aslaugh walked in bringing the first dish, completely disrupting the attention from you and Ivar, although you still felt Sigurd’s eyes following you, meanwhile Margrethe blushed, hiding her gaze behind her hands.

“… what did I miss?” asked Alsaugh, noticing the strange silence.

Hvitserk was halfway through opening his mouth full of food to answer, when Ivar kicked his knee under the table effectively shushing him.

“Nothing mom” mumbled Ubbe.

You were able to continue the dinner without a hitch, although you still felt self-conscious about your ‘excessive’ reaction to Sigurd’s provocation, but Ivar was smirking as brightly as the sun, staring all victoriously at Sigurd, meanwhile he twirled a knife in his hands.

The conversation helped you a bit, since it quickly shuffled onto more ordinary stuff and you were more than grateful to be chosen to be the one who had to help Aslaugh in the kitchen.

And she immediately noticed it.

“Ahh, my boys can be quite ‘too much’, sometimes” she mumbled, taking a huge gulp of wine “… and when Ragnar is with them, it is even worse”.

“I am sure that everything is alright” you mumbled, taking your own gulp of wine, meanwhile Aslaugh got the meat out of the oven, as you brought some plates where she could put it once it was cute “… and I honestly feel almost bad for Ragnar…”.

“I don’t want to risk on sounding like a vengeful woman: but it’s what he deserves for running away for all these years” although Aslaugh was trying to keep her tone calm and posed like she always did, there was some rage beneath it, and you just retired yourself back, helping her bring out the dishes.

The dinner continued calmly, and then once you had all washed the plates and collected the tablecloth to scroll it down for the crumbs, effectively moping them away meanwhile the boys helped set up the fire in the chimney, you all came around it to share your gifts.

The first ones to receive them were Aslaugh and Ragnar: all the boys had teamed up at least for the gifts, choosing a beautiful pendant in glass for Aslaugh, which looked like it was handmade, resembling a rose.

Ragnar instead received the jewelry bag, you had seen that afternoon and seemed more than delighted just at the appearance of the bag, as if he hadn’t expected the gift, being even more surprised as it turned out as a pretty watch, expensive from the little golden inserts.

He looked like he was about to cry at the thoughtful gifts and received a few small smiles by his older sons, meanwhile both Sigurd and Ivar kept themselves indifferent, although you felt Ivar gripping gently your hand a bit tighter, excited to see his father happy, although he didn’t want to let him see his happiness.

He wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Then the boys passed to share their gifts with each other.

You and Ivar had chosen together the gifts, dividing the brothers, you would take Sigurd and Hvitserk (since it was impossible to hide something from that idiot) and Ivar would take Ubbe and Margrethe.

In the end you had gone with two tickets for Hvitserk’s favorite soccer team and a little music playbook for Sigurd, which you had embellished with some music sheet you had found online, as a way to let the playbook feel more familiar (you almost thought he didn’t deserve it for the stuff he had pulled at dinner).

Meanwhile Ivar had chosen a two-days-trip to one luxurious spa, which seemed to please Margrethe, who wasn’t certainly expecting this, from Ivar.

You were also surprised to receive gifts, because your presence had been announced much later: Ubbe and Margrethe gifted you two pair of golden earrings shaped as stars and Hvitserk gave you and Ivar a ‘tasting experience’ for a luxurious restaurant (although you were well aware that his first option had been a ‘vibrator’, but Ivar had literally threatened to change the locks of their shared house, had he chosen that gift).

Even Sigurd gifted you of a little something: a beaded headband, elegant and classy, matching your style.

You were surprised but hastily took it, even trying it on, as Ivar complimented the look, sending a slightly softer look at his brother, who blushed, his eyes speaking of unspoken apologies.

And even more weirdly, both Aslaugh and Ragnar had a gift for you: the latter one gave you a pretty flower vintage dress, this time, completely new and suiting you perfectly, a famous brand in the little label.

‘Oh, I don’t know if I got the measurements right! If you ever need to chan…’ and you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from hugging the woman, almost immediately regretting the decision till she hugged you back.

Ragnar’s gift was instead for you both: a trip to England, in one of his lofts (at which Ivar huffed in an annoyance, but you thanked your father-in-law, since you had always wished to visit England again).

Many more gifts were exchanged, and the things got a bit out of hand as also Floki and Helga joined the night, and you were swept off the floor as Floki brought you in a bone-crushing hug, meanwhile Helga giggled softly.

Although you were happy, and Ivar was literally the most at ease you had ever seen him, you had to retire a bit outside, in order to calm yourself down, with the excuse for a toilet break, from anyone.

Ivar followed you, gaining the wolf-whistles of his brothers, who joked about ‘what you truly were going to do in that bathroom’.

You went out, Ivar donning his coat onto your shoulder, since you had forgotten about it, a bit too warmed by the niceness of this new family.

“I am sorry if it was a bit too much” mumbled softly Ivar, gently getting a few sweaty strands away from your face, meanwhile you shook your head.

“No no, it was perfect” and softly kissed his face, meanwhile he scrunched his nose, faking that he didn’t like your affection “… I just… they are low key all so… welcoming”.

“It went better than I expected” he mumbled, meanwhile you adjusted your hair “… with you by my side, everything is better”.

“Flatterer” you mumbled, and made to go back inside, knowing that Ivar couldn’t handle the cold for long, but then he stopped you and got something out of his pocket, a small box.

Breath got stuck in your lungs, but Ivar quickly reassured you.

“It isn’t what you think I swear, but I felt like I just had to get you another little thing for Christmas…” you were a bit at loss of words: you had made a deal about getting a simple gift for each other for Christmas, since you didn’t want to disappoint the other “… oh c’mon! I know that you got me that Viking book, other than the beautiful tie”.

You blushed being caught red-handed, but still didn’t do anything else.

“You didn’t have to get me…” you mumbled, but Ivar shut you up with a slightly angered look.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore, I am low key anxious that you won’t like it!”.

And you finally opened the box to reveal a little necklace with a ladybug on it, Ivar’s silly nickname for you, because according to him ‘you were his lucky-charm’.

You sighed a bit at the prettiness of the golden beauty, before Ivar suggested to help you put it on, and he adjusted it, gently giving a soft kiss to the back of your neck, as he slipped another bigger present from one of the pocket of your coat, making you send him an exasperated look.

“Oh, c’mon! This one is for us both!” he mumbled, blushing distinctively the reddest you had ever seen, as you revealed under the elegant box a simple set of burgundy lingerie.

“Is this a sign that you want to try?” you tried to be the most delicate possible with your words.

And Ivar grabbed softly your hand, pushing up to kiss your lips again.

“… didn’t I tell you? You are my lucky-charm, little ladybug!”.

#ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless fic #ivar fic #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar fluff #ivar the boneless fluff #fluff #tinder date! anon #ivar the boneless ask #vikings #vikings imagine #ivar drabble #ivar blurb

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impfiltration-archive · 6 years

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"Rather bold of you, little bird."

Drabble Mania || @paterfamileo

Setting: The corrupted wormhole from s2 sends Pidge into Fate!Favored Alfor’s reality, and she experiences solitary confinement in his pursuit for a paladin.

Pidge considered herself lucky, all things considered.

She could only assume some kind of bullshit magics sent her lion tumbling through alternative realities, but where she could’ve been left drifting through space (It is 90% empty) or launched right into Galran hands, she crash landed on Altea—the good guys!

Pidge imagined Allura would love hearing about the reality where the Alteans defeated Zarkon, and her father still reigned even after the serious blows he took in the apparent quintessence rift no one had bothered telling her about—leaving him with scars across his face and void eyes. Only, getting home was taking a while, and that’s when Pidge started suspicious.

Alfor, in turn, become increasingly overbearing.

He was constantly around to turn the conversation away from how she was getting home, or just about anything about that rift. Anytime she asked about the hoktrils sticking out of some servant’s head, she was then told the valiant tale about how the Altean empire was bringing peace to the universe. If she wanted to fly, then of course Alfor needed to be there—to mentor, he liked to say. Escorts were even suggested if she left castle grounds.

The King’s true turning point was whenever Pidge tried leaving, or better yet, escaping, since she was having to tiptoe down the castle halls at the most ungodly of hours to avoid any intervention. Her plan was to just take her lion and either find someplace that’ll actually get her home or make one herself. No one here had had any intention to help her do so, obviously; besides, everything around this place felt weird. The people seemed fake and two-faced, and there was this eerie air to everyone’s words—Alfor’s especially.

She was breaching her lion’s hanger, already imagining the much more nicer, way less creepy places she could find, when the girl was jerked back by a steely grip. Pidge was spun around to find who else but Alfor, staring her down with those eldritch eyes that reminded her of a ghost. “Rather bold of you, little bird, to disrespect all the hospitality I’ve treated you to.”

While initially stunned, Pidge quickly fell into anger and yanked her arm back with an irate grunt. It didn’t do much, she’s learned that Alteans are basically crystal elf people with an immoderate amount of strength, but she didn’t let Allura patronize her in their own reality, and she won’t let this Great Value brand of Alfor do the same either.

“Stringing someone along about getting home isn’t hospitality!” She channeled a lot of pent up frustration into her words, giving them that raw, heated edge that left her huffing a little.“Keeping someone cooped up in your weird castle isn’t hospitality!” Her eyes were alight with rage, brows furrowed and mouth set for a crooked scowl. “NONE of this is hospitality!” There was no doubt in mind that she was serious as can be, and while only the keenest of eyes would’ve caught it, there was a hint of surprise along Alfor’s marred temple.

He was still stony-faced as far as Pidge could see, she got a full gander of his glowering as he leaned down low and pulled her close. He probably wanted to talk to her eye-to-eye, but all in the name of defiance and basic comfort, she turned her head away from his wrinkly mug—not wanting to see the discoloration along the side of his face or his phantom eyes.

Why had she believed those were noble battle scars? Now it felt like they seeped with a malevolent stench of corruption, like they were just wrong and didn’t belong here. It meshes horribly with the fatherly-stern voice Alfor picks up. “Reconsider your tone and we might be able to continue our pleasantries.”

Was he really trying to lecture her, like he was her dad and she was still 10? Pidge ditches her petty protest and to stare Alfor dead in the eye (Or maybe more in the forehead area), flat-lipped and squinting as if evaluating her options before she grounds out her words in an infuriated way. “I won’t,” she bares her teeth, making her scorn clear, “let you keep me here. I’m not one of you subjects!”

Alfor stares silently for a tick before standing up to his full height, cape making a quiet swoosh sound as he pivoted around. Pidge squawked, the backpack hanging loosely from her shoulder dropping to the floor as she was towed in line. She tried reaching back for her stuff, that’s where she hid her computer and rations, but she was forced to scuttle after him. It was that or be dragged, given how much shorter she is than Alfor, and even less willing to go wherever he was heading. That didn’t keep her from making a ruckus, though.

“Hey, what are you doing?!”

No response from the stone-man, even as she bangs on his fingers with her free hand.

“You can’t keep me here, I’ll find my way out!”

She twists around to try and gnaw on him, hatching a fever scheme of breaking away and making a mad dash for Green. Add her efforts to keep walking up straight atop of that, and the girl didn’t have a lot of focus to spare. Pidge ended up missing a lot of the halls Alfor lead her through. She knew they were somewhere around the lower-decks, but she didn’t recognize the large door Alfor brought them to.

Panting and confused, Pidge glanced up and down the walls to find there was virtually nothing else around. There was the door, with a keypad next to it, then some closed walls and paneling—that was it.

She was confused and Alfor used the two ticks of her being still to stand her in front of him, meaning to shove her into the solitary unit with some forbidding words to hang over her head. Instead, he holds the now gawking child between his two hands in an awkward pause, eyes narrowing onto her armor. He nearly forgot about it in his aggravation, and how she retrieved it was a question for his security team, but he wasn’t going to leave her with the tools to escape within the next hour.

Yet another line formed across his forehead, and he began to pry off her armor. Immediately, Pidge began to thrash and curse; unfortunately, her hitting didn’t do anything, because Alfor had her down to her bodysuit in the next dobash. As he keyed in the door’s opening sequence, his grip was still an ever present pressure on her bicep until he finally pushed her into the room. Pidge passed the threshold with a stumble then spun around, glaring at him with absolute belligerence. “You,” Alfor started with a pointed voice, “will stay here until you learn to behave.”

Pidge was already opening her mouth and pitching an argumentative tone, but the king let the door close with a click—that being its locking mechanism. Heaving with a small, angry sigh, he glanced down at the armor pieces thrown around the ground, and tapped the paladin’s helmet to his right lightly with his foot. He’d have to send a droid up here to retrieve all this, he thought, as he stepped over a gauntlet and greaves to return to the upper-levels of the castle.

Meanwhile, his little bird kept her for angry stance for another few ticks before ultimately letting her words die. Still feeling tight and levid in the chest, Pidge turned back around with a grumble, expecting, well, anything but exceptionally plain room she was thrown into.

She couldn’t help but to scoff. What, was he grounding her or something? It’s not like he’s her dad, and the old fool must not be paying enough attention, or he’d realize that she’s a genius with or without armor. Getting out of here would be easy as soon as she found the right niche. Only, she never really did.

This side of the door almost completely melded with the wall, and it took her a solid 10 dobashes to make out its seam. When she finally did, Pidge felt a rush of exhilaration, but trying to do anything with it ended up with a frustrated fit. She was left with absolutely nothing on her to try and fit through it, and the most in this room was a blanket and pillow covering her metal-sheet bed. There wasn’t much either item but some lint, and try as she might, her fingers weren’t going to make it

She tried looking for vents and grates next, and no joke, she walked around the room a complete 34 times before she gave up on finding any ducts to try and worm herself through. That eliminated any hopes of hacking, too, because she didn’t find any place where wires or even some fasteners could be hiding while tapping and pounding around the room. Pidge was essentially in a metal cube she didn’t have anyway to break open.

Yet, she liked to tell herself.

Eventually, the little paladin found herself in a loop where she thought about all the ways she could escape, if she had the right tool.

If she had her bayard, she could just cut her way through the door, but she didn’t have her bayard.If she had her gauntlet, she could take a scan of this room and figure out all the weak points she should be hitting, but she didn’t have her gauntlet.

If she had her computer, she could open the door through castle controls, or maybe jerry-rig a distress signal, or track guard shifts, or..

Who knows, really, her eyes were starting to feel as tired as her brain, and that deep sense of exhaustion that comes after a long run or good cry settled into her bones.

Having literally nothing else to do, she let herself drift off to sleep in her crouched position against the wall, and that’s how things were for a while.

She’d usually wake up to find a dish of food goo and a water pack, but spoons and straws couldn’t fit through any of the needlepoint grooves in the rooms, and alteans dishes didn’t do anything but bounce if you threw them against the wall hard enough. She imagined she could use the tray her meals came on for bludgeoning someone, if she wanted to get a drop on whoever keeps bringing them, but it always manages to disappear when she loses focus.

Pidge would piece together different escape schemes some more before ultimately letting her mind wander, then somehow fall asleep without remembering how. When her mind wandered, she usually thought about her team and family, or repeat the steps of making probe modules backwards and forwards when that became too much (Were they still okay?).

Sometimes it was just nothing and she let her mind go fuzzy, suddenly seeing herself from third person, like the way she went from constantly trying to move around—be it meandering around the room or throwing things around—to barely moving from her spot on the uncomfortable bed. It was nice there, when she had the blanket wrapped around her so it wasn’t just her and herself.

It’s hard to tell how much time she spends there, whether it’s been a month or one ridiculously long week, but Pidge got bored of trying to calculate day and night a while ago. It’s safe to say, though, that it’s been a stupidly long amount of time when Alfor finally turns up again.

Pidge, of course, is startled when the doors open up with a swish after succumbing to silence for so long. She sits up with a start, more staring in disbelief that the door is actually open than realizing Alfor was there. When she does, her face sours, but not nearly as prominent as before.

“Well, little bird, do you think you’ve learned to behave?”

Pidge, sitting on her metal-sheet bed with her thin blanket bundled up around her, dropped her gaze down to the floor. There’s a spark in her gut telling her to pick up where she left off, fighting him tooth and nail, but there’s a tight knot in her chest that stops her.

She’s not sure how much more of this isolation she can take, her brain feels like mush and her hands are achy for something to do. Before she come up with any smart remark, Pidge speaks up in a quiet voice, “..What do you mean by ‘behave’?”

Alfor cocked his head a little to the left, more out of intrigue than confusion. He could tell she was thinking, but from her stooped posture and troubled look, he surmised that it was nothing conniving. Just a struggle of pride. There was his pause then he responded. “Behave. As in not throwing any of your fits, or disrespecting your benefactors. That being me and my empire.”

She knew he was leaving things out, or purposely keeping his orders vague to twist them around later, he always does something like that, but if those were the terms and conditions? She could live with that, at least for now—she just needed any amount of time out of this place. Away from this stale air, away from these sticky clothes, away from all the quiet—just away. Pidge can probably come up with a better escape plan, too, after she gets her mind off being anywhere else with anyone possible. She just needed that first.

The girl sits up straight, actually looking Alfor in the face as she tries caking on a false grit over her timidity. She was gambling liberation and total isolation here. “Do you think I can have some new clothes? And maybe.. We could walk around the gardens?”

Only Alfor picked up the pleading-hitch to her voice, and he felt just a small spark of endearment somewhere in his being. It was just like the voice of his Allura, when she was young and tired.

His lips quirk up, though not to any degree where it’s exactly noticeable, and he walks up close to his little bird. He sees the way she tenses up, but when he offers her his hand, she takes it. Hesitantly, having stared up at him with those big, honey eyes before that tight squeeze in her chest willed her to stop stalling. She slides off her bed then follows Alfor’s lead, clutching onto him tightly.

Pidge still hates the man, she hopes she can take his crown and leave a fire in his closet whenever she finally gets out of here, but she feels a flood of relief when she finally walks out of the room. She also finds herself touch-starved enough to actually appreciate the calloused texture of Alfor’s hand.

It seems like he’s very specifically taking shorter steps for her, too, so she’s not having to scamper after him, and she can’t help but feel a little bit of gratitude for that, either.

“What about some Altean attire, hm? There were all those darling dresses you refused to try on last phoeb.”

Pidge just nods with an affirmative hum, not wanting to strike up any argument just yet. She kept her eyes forward, focused on the way out of this claustrophobic hall. She was going to wash up, see something besides blank, boring walls, feel more than a thin blanket over some stiff ore.

She’s tunnel-visioned, and as hyper-focused on space and feeling as Pidge is, she doesn’t notice that, that spark in her gut—the one that fostered her suspicions and spurred her into action—started to fade just a little.

Alfor can tell, though, and he simply rolls his thumb over her knuckles as she walks up close to him. “I’m sure you’ll look stunning, my little bird.”

#paterfamileo #[ DRABBLE ╰☆]#v; undetermined #(tfw when i could've had this cued up three hours ago but tungle is a word muncher)#(but man i tried going all ham on the full scene we talked about pidge's isolation and it ended up so long that #i questioned my own long-windedness. pidge is still desperate enough for a anything to let alfor play dress up on her tho)

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strawberrymarshmallowstories · 6 years

Text

Oneshot | Coffee Cups and Little Scribbles

Title: Coffee Cups and Little Scribbles

Pairing: Hoseok/Reader

Word Count: a tad bit over 3K <3

Rating: SFW guys, it’s all safe!

Summary: You never knew a simple message on a coffee cup could change your Christmas.

MASTERLIST

2 weeks to go until Christmas. You thought just as you popped a small gingerbread man on top of a latte. Gingerbread lattes had become a weakness of yours, a secret indulgence when the frost pinched your cheeks, and with quiet concern you saw the manager go around the cupboards, trying to find some more biscuits. You were not going to confess how many you'd had.

Working in a coffee shop was far from where you wished to be during holidays, but you needed to pay your bills. They were more than happy to be flexible around your schedule and who said no to extra money, free coffee and work that required auto-pilot more than complex problem solving skills.

Bingo.

Well, sometimes the coffee machine did stop working, and that did require some brain-power.

'Is that the best you can do?' You heard a voice that had taken you a month to get used to - it was bright and bubbly, but with a twist of sugar-rush on the top. Demanding your attention, you knew she would never go unheard.

You ignored her, managing on a smile that came easier than you thought, and handed the coffee over to a customer whose smile was enough of a thanks, and you wished her a wonderful day.

Homely and cosy. This was the theme for the coffee shop, with its variety of armchairs and small round tables that breathed a little history in the place.

'I already got like, enough tips to cover my shift for 2 hours.’

Your co-worker Nicole was otherwise lovely, but way too competitive. And sometimes her gossip streak got the best of her. Over time she had must've got the hint that you just did not care and her stories were spared on ears that would respond in a way that she wished.

You definitely did not need to know about anyone's intimate lives or who did what and where.

Although, the where was sometimes rather interesting.

'Is that-' She abruptly said as her body went still, and despite the early morning, your head snapped towards the door.

And indeed there he was.

Everyone called him the Americano guy, as no one had yet the nerve to ask for his name. Reddish hair that changed its colour more often than seasons (according to basically everyone), cheekbones and jaw sharp lines that would make many men envious, shoulders just wide enough to make you yearn for a pair of strong arms around you. He was a beautiful man, his steps light and smooth-

And he had the most beautiful smile you had ever seen.

'Good morning!' You heard Nicole chirp as she rushed to the till, her hands still adjusting her apron that was on the verge of falling off her hips. As always - that girl did not know how to tie properly.

He smiled and luckily enough for you his focus was on her. Luckily, because you had a stupid smile tugging at your lips.

'Hello Nicole,' he said without glancing at her name tag, voice just a tad bit lower than you had expected. 'Can I have an Americano please? I'll have it here.'

'Of course! It will be my pleasure!' She chirped again and you dragged your eyes away just in time before the beautiful stranger caught yours.

He must've thought you were new, and you weren't surprised as during the term you were on evening duty, way after your lectures and workshops into late hours. But stories of this man had still reached you through different sources, and you had always wondered who was the cause of all the buzz. Especially if even your quiet but strict manager joined in with words of admiration.

By instinct your hands prepared the coffee while your mind lingered somewhere in-between. After locking it into place, you let it drip while you prepared the saucer and a small spoon - and thanked yourself for polishing some teaspoons as no one else seemed to understand the importance. Little things, as they would say.

Same words, only from a different perspective.

Your back facing the commotion, his voice still managed to cut through your seemingly occupied thoughts. His tone of silk contrasted against Nicole's high-pitched squeal and the difference was strange but beautiful. With a voice like his, he was a blessing on the listening ears.

It was like a soft caress over your senses.

And for once you wished the Christmas playlist to stop. For the first time ever it was a little too loud.

'Here you go,' you said, your voice a little higher than usual - which was probably as much of a surprise to you than to Nicole whose quick glance at you meant she had noticed.

She didn't need to look surprised, you were surprised enough.

You knew exactly what it was that had charmed her and most possibly had made many women throw themselves at his feet. The small dimples in his cheeks were something magical as they did weird things to your stomach whenever they appeared.

And then his eyes fell on you. Those extraordinary eyes, so clear and soft, pinning you on the spot.

Your knees almost buckled.

You couldn't look away, as if in a trance.

'Thank you,' he said with a flicker in his eyes, smile untouched, 'Have a nice day, you two. Don't get caught in the snowstorm!'

'We will, so please come and save us!' Nicole chirped from beside you, her body angled in obvious invitation. For the first time ever her words did not steal your attention and you could not blame yourself - you eyes were stuck on his back, wondering exactly how a single person could make the whole cafe buzz from excitement.

Not that you didn't know it already. It wasn't that he was just handsome and charming - he exuded sincerity, quiet confidence, and literally felt like a ray of sunshine from the moment he stepped in.

It was his whole presence, it was who he was.

He laughed and took a seat in the corner at the front, and fell into his own world of what you presumed was work, completely oblivious to the giggles that erupted next to you. And completely oblivious to the glances from nearby tables.

Soon enough people would start gathering.

'Oh my god, I found out his name!' She low-key squealed and you had to slap her arm to keep it down, not bothering to hide your own smile. You weren't sure if it was him, or was Nicole's excitement brushing off on you.

The light from the street outlined his figure, his hair even redder than the dark strands you thought these had been before.

And then it got busy.

Unfortunately you didn't see him leaving.

12 days to go until Christmas. You thought and a week had never felt longer. Yes, you had agreed to do some extra hours as your uni was on a break, but you kind of missed even the most boring professor whose lecture recordings were like a saviour during sleepless nights.

By now you knew how to keep yourself awake, and the key was the free coffee that was now an integral part of your daily life.

With an invisible sigh and a smile on your lips, you served another caramel latte with extra caramel syrup to a young mother that really needed a pick-me-up. All while her toddlers' sole mission was to try to run around the counter. The mother apologised, the toddler only frowned, but clearly understanding what a no meant.

Even if he didn't like it.

That done, you took a breather as the morning rush was finally over. You were on a shift with Nicole and Stefan for the day and you were quite happy with it. Stefan, the seemingly nerdy but in reality such a smooth flirt, was a guy with few words but who was incredibly enthusiastic about coffee - which was good for him, and for you as well.

Good because his knowledge was bound to brush off on you, helping you to create connections with both regulars and new discoverers of coffee. The key was confidence and knowledge.

'How's the Christmas blend?' You jolted from surprise, heart pounding against your ribcage. You had not heard the door open, which on quiet mornings was like nails across the chalkboard.

But that was not important.

'Uhm- it's- it's quite nice-,' You stuttered from surprise, your lips and vocal chords not quite catching up. And you could not stop yourself in time as you fell into what used to be a part of your life.

Panic settled in, growing stronger by the millisecond and just barely you caught the end of it. You suppressed an urge to run, to escape, to hide. Anxiety had never hit you this hard and had always been a silent reminder of what you had used to feel.

This was all behind you now. You took a deep breath in.

If he noticed, he made no note of it. 'I'll try that one, but can I have it takeaway?' His hand moved, and your eyes couldn't help but follow the way he loosened the scarf around his neck. His unhurried movements calmed you.

'It's quite warm in here, isn't it,' he said. You nodded and took the payment.

'Sorry, it's early and I haven't had a cup of coffee yet,' you voiced, adding in a small laugh when the silence felt too much.

Not even the Christmas carols could fill in the gap.

'That's alright, I believe you,' Hoseok smiled a little wider as he tapped his card against the machine.

'It really is nice though,' you said when you trusted your body once again, 'it's similar to our regular brew, but smoother with hints of Christmas spices. It's like a festive take on our traditional coffee which has everyone going for seconds.'

You saw him nod and took this as a cue to start preparing the coffee. With your back turned to him you released a slow breath you had not noticed you had been holding. Nicole had finished with a customer, and she was eyeing you from the corner of her eye. Obviously trying to find a spot when to pipe in - and you could've actually used some help.

Not that you would ever admit to it.

'It would be nice to try it,' he said and just as you were about to respond with something you couldn't recall, you heard a phone go off.

He stepped away and his words turned into a soft mumble, drowned out by the noise of the cafe. Before you knew it, Nicole was already next to you.

'You have to write something on the cup!' She said, her eyes full of such joy that for a second you forgot she was your age. You could probably take her excitement and turn it into glitter, but what scared you was a marker in her hands.

You had to admit her persistence was admirable.

'I will not,' you flat-out refused, appalled at her suggestion, 'Who does that anyway?'

Nicole raised one of her eyebrows and continued with a furious whisper, 'I do, and it works! Otherwise I'll do it!'

You twisted away from her, further away from her reach. No way you were going to risk with Hoseok never placing his foot in this cafe ever again.

But how come seconds later it was still in your hands? And to your dismay, there was black writing on the cup staring back at you, which had turned out quite nice considering the rush.

Have a fab day! :)

Hoseok did not seem to notice it as he thanked you for the coffee and took off. Although you did have to admit, you did put in extra effort to ensure it would be facing away from him. Baby steps were the key.

The second he left, you sagged against the wall.

You moaned, hitting your head against the wall behind you. Stefan gave you a pitied look while Nicole stayed, a victorious smile playing on her lips.

'It's good! You have to pique his interest!' She said, 'I mean, I would totally go for him but I can read my cues..'

You froze, eyes wide, 'Why did you let me do it then?'

'Well, I was available to take a customer but he just walked over to you even though you were busy,' she shrugged. But then her voice turned sweeter, almost dreamy, 'This is so lovely though, it must be the start of something new.'

'Oh no no, don't you High School Musical me,' you warned and just as you were about to snap something else, Nicole grinned as she was saved by an approaching customer.

'It's your fault if he never steps a foot in here again,' you hissed and Nicole only gave you a knowing grin before letting her voice be carried over the cafe in a warm welcome.

At that moment, who knew you would keep writing messages on his takeaway cups.

7 days to go until Christmas. You thought as you took a sip of your own coffee, savouring the first sip of the day, fresh on your tongue. You had been working for the whole week and were dying for a day off, and had gone way too over the number of people you could talk to in a day without a wavering smile.

You were mentally preparing yourself for another upcoming day, letting yourself indulge in the quiet early morning as you took in the scent of the Christmas blend that had become your favourite.

Funny, how before working there you rarely used to drink coffee.

There went the bell again, a bright chime that now did nothing to elevate your mood, and you got up from your small bench you had dragged from the back kitchen. Managing on a smile that for some may have seemed forced, you sent out your first greeting of the day. To you it was the best you could do on the seventh day of work.

Making coffees used to be fun, but you guessed it was not your thing after all. It didn't excite you as it excited Stefan.

Was there anything that excited you as much coffee excited Stefan?

'Not looking very happy today,' you heard a voice, a voice that had become so familiar, but you still froze on the spot as you drew in a sharp breath.

A voice that made goosebumps erupt all over your skin and what once had been a forced smile, was now a smile that could have melted icebergs.

You guessed you had enough energy after all.

'Good morning,' you chirped out, only a second later realising you must've sounded like Nicole. Once again he did not make note of it.

'It's freezing outside,' he commented as he opened the helms of his coat. He was wearing a beautiful burgundy sweater underneath and the colour had never looked so good.

You tried to keep your eyes on his face. 'It is americano for you?'

'Yes please,' he said and you turned around to prepare while he flipped through his cards, and tapped the card machine. Without a word he took his bag and coat over to his usual spot. You guessed he was drinking it there today.

'Hi Hoseok, my new favourite friend!', Nicole's voice rang over the floor and you would've told her to quiet down if there had been any other customers.

There wasn't any, so you said nothing.

You watched him turn to Nicole with a smile, with a wave and a greeting before turning back to you.

'No messages for me today?' He said jokingly, and you almost choked on oxygen. You coughed, and felt your ears fuming.

'It's not you,' you said in response to his grin, and Nicole's laugh cut through your thoughts. 'Stop embarrassing me, or I'll sabotage your coffee.'

'If you spike it, please make it strong,' Hoseok said with a wink and Nicole giggled once again. You turned away to prepare his coffee, not daring to say anything in fear of making it even worse.

4 days to go until Christmas. You thought as you pulled your hair up into a ponytail. You had two days off, and there was only a couple more to go before you would be off for the Christmas days. And you would skip away after your last shift of the year, with a Christmas carol on your lips.

'Look at you today,' Nicole said, in her own way of saying you looked nice. From her it was an acknowledgement. And truth be told, you had been feeling good when you opted for a red lip and a tad bit mascara. Feeling festive? Maybe.

You were feeling amazing, looked amazing and felt like the world was open at your feet. It was one of those days where you just felt good.

And it would be a cherry on the top if Hoseok decided to drop by. Not that you cared that much, of course.

Liar.

And even amidst all this, he still managed to surprise you as he was late, appearing just before your lunch break was supposed to start and your stomach grumbled as on time.

You had to admit he had played a major part of your cheerfulness and glee as the days passed one by one, not even minding the work and the customers that were in danger to be set off even at the slightest threat.

Whether it was the coffee not being dry enough, or the milk being too hot for a hot chocolate. You had seen it all.

'Do you even have a day off?' He asked after a brief greeting, faking a shocked expression which you laughed off before mentioning your two days off and how you had done nothing productive.

And you almost had to slap yourself. What happened to reading an interesting book or taking up a course?

You know, projecting yourself like an adult.

'Oh, I guess it's the last time I'll see you then,' he said with a furrowed brow, his head tilting to the right. Just a tiny bit that usually would've gone unnoticed.

'Wait,' you said, confused. 'Why so?'

'You're going back to evening shifts, aren't you?'

And it dawned upon you.

'You can always drop in and say-'

But he cut you off, 'Do you want to go on a date?'

The world stilled around you.

Silence.

'Wait, what, me?'

Nicole, who had been on the floor to collect some cups, stood there, eyes wide. As if not believing what she was witnessing, and not really grasping if what was happening was a dream or reality. You didn't blame her, you were thinking the same.

'Yeah, I'd love to take you out for dinner, or even for a cup of coffee.. somewhere else, of course,' he said as his hand came up to the back of his neck.

'Or you can just take it that your messages called out to my heart and I would love to see more of these,' he added with a laugh.

And suddenly Nicole was there, grabbed his phone from his hands and shoved it into yours.

'Just do it. I can't stand watching you any longer!'

Hoseok laughed.

And so did you, as you typed in your number.

#sfwbangtan #jhope.network #bts #bts scenarios #bts christmas #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #jhope #j-hope #hoseok #jung hoseok #hobi #strawberrymarshmallow #strawberrymarshmallowstories

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promptistrashqueen · 7 years

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Off To the Races (SWCDB2)

part 1

Prompto is pretty sure that his apartment has never been so clean, and not just since he moved in. The couch has been vacuumed and shampooed (and he didn't even know you could do that to a couch) along with his carpets, the curtains have been replaced with freshly laundered ones, his kitchen is literally gleaming despite the old appliances, and his bedroom looks like a home decorating show breezed through. He is at a bit of a loss now though, seated in the middle of aforementioned couch, staring at the steam-cleaned walls.

After all, Tuesday used to be his cleaning day.

His phone pings and he jumps a little, running a hand through his hair, noting it's getting a little long. The message from Noctis makes a smile curl over his features as warmth settles in his stomach and he hurries to answer.

"Hey dancer, you wanna catch a hot cocoa with me?"

"Sure thing O' Lord of the Streets. You swinging by or we meeting up?"

"3...2....1"

Promto frowns at the answer and goes to respond when a knock on his door draws his attention instead and he laughs. Of course Noctis knew he would say yes, and, of course, he was practically already there when he asked. Tugging at the sleeve of his soft red sweater he rises and answers the door, grinning at Noctis on the other side.

The dark-haired man is wearing another suit, the jacket slung over his shoulder with the sort of casual grace Prompto had once ached to have, his smile at the blonde his a bit cocky but Prompto knows better than to believe it. He reaches out and pretends to adjust Noctis' ties, waiting for the other to look down and...flick.

"Gotcha Noct! C'mon that's the oldest trick in the book!"

He steps back to let his scowling...boyfriend? in. The thought reminding him that they really should establish what they're doing, it's not like they don't know what the marks on their palms mean but, still. Prompto wants to know if he should mentally refer to Noctis as his "dude-who-stays-the-night-naked" or something more serious, more true. The word fiancee floats idly past him and he feels himself flush.

"Nope", he mouths, closing the door behind Noctis who turns to look at him expectantly.

"So, uh, where d'you like to go for cocoa?"

Prompto rolls his eyes, leave it to Noctis to ask him on a date and not have a clue where to actually go. He pokes the other's cheek and ignores the question in favor of tugging on his boots. As soon as he stands he looks at Noctis who is looking around the living/kitchen area awkwardly, his brows raised.

"You know, the cleaners you sent over might have taken your instructions to, ah, "remove any chance of germs from the premises" a little too literally Noct. They cleaned my freakin' walls, dude."

Noctis shoves a hand in his pocket and shrugs, offering a slanted sort of smile.

"Yeah, well...you said you hated cleaning."

Giving up the attempt as just another thing Noctis doesn't get about normal peoples lives, Prompto fingers his sweater, wondering if he should change to match Noctis' suit. The other must gather some of his thoughts because he brushes his hand over Prompto's arm, rubbing at the fabric there.

"I like this...you look..cute."

Prompto grins, even as he feels his cheeks warm, and he nudges Noctis with a shoulder in thanks.

"Alright," he claps his hands, "so, the best cocoa in the world is down at Milagro's and it's a bit too far to walk, so unless you drove, your fancy self will just have to take the train with this pleb."

Noctis smiles and Prompto looks at him with narrowed eyes, because, there's definitely an edge to the expression that screams "I've got a secret!". Noctis either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore it and shrugs, turning to the door and holding it open for Prompto who sighs, assuming he'll just have to follow the lead. Noctis is silent as they head out to the street but, he takes Prompto's hand in his and leads him to a parking garage across the street.

There is a surprisingly inconspicuous black car that Noctis stops beside. Prompto raises an eyebrow at the shifty way the other man is acting before a thought crosses his mind and he blurts it out without thinking.

"Are we seriously stealing a car? Dude, the train is not that expensive."

Noctis glares at him an huffs.

"Don't be stupid. Besides, if I was going to steal a car, it wouldn't be this one. It looks like an everyday one but I've had some stuff done to it. It's safer and harder to steal than any other car in here..."

"Oh. That makes sense, I guess you gotta be careful, even when it's just us, huh?"

Noctis' jaw clenches like he's trying to find words for something and Prompto moves to get in the passenger seat when Noctis catches his wrist.

"Prom...I-It's not my car."

He holds out a keyring with one car key and a small camera charm.

"It's, well, it's yours. You said you wished you could drive out of the city to take photos, so, now you can."

Prompto stares at the keys with wide eyes. The cleaners, the wardrobe appointment he has in the morning, hell, even Noctis' insistence on paying his rent for the next month, he can deal with all of that, but a car? He swallows hard.

"Noct...how much did this cost you?"

Noctis looks confused, hand falling though he still keeps a tight hold on Prompto's wrist with the other.

"I don't...it's not important, you said you wanted a car, I had some time, so you have a car. Did you want it in another color? cause I gotta tell you, this model looks pretty bad in yellow and red'll make the insurance go up, but if you want-"

"No! Normal people don't just by cars because they have some time! It's a really nice gesture Noct, but I can't accept it, I mean...fuck. I have my bike already, and yeah I can't fit all my equipment in the saddle bags and it's not great for both of us to ride, but, I don't need a car... I'm already trying to figure out how I'm gonna pay you back for all that other stuff so I-"

Noctis' expression stops him. He had seen a variety of expressions cross his soulmates face, joy to what he'd thought was anger, but the look Noctis sports at that moment was so black Prompto seriously considered running for it.

"You think you have to pay. me. back?"

Prompto blinks, confused.

"Well, yeah, I mean...I know you've got money and you think you need to dump gifts on me since I'm your soulmate or...whatever." His voice shakes a little and he glances away from Noctis, twisting his arm to free it, "I don't need that stuff though, I don't expect it. It's nice to see you and that's....that's all I want. I don't care about the money."

He tugs again and Noctis finally releases him. Prompto's head jerks up when he hears a low, sad sigh. The anger is gone and instead Noctis just looks frustrated, but not at Prompto. He's biting his lip and if Prompto didn't know better he'd swear Noctis is worrying the edge of his shirt, his suit jacket tossed on the hood of the car.

"I don't give you things because I think you expect it Prompto. I give them to you because....damn, because I give a fuck, alright? You're my-my boyfriend and so I..."

Prompto doesn't need to hear anymore and he can see how Noctis struggles with vocalizing things so he steps into the others space and kisses him softly, running his tongue over Noctis' bottom lip and stepping back with a smile.

"Alright...give me the keys, and if one of the things you changed about the car wasn't its top speed I'm seriously going to have to re-evaluate our relationship."

Noctis smirks at him, relief in his eyes as he tosses the keys to Prompto, grabbing his suit jacket and getting in the passenger side. As soon as Prompto slides into the leather, and definitely not standard, seat Noctis taps the odometer.

"If you don't think that 110 is just for looks...you're dead wrong. You can hit 150 in this thing, easy."

If they make it to their cocoa a little faster than the police would've like, Prompto doubts anyone would fault him.

Two days later

Prompto wants to be salty about Noctis' timing as he packs his photography stuff into the trunk of his car, but he can't quite manage it. After all, his lover had no way of knowing that he would be commissioned for a landscape shoot out in national park territory and that, if not for Noctis' gift, he would've had to rent a car to bring his stuff.

He double checks that his lenses are carefully stored and hoists the last bag into the trunk, grateful also that he doesn't have to spend the extra money for a rental. After their cocoa date, the thought of which still warms Prompto, Noctis had explained he was going to be busy for a few days, kissed him in a way that made Prompto worry he wasn't telling him something important, and swept out the door. Prompto laughed at himself for thinking of the other's exit that way, but if there was ever a man who could sweep places, it was his soulmate.

He pulled out of the garage as the last rays of the sun faded, humming along with the stereo thoughtlessly.

My old man is a bad man

His client greeted him with a firm handshake and rubbed at the back of his neck with a small smile.

"Name's Jared...I didn't think you'd be getting here in the middle of the night, doesn't seem like a great time for pictures!"

Prompto laughs lightly and shrugs, gesturing to the lightening of the eastern skyline,

"Well, it's nearing dawn and I wanted to get some sunrise shots. I figured I'd stay out here all day and catch some sunset pictures too...just to be clear you want shots from all the overlooks as well as some of the guided tour only areas?"

Jared nodded to him, shifting a bit.

"Yeah, that would be great. You can leave the paths to take any photos, just remember your footsteps can hurt some of the plants and watch for the animals. If you could get some shots with different animals in them it would be nice, but i understand it's not your primary goal today...and, I hate to bring it up but, you need to be aware. There's been some weird stuff going on toward the wilder parts of the preserve, couple of the animals have turned up with bones that I don't think came from anything furry, if you catch my meaning and it'd be a shame, and a weight on me, to not see you come back."

Prompto swallowed and nodded quickly.

"I'll be sure to keep my eyes open. It'll be fine, takes more than mortal peril to keep this photographer home!"

He smiles and Jared just nods, turning to head back into his home/ visitor center, leaving the blonde very much alone. Prompto rubs his hands together and opens the trunk, might as well get some shots of the gently lit center under the stars and then find a spot to camp out for the sunrise.

"Let's get this party started."

I can't deny the way he holds my hand

He hates this part.

It's the reason he won't bring Prompto home, he doesn't want all of those...people...knowing who his soulmate is, what he looks like, the curve of his throat when he laughs. He knows what so many of them would do to the blonde if Noctis ever fell from grace, knows his father might just let them if he thinks it'll help harden up his son.

Noctis loves his father, but sometimes the man is too much the crime lord and not enough a father. It would be easier if Noctis could be the cold-hearted son his father so craves, someone who could handle their part with shrewd impunity, but Noctis is kind when he can be, too kind for his position. His father has reminded him time and again that mercy rarely serves them and today is another reminder.

The man kneeling before him whimpers as Gladio strikes him again, the bar code printed on his arm giving him away as a spy for their rivals. The Nifs have coveted the Lucis' corner on the drug market for as long as Noctis can remember but this is the first time a spy has gotten so far in their ranks and it's all his fault. Aran had come under fire from Regis some months before but had pleaded his case to Noctis and in turn Noctis had convinced his father to give the man a second chance, something Aran had repaid by nearly killing Ignis.

As it happened no one had been aware of Gladio's late night visits to Ignis' room and if not for the tall guard their key accountant would be dead. Now it was Noctis' punishment to decide Aran's fate. Gladio backhanded the man again, and Ignis leaned into Noctis' space to murmur in his ear.

"I'd decide quickly highness, Gladio might just beat him to death right here."

Noctis drew in a breath, Ignis was right. He raised his hand, signalling Gladiolus to step back as he strode forward, hands in his pockets and an expression he hoped Prompto would never see on his face. He knew he looked capable of murder, his eyes were flat and cold and his lips set in a barely there sneer. Aran looked up at him through a swelling eye and bloodied nose, Noctis expected him to beg after all the whimpering.

"Ah, Prince Noctis. Come to decide my fate...do you know it's your fault, what almost happened? I was gonna make sure you knew. yeah. After specs over there I had my eye on blondie. I bet he'd look good with my co-"

Noctis strikes Aran's temple, his dead expression giving way to anger as he kicks the mans ribs, not stopping until Aran is still.

"Bastard."

He spits on the man, breathing heavily before he turns to his silent and curious companions.

"Take him to the property and put a clip in his fucking brain."

Gladiolus nods and slings the unconscious man over his shoulder, striding away, as Noctis falls into a chair, his hands shaking. How did that asshole know about Prompto? Granted, he's not been exactly careful about being seen with the blonde, but they'd gone places no one would expect him and he'd taken care to hide their soulmark with his own leather gloves whenever he was away from the blonde. He tugs at his hair and leans back, splayed in the chair.

He's forgotten all about Ignis until the man sits opposite him and gives him a hard look.

"Noctis. Is there someone out there we should be protecting?"

Noctis looks at his old friend for a beat, thinking slowly and deciding that he'll just have to be more careful and maybe warn Prompto, sign him up for karate or something.

"No, no I was just done listening to that piece of shit breathe."

He has me by the heart

Prompto is just getting ready to pack up, his last few photos at the very edge of the preserve, near where Jared warned him to be careful. He is a good distance from his car but the water and the tilt of the rocks here was too good to pass up. It's light enough that he feels safe and has plenty of time to snap some more pictures as he wanders back to the spots he wants to capture at sunset.

The sound of voices makes him pause. He's off the paths, no where near them really, and in a secluded area, not to mention he's not seen very many people given that it's a Friday and most people are still at work. He shrugs it off, probably someone on the other side of the preserves boundary or just some loud hikers yelling. He disassembles his tripod and is about to settle his camera back into its bag when the voices get clearer, just on the other side of some of the rocks.

"You sure about this? We've been out here a lot recently..."

"yeah, orders from him. He said to light the bastard up."

Prompto does know who the voices belong to put he sure as hell knows what bad shit sounds like and despite, or maybe because, Noctis' coming into his life, his sense of self preservation goes out the proverbial window. He is careful as he scoots up the rock in his brown shirt and tan skinny jeans, his dark grey sweater tied around his wait. He carefully peers over the edge of the boulder, his camera poised to capture whatever he sees. Two men stand with a third kneeling, they seem to be waiting for something and he can see a car in the far distance, probably on the service road that runs through the private land behind the preserve. The kneeling man is bleeding and when one of the other men turns Prompto's eyes widen as the light glints off a gun in his hand.

The man on the ground jerks and seems to be trying to say something but Prompto assumes there's something stuffed in his mouth and his heartbeat picks up when he sees the bar code inked onto the mans arm. He raises his camera and clicks a couple of shots, uncertain what he should do, when a phone chimes.

The man on the right reads something and then nods to his partner on the left. Prompto clicks the shutter as both men raise their guns, suppressors visible. Prompto thinks he's going to be sick when both men pull the trigger and the kneeling man falls. They don't stop though, just keep shooting until there's barely anything left of the man's skull.

With shaking hands Prompto lifts his camera for a final photo. He doesn't see the shadow move over him until it's too late and the butt of a gun cracks against his temple, making him go limp.

He knows me, every inch of my tar black soul

Noctis would not refer to his frantic motions as "panic" but the longer the day stretches and there's nothing from Prompto the more he starts to think that might be the right word. The blonde, his blonde, had told him he would be out on a job and not likely to answer his phone the day before so Noctis had left it alone, but, surely he would've thought to at least text him if his job lasted longer than he expected?

After Aran's words Noctis is restless, fearing the worst, but he forces himself to calm down, turning on his t.v and mindlessly channel surfing. Mindlessly, that is, until he hears Prompto's name.

"-grapher Prompto Argentum went out on a shoot early yesterday morning and did not return to check in, his vehicle was found near the southern edge of the preserve but there is no sign of the owner. If you have any information please contact local authorities as it is believed he is in mortal peril following evidence of suspicious activities in that area..."

The news caster continues to detail tip-lines and police contacts before another story comes up but Noctis only hears a rushing in his ears as he struggles to draw full breaths. Prompto....

He forces himself to rationalize, he has power to turn the world upside down if he has too. He thinks over the broadcast and suddenly sits straighter, preserve, it said, previous activity. His stomach drops as he realizes what might've happened, after all, only Gladio had ever really seen Prompto before and not for long enough to remember him and with his tendency to carry his camera as though it were a third arm...Noctis practically flies of the couch, sprinting toward the elevator. He mashes the button, yanking his phone out of his pants.

"Hello?"

"Ignis, when did Gladio get back?"

Noctis knows he sounds frantic, but he couldn't care less as the elevator doors finally open and he jumps inside, pressing the close button.

"Late last night. He said they had an unexpected element...he went to the dungeon about an hour ago. What's wrong Noctis?"

"When I said there was no one to protect...I lied. I need you to meet me with the police cruiser. Now. East side."

Noctis hangs up with waiting for a response and very deliberately does not think about the fact that Prompto spent the night in their bunker where people are tortured or that Gladiolus would've been with him for at least an hour by the time Noctis even got to him, or Gladio's policy that no one bring cellphones into the dungeon. When the elevator stops he forces out before the doors are open enough and sprints toward the fastest car he owns, a ridiculous indulgence from his father he's never been so grateful for. The Jag's engine roars to life as Ignis pulls their police cruiser, a modified Jag itself, around. Noctis settles one of the headsets they have wired into their cars on.

"Iggy, I don't have time. We need to get to the dungeon. I'm going to open her up and I need you to clear a path."

"There's going to be hell to pay for this Noctis, it's not exactly discreet. Whatever it is you need to tell Gladiolus can surely wait for a slightly more legal speed?"

"No chance Ignis, Im sorry."

There is a long pause and Noctis feels the urge to scream and then..

"Alright, but turn that thing off and come strap in. If we're doing this, we might as well not die and we both know, I am the better driver."

Noctis has to concede the point there and he wastes no time in following Ignis' direction. The two of them roaring out of the garage and unto city streets, siren blaring as cars clear the way. When they don't move fast enough Ignis weaves around them, blowing red lights and leaving screeching brakes behind them. Noctis doesn't spare more than a moment's thought to the sight they must make, too focused on getting out of city limits, past Insomnia's wall, and to Prompto. They don't hit top speed until they are past most of the traffic, the wall behind them.

Noctis is forced against the seat as Ignis pushes the Jag to its 180 mile per hour max. They make the twenty minute journey in a terrifyingly small fraction of the time but for Noctis it is still too long and he feels nauseated as he gets out of the vehicle, looking at the seemingly innocent shack that hides the underground holding cells. Ignis tries to ask him what they are possibly doing again as Noctis rushes to the door, pulling it open and tapping his code into the old rotary phone sitting just inside the door. It takes an annoyingly long time as the wheel clicks, but finally the trapdoor under the dirt, cleverly hidden by a displacement system, lifts. Ignis barely makes it as Noctis rushes down the stairs,the door snapping shut behind him.

He opens his mouth to shout for Gladio when his air chokes off.

Prompto is screaming.

"Who. Are. you. With?"

Every word is punctuated with the mans fist. Prompto has been able to taste his own blood since the first round of punches the night before and he knows he is being watched from the mirrored window on the side as the red-head continues to hit him. He just shakes his head weakly when the assault lets up. He's told them over and over that he was just there, that he didn't mean to intrude, but that's not what they want to hear, so now he's quiet.

"Take this up a level."

A voice comes over the speakers with a crackle and Prompto wants to scream as a tray is moved into his sight line where he is tied to the same chair he slept in. He was sore and hurt all over but looking at the objects before him, he knows he will hurt more. The red head lifts a thin, flat, and clearly sharp piece. Prompto tries, so very hard, to pull away as it is lowered to his hand and slowly wedged under his fingernail. It hurts, but not like he expected, just barely at the edge of his nail. He sees though, how it tapers to be larger and swallows in fear.

"Why were you out there?"

Prompto tries, again, to tell them.

"I'm just a photographer. I was taking n-nature pictu-res...please..p-lease."

It's still not what they want though and the metal is pushed forward. Prompto hisses in a breath and then it is shoved forward, removing his fingernail and jamming into the skin underneath as he screams. He pants, looking at the blood running from his hand as the instrument is re positioned at the start of the next nail.

"Who are you with?"

Prompto whimpers briefly but refuses to answer, it's not helping and he won't give up his connection to Noctis, no way. He holds onto hope the other man will find him, he's got shady connections of his own, after all. The red head adjusts his grip and there is suddenly a voice, blessedly familiar, over the speaker.

"STOP! This is Noctis, STOP!"

The man before him freezes, looking confused. The door flies open before Prompto can process anything and he opens his mouth to cry out in relief but Noctis isn't looking at him, he stalks in and without hesitation puts a bullet between the red-heads eyes. Prompto cowers away from his look as Noctis turns to him, Gladiolus visible behind his soulmate. Noctis drops the gun then, his face clearing of anger and filling with guilt and worry instead as he drops to his knees, untying Prompto quickly.

"I'm sorry, so sorry. I'm sorry, Prom-I-I'm sorry."

"S'okay. Knew you'd find me. My lover."

Prompto knows he's slurring but things are getting fuzzy around the edges as he slumps into Noctis' arms and he gives him a sardonic smile, ignoring how his face pulls.

"S'rry I look li'e shit."

Noctis laughs, but it's more of a sound catching in his throat, panicked, as Prompto's head lolls against his shoulder, the blonde slipping in and out. Gladiolus steps forward to help but Noctis' glare puts him off as Ignis hold the door open.

"I've called the medical staff, they're on high alert. Noctis, you need to let Gladiolus help him on the way back and I want some answers about who he is. Give him to Gladio."

Prompto hears the words, but they're liquidy and he pats Noctis' arm in an attempt to reassure him, noting the way his lover looks like he'd rather cut off an arm as he slides him into the large body guards arms. Prompto makes a small sound and then the darkness pulls him in.

Tell me you own me

Noctis watches Prompto's eyes roll back and his hands sting where he digs his nails into his palms, his soulmates face and torso are bruised, the marks all the more vivid against his pale skin, and Noctis can't bring himself to look at Prompto's hand. Ignis catches his shoulder as Gladiolus hurries back toward the exit with Prompto's limp body in his arms and Noctis growls, pushing his hand away.

"Noct! Just tell me who he is, you're distraught and I gather this person was never meant to end up here. Who is he too you?"

Noctis can't handle the warning tone in Ignis' voice, the underlying "did-you-trust-the-wrong-person-again-ness" of it and he tears off his glove, holding up his soulmark with his teeth barred.

"That's who he is to me Ignis."

Normally the stunned look on his friends face would be worth a good ribbing or at least a laugh, as it is, Noctis barely registers that Ignis is trying to talk to him again as he stalks away, following the thread connected to his heart.

Three days later

"He's awake"

Noctis rushes to Prompto's side as the doctor steps out of his room, the blue eyes he's come to love blinking blearily. The bruising on his face is not gone but they managed to reduce the swelling a good deal and Noctis knows it will take time for Prompto to be right again. His father handled everything about the blonde's disappearance easily, pointing to the Nifs for the blonde's state and the other human remains found on land that was traced back to one Ardyn Izunia, thanks to Ignis' careful planning months ago. All of their people had been informed that Prompto was off-limits and Noctis had been lectured by just about everyone who had enough authority to lecture him about his negligence and disregard for Prompto's safety.

Telling his father about Prompto hadn't been the only hard conversation though. Gladiolus had pointed out, shortly after he and Noctis went a few rounds that left them both with bruises of their own, that Prompto had a Nif barcode tattoo, previously covered by a wrist band and long sleeves.

Looking at the man he loved now though, Noctis knew so much of that could wait.

"Hey."

"Mmm, if I get to wake up to that face maybe I should get kidnapped by your enemies more."

Noctis would've laughed had he not felt so guilty, of course Prompto would have a quip...

"Prom...you weren't taken by our enemies. I ordered the guy you saw to be killed. Gladiolus was the one who knocked you out,I knocked out one of his teeth for that by the way, and you were held and tortured by my men. I didn't tell anyone about you and you were just wrong place, wrong time. I'm sorry Prompto. I'm so sorry. I promise you can go home as soon as you're healthy again."

Prompto just looked at him for a long moment, absorbing the change in perspective and Noctis waited for anger or accusations, or anything really.

"So you shot one of your own guys, for me?"

Noctis blinked, Prompto was looking at him with some sort of awe and he nodded slowly.

"Yeah...I mean he was the one hurting you and I couldn't forgive that...I'm sorry you had to see...that side of me."

The blonde just offered him a small smile and Noctis frowned at him, waiting for the negative reaction, the "I never wanna see you again."

"Well, not that I'm happy your guys yanked off a fingernail, but at least now I know that I can handle being tortured a bit. I didn't tell him I knew you at all, though that probably would've helped, but ah, well. You know, you should train all your guys to resist like that, bet it would be effective...Also you're not sending me home until I'm good and ready. I think I would like to be treated like a prince for a while and you can be my loyal servant."

Prompto managed a wink, to Noctis' amazement and the dark-haired man had to smile at his lover softly, pressing a light kiss to his lips.

"Alright your Princeliness, hows some ice cream sound?"

They both knew they had a lot to talk about, but for the moment, they were just glad Prompto was safe.

"Perfect, Pistachio you peon! Make haste, for I wish to stare at your butt while I eat it!"

#Promptis #Organized Crime #fanfiction #FFXV #Prompto #Noctis #Part 2 #Somebody who can do both #Ignis #Gladio

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andixinha9th-blog · 5 years

Text

soulmates au: ‘’ I feel like I’ve seen you before ’’

pairing: andi (kim seungmin fc) x inha (hwang hyunjin fc)

genre: fluff, some angst to spice it all up (insert wiggling brows,, I’m just a binch for sadness what can I say.)

warnings: might be hella cheesy as well as a bit sad so,, oof, be prepared.

word count: 3,753

author’s note: ‘’ ever felt like you and your soulmate have met before and you can’t imagine where or when? ‘’ that might mean one thing, that you have met each other in your past lives and this one lead you to one another again. that feeling… when you come home. it’s not a place, it’s a person. it’s You.

· in some alternative universe, where strange things happen daily,

· lived two boys, who had no idea, what was About to happen.

· I mean, who could… two people, living their ordinary lives, trying to get through with their struggles, which seemed to have gotten harder as time went by.

· no one could even imagine that something might quickly change their routine, by linking two lives together so chaotically and of course, unexpectedly.

· Andi was someone who had deep passion for music and arts in general,

· he was a first year student in university, working at a part-time job, while managing some projects at school and literally wishing it was possible to Get more time because he never had enough for the things he wanted to do.

· not to mention rest.

· he rarely done that.

· which worried everyone around him, but himself.

· he had good, supportive friends around him and everything seemed well, because he always had a positive spin on life, but

· something always had been missing

· like a piece of himself, scattered somewhere around the world and he felt the need to search for it.

· but then again… never had the time to figure it all out.

· and then we have Inha, a guy who is also a first year in the same university,

· he got into a dancing program, which was the only thing he was proud of achieving in his life,

· because anything else he had done, never seemed enough for himself or anyone else,

· honestly, he was a sad person, not really open to others, made a few friends in first half of the semester, but rarely hang out with them.

· he felt so alone in this world which made him wonder at times, was he even born in the right time, or place,, or space even.

· and then things started to change.

· second semester started and Inha had to take the last and apparently highest level of English, but he didn’t make it into Mrs. Lee class, which was a bummer,

· because all the people he knew, so like, what,, three? went to that class.

· he had to reapply for the same class, asking another lecturer to take him in.

· which was a little hard for Inha,

· because he never liked approaching people,

· even the elderly ones.

· he was awkward but tried not to show that his anxiety was hitting his stomach like tiny needles poking it from inside.

· so he went to talk with Mr. Wang, who was a transfer teacher from another university,

· he kindly added Inha to the list and it felt like a rock had fell off his shoulders.

· and surprisingly Andi was in the same class.

· which was just pure faith, really.

· universe got tired looking at two young people, always lost, not knowing what they actually lack.

· I guess, It got tired just as much as those two souls, which were separated.

· till they had to meet again.

· and they did.

· ‘hey, watch where you’re going!’ annoyed voice growled.

· ‘uh,, sorry’ flustered brown eyed boy leaned down to help pick up all the stuff that fell from another one’s hands.

· Inha was stressed because his homework was due today but he still had to find a new part-time job.

· which he Just lost. because there was simply someone else who did his job better.

· and so he became a trash which was thrown out.

· ‘I’m really sorry, oh.. it’s you, Inha, right?’ cute boy handed all the stuff that he had gathered from the ground to the taller one standing in front.

· black haired boy emitted a sigh after he noticed it’s someone from his new class. ‘Oh. Andi, was it?’ he mumbled.

· and then their eyes clicked.

· for like a whole ass minute. literally.

· there was nothing either of them could do. neither move or talk.

· and they didn’t want to.

· they felt a hole in their chest filling up slowly, with warmth and love.

· they felt whole.

· the universe they cursed at every night questioning ‘why me’.

· finally gave them an answer.

· ‘wow’ both of them muttered under their breath.

· then they felt some strange feeling on their left wrist.

· like someone was gently carving something on their skin.

· and then they both dropped Inha’s stuff again.

· ‘oh my god I’m so sorry… again’ Andi groaned out going to pick up all the stuff again.

· but Inha was still staring at him.

· because he realized that something happened and he didn’t look like the only one feeling side effects of it.

· ‘wait’ he whispered and grabbed Andi’s wrist.

· younger one looked at him, brows furrowed. ‘ugh, what are you..’

· he was going to break out of Inha’s claw but he got even more confused when he saw a strange mark on his wrist.

· Inha lifted up his left hand revealing the same sign on his wrist.

· then he backed off of Andi, looking scared and confused.

· they both felt the same.

· but deep down they just wanted to know what’s going on.

· ‘what the fuck just happened?’ Andi stared at the mark, afraid to lift his eyes and face the male, standing in front.

· older one panicked and collected all his stuff.

· and ran off. like he always does.

· at least he tried.

· but some magical force threw him back to Andi.

· felt like some sort of magnet. such strong power not letting him move any further.

· ‘ugh.. I’m sorry, I panicked’ Inha looked down guiltily, finding his balance.

· ‘it’s fine, I mean, I was gonna do the same, but I couldn’t move when you started.. running’ Andi ran his fingers through his own hair, frustrated.

· ‘listen, Inha, I don’t know what the hell is happening, but I have no time to figure it out now because I’m on my way to my part-time job and.. I mean, I have to ask you to come with me, if you can?’

· he blurted out, finally facing Inha, who was as confused as ever, now thinking what to do.

· ‘uh, I guess we have no choice. but my laptop is out of battery and I need to do my homework, If you could..’

· ‘of course, I’ll lend you mine just.. stay by my side because I don’t want to be thrown to another part of the planet if you decide to run away again’ he chuckled.

· and then Inha’s heart literally felt shaking like in the middle of an earthquake.

· ‘I’m sorry, I’ll try not to move too much.’ he scratched his head, following the younger one.

· both of them tried not to show the confusion on their faces. but it was inevitable, really.

· walk towards the shop that Andi did part-time in, was painfully silent.

· both of them were drowning in their own hurricane of thoughts. I mean who wouldn’t…

· THAT just happened.

· they finally reached their destination.

· it was awkward at first but then it just felt natural. being beside each other.

· Andi was doing his work at the shop, while Inha was using borrowed laptop for his homework.

· Half of the time he tried to google. which was a desperate call for help in answering the mysterious thing that happened today.

· Andi, when not having any customers, searched on his phone, nervously peeking at his new classmate.

· both of them were busy on their own stuff, but tension lowered as they slowly started chatting.

· asking things about each other.

· getting to actually know each other.

· where they study, what they do after lectures are done. their pet names and favourite things to do in the morning.

· just all the little things that popped into their head. they didn’t hesitate to ask.

· stating it as ‘help for the research’

· even though it actually was something they felt like they knew all along, but only got that feeling when getting an answer.

· it felt like filling up their souls.

· they were hungry. for knowledge. and touch even.

· but it didn’t feel right just yet.

· because even though both of them had that feeling of knowing one another for a lifetime.

· in this one, they Just met.

· ‘so what are we going to do?’ asked Andi, knowing that this question had to be asked by someone eventually.

· ‘what Can we do?’ Inha lifted up his wrist, waving it at the brown eyed boy, smiling softly.

· that was when Andi felt the same feeling of an earthquake, shaking up his world.

· one smile.

· from one person.

· changed everything.

· and that’s when they realized that this is something more than just a prank or a dream that they should wake up from soon.

· it was something real, and something that was planned all along.

· like a destiny.

· or at least it’s a way of destiny showing up itself in both of their lives.

· because everyone can change destiny.

· since that weird force attracting them to one another was still there, they had to think of something.

· because life didn’t stop for anyone. so something had to be done.

· boys decided to stay at Inha’s place since he didn’t have a roommate at the moment.

· they went to gather Andi’s stuff after his shift had ended and drove back at Inha’s flat.

· ‘home sweet home!’ the taller one chuckled, opening the door, not being able to believe what’s happening still.

· both of them came inside and settled down. Andi got to sleep in an empty room which was ready for a flatmate that didn’t show up for a few weeks now.

· low-key felt like it was all planned.

· here we go, destiny again, peeking it’s nose inside their business.

· boys were tired so they just parted their ways for the night, going to sleep off this madness.

· though it wasn’t as easy as hoped.

· both of them ended up in the living room, searching for a movie to watch,

· because laying in bed was just painful

· thoughts kept attacking both of their buzzing heads,

· and level of anxiety was at highest

· so a distraction was the best option in this case.

· they eventually sank down to sleep, using each other’s shoulders as support.

· tomorrow came faster than expected.

· Inha, hearing some fuss happening in his kitchen, realized, that it was definitely Not a dream.

· and he didn’t decide yet, if it was a good thing or a bad one.

· but either way he had to get up and get on with it.

· while Andi was making breakfast, Inha got ready.

· it was weird but felt nice.

· not being alone. Inha thought to himself.

· ‘good morning!’ he inhaled and sat down viewing this aesthetically made food, as his jaw dropped. ‘damn, I forgot you were an artsy one’

· ‘hey, don’t you mock me!’ Andi playfully huffed but sat down as well. they ate breakfast, chatting like old friends, with this tiny feeling lingering, that they knew each other so well.

· they planned their day, filling up every gap to make it perfect. of course, not everything worked out, but they tried their best to cooperate.

· hopefully it wasn’t a ‘forever’ kinda thingy.

· It was around lunch time when Inha was running through the hall, trying to find in which corner Andi was hiding.

· and he finally did.

· the thingy on their hand was like a compos.

· it felt warmer and warmer, the closer they got.

· convenient.

· of course they couldn’t leave each other’s side, the biggest distance was like hundred meters or so. either way… they didn’t check on that yet.

· ‘I found something!’ those words sounded like something so joyful but sad at the same time.

· it felt weird.

· both boys scooted closer to each other, as Inha started to blabber quickly about everything that he had found.

· he gathered all the information about this tattoo. he even posted it online and some people responded.

· �� so here it was. mark of soulmates.

· people said that this has happened before to some of them. and it either disappeared after five days, or stayed.. if they developed feelings for one another.

· it got both of them flustered.

· but not knowing how to act they just… cheered.

· ‘yay! we’re going to be free in four days from now’ Andi giggled nervously as he looked away for a second. feeling sadness punching into his chest.

· as did Inha.

· it’s not like they knew each other that well.

· but one thing was obvious.

· in such a short time they grew fond of each other.

· and if it wasn’t a soulmate thing, then I don’t know what else was.

· but fear got a hold of them, and even the slightest thought of saying anything related to that, made their throats dry.

· ‘yeah’ Inha replied, half-smile flashing on his face as he stood up. ‘I’ll catch you later, I have a class.. well, nearby’ he winked and ran off.

· then he realized what he did, and smacked himself on the face. what a dork.

· Andi waved to the older one’s back, feeling his cheeks heat up.

· that was their biggest mistake. not telling each other what they actually felt.

· but it would have been weird.

· they just met.. right??

· all of this is weird.

· they both shoved up their heads with bunch of excuses and made themselves believe that they are waiting for Thursday to come.

· that would be the day when they’d be set free.

· or so they hoped.

· time passed quicker than expected. and both boys got so attached to each other.

· doing everything together.

· it finally felt like they had someone to depend on, filing that void inside their bodies, which was bugging them both for their whole lives.

· Andi even got Inha a part-time job at the same place he was working at, it was instantly easier to match up their schedules.

· after classes they went to a small hall in their uni, where Inha used to practice his dancing.

· and Andi played guitar while singing.

· they mesmerised each other with their talents, and there was no escaping that.

· they had movie nights,, every night.

· and always asked each other if they had eaten yet.

· if not, they would do it together.

· they went on walks, to relief stress of all the studying.

· Inha even helped Andi with this huge project that he’s been doing for the university.

· everything seemed to go as it’s supposed to.

· except that people had noticed that something was going on.

· their friends in particular.

· and they thought of inviting them both to a party, to finally find out what the hell is up.

· which was due on Thursday.

· they had no choice but to accept. and they kind of thought about this party as a farewell one. so it was a nice way of saying goodbye.

· sad.

· right?

· and it was.

· no one could imagine what was about to happen.

· so they went to that party.

· together.

· for one, there was no other option.

· and second, they really didn’t mind, especially that doing everything together by now felt like only natural thing to do.

· it was fun, all of their friends getting to know each other, playing games, drinking… a bit.

· later on, a lot.

· someone suggested to play ‘spin the bottle’

· and everyone was against it.

· till few random faces started agreeing, and then everyone was forced to join.

· well, here goes nothing.

· all of them sat in a circle.

· freshly emptied beer bottle was the main game tool.

· Inha and Andi didn’t feel so good about this.

· or maybe they were just too nervous.

· either way, there was no running away from it.

· as the night went on, everyone was cheering, and kissing the heck out of everyone.

· and then, bottle suddenly stopped pointing at Andi.

· he was supposed to kiss Inha’s friend.

· room went silent.

· some people tried to lessen the awkwardness by cheering a little and telling Andi to kiss the girl.

· Inha got so annoyed that he didn’t notice how his hands started forming into fists and shaking aggressively.

· or more like out of panic.

· he simply got up and left the room. which got some people saying some nasty comments.

· but he didn’t really care about those.

· they were jokes.

· so was he.

· he felt like one.

· like everyone was mocking him, all his life, up to this moment.

· and he just got angry about it.

· or maybe it wasn’t IT.

· it was Andi. and he felt it, deep down.

· it was hidden under all those meaningless excuses.

· and he wasn’t the only one feeling like this.

· brown eyed boy sat in a circle, staring at the bottle, not being able to lift his eyes up.

· he knew that Inha left. but he wasn’t able to see anyone’s reaction. especially his new roommate’s, which stormed out of the room just now.

· he thought that maybe Inha liked that girl, so he got nervous.

· maybe he got mad at Andi that he was about to kiss her.

· all in all, idea was taken.

· he got up as well, running out of the house.

· then suddenly he felt burning pain on his wrist.

· he felt hurt and sad. hole in his chest opening up again.

· tears started running down both of the boys’ cheeks as they hissed in pain.

· Inha was in a balcony, looking down the street, as he saw Andi going out of the house.

· the younger one finally broke down and screamed: ‘just let me fucking go!’

· and then it happened.

· as promised.

· the mark started fading away.

· and pain only got bigger.

· they had to endure it, till it was gone.

· the sign was gone as they empty eyed stared onto the skin of their wrists.

· and there was nothing.

· Andi was the one who ran off this time.

· and Inha was left alone to stare at his silhouette, fading away into the dark night.

· and there it was.

· destiny got broken by two very confused hearts.

· which longed each other’s touch.

· but wasn’t brave enough to tell how they actually feel about each other.

· and how they actually felt for a long time now.

· worth of countless lifetimes.

· but life goes on.

· and it did.

· there was nothing they could do.

· or they thought so.

· a week and a half flew by after what happened at that party.

· they went on doing their part-time jobs, trying to not run into each other.

· went on walks, but now, separately.

· they ate at different places, and either stopped watching movies at all,

· or just, watched them alone.

· but it got too depressing.

· both of the boys tried to change their perfectly matched schedule, so it would be easier,

· easier to forget.

· but how one is supposed to forget about each other’s soulmate.

· but what happened, already did.

· this phenomena was something out of this world, really.

· but there is no option like turning back the time.

· sadly.

· you just have to live with what you’ve done.

· to yourself.

· keeping yourself away from something… someone that matters more than your own life.

· going to university was one of the most cheerful things in Inha’s and Andi’s lives.

· but now, it changed.

· and even if it was awkward at first,

· meeting each other at the halls.

· one thing had to be done.

· ‘excuse me’ a poke on taller one’s shoulder was felt.

· Inha was trying to do his homework, before English started, as he flinched of an unexpected touch. ‘yes?’ he turned around, surprisingly to see his now ex soulmate.

· ‘could I take back my stuff from you? I thought I could live without it but, I really need it for my project..’ Andi nervously muttered, looking off slightly.

· he felt kind of guilty, running off like that.

· they really had a great time together and everything they did, felt So right.

· it wasn’t Inha’s fault that he liked that girl.

· IF he liked that girl… even.

· but Andi reacted badly.

· because deep down he felt like he belonged to him.

· even universe said so.

· but not everything goes as planned.

· even if it was meant to be.

· it doesn’t always happen.

· and so dark haired boy agreed, slightly nodding.

· they both met up after lectures and went to Inha’s place.

· it was even more awkward that the first time that happened.

· but they had to act like adults about it.

· as Andi gathered his stuff, Inha stood, leaning against the door.

· he watched Andi, and it made his heart shatter.

· it was so sad, that whatever was supposed to happen did not work.

· actually, Inha didn’t understand what happened.

· he knows why he stood up and left the room that day, but Andi..

· younger one was collecting the box, filled up with his stuff, into his arms, as he was about to leave.

· but Inha stretched his arm in a doorway and blocked the way ‘hey’ he silently whispered.

· ‘I know this is weird for me to ask but… what happened that night, why did you leave?’

· the hurt in his eyes was a see-through. and Andi saw it as well.

· it felt like staring into a mirror.

· reflection of himself and his own pain in someone else’s eyes.

· the box was heavy so Andi put it down on the ground, and his eyes followed up to face the boy, standing in front of him.

· it was kind of funny.

· how they couldn’t leave each other’s side because of the mark,

· but now,

· the only thing stopping him from leaving was Inha himself.

· ‘I…’ Andi parted his lips to say something, but words stuck inside his throat.

· like all those times when they wanted to tell how much they don’t want to part their ways.

· and why.

· Inha dig his own nails into the palm of his hand. the hesitation was real.

· but he broke through whatever was holding him down.

· he looked fear deep in its eyes.

· and he reached out his palm, to take Andi’s in his.

· both of them were surprised.

· their eyes filled with tears,

· that warm feeling was back.

· they felt unconditional love and attraction to one another.

· it was undeniable.

· and they didn’t want to deny it anymore.

· then it appeared again.

· marks on their wrists started to brighten.

· their gaze fell down to observe the tattoos of their souls, showing up again.

· as they finally looked at each other again.

· and words fell out of their mouths, as if they said them thousands times before.

· ‘I feel like I’ve seen you before.’

· I think I have loved you before.

· and I think, I will love you for thousand times more.

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