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houseof-lamentation · 3 years

Note

How do the brothers and undateables react to MC suddenly hugging them from behind and whispering “go change your pants. Your underwear is showing,” while tying a jacket around their waist?

the brothers react to MC hugging them from behind, whispering “go change your pants, your underwear is showing”, and tying a jacket around their waist

(posting the brothers & the dateables separately for my own sake)

Lucifer

horrified. he’s horrified.

the hug was fine and the whispering was fine and he appreciates your subtlety, but, damn, what a horrifying situation. he would only keep the jacket until he’s able to tie his own around his waist, though it seems so unprofessional, and he’ll fix the ridiculous problem as soon as possible.

truthfully, he’s very appreciate of you swooping in to save him from that embarrassment, but he gives you one thank you and maybe a couple forehead kisses

he has very plain underwear. either black or red, because he has no business wearing any other colours.

(it would be funny if diavolo noticed but decided not to say anything for lucifer’s sake)

Mammon

bold of us to assume this man doesn’t purposefully wear pants that show off his underwear. really. cause how else are people supposed to know that he has those expensive, designer boxers? aren’t they nice? wanna know how much they cost? enough to give lucifer a headache.

if it wasn’t intentional, he’d laugh about it and say you didn’t have to give him the jacket, he’s fine, he’s got it, don’t worry human, but he is thankful and he would show you in some way other than saying “thank you”.

he probably wouldn’t be in a rush to fix it. there are so many pros: he knows you care, he gets to keep your jacket for a little while, he looks fashionable. name one con! embarrassment? nothing. have you met his brothers? the pants have a hole? whatever! he can buy new, nicer ones. there is no downside to this.

he has kind of obnoxious underwear, it’s either patterned or ugly besides the designer stuff, but it’s not like anyone sees it, so he really doesn’t care

Leviathan

first he's flustered because you hugged him, then he's flustered because you saw his underwear. then he’s still flustered that you hugged him and he desperately wants you to hug him from behind again but he would never say that out loud

it could be worse, at least he wasn’t wearing his Ruri-chan… never mind… don’t ask, he won’t tell.

Levi is incredibly thankful, and he’ll let you know, squeezing your hand or kissing your forehead, mumbling that you’re the best and he’s lucky to have you. he’s honoured to wear your jacket for the rest of the day and he can’t help but blush at the thought of you giving him your jacket… the tenderness, the romance, he can’t believe it.

he wears solid coloured underwear but he does have patterned pairs, which he only has because they’re from this manga or that anime, and he has an unopened pair from this video game because it’s worth more Grimm than Mammon can even dream of

Satan

Satan blushes bright red and he is so embarrassed, he just kind of holds onto your arm for a few seconds until he gets over it and makes a plan for when he can change his pants

he attempts to remain composed, he’s not as flustered as Lucifer or Levi, and he’s definitely thankful you told him because that would be very, very embarrassing, he has a reputation. he thanks you directly and gives you a warm, kind smile

not the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, clearly. usually embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions don’t come with the benefit of holding onto your jacket for a little while

he wears dark, solid coloured underwear, nothing expensive and nothing obnoxious. nice enough and comfortable above all

Asmodeus

oh, honey, it’s on purpose. he knows. this man would not leave the house without looking perfect, everything about his image is carefully crafted because he is perfect and needs to be seen as such

but he’s so happy you’re looking out for him! you’re such a nice person and he adores that! he wraps you in a tight hug and plants a kiss on the side of your head and if it doesn’t clash with his outfit, he’s happy to wear your jacket around his waist all day

if it doesn’t match, he’s handing it back and he’s going to continue walking around with his underwear showing. it’s nice underwear. people deserve to see it, he planned his outfit around that underwear, actually.

like Mammon, Asmo wears expensive, designer underwear; nothing cheap or ugly is coming anywhere near his body because he has standards, unlike Mammon.

Beelzebub

Beel genuinely doesn’t care if his underwear is showing, but he does care about getting to hug you, and he does think it’s neat of you to let him borrow your jacket

like, he CARES, sure, but more important things have happened. it’s probably just because his pants were sagging or something, a very easy fix.

you know what’s more important than his underwear showing? getting lunch with you. his pants can wait, that doesn’t matter, a nice lunch date at an All You Can Eat buffet is far more interesting and he is going to Eat All. he’s unstoppable. the buffet is going to have to close for the day

the most interesting underwear he owns is plaid patterned, everything else is grey or orange and, like Satan, it’s nothing special but boy is it comfortable

Belphegor

why does it matter if his underwear is showing when he’s just going to be in bed all day? he’s thankful, of course, and he keeps the jacket around his waist, but he cares less than Beel does when it comes to these things

he doesn’t address the problem until he’s putting on pyjama pants but bold of us to assume he wasn’t already wearing pyjama pants.

chances are he just rolls his eyes and says “well, duh, we’re in bed” and promptly falls asleep with his head on your chest, curled up with you under the blankets

Belphie does not give a single shit about what his underwear look like and cares solely about comfort. he’s a boxers kind of guy

#obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #request #obey me gender neutral mc

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jjba-arni-reblog · 4 years

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If requests are open; the Jojos and or jobros with an s/o that brings them handmade gifts? (Scenarios possibly, I was inspired by the Rohan one.)

[We decided to settle on 3 people with the requester instead. This was honestly both exhausting and emotional to write a bit haha. I hope you’ll like it!~~~]

Jonathan, Dio and Speedwagon with an s/o that brings them handmade gifts

Jonathan

You wanted to surprise Jonathan with something cute and handmade. Knowing his love for sweets, you decided to bake him chocolate cupcakes. Jojo was embarrassed to admit his love for sweets, especially chocolate, but you quickly reassured him, saying it is cute and there is nothing to be ashamed of.

So, you spend half a day baking, being careful with measurements, as you didn’t want to mess up, even with Jonathan being supportive and happy pretty much over any gesture. Still, you want only the best for your beloved. You asked to meet Jonathan in the evening, meaning that you’ll have the whole day to try and make and best cupcakes for him. After couple of attempts with some changes in the recipe, you were satisfied with them. You carefully put them into a dark blue box decorated with cold ornaments, then wrapping the box with a gold ribbon. You were right on time, as the evening approached. Getting dressed, you gently took the box, trying not to stir it too much.

As you saw Jonathan from the distance, you hid the box behind your back, to surprise him.

“Hey, Jojo” you greeted

“Hello, darling” Jonathan said with a smile, quickly kissing your cheek “So, why did you want to meet?”

“Can I not meet my handsome and strong boyfriend without a reason?~ ” you teased the man, seeing his cheeks redden after your remark.

“Why, of course not” Jonathan answered, trying to keep his cool.

“I have something for you” you said shyly, hoping he would like your present.

“Oh, what is it?” he eyed you curiously.

“Here. I made these for you” you handed him the box.

“You didn’t have to, really” Jojo blushed, not used to such nice gestures “Can I open it now? If you don’t mind”

“Of course.”

Carefully opening the box, Jonathan’s face lit up. Looking back at you he enthusiastically asked “You made them for me? Really?” You nodded. He couldn’t believe it, such effort and work put into baking… and just for him? His face was shining with adoration and gratitude.

“Can I try one right now?” he eagerly asked.

“Yes, Jojo” you answered, chuckling at his excitement.

Biting off a small piece, Jonathan let a happy sigh, savouring the sweet chocolate taste. After finishing the whole cupcake, he quickly hugged you, wrapping an arm around your waste, while the other one was still holding the box

“Thank you so much, the taste is amazing! I love your present so much, you truly didn’t have to. You are too good for me, dear” he said sweetly, looking down at you. You smiled

“I am glad you liked them. And Jojo, you deserve everything in life, don’t doubt yourself. I treasure and love you greatly” you replied, putting a hand on his cheek.

Unable to hold his feelings and happiness any longer, Jonathan swiftly kissed you, putting all his love into the kiss and tightening his hold around you. As you two separated, he continued to look at you with dreamy eyes

“The cupcakes might be sweet, but you are truly the sweetest thing, my darling” Jonathan kissed your cheek.

Dio

Dio is a complicated man, he isn’t the most affectionate and open person, so you didn’t expect him to even appreciate any gift that wasn’t high class or elegant enough for his standards. But still, you decided to make something for him, regardless if he would take it or not. At least he would see the sign of your affection towards him. With that you settled on knitting him a scarf. A red one to be exact, since you thought it kind of reflected his personality: fierce, ambitious, strong, dominant. The man of power and success.

Knitting the scarf and hiding such fact from Dio was difficult. He noticed that your study sessions with him became shorter, as you excused yourself explaining that you had plans and chores to attend to. This resulted in Dio speculating about your whereabouts and true reasons for disappearing. However, soon he would be reassured.

You had asked to meet him near the lake, not providing the reasoning behind it. This only confused the man further. Arriving to the lake, he was met by your standing form with your arms behind your back.

“So what’s the issue?” he asked straight without greeting you. Typical Brando.

“I have something for you” you decided to play it straight too, without worrying to much about being shy.

“Ho?~ Let us see~” Dio said, acting all cocky and flattered.

You brought your hands from behind your back, showing your present (now tied with a yellow ribbon) to Dio, extending your arms for him to take it…or refuse.

“I made it myself since it’ll soon be colder, and I don’t want you to get sick” you explained.

“Hm, as if I, Dio, will be afraid of a temperature change. You made it yourself, you say? What a generous act, I am quite honored” he said somewhat cockily. The gesture clearly has boosted his ego.

“Well, you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to. I just want you to have this small gift as a sign of my appreciation. I hope you’ll like it… or rather find it acceptable” you answered, carefully choosing your words.

“Well, I’ll accept it” he simply said, taking the scarf from your hands, but not putting it on.

‘Oh well, at least he took it. It is something already’ you thought. You didn’t expect him to wear it or tell anyone about your gift really, so knowing he at least deemed it acceptable made you happy.

~ ~ ~

“Ah, Dio, can I borrow your scarf? I can’t find mine” Jonathan asked, holding a red scarf in his hands.

Looking up and seeing the scarf Jojo took, Dio quickly answered, harsh as usual

“Absolutely not. Don’t put your filthy hands on it” he quickly came up to Jonathan and snatched the scarf from him

“God, you don’t have to get so worked up, Dio, it’s only a scarf” Jojo said, backing away confused.

“Perhaps” Dio answered, but he still didn’t let Jojo or anyone else take it.

Perhaps it was a simple scarf, who knows? But the red cloth was only worthy to warm and wrap around Dio Brando’s neck. His favorite one, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

Speedwagon

Robert wasn’t the most confident person, usually trying to refuse any gifts, whether expensive or not, with the reason of him being not worthy of such generous things. However, you thought differently. Whenever he saw ugliness, you saw beauty. He saw a disgrace to the humankind, you saw a noble gentleman. Such contrast played on the feelings of Speedwagon, making him question his worth and your presence in his life. So, with that in mind you decided to show him that he is worthy of affection and companionship.

You were painting a portray of him, capturing his strong features. His blonde hair that you loved to run your hands through and that swirled beautifully in the air. He would always try to hide it away with his hat, but you didn’t mind, he was charming either way. His deep brown eyes that make you melt under their gaze. Robert keeps on saying that they are boring and plain, but to you they look warm and welcoming, especially when they gaze at you with such love and adoration. His scar, the symbol of courage and struggles he overcame. He worries about you thinking less of him because of the scar, but you don’t. It’s a sign of a strong soul and bright future. That is what you saw in him. And you tried your best to portray that on your canvas.

After finishing your work, you carefully wrapped it in a black cloth decorated with a gold pattern. With that, you asked Robert to come to your place. After greeting you with a kiss, he took off his coat, hanging it in the drawer, then reluctantly taking off his precious hat. Coming to the living room, he noticed your shy look as you sat on the couch. Raising an eyebrow in question, he sat next to you, taking your hand in his.

“Darling, is something the matter? You seem a bit..stiff” he was unsure what to say.

“Ah, well… I kinda… made you something” you confessed, looking away.

“Made me something? You didn’t ha-” he said confused a bit but trying to refuse it already.

“No! Listen, I won’t take no for an answer, Robert, I wanted to make something for you for a long time. And I tried my best, so please…at least look at it” came an answer back, somewhat saddened by his attempt to decline.

“Alright, dear” he finally agreed.

You stood up, going to another room to retrieve your present. As you sat back down, you gave him the wrapped gift.

“Hmm, you got me intrigued now, darling” Robert said now interested in your present.

Taking off the cloth, his eyes widened, looking at the piece of art before him. As if he was looking in the mirror, he took in his own features, noticing all the details and colours in the work. He was astonished by our talent and especially your portrayal of him. Is this how you see him? Is this how your eyes view him as you stare at him with a loving gaze? He didn’t know what to say, the realization struck him at once. That’s what you meant by all these nice comments about him, how you saw him differently, not as a dangerous criminal or a filthy rat not worthy of anyone’s attention, No, THIS is how you saw him, a noble man, a healed individual, a strong-willed person.

He didn’t say anything, silently putting the work away. He could see your worried look as you saw him turn to meet your eyes with his watery ones. Without a word, he pulled you in a tight hug burying his head into your neck. Multiple ‘thank you’s were exchanged that day and so did ‘I love you’s. Any other words weren’t a necessity that evening, just the warmth of bodies was enough to show one another the deepest feelings. That day, something changed, for that day Robert is thankful.

#jjba headcanons #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jojo headcanons #dio x reader #dio brando #dio brando x reader #jojo part 1 #reo speedwagon #speedwagon x reader #jonathan joestar #jonathan joestar x reader #fox work

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pr0sciutt0 · 5 years

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not sure if you're up for holiday asks but could i request some poly bruabba with s/o telling the boys they're pregnant on christmas morning?? ✨

it’s july but u know what. here’s christmas. (reader is afab and fem pronouns/terms such as ‘mother’ are used to describe them!)

You have been holding a secret to your chest for what seems like years but has barely been a month. You've spent this whole time pushing back the bubbling desire to sing out what it is to Bruno and Abbacchio, knowing that there's a date coming up that would be perfect for it.

This whole time, you've smiled at Bruno and Abbacchio like nothing is different. You've looked in the windows of children's boutiques in secret, imagining the reactions of your boys - imagining Bruno choosing out delicate lace dresses in soft pastel shades, imagining buying those silly 'baby Mozart' CDs with Abbacchio and listening to them with Abbacchio's head pressed against your stomach.

And you've known that on Christmas morning, you are going to wake up and give Bruno and Abbacchio a gift that you hope - no, that you know - they will treasure beyond any other.

You've been trying for this for a few months, with both of your boyfriends. The difficult questions have already been addressed; after Bruno and Abbacchio had left Passione, they'd been given a sizeable amount of money that Giorno had looked at you all and smiled as he called a "redundancy package". It's more than enough to cover expenses of a child. It's more than enough to cover you all for the rest of your lives. And you all want children and a family and nobody cares whose genes it is in particular that convene to make the child.

You hadn't expected it to happen so quickly, but a little less than a month ago you'd squinted down at the faint lines on the pregnancy test and had to stop yourself from shouting with joy.

You'd taken a while to fall asleep on the night of Christmas Eve, excitement fizzing in your stomach that Bruno had laughed at and kissed your forehead for, teasing you about how you were clearly far too excited to open your presents in the morning.

"What presents?" Abbacchio had grunted, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him. Bruno, his head propped on his hand, smiled lazily at the two of you with his dark blue eyes filled with affection so great it makes your heart skip a beat every time you notice it. "We were supposed to be buying presents?"

"You've bought more presents than any of us, Leone," Bruno says, laughing. "Too many, I'd say, if we're too excited to sleep!"

You'd drifted off into sleep eventually, although the slightest shift of your boyfriends against you had been enough to have you awake and looking towards the window to see if the sun had made its appearance yet. You don't know how much sleep you got in the end - you know it can't be more than a few hours, and yet when the alarm clock on Bruno's side of the bed reads seven in the morning you feel wide awake and raring to go.

You manage to escape Abbacchio's iron grip, batting away his questions by saying you need the bathroom. It's not entirely untrue - you need to be in the bathroom to calm your nerves before you do your big reveal. Now, this close to your secret finally being revealed, the nerves are beginning to set in. What if, despite all of your better judgement, things do go wrong? There are so many things that could happen. There are so many ways that this could backfire.

Abbacchio had been afraid at the prospect to begin with. He'd given all sorts of excuses about being a terrible father figure and somebody who should never be entrusted with the next generation. Bruno and you had always gently tried to calm him and tell him all of the wonderful things about him you both adored, but you still occasionally saw a flash of fear in his eyes before a determined smile came onto his beautiful face. He might break down when he knows for sure, a voice whispers.

And it whispers, too, that perhaps they do not love you as much as you may think they do. Perhaps actually they do not love you at all. What if this is the thing that makes them admit it, and they throw you out of their home on Christmas Day? You know that these things are silly to fear about. You know that your brain is working in overdrive and there is little chance of any of them actually happening. But still, you fight them down. You breathe through them.

You stay in the bathroom for ten minutes, steadying your breathing and the beat of your heart, and when you emerge with your face damp from patting it down to keep yourself calm and collected, Bruno and Abbacchio have both sat up in bed. Both of them have a few gifts strewn over their laps - Abbacchio's are rather more neatly wrapped than Bruno's, and you recognise one of the shapes in front of Bruno as a bottle of wine.

"Why didn't you get a bottle bag?" You say, laughing, as you take your seat on the edge of the bed. You have some physical gifts for your boyfriends downstairs beneath the Christmas tree, but you'd neglected your tradition of early morning special gifts this year because the one you were intending to give them needed no fancy wrapping paper or neatly tied satin ribbons.

Bruno gives his gifts first. His gift to Abbacchio is a very fancy bottle of vintage wine - Abbacchio had once had the same kind, and you and he had polished off the whole thing whilst watching some terrible horror movie late at night. You feel a pang that you won't be able to share this one with him when Abbacchio throws you a wink and a grin.

Hmm. Perhaps he'll save it until after the baby is born.

Bruno's gift to you is a beautiful necklace set with one bright blue stone, ringed with a halo of dark onyxes. The blue is the colour of Bruno's eyes, and you're almost certain the onyxes represent your other boyfriend - and as you let Bruno do it up for you and his warm hands brush your back, you prickle all over with excitement. But Abbacchio has his gifts to give first.

For you, there's a beautiful set of dark lace lingerie that you'll have to wear soon, because you don't think you'll be fitting into it in a while. For Bruno, there's a new lace bralet - white, this time - with an even more interesting and delicate pattern on it; Abbacchio, reddening, admits he'd bought them both from the same artisan, and your heart swells with adoration as you think of your boyfriend, six feet of pure muscle, earnestly talking about these delicate pieces.

Your turn comes, at once too quickly and not quick enough, and both of your boyfriends have caught onto the fact that something is out of the ordinary. You take a deep breath, and you look at both of them in turn, thinking on how lucky you are.

Bruno is lovely in every sense of the word. He's gorgeous, of course - but his beauty runs far more than skin-deep. He cares about you more than anything else in the world. You and Abbacchio are his reason for existing - and when either of you are wronged, he is cold and unfeeling. You know that he was a gangster, but it's only ever believable when he rushes to your defence. And Abbacchio, beside him, is just as beautiful and just as kind, even if he doesn't believe it of himself. You see his dislike of everything he's done written clear in his eyes, but to you and Bruno . . . for you and Bruno, he would do anything. He would go anywhere. He's so much stronger than he realises.

You realise, now, that your eyes have filled with tears as you look at them both.

"Amore?" Bruno says, at the same time as Abbacchio murmurs your name and both are reaching over to touch you. "Is there something wrong?"

Abbacchio forces a smile, as he says; "Now wouldn't be the best time to leave us, if that's what you're going to do--"

"Not at all," you manage to breathe out. "The opposite, in fact."

"Oh?" Bruno says, and he's smiling at you now. "You're staying in this bed forever? The rest of your life?"

"We should change the sheets first," Abbacchio says, and both of them look at each other and smile, their expressions soft with adoration. They love each other so much. They love you so much. They are filled with so much love to give, and you and your child are so lucky. They are going to be such wonderful fathers.

"I'll be staying in the bed a lot more," you say, and though your heart is beating frantically and you feel fuzzy and light-headed, a smile has risen to your lips that you can't shake. "When I get further in, I mean."

"Further in to what?" Bruno asks, his smile matching yours because he can't see either of the loves of his life happy without his own mood lifting.

You look from your boyfriend to your other boyfriend, letting the moment hang in the air.

"To the pregnancy," you say, and silence stretches before you, so intense that a pin dropping would have echoed for hours. "I'm pregnant. We're - we're going to be parents."

The silence goes on, and that brief flare of disquiet rears its ugly head again - and then, Bruno's mouth drops open and he's reaching over and pulling you into him, whilst Abbacchio is suddenly laughing as he too launches himself into the hug, and you're lost in the scents of your boyfriends.

Abbacchio is crying, you register dimly, as their laughter and their shouts of pleasure fade into a dim kind of background noise. He's smiling, but he's crying - and when he leans over and drops a kiss on the top of your head, one of his tears drips onto your head.

"I'm alright," he says, sensing your concern, "I just . . . I can't believe it, tesoro. Me. A father."

"Me too," Bruno says, smiling, jabbing a finger into Abbacchio's chest as he wraps his other arm about your shoulders. "We, a father."

"We, fathers," Abbacchio corrects, and then shakes his head, his grin not subsiding, tracks of tears still shining on his face. Abbacchio is always so stern and sharp, in cheekbone and stark eyebrows and lip colour. In bed in the early Christmas morning light, he has never looked so soft - and certainly, the look on his face is just as sweet as you've ever seen it. "Both of us. And you, amore--" He looks at you, and your heart skips a beat. "Us. Parents. You. A mother."

"You'll be wonderful," Bruno says, squeezing your shoulder.

All of you will.

#jjba #writing #leone abbacchio #bruno buccellati #sfw #Anonymous

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wilwywaylan · 4 years

Text

In only seven days (or the life and times of a sullen convenience store employee) (part 4 - The End)

Fandom : les Misérables

Modern AU, Jehan x Montparnasse, 4280 words

The last part, where everything comes to fruition !

For @kujaku-myoo, @jesvisfarovche, @aux-barricades. It’s done ! :D

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Also on AO3 !

On Sunday, he doesn't feel better at all. It's even worse than the last day. His head pounds horribly, he's freezing, his lips are chapped, his throat hurts like he's swallowed a handful of broken glass, and the worst, his nose is stuffed. He's really, really tempted to call in sick, but he can't. Even if the shop owner doesn't get on his case, it wouldn't look very good to go missing just after Javert visited him. And HE would get on his case, and not let go. He doesn't need this in his life.

He gets out of bed, slowly. wincing when his muscles protest. Everything aches. He feels like someone beat him within an inch of his life. When all of this is finished, he'll stay in bed for at least a week. The world will have to go on without him, as will the others. Soon, he can do it. Just one day to go. That's what loops in his mind. Just one day to go. One day. You can do it.

He gets dressed in the warmest and most comfortable clothes, and screw elegance tonight, he'll need all the comfort he can gather. He'll just have to avoid any reflective surface to not see the disaster, and that's all. He'll live. At least, his jumper keeps him warm enough, even if it's a cable-knit, lumpy monstrosity. Fortunately, it's all black. Thanks whoever for small miracles. He grabs the clothes fresh out of the dryer, wraps a long scarf around his neck, puts on his gloves and coat, and out he goes, before he can change his mind.

He almost does as soon as he's set a foot outside. It's windy, and maybe it's not raining yet, but the dark grey clouds, hanging low, are a promise that will sooner or later be cashed in. He hurries as much as he can, tries not to think about his muscles protesting against the pace.

The other clerk greats him with a raised eyebrow.

- You look like shit, she remarks.

- I hadn't noticed.

She takes the clothes from him, puts then in the back room.

- There's some medicine in the back, she calls as she leaves. Might help.

Montparnasse immediatly goes to dig in the back room. As she said, there are a few pills in a drawer. He doesn't know if they are still good, or clean, or whatever. They look like normal cold medicine, so there's that. Can't hurt anyway. He downs them with a glass of water, goes back to the counter and tries not to fall asleep on it right away.

When the door opens, he barely lifts his head. And immediately lowers it. Too many bright colours. Too much noise, too. It's the guy with the bow-tie again, and gaudy pants. Who in his right mind wears mustard-coloured pants ? They are so horrid they hurt Montparnasse's eyes each time he moves. He tries to keep his head low, so he doesn't notice right away two very noteworthy things. One, those terrible pants are held by suspenders. Rainbow suspenders. There should be a law against that kind of things. Second, he's not alone, there's a guy with him, who's not talking much, so Montparnasse doesn't pay attention to him at first.

It's Sweater Guy. The one with the undercut and the books and the old grampa style. The one Montparnasse thought vaguely should hook up with Bowtie Guy, because their styles are as nightmarish as each other. Well, who knows, they do know each other. Birds of a feather and all that. Sweater Guy seems to tolerate Bowtie Guy's chattering, or at least not want to dunk him in the nearest freezer. Good for him.

They walk to the counter in sync, and could they be more obvious ? They do. Because Bowtie Guy looks at the other, and it's the most disgusting account of puppy eyes Montparnasse has seen since.... well, since Grantaire and his blondie were there, but still. And... Sweater Guy is answering in kin. Montparnasse wants to tell them to scram and go and be horribly sweet somewhere else. At least, they don't take time to chitchat or kiss or whatever else they could do that would be even worse than those googly eyes, they pay and they leave. Holding hands. Montparnasse doesn't know if he should barf or laugh because Bowtie is way smaller and is practically hanging from Sweater's arm. Oh well, good for them. As long as they're out of his sight.

It seems to be the roll-call of this week, because all the students he's seen come and go in increasing weirdly situations seem to come in. Grantaire drops by a little later, almost covered head to toe in paint, just stopping by to buy some cleaning supplies, and Montparnasse is sure the red thing that dances just outside of the halo given by the shop windows is Blondie's hoodie, with Blondie inside, trying very hard not to look like he's waiting for Grantaire. Who is in and out of the shop in less than a minute, barely waving at Montparnasse. Oh well, he can't hold a candle to Blondie, now, can he ? (does he want to ? no.)

Next to come in is Feuilly, buying packs of smoke as he shouldn’t do, but Montparnasse is not his mother, is he ? If Feuilly wants to smell like smoke, that’s his business. He takes one look at Montparnasse, and of course has to open his mouth.

- You look like shit.

- Thanks, you too.

- No, seriously. You look sick. What happened ?

Montparnasse is very tempted to tell him, allow himself to be pitied for three seconds. But someone else puts his head through the door and calls :

- Hey, Feu, what’s taking so long ?

It’s the dude from earlier that week, the muscular one with the hideous neon shirt. But he’s dressed…. Way better than Montparnasse. He now wears a stylisher sweater than him, a coat that looks very nice, an accent scarf in soft shades. With his hair in a bun, it’s quite a sight to behold. Feuilly seems to think the same, because he looks at Buff Guy, then back at Montparnasse, then at Buff Guy again, as if caught in a hesitation. Okay. He’s been caught too. Gods, is there something in the air that makes everyone crush on each other ? In his greatest display of selflessness, Montparnasse nods towards Buff Guy.

- Go. I’ll be okay.

- Are you sure ? Because you….

- Look like shit. Bears repeating. He’s waiting for you, go.

- But…

- I’ll live. Now go before he turns into a pumpkin or something.

Feuilly smiles at him and squeezes his arm before leaving, in a gesture that’s way more comforting than the other guy last time. Buff Guy waves at him with a smile that’s… not victorious or anything, just friendly. Hm. May not be too bad for Feuilly. But Montparnasse still makes a mental note to drop him the “if you hurt him” conversation. Wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

The thought entertains him for a few minutes, but it's not long before he's back to shivers and trying to keep his hands warm. He goes in the back to pick a cup of coffee, and it's a great help, but it doesn't last very long. So he drinks cup after cup, enjoying the burn of the shitty coffee in his throat and on his fingers. Soon, he's probably going to ascend to another plan of existence where sickness doesn't exist, the sky is made of Prada jackets and leather shoes grow on trees.

A voice pulls him out of his reverie.

- Hello ? Montparnasse ?

It's the small Scarf Guy - Joly, he remembers - cheerful as ever. Well at least for the first second. Then he seems to see the state Montparnasse is in. Immediately, he pulls his scarf up to cover his face.

- What ? Montparnasse asks dryly.

- I've... come to pay for the supplies, comes the muffled voice.

Montparnasse gathers the boxes and scans them, all the while looking at Joly who has stepped back and looks at him like he has the plague. When it's time to pay, he puts the money on the counter and pushes it towards him, rather than give him directly. Montparnasse would have retorted something clever, but his brain is running idle, and he just shoes him away. Joly doesn't need to be told twice and scampers. Idiot. It's just a cold.

The rest of the night is a blur, people come and go, they probably talk to him and he answers, he presses buttons and the register chimes, but it's all lost in the fog. Like when Prouvaire came in the first time, but way, way less enjoyable. His blood rushes in his ears, covering any noise, making it difficult to concentrate on anything. Worse, his head feels full of lead, too heavy to carry normally. He ends up with his forehead resting against the counter, trying to believe that the coolness of the cheap plastic is doing wonders on his headache.

The door opens, and he knows he should get up, but he can't. He's too exhausted. Too bad if it's a biker gang who's going to steal and destroy everything in their path, he's not getting up. He can sleep here for all he cares.

- Montparnasse ?

The voice would have make him bolt upright, would he have the strength. Instead, he just turns his head so he can at least glance at Prouvaire. At first, he only sees a whirlwind of colour, a long line of bright orange, a pale face. He blinks several times, squints a little even if it makes his face look ugly. The line becomes a braid falling on a shoulder, the various colours assemble into a waistcoat worn on a large collared shirt, jeans, a long coat reaching their calves, and a skirt patterned as a Van Gogh painting. And those boots. The face comes into focus too, with all the lovely details, the freckles, the small curls on his forehead, and the mismatched eyes. And the concerned look. They look really concerned. Concerned for him ? He's carrying a plastic bag that already contains something. Did he shop and Montparnasse didn't notice ?

- Montparnasse ? Prouvaire calls again.

Montparnasse tries to answer, but what comes out of his mouth is more of an articulated groan that normal words. Prouvaire seems comforted, seeing that he's still alive. He shows him the bag.

- Joly told me that you were sick, so I brought you a few things.

.... What ? He what ? Montparnasse frowns, trying to make sense of it. He should be able to, but the dots don't want to connect.

- What ? he croaks.

His voice is awful, all rough and raspy, but Prouvaire seems to understand nonetheless.

- Joly called me to tell me you were sick, so I though that I'd bring you some things. He advised me on which drugs to bring you, and I made you some soup.

Montparnasse mulls over the words for a few seconds before it finally dawns on him.

- Soup ? You made me soup ?

- Chicken soup, yes. It should be quite good, but maybe we'll have to heat it again.

Chicken soup ? "We" ? Montparnasse doesn't know what to say to that. Maybe nothing. He's not going to reveal to a handsome almost stranger that he's ridiculously close to crying because no one ever made him soup.

- What time is it ? he asks instead.

He glances at the clock. Is it six o'clock ? It looks like six. Prouvaire confirms it.

- It's time to go home. Come on, I'll walk you there.

Montparnasse wants to say it's okay, he's not that helpless. But it takes an incredible amount of effort just to get upright, and the room starts spinning wildly. Suddenly, Prouvaire is beside him, holding him upright. He smells like flowers and something else, something a bit spicy, but very soft. Above all, he smells good, and Montparnasse doesn't want anything but bury his face in the shirt that looks so soft, and forget about everything.

Another person comes in, and there's a few words exchanged, but he doesn't listen. All that matters now is Prouvaire's arm around his waist, holding him close. Then they're walking towards the door, and they're out. The cold morning air hits his face, blowing away the mist a little.

- Where do you live ? Prouvaire asks.

Montparnasse gives him the address, and they start walking. Prouvaire is still holding onto his waist, the bag hitting his leg on the other side, Montparnasse can hear it. Everything comes to him at the same time, garbled, overwhelming him. Blinding lights, blaring cars passing them, people talking, screaming, people, people... His legs feel like they don't belong to his body, he's perched on those things, far from the ground, and they're moving without his input, just walking and walking and not stopping....

They stop, though, when Prouvaire stops in front of his building. Prouvaire fishes the keys in his pocket as if he's used to it. Montparnasse feels scared for a second ; Prouvaire meeting the others is not a good idea. It's even the worst idea he's ever had. What if he realizes that they are on the bad side of the law and decides to run away ? What if he realizes and the others will gang on him to protect their secrets ? What... if they hurt him ?

Prouvaire must sense that he's tensed, because he smiles down at him.

- Don't worry. I can handle myself.

Montparnasse wants to ask what he's talking about, and if he knows where he's heading, but he refrains. Maybe it's stupid - of course it's stupid - but he doesn't want Prouvaire to go.

Luckily, the flat is empty when they come in - or it seems empty which is as good. Montparnasse shows him the way to his room. He falls on the bed head-first, and it's so comfortable under him that he could sleep there and then. But Prouvaire rolls him on the side, unties his shoes, drops the blankets on him.

- I'll be right back, he says, and he disappears in the hallway.

Montparnasse wants to call after him, to tell him.... something ? To be careful, not to talk to strangers ? Something like that. But Prouvaire has already left. Montparnasse gets rid of his pants, wraps himself in the blankets as tight as he can.

Prouvaire soon comes in, holding two bowls that smell delicious. He sits on the bed, avoiding Montparnasse's feet, and gives him one of the bowls, keeping the other.

- I'm hungry too, he says with a shrug.

Montparnasse is not going to deny him some soup, after all, he made it, he can do whatever he wants with it, as long as he gets a share too. The first spoonful is heavenly, warm and tasty and feeling like velvet and honey on his poor throat. He empties it in record time. Prouvaire then hands him a water bottle and several pills.

- You can trust Joly with remedies, he says. He knows what he’s doing.

At that point, Montparnasse would snort cocaine if it would mean getting rid of the ringing in his head. He doesn’t say so, because Prouvaire would not find it funny. Besides, now that he’s eaten, past week is finally catching with him with bone-crushing exhaustion. He falls down on his pillow, and closes his eyes. He can barely feel the blanket being pulled tight around his shoulders before he’s asleep.

~*~

On Monday, Montparnasse wakes up… not exactly refreshed, but it’s miles above and beyond how he felt on Sunday. His head is still pounding and his throat is dry, but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to break. The blankets are warm, there’s a hint of sunlight through the window, and even better, he doesn’t have to get up to go to work on that awful convenience shop, not now and not ever.

He burrows a bit under the covers, enjoying the warmth lingering there. And freezes when his feet meet something solid that doesn’t have anything to do there. It feels like.... Feet. Warm feet, with legs attached. Someone else is in his bed. Someone is living and in his bed. It’s good, because he didn’t kill someone in his daze and drag them in his bed, which, okay, is a bit far-fetched but still. He can barely recall what happened last night, so murder is not entirely out of the picture. But now that he moves a bit, he notices that there’s something heavy on his waist, and it can’t be his belt because he’s not wearing pants.

Trying to get past the pounding in his head, he recaps : there’s a living person in his bed, said person is currently holding on his waist, and not in a defensive hold, and he’s not wearing pants. Just what exactly happened last night ? He turns around, very slowly, as not to wake the person up, in the event of a danger. The first thing he sees is long hair. Long hair everywhere, shining like metal in the low sunlight. And a freckled face then, with a cute upturned nose, buried in the pillow and a little in his own shoulder. Prouvaire is still asleep, his lashes drawing delicate shadows on his cheeks. Montparnasse is tempted to touch him. Instead, he notices that Prouvaire is not wearing his poofy shirt from yesterday, but a grey, nondescript shirt. Montparnasse recognizes it, it’s part of the « I’ll get rid of those disgraceful items one day if I think about it » pile. Prouvaire probably changed into it before…. Before what ? What did they do, exactly ? Did they have sex ? Or something ? He hopes not. It wouldn’t be the first time he wakes up in a bed not knowing how he got there, or who’s beside him, but… but it’s different. It’s Prouvaire, Prouvaire who seems to have taken residence in his mind, Prouvaire who’s been so nice with him, and Montparnasse wants more of that kindness. He doesn’t want it to just be a fling.

The realisation is crushing, and for a second, he doesn’t know if he should run or wake him up or silently slide out of bed and play it as if it never happens. He should, he should go, or kick him out, and fast, before Prouvaire’s claws sink more into him. He can’t let him in, it’s too dangerous, for the both of them, he’ll hurt him, Prouvaire is too nice and pretty and delicate and good to deserve this, and…

And Prouvaire is moving. Montparnasse barely has the time to recommand his soul to whoever is listening, when Prouvaire opens his eyes and smiles at him. And every resolve Montparnasse may have come to melts like ice under the sun. Those pretty, weird eyes, make him feel.... he can't put words on it. Nervous, with shaky hands, and covered in a cold sweat, but maybe that's just his fever actung up again. But what's not the fever is the feeling that he doesn't want these eyes to look away, ever, or hold him close and... kiss him ? Kiss him, yes. Kiss him senseless.

Prouvaire sits up, and his hair cascads down his back in a way that makes Montparnasse want to slide his fingers through it. The shirt is way too large on him, the collar hanging low. Montparnasse very pointedly doesn't look down, because the clavicles are showing, all dusted in small freckles, and he doesn't know what he's going to do if confronted with the delicate hollow between his clavicles. He's focusing very hard on a patch of wall behind Prouvaire's head, when a hand lands on his forehead.

- Hmm... your fever seems down, Prouvaire remarks. Better take some pills again and eat something, but I think the worst is over.

He produces some pills again and hands him the bottle. As Montparnasse takes them, he gets up and disappears in the hallway without another word. Montparnasse jumps : he can't just up and leaves like that ! He can't exit his life like this, also, the others are still somewhere in the flat. How are they going to react to the presence of some kind of fae person in the kitchen ? Not well. Not well at all.

Prouvaire is already in the kitchen, making some coffee with ease like he's always done it. Things seem to jump at him before he needs to look for them, like they want to please him. Out of the blankets, he looks less ethereal ; then again, anyone would, wearing flower-patterned briefs. Montparnasse's first impression is right, he's made of at least 60% legs, covered in freckles. And a tattoo, he realizes now, a white and orange fish swimming along his calf. There's another one on his arm, only half hidden by the sleeve. Roses surrounded by leaves. The colours are vivid, beautiful, and Montparnasse kind of wants to touch them, feel the skin and the ink under his fingers.

- Coffee is ready, Prouvaire announces.

Montparnasse snaps out of his reverie. Prouvaire is holding a cup out to him, the other in his hand, and Montparnasse wants nothing more than do something right now. But he shivers, and sneezes, several times, very noisily. Immediately, Prouvaire shoos him towards the bed, puts him under the blankets. And exactly as Montparnasse hopes, he sits down beside him. Montparnasse hastily covers both of them with the blankets. Prouvaire smiles at him, and his heart rate shoots up. He grabs the plastic bag still lying hear the bed, and, Montparnasse doesn't know how, produces two still very soft and buttery croissants.

- Would you like to marry me ? he blurts.

Prouvaire doesn't laugh. Montparnasse feels himself blush, he hates it, and very much wants to disappear under the bed. But Prouvaire just smiles at him ; it's very gentle, and very devoid of pity.

- I don't usually marry people I'm not on first name basis with, he answers.

Fuck. That's right. He didn't even think about asking earlier. Then again, he didn't think about Prouvaire being in his bed in the morning (afternoon) either.

- Okay, so... what's your name ? Montparnasse asks.

- I'm Jehan. Jean, in fact, but everyone calls me Jehan.

Jehan Prouvaire. Of course he has a name as beautiful as him.

- And you ? Jehan asks.

Montparnasse hesitates. Should he say it ? He doesn't really want, but Jehan is looking at him, expectantly, and he can't just hold it like that and hope it'll be alright.

- It's Alistair, he finally confesses, and quickly adds : but I don't like it. Not at all.

- Then, I'll call you Montparnasse, if that's okay ?

- Perfect. So, Jehan Prouvaire, would you like to marry me ?

- Maybe we should date a little first, what do you think ?

- I'd love that, Montparnasse says, emotion strangling him a little.

They drink their coffee in silence. Montparnasse is still burning with embarrassment, but Prouvaire doesn't seem bothered by his outburst, or uncomfortable, or anything. Montparnasse decides to try and push his luck. He scoots a little closer, until his arm is pressed against Prouvaire's. Who doesn't shy away, and even... leans closer ? They stay like that for a little while, the warmth of Prouvaire's arm seeping through the hoodie to warm Montparnasse to the core.

- Is it a date ? he asks.

- Do you want it to be a date ?

- Fuck yeah, you bet I want.

Prouvaire smiles and presses a little closer.

- Then it's a date.

Montparnasse feels the biggest, dopiest smile appear on his face. He stretches up a bit, kisses Prouvaire - Jehan - on the cheek. He then sits back, and lays his head on Prouvaire's shoulder. He's acting like a schoolgirl with her first crush, but it's okay. Prouvaire's shoulder is just at the right height, and its owner hasn't run away, instead snuggling - snuggling ! - closer. He thinks about sending flowers to the owner of the convenience shop. Okay, maybe not because the guy is an arsehole, but without him and his stupid scheme, he wouldn't have met Prouvaire. Also he needs to thank Joly, who sent Prouvaire to him, even if he acted so scared by his bout of sickness. And congratulate past him : he was right about being in a teen flick, and it even ended with a happy end and a pretty guy in his bed.

Of course, he knows, like anyone, that meeting the cute person of your dreams is just the beginning. Keeping him is going to take effort. But for him, for that smile, for his presence, Montparnasse is ready to make efforts. Maybe it won't work, maybe Prouvaire will not be the person for him, but he's going to try, and they'll be countless days spent like that, just drinking coffee in lounge clothes, resting against his lover's shoulder, and he doesn't need more. The idea slowly lulls him, and he falls asleep curling against Prouvaire's side, the other man's fingers gently playing with his hair.

#les miserables #jehan prouvaire #montparnasse #jehanparnasse #montprouvaire #here is the happy end !#poor monty I'm so evil #but he deserves it #also happy end

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s-horne · 5 years

Text

8. “Okay, where are all my jumpers?” (Steve/Tony)

(this is less of a fic and more of an idea that wouldn’t leave my head. if someone wants to jump in and make it into a fully-fledged thing, please be my guest and accept my love as you do so)

Tony liked clothes. That much was obvious. Looking good, always looking the best that he could, had been ingrained in him since he was a child. As the only son of a billionaire he was expected to uphold certain standards and always present himself in a particular way. He was meant to look presentable, not approachable, and very photogenic. Suits were tailor made to fit his slim body and heaven forbid he ever get a speck of dirt on his impeccable clothes. The older he got, the more Tony learnt about what he was wearing and the more he began to care. It was obvious that he looked forward to business trips that took him to Europe and that he relished in spending days trawling the finest tailor shops and attending fittings for bespoke suits.

Even Tony’s lab clothes were expensive and unique pieces made from the finest materials. Nothing but the best for Tony Stark after all. He had designers all over the world falling over themselves to be in with a chance to create pieces for him; suits with bold colours and edgy designs, form-fitting shirts with wacky patterns or ass-hugging pants with delicate stitching.

Shoes, ties, hell even his boxers were all crafted by hand with a price tag that made even Pepper’s eyes water.

So when he suddenly appeared one morning in a baggy sweater nearly down to his knees with a hole in one sleeve and a truly hideous zig-zag pattern spread across his chest, it raised some eyebrows. Nobody had a chance to question him as Tony barely stopped in the kitchen long enough to be spoken to. As soon as he had made a beeline for the coffee pot and practically inhaled his first mug, he had disappeared down to his lab.

When he reappeared again a couple of days later, Tony was back to his designer clothing, impeccably picked to highlight every aspect of his body. Three weeks went by without a repeat of the strange incident before Tony attended a meeting dressed in another giant sweater, this time in a disgusting shade of beige with a stretched-out collar that revealed a lot of skin. It nearly brought the whole meeting to a halt and, had it not been for Pepper’s ability to keep everyone on track, the entire day would have been lost. Whispers made it through Stark Tower within an hour of the meeting being over and it wasn’t much longer before betting pools began to open.

The next time Tony turned heads with his bizarre clothing was at a press conference for a project launch. As eccentric as he was, nobody had really been expecting Tony to rock up to the podium of such a high-profile event in an argyle jumper. Seeing the owner of Stark Industries in a blue mottled sweater that looked like it had been buried in a closet since the 1960s had thrown a number of reporters and Tony had quickly taken advantage of the stunned silence to flash a couple of flirty smiles and bundle himself and Bruce from the stage and into the back of his limo in record time.

“Okay, who keeps stealing all my jumpers?” Steve glared around the room, taking the time to stare down each of his teammates one by one. Each of them stared right back at him with the most overly-innocent eyes and soft shrugs that had ‘suspicious’ written all over them.

“It has to be one of you,” Steve continued with narrowed eyes. “My wardrobe is looking particularly sparse this morning and there’s nobody else that would dare take from me.”

“Don’t look at me,” Bucky said around a mouthful of a cheese sandwich. “What the hell would I want your clothes for? I finally have enough money to own my own things; I don’t have to go anywhere near your mess of a fashion sense.”

“I can definitely see why you’re looking at me,” Clint said with a resigned nod, “but this time I’m not guilty.”

Sam just lifted his eyebrows in derision until Steve huffed and turned away and Natasha grinned unrepentantly when Steve looked at her.

“Have you checked the garbage?”

Rhodey snorted at Clint’s comment and quickly schooled his features into a perfect mask of virtue when Steve’s glare shot to him. His mouth quivered with the effort to hold back his smile and Steve’s face darkened when Rhodey’s smirk broke free.

“What about the local Goodwill?” Sam called out, amusement clear in his tone, “or an old folk’s home?”

“It’s not funny, guys,” Steve muttered, his brow furrowing as he folded his arms across his chest. “I know you all seem to hate my wardrobe, but I really don’t have time to go shopping today.”

“You really don’t know?”

“Whenever one of my jumpers goes into the laundry, it never makes it back to me,” Steve said, a hint of anger bleeding into his tone. “Whoever is taking them, give them all back right now. If I find out which one of you it was, so help me God. I’ll have you sent on every two-bit mission I can find. I’ll even invent some just for fun. I hear Siberia is nice this time of year.”

Rhodey finally took pity on Steve and cleared his throat. When Steve looked to him he gave another quirk of his lips and stretched his arm out along the back of the couch casually. “You really don’t know? You don’t have even the slightest clue?”

Steve’s eyes shot between all of his friends, noticing and hating the looks they were all sharing that screamed that they were all in on some big joke that Steve didn’t get.

“I don’t have time for this,” Steve sighed irritably and his patented Captain-America-is-Disappointed-in-you face came into play. “Whoever took them just give me them back. I have a date tonight and I need-”

Steve’s voice trailed off into nothing when Tony suddenly entered the room, his eyes down on the tablet in his hands as his mouth moved silently along with whatever he was reading. He was wearing artfully ripped jeans and bright socks, but Steve’s eyes were drawn to Tony’s chest. His whole torso, really, where one of Steve’s own jumpers was wrapped around him, shielding him from the bitter New York winter and then some. The jumper was an old one, even by Steve’s standards, with a frayed hem and loose thumb holes worn into the cuffs. It had long since seen better days and wouldn’t look out of place in a dog’s bed, but Steve felt his mouth drop open at the sight before him.

He knew Tony was an attractive man. Anyone with eyes knew that Tony was an attractive man, but seeing him in Steve’s clothes awakened something that Steve hadn’t known he had in him. It was like a flame deep in his stomach, hot and burning as it rose up his chest and all the way into his throat. It was almost clawing at Steve, this sudden sensation, the urge to march across the room and take. Not take his clothing back, no, but rather to take Tony. To mark Tony with his lips as well as his clothes, to wrap him in his arms and hold him safe and tight against his chest so that everyone would know. So that the whole world would know that Tony was Steve’s, and in the same vein, know that Steve was Tony’s.

It was sudden and it was scary. It was a thought that had come seemingly out of the blue, but one that somehow made perfect sense at the same time.

How was Steve only just realising that Tony’s lips were that full and that his hair wasn’t actually that dark at all, but more of a golden brown? How had it taken him so long to see the laughter lines around his eyes or the tiny splattering of grey along his hair line?

“Oh, hey, Cap.” Tony must have felt the heavy gaze burning a hole in the side of his head as he finally lifted his eyes from the screen in front of him and gave a small smile. “What’s going on?”

“Where did you get that sweater?”

Tony looked down, his face morphing into something close to surprise as he took in what he was wearing.

“I’m not sure,” he finally said and looked back up to Steve with a shrug, a hint of confusion slipping into his eyes and colouring his tone. “I don’t recognise it, but it was in my wardrobe. Thought maybe it was Rhodey’s; it’s ugly enough to be.”

Steve couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad at Tony’s comments when the colour of the wool, as faded as it was, made the man’s eyes so much brighter.

“Why do you ask? You after something as sophisticated as this? I know how much of an influencer I am these days.”

“No,” Steve finally managed to say. He swallowed and licked his lips, suddenly aware of how dry they were as he prepared himself to dip his toe into the water. “It suits you, is all.”

He relished in the rare and wonderful sight of Tony Stark lost for words as he turned on his heel and left the room. As much as Steve would have loved to have stayed and savoured the sight of tanned skin made so much darker against the tone of the washed-out maroon, he had a phone call to make and a date to cancel.

And maybe a few more items of clothing to throw to the tower’s laundry service.

#i wrote a thing #march madness #stony fic #stevetony fic #stony fic rec #Steve Rogers #tony stark #rhodey #rdj #and his fashion choices #stony ficlet #Bucky Barnes #stevetony ficlet #i'm sorry

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pikapeppa · 5 years

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Fenris/f!Hawke modern AU: Rivain

A wild vacation oneshot appears! This little epilogue for Damned Spot was inspired by BEAUTIFUL fan art by @schoute and @essequamvideri20, which can be found here and here.

In which Fenris and Hawke go to the beach, and Hawke negotiates with Fenris to get more naked. 😎

For @dadrunkwriting Friday. ~2000 words. Read here on AO3 instead.

*******************

Hawke tossed her bag down on her beach chair and stretched her arms. “What a perfect day,” she said happily, then sat down and started rifling through her bag.

“It does seem rather perfect for the tanning activity you were hoping for,” Fenris said. He adjusted the umbrella, then settled himself in the shade of the second beach chair and leisurely stretched out his legs. The sun was blazing bright, and even through his sunglasses, he could tell the Rivaini sky was a perfect azure blue. The white-sand beach faded into the ocean in an exquisite gradient of cerulean and emerald, and Fenris had never seen anything like it in his life.

He straightened his black t-shirt, then contentedly folded his hands over his abdomen. Meanwhile, Hawke had pulled a bottle of sunscreen from her bag, and she began applying it to her legs in brisk practiced strokes. In contrast with the brilliant blues and sandy white of the beach, Hawke was a display of bright warm colours: golden skin and chestnut hair and those raspberry-red lips of hers, and Fenris watched with shameless appreciation as she rubbed the sunscreen in around the edges of her bikini.

She hummed to herself as she slathered herself in sunscreen up to her neck, then turned to Fenris with a smile. “Can you do my back?”

He held out his hand for the bottle and shifted his legs so she could sit between them. She continued to hum cheerfully as Fenris smoothed the sunscreen into her skin.

Then she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Once you’re done with my back, then I can do yours,” she said brightly.

Her expression was a picture of fake innocence, and Fenris eyed her with fond exasperation. “No, Hawke. The shirt stays on,” he told her for the third time today.

She groaned. “Come on, Fenris. No one else on this beach is wearing a shirt.”

Fenris didn’t bother to look. He knew she was correct. Even the women were mostly bare from the waist up; Hawke’s little bikini top was one of the few tops on this beach. But this fact wouldn’t change Fenris’s mind.

He smoothed the last dab of sunscreen under the clasp of her bikini. “No one else on this beach is covered from neck to toe in tattoos, either,” he said.

At this, Hawke turned around halfway and met his eye. “You’re wrong about that,” she said seriously, then jerked her head to the side. “Look around.”

He raised one eyebrow, then finally gave the other beachgoers a more careful look. And to his surprise, he noticed that she was right.

The beach was peppered with people whose skin ranged in colour from ivory to ebony. Most of the skin he saw was patterned with ink of varying intricacy spanning the full range of colours, from white to black, to gold and red and green and indigo and every shade in between. And exactly as Hawke had said, Fenris’s tattoos were hardly the most ornate on the beach.

One man’s entire chest, back, and legs were patterned with an intricate web of tattoos that seemed to tell a story. A dark-skinned woman had an exquisite pattern of golden triangles and whorls on her forehead and cheekbones that would have made any Dalish elf weep with envy. Another young woman who couldn’t have been older than Varania had a fine tracing of red and black dots and lines from the angles of her jaw to the tips of her middle fingers, and from her hipbones to the knuckles of her toes.

Fenris pushed up his sunglasses in wonder, then turned to Hawke. “Did you know…?”

“...that body art is a huge deal in Rivain?” she finished. “Yes, of course.”

He gazed speechlessly around the beach for a moment more, then looked at Hawke again. “Is this why you thought to bring me here?”

She laughed and awkwardly scratched the back of her neck. “Ah, I wish I could say I had that much forethought. But you know I was planning a trip here anyway, before we met. But this is why I didn’t change my travel plans once I knew you’d be coming with me.” She affectionately stroked the white lines on his chin, then lifted her own tattooed left shoulder coquettishly. “We fit right in, wouldn’t you say?”

“I… Yes, so it would seem,” he said dumbly. He tipped his sunglasses back down so he wouldn't be caught staring so blatantly, but he couldn’t help but gaze around the beach with wide eyes. He’d genuinely never seen so many heavily tattooed people in his life, and in Tevinter, Fenris had most certainly been the most heavily tattooed of all.

But it’s not the same, he thought. These tattoos aren’t like mine. The people on this beach had chosen their tattoos of their own free will. Every one of them probably had a story for where their ink came from, and their reasons for getting inked likely ranged from mundane to wild to purely aesthetic. But Fenris was sure no one else’s story involved an ugly combination of grief mixed with a misguided need to show fealty to a now-dead Tevinter mob boss.

Fenris’s tattoos weren’t art. He didn’t wear them out of pride. They were a constant reminder of the lies Danarius had told him and the life he’d suffered under Danarius’s thumb.

But… nobody on this beach would know that. For once in his life, Fenris might actually blend in.

He turned back to Hawke to find her studying him with a soft little smile. “So?” she said. “Are you willing to take your shirt off now?” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Kaffas, she was single-minded. He smirked and raised one eyebrow at her, but before he could speak, she laughed and pinched his chin. “Think about it,” she said. “I’m going in the water.” She kissed him quickly on the lips, then rose from the beach chair and bolted down the beach toward the ocean.

As soon as her feet hit the water, she let out a joyful peal of laughter, then promptly fell hands-first into the waves. She clumsily rose to her feet, then shook her head like a mabari until her short dark hair was standing out around her head like a spiky halo.

She smoothed her hands over her wet hair and grinned at him. “Come on in, the water’s fine!” she yelled.

Fenris chuckled. He could barely hear her over the hissing crash of water on sand, but her message was clear. He waved a dismissive hand at her, then chuckled again when she turned her back on him and playfully shimmied her butt.

She laughed once more, then dove back into the water and rose to the surface to float on the easy wax and wane of the ocean waves, and Fenris simply watched her for a moment. Then he dropped his gaze to his black t-shirt.

He idly rubbed the hem of the shirt between his tattooed fingers. There was an odd feeling in his chest, like a simmering mix of anxiety and excitement. It should be easy to take his shirt off; it was just a brisk motion, no different than undressing for a shower or undressing before stretching Hawke’s naked body across his bed. But it did not feel easy or simple. The more Fenris thought about it, the more momentous it seemed to be - almost as though he’d be shedding something far heavier than a simple cotton garment.

He lifted his eyes back to the ocean. Hawke was standing knee-deep in the water, her expression happy but focused as she dug around in the sand for some thing or another: shells or sand dollars, perhaps. Her dark spiky bangs were dripping into her eyes, and the sun was shimmering on her salt-dewed skin, and Fenris could easily imagine her humming to herself in a sweet and slightly out-of-tune voice.

He pushed himself to his feet. Then, before he could think about it any longer, before the thought of it paralyzed him with nerves, he fisted his hands in the back of his shirt and pulled it off.

A warm, playful breeze unfurled across his bare shoulders and belly and back. Fenris dropped his shirt on the beach chair and adjusted his sunglasses, then took a deep breath and surreptitiously looked around.

No one was staring at him. Nobody was gaping at him in fear or unflattering curiosity. A few people briefly glanced at him then casually looked away, as though he was just any other person on the beach.

“Nice ink,” someone said.

He whipped his head around, but the girl who had commented on his tattoos was already walking away hand-in-hand with her equally tattooed girlfriend.

“Uh… thank you,” Fenris said, feeling utterly nonplussed. The girl glanced back and gave him a friendly wave, then continued on her way.

Fenris released a deep exhale, then slowly removed his sunglasses and placed them on the beach chair with his discarded shirt. Then, very slowly, feeling as though he was stepping toward the edge of a precipice, he stepped out of the shade and into the bright Rivaini sun.

The sand was hot beneath his bare feet - almost unbearably hot. Fenris burrowed his toes into the sand, relishing the damp cool feel of it squishing between his toes. Then he closed his eyes and lifted his chin.

Behind his closed eyelids, the world became a blank but brilliant orange blur. Fenris breathed in the salty sea air, then simply sank into the strange familiarity of the sun’s brilliant rays warming his skin.

For the first time in years, the sun was beating down on Fenris’s bare shoulders. And for the first time in decades, he was actually enjoying it.

He smiled and opened his eyes. Hawke was watching him, standing in the ocean with her hands on her hips, and the smile on her face was the most joyful thing he’d ever seen.

He unearthed his half-buried feet from the sand and took one step toward her, then another. Suddenly he was running, running across the hot sand, running toward Hawke and leaving his black t-shirt behind, and then the salty ocean waves were licking at his calves and splashing up over his knees until he couldn’t run anymore.

Hawke grinned as he trampled awkwardly through the water toward her. Fenris reached out and grasped her hand, and a moment later, she was in his arms with her legs wrapped around his waist.

“I knew you’d like the beach,” she chirped. “I had a feeling.”

“I like being at the beach with you,” he said. He admired her brilliant smile, then lifted his chin and brushed her lips with a featherlight kiss. “Thank you for bringing me here,” he whispered.

She pressed her forehead to his. Her fingers toyed with the damp hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ll bring you anywhere you want, you handsome fool,” she told him. “I would go anywhere with you.”

Her words were guileless and candid and positively bursting with possibility. Hawke tilted her head slightly and kissed the corner of his lips, and as Fenris eagerly returned her kiss, his imagination floated away into the sultry sun-drenched sky.

Fenris was not much of one for travelling, not after his forced cross-country flight from Danarius. But this road trip with Hawke was nothing like that. There was nothing rushed or forced about this trip; ever since they’d left Kirkwall, it had been a seamless flow of sun and sky and winding roads.

Perhaps Rivain was just the beginning. Perhaps he and Hawke could start saving their money for a bigger, longer trip: one that would carry them from one corner of Thedas to the other. With Hawke by his side, he would happily go anywhere.

With Hawke by his side, Fenris could do anything.

#fenris #fenris fic #fenris modern au #damned spot #fenhawke #hawris #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #pikapeppa writes #THANK YOU BOTH FOR THE BEAUTIFUL ART #I'LL NEVER GET OVER IT

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larissaloki · 6 years

Text

Pleasure To Meet You

This is my DianaxTony fic requested by my lovely follower @fangirlfannning, this is a Alpha/Omega fic and I’m not sure how long it will be. If you wish to be added to the tag list let me know! This has a slight dub-con esk feel to the beginning but it doesn’t last long and isn’t that bad! It has a happy ending i swear!

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“Tones?”

Tony ignored the call of his friend, staring up at the sky, wishing he could see the stars from up on the roof of his home. Unfortunately, the light pollution prevented that, he had to use his state of the art telescope just to see anything but the young Omega just couldn’t muster the energy to drag it out.

Within the mansion, Tony’s coming of age party was just getting into full swing. Once Omegas hit the age of 18, they were eligible to be married and courted. Those in high-end families were often pre-engaged at early ages. Arrangements made early to secure a strong future between two strong influence. Tony, the Omega that was smart enough to go to university in his early teens, somehow ended up in an arrangement with a royal Alpha.

His father had struck the deal when Tony was 14, young yet adventurous. His face still holding a youthful look yet starting to show signs of maturity. His pretty looks were a hot topic for the tabloids for ages and spread around like wildfire. When the Queen of the Amazons found out she had reached out- supposedly immediately.

Usually those in arranged marriages where introduced as children or as soon as the deal was made to try and get the fated couple to befriend and get used to each other. Making the chances of successful and happy mating, much greater.

Unfortunately and weirdly for Tony, his fated Alpha always seemed to be unavailable. He had never seen the one he was meant to mate. The Alpha preferring to run off abroad to train and do whatever Alphas do.

Probable making illegitimate children or sleeping around to boost their ego Tony thought bitterly. He meanwhile, was expected to remain pure and untouched. His father had made sure of that. Restricted to the mansion or only travelling with his family and escorted at all times since the deal was made 4 years prior.

Thank god he made friends with Rhodey before he became engaged, and that Rhodes was a beta otherwise Tony would have been looking at 4 years of absolute boredom.

Even getting his father to allow Rhodey to visit took a lot of persuasions, on both his and his mothers end before Howard allowed it.

“There you are Tones! The party has already started, your mothers worried and sent me to see if you were ready” Rhodes crouched down by his friend, his tone soft and gentle as he looks his friend over.

Tony has on a light blue suit with a pale pink shirt that was nearly white. Pearl pink his mother called it. The top two buttons were undone in a subtle sign of rebellion against tonight, omegas where meant to be conservative and proper after-all. Tony’s soft brown curls artfully mussed to look messy yet perfect. Large liquid brown orbs gaze up lazily at the sky, slowly they drag over to Rhodes. The beta dressed in a much darker navy blue suits and silver vest over a white crisp shirt that Maria made him wear when he first turned up in an ugly brown suit with weird square patterns on. She had nearly fainted at such a suit that was out of season by half a decade.

“Can’t you tell them I’ve mysteriously fallen ill?” Tony groaned as he sat up huffing at his peace being disrupted. Grimacing, Rhodey pulled him to his feet.

“I’m afraid I can’t tones if I thought I could get away with it, I would, however, your mum is a bloodhound when it comes to you.” Sighing Tony straightens out his clothes almost on autopilot. When he realises he frowns at his hands in somewhat betrayal and drops them.

He knows Rhodey hates this just as much as he does. Often they had fantasised about running away but, Howard had too big an influence to make the dream a reality. After so long not even meeting his mystery Alpha, Tony had hoped they may even break the arrangement. Hoping the Alpha finds another.

Taking a deep breath, Tony looks at his longtime best friend and nods at him. Resignation settling in the pit of his stomach. This was really going to happen, he was about to go down and meet his future Alpha that his parents picked. Lifting his mouth into a cruel smirk, Tony brings up his public persona- it worked great in throwing off the most cock-sure Alpha trying to pull one over him. It was the persona the paps loved to gossip about and speculate over. Writing articles on false assumptions, just the way Tony liked it. Keep them guessing, make them think they knew Tony and that they had him figured out.

“Well, Honey-bear. Let’s go down and join my lovely party!” Rhodey; bless him; offers his arm to the Omega as they head down to the main hall.

The enter the hall from a side door, they took the time to go to a more discreet entrance not wanting to make a big thing out of this. Looking around he lavish hall, Tony scrunches his nose up at the myriad of scents that assault his nose and confusing his senses. He hates parties as big as this one. After being secluded away or joining only so large a group, he’s not at all prepared for such a crowd.

Subtly pressing closer to Rhodey to breathe in his non-threatening neutral scent of cotton and light musk that’s pleasant yet calming to him. It fills his nose drowning out the many many posturing Alphas in the room. Nearly in every direction, Tony looks there’s Alphas posturing or gloating about something or another. Despite this party being about him meeting his matched mate now that he’s at the mating age, many high up social elites use this as a way to show off and one up others. Climb higher on that social ladder.

The room is filled with a rainbow of colours, bright yellows and daring reds seem to be dominating this season. Perhaps its popular for this type of party. Tony could hardly care, all he knew was that he was already rapidly developing a headache.

Together they moved through the crowd, Rhodey grabs two glasses of non-alcoholic juice handing one to Tony.

“Ooh, lovely mother ordered in j2O.” Humming happily Tony takes a sip of his drink glancing about the room for his parents or anyone that looks like royalty. As they keep moving, Maria soon finds them. A tight red dress that fits her perfectly and in the height of fashion seems to emerge out of the crowd before Tony’s very eyes. Her hair perfectly done up into a high bun and sprayed to the point that not one strand would even dare to move.

“Tony! There you are, come your father has been talking to Lady Hippolyta for ages waiting for you!” Fussing, Maria straightens Tony’s suit and huffs at his stubbornly undone buttons. Deeming it a battle she won’t win this time she plays with his hair a bit before deeming him appropriate to be seen by the Queen.

“Come, let’s go meet the Queen and your future Alpha! Oh, this is a dream come to” smiling fondly at her only son, Maria kisses Tony’s cheek and gently pulls on his arm to lead him along. Tony loves his mother, she may not understand his views but she does want him to be happy. Even if her actions see ill intended and often end up being so. She tries. Mor than his father does, at any rate, Howard just flat out doesn’t care for his son’s wants or desires.

All too soon, Tony spots his father talking to a group of women. Alphas nearly all of them if Tony is correct. And nearly all of them unusually tall as well. Their clothing looking almost like something from Ancient Greek. Yet somehow much more elegant than any other outfits in this hall.

Maria flitters up to the group and to her mates’ side pulling Tony into full view of the group, all eyes moving to him as if pulled by a magnet to the newly arrived Omega. Rhodey is a few steps behind, knowing he cannot interfere in this but close by for support.

“Queen Hippolyta, may I introduce my son, Antony? Antony this is Queen Hippolyta.” Howard beamed at his son, a smile that did not reach his eyes as he pretends to be happy to see his son while introducing him to the visiting group.

The Queen seems to see this as she raises a subtle eyebrow at Howard before turning to face the Omega fully, catching his eyes.

“Hello Antony, pleased to finally meet you, may I introduce my Alpha daughter, Diana?” Smiling much more genuinely, the Queen gestures to a younger Alpha at her side. Diana it seems, Is a tall woman. High magnificent cheekbones and flawless lightly tanned skin, her dark brown/black hair is pulled into a tight french braid to reveal her lovely face. Her dark welcoming eyes twinkle kindly when they meet Tony’s. Her body is lean yet strong looking. Despite what everyone else in the hall is wearing, Diana has on a wispy yet elegant blue dress, the outer layer is a sheer fabric that’s darker than the lighter satin like material. It slims and yet flatters her figure,

In a word, she was stunning.

Swallowing a bit as Tony tries to stop his gaze from trailing downwards too much, he nods respectfully to the beautiful Alpha.

“Hello, Princess Diana..”

“Hello, Antony” oh good Christ her voice is lyrical and smooth like honey! Tony was just barely holding back a blush at how much he loved her accented voice. Judging by her amused look, he wasn’t very successful.

Smiling proudly, Maria nudges Tony gently, “Tony, this is your mate”

This was his arranged mate?! The world seems to screech to a holt at those words. This was the one he was to marry and mate. Any other circumstance, Tony would probably be happy to hear those words. However, this wasn’t any other circumstance. Despite the pleasant smile on her face, how coULD Tony be sure they would be a good match. After all, for ages, she refused to meet him prior to tonight. What if she was putting on a show for her mother? For the sake of the arrangement? Someone this pretty could easily have any Omega or Beta she wanted. Tony wouldn’t be surprised if he found out that Diana had a side lover back in her Home kingdom.

Feeling his smile tighten at the edges. His face tensing Tony steels himself, “pleasure to meet you at last Alpha”

#larissaloki #fangirlfanning #tony stark #marvel #diana Prince #wonder woman #alpha #omega #alpha diana #omega tony #howard stark #maria stark #hippolyta

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