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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

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A Boy Like You | Yoongi

→ summary: for whenever you are feeling low, always remember that there is a boy you know who would lift the sky for you.

{or alternatively: Min Yoongi loves you, though he never says it. He’s always been a firm believer in that actions speak louder than any words ever could.}

→ genre: coworker!au, f2l, fluff → warnings: an overabundance of shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to squish his cheeks; kinda ooc but it is what it is → words: 11.5K → a/n: whaddup kids it’s ya girl... back from the dead after months of not writing shit, and what’s this owo... it’s a fluff fic?? miracles do happen... anyway i wrote this bc i just thot “man, wouldn’t it be super epic if i wrote a super self-indulgent fic where yoongi fulfills every single one of my deepest desires?” well... here is THIS!! pls feel free to scream into a pillow bc i certainly did!! enjoy!!

There is a boy you know who likes to show his kindness quietly. It would go something like this:

The air is thick with static; your hair stands up on end: a warning. The scent of raindrops hitting hot pavement graces your nostrils as a waterfall drops from the sky. You see the sea of heads begin to disappear under a canopy of multi-colored umbrellas. You, the lone ranger, rush back into the building from whence you came, dragging puddles and annoyance with you.

You should have anticipated it, should have thought to check the weather app before scrolling through dull social media posts when you left your house that morning. Instead, your fingers are left cold and umbrella-less.

You tilt your head upwards, watching as gallon upon gallon fell from the sky in an endless cycle. The watch on your wrist reads 5 PM, but the sky says it is 9 PM. The dark, swirling mass of clouds above you will continue on its thunderous parade, pausing for no one, especially not for you.

Your work bag is practically weightless, devoid of anything that might protect you from the onslaught of rain. The only thing inside is a small wallet that holds nothing more than dust and a loose promise of a paycheck. There is no way you can call a taxi like this, and the nearest bus stop is at least two blocks away. You are starting to think that your childhood dreams of becoming a mermaid hadn’t been so ridiculous after all.

Then comes the hand of God. It touches your shoulder gently, hesitantly. You turn around to face a stranger, a boy with shaggy black hair and pale moonlight skin. It is not God, but he comes close.

In his other hand is your salvation wrapped in Kumamon print nylon. It is proffered to you with a silent nod, his gaze fixed somewhere behind you as he waits for you to take it. The tips of his ears begin to redden the longer it takes for you to respond. Eventually, your brain connects with your muscles as you robotically pluck the umbrella from his grasp, a stuttered “thanks” leaving your lips.

He nods stiffly once more, removing his palm from your shoulder as though he had been burned. He shuffles for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find the words to say. You wait, patience never waning for the strange boy that you have come to know as your salvation.

He doesn’t find the words after all. You aren’t too offended by his silence, but he appears to be mortified. And so, he leaves just as quickly as he had appeared, like a whirlwind dressed in an oversized blazer flapping behind him like wings. He runs through the rain without another thought, an arm raised above his head in a futile attempt to avoid getting wet.

You try calling out to him, wanting to thank him once more and maybe to ask how you can return his umbrella, but he is long gone. A speck of black dashing through the gray.

You clutch the umbrella closer to you, a feeling of something new growing inside of you. It is too small to call anything, but it is warm.

x x x x x

Umbrella boy has a name, and he happens to work on the same floor as you. You know this because he is standing right in front of you in all his bespectacled glory.

He ducks out of view the moment your eyes meet his. There is a stack of folders in his arms, and he bows his head until his nose touches manila. It’s too late––he knows you caught him staring. He scurries behind walls of filing cabinets and desk cubicles, desperate to get back to his desk where he hopes you’ll never find him.

The office floor is large, but it is not large enough to hide in. It takes only a few minutes until you find him hunched over his desk, every inch of space taken by enough towers of paper to cover a forest. It is no wonder that you never encountered your mysterious umbrella boy; he does a wonderful job of blending in.

Your eyes trail his form, not out of any perverse intent, but just out of curiosity. You never would have guessed from his unassuming and meek nature, but the boy is devastatingly beautiful. The devil is in the details: you admire the soft slope of his nose to the adorable pout of his lips. His eyelids are charmingly mismatched and his cheeks are begging to be pinched. It takes a year’s worth of self-restraint to keep your hands at your sides, if only so you don’t scare him away before you can even introduce yourself.

(You can already imagine your HR department contacting you about nonconsensual manhandling… You admit that you tend to get overzealous with your affection, especially when confronted with cute things. This boy would definitely need to watch out for you if he knows what’s best for him.)

((Also note to self: Stop having these psychopathic conversations with yourself. Being stuck inside the cage which is your brain is torture enough, so let’s not encourage it to get worse.))

There is a lanyard laced around his neck, the gaudy orange color of your company’s logo emblazoned across the thin material. And just out of your line of sight, you catch a glimpse of his ID. His name is––

“Y-Y/N?” He stutters out–no–he squeaks. Ah, so he’s noticed you. The folder in his hand slips out of his grasp, an avalanche of white tumbling all over his lap. He curses loudly, frantically sweeping away the mess under his desk, as if he could somehow magically make them disappear if he just kicked them hard enough. Unfortunately, the papers stay stubbornly tangible, and he is left with a halo of accounting reports around his workspace as a result.

“Are you… umm…” You hesitate with your words, fearing that any sudden movement on your part might cause umbrella boy to combust on the spot. “Do you need help… picking those up?”

“I–Well, no–Yes, but–” His sentences are stilted, his brain struggling to catch up with his tongue. He clamps his mouth shut, then shakes his head like he’s trying to reboot himself. Finally, after a few more deep breaths, he goes, “No. I’m fine. Thank you for offering.” He says that, but he appears awfully content with staring holes into the keyboard of his laptop when he is speaking to you though.

“Still… I’m terribly sorry for startling you,” you say, lips tugging downwards into a frown. You should have guessed he was skittish from how he had acted yesterday, but it’s quite a surprise to see one man so… disastrous, for lack of a better term. It’s awfully cute. “I just wanted to properly introduce myself and thank you for lending me your umbrella yesterday, but it seems like you already knew who I was.”

His face does a weird thing then and there. It almost appears like he was caught in a time loop, like someone was manually reversing and replaying his facial expressions like a video. It takes a few minutes for his little stroke to settle down, but even then, his cheeks remain a rosy pink. “I–I just… remembered your name during the company retreat the other month. I’m not weird or anything, I swear!”

“Well luckily, I was never going to accuse you of being weird anyway!” You laugh, trying to ease the perpetual look of anxiety on his face. However, it only seems to worsen his nerves with how quickly his skin starts to redden. “In fact, I should be apologizing for not remembering your name, Mister..?”

“Min Yoongi,” he replies, pausing for a second too long. He must have realized his delay because he coughs awkwardly into his forearm, averting his gaze away from you in a futile attempt to become nothing more than an abstract thought.

He must be equipped with some sort of superpower, because you’re starting to feel his secondhand embarrassment flood through you like a tsunami. Are you that difficult to converse with? Does he want to be left alone so badly that he’s trying to subtlely tell you to fuck off?

You’re about to start apologizing and scurry off back to your desk in barely concealed mortification when Yoongi clears his throat, his gaze fixed somewhere to your right. Whatever caught his attention must have been revolutionary with how large his eyes are, although last you remember is that the wall behind you is the same dull jailcell gray that you have come to know and hate.

“I just… I’m sorry if I’m acting odd right now. I just wasn’t expecting you to come to my cubicle and I would’ve… I don’t know, tidied up? If I knew you were coming,” he mutters, propping his glasses back up when they start sliding down his nose. They make their slow descent back down immediately after, forever on an endless cycle of up and down his face.

“You don’t have to clean up just for me! I’m not your manager or anything,” you say, surveying the absolute disaster zone that is his workspace. For his benefit, you sure hope that he has a map of his desk and filing cabinets, as it would have been a miracle otherwise if he memorized where anything was located in his personal office sty. “Though, it would be nice if you could see the bottom of your desk every once in a while.”

To your immense surprise, Yoongi lets out a resounding laugh at your quip. Though Yoongi isn’t a mute by any means, it isn’t like he spoke with much volume either. You hadn’t even thought your joke was funny enough to deserve a strained Caucasian™️ smile, so you appreciate that he had considered that you were even slightly funny. You love the pleasant tinkling of his laughter, so genuinely joyous that you can’t help but want to make a fool of yourself just so you can hear it again and again.

When Yoongi stops, the familiar reddish hue that has made a home on his cheeks resurfaces, though it’s less from embarrassment now. His shoulders are more relaxed, and he doesn’t look like he wants to crawl out of his skin as much. He still has eyes averted away from you, however. “Sorry. I don’t know why I laughed too hard at that. I’m normally not this weird… I think it’s just the nerves.”

You cock your head to the side. “Nerves? From what?”

Yoongi freezes, mouth gaping open slightly. “I, umm…” He coughs into his white button-up sleeve, pupils shaking as he formulates a response. “Just from… work. Yeah, I just have a lot of paperwork to do this week and I’ve been, er, having difficulty relaxing.”

Yoongi visibly breathes a sigh of relief when you accept his flimsy excuse, not really lingering on the validity of his statement. “Oh, sure! Don’t overwork yourself too much, okay?” you say, smiling sweetly back at him. He stares, wide-eyed, not really sure how to go on with his life after he’d been blasted by the full force of your grin.

God, you hope you remembered to use a toothpick during lunch. Was there spinach in your teeth? Oh fuck.

“Gah,” he intones, his brain not fully cooperating with his mouth just yet. If you were any more socially inept, you’d probably be doing the same. Eventually, he clears his throat and tries again. “Uh. Yes. I’ll try to do better next time.”

Feeling like you’ve overstayed your visit, you decide that it might be best for you to leave him be before either of you do or say anything more awkward and stupid. Before you turn to leave however, you decide to extend your hand forward, hoping to erase all the previous awkwardness between the both of you and hopefully start afresh. Even though you’ve only just met, you can’t help but feel drawn to him, wanting to see him again and somehow gain his friendship. “Hey, no sweat. It was really nice meeting you, Yoongi-ssi.”

“Just Yoongi is fine,” he says, almost like an afterthought. He’s so busy staring at your proffered hand that you are afraid that you might have offended him unknowingly or something. Does he think you don’t wash your hands? Given by the fact that your office’s manager refuses to restock the soap dispensers at the washrooms, that isn’t that much of a stretch. Or maybe he was weirded out by your random handshake? Have handshakes become antiquated these days? Are the kids no longer doing it? Are you supposed to do those awful brohugs like the fresh-out-of-college interns do in the breakroom? Oh God, does Yoongi think you’re old?!

While you were in the midst of your mental breakdown, you soon begin to realize why Yoongi had contemplated returning your handshake for so long. Instead of taking your hand immediately, Yoongi rubs his own two palms together first, much like how one would when warming their hands in front of a fire. He takes care to blow on them slightly before grasping your hand firmly in his, finally bestowing you with your much awaited handshake.

“Umm..?” You stare at your intertwined hands, a little confused about the previous series of events that just happened five seconds ago. Yoongi, in all his adorable and flustered glory, releases your hand much too quickly like he’s been shocked, most likely realizing (belatedly) that what he had done might not be as clear to an observer as it is to himself.

“Oh, I – I’m so sorry about that, again.” Yoongi stutters, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s just – my hands are really cold so I was trying to warm them up before I held your hands. I’m – I only just realized how odd that must have looked. Sorry.”

A rush of endearment and warmth surges through you as you behold this high strung boy, your heart flooded with a mix of emotions that make you feel gooey and blissful in one perfect package. No, this boy is the perfect package, all soft edges and blushy cheeks. It’s going to take a mountain and a room of vengeful deities to stop you from walking past his desk to catch a glimpse of him at this rate.

Oh God, you’re whipped already and it’s only been a few minutes since you said hello. He warmed his hand for you for heaven’s sake! Surely your enthusiasm can be excused in this one instance.

“That’s, uhh…” Now it seems that it is your turn to be at a loss of words, your throat clogged with a clump of newly discovered feelings that you don’t have enough time to sort through at the moment. The hamster running circles inside your brain has long since ground to a halt, and if Yoongi is going to keep staring at you with those charming cat eyes for any longer, you aren’t sure you’ll be able to convince the little vermin inside your skull to puppet your body again. “That’s… really sweet. Thank you.”

Thank you? Really, Y/N?

“It’s, uh, no problem. Really.” And with that, Yoongi presents to you his most deadly smile to date: blinding whites coupled his prominent pink gums, with his cheeks stretched like proofed dough that make his dark eyes disappear. Is there a pencil wedged inside your chest cavity, or were you just spontaneously having a heart attack? It’s hard to say; all you know is that your organs have turned to slush, and you make a mental note to send the imminent hospital bill to a certain Min Yoongi.

Cause of hemorrhage: being too fucking cute.

With your daily dose of embarrassment fulfilled, you turn to leave with short stilted steps, as if you have to force yourself away from him like those stubborn souvenir shop magnets that never come off the fridge. “I guess I’ll see you around?” you say more like a question, unsure if he’ll even want to ever see you after that disaster of an interaction. Kim Namjoon from Accounting would be entirely too delighted if he ever found out that he wasn’t the most awkward human being in the office.

“Sure? I’ll just be here. As always,” Yoongi replies kindly, same gummy grin on his face, albeit a little more hesitant. “It was nice speaking to you, Y/N.”

When he returns his attention to his workspace, it serves as a signal to you that you really should be going. Before you leave, you take note of the subtle red tint of his ears that reaches the back of his neck, the gentle tremor of his hands as he reorganizes the files that he had previously dropped. It makes you feel odd for relishing in the fact that you hadn’t been the only one feeling the tension between the two of you, though that doesn’t help lessen the confusion that soon follows anyway.

Why are you so drawn to him? You have never felt so strongly for someone this quickly, and frankly it sort of frightened you. You’re too afraid to confront that blossoming curiosity inside of you. No, it’s much too soon for that. For now, however…

“Oh shit. I totally forgot to give him back his umbrella,” you curse yourself once you return to your desk. The smiling face of Kumamon looks at you knowingly, as if this had been planned all along.

Well. Now you have an excuse to see him again tomorrow, at least.

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his tenderness quietly. It would go something like this:

Company dinners shouldn’t feel like as much as a punishment as it does, but that’s just how social gatherings with semi-professional coworkers are like. No one here really wants to be there, but the carefully worded e-mail sent to the entire company clearly suggests that this was more of a “go to the party or risk getting fired” type of deal than anything remotely enjoyable. As much as free food and booze are often harbingers of a good time, it hardly makes any difference when your inebriated boss spends the entire time chatting you up in front of the presence of a dozen or so indifferent associates.

“Oh, Y/N! Good job securing that deal with Mister Park the other day. It’s all thanks to my valuable tutelage, is it not?” your manager guffaws, slapping your back with misplaced camaraderie. He leaves his warm, sweaty palm there, feeling it slide an inch lower than you were comfortable with anyone being. The smell of cheap wine on his breath is making you feel nauseous, and the tacky black and white tiled flooring isn’t doing anything to lessen the incoming migraine.

“Right,” you say with a tight-lipped smile, unable to say anything else lest you lose your job over something silly like establishing boundaries. It’s no wonder that the number of female employees on your floor has significantly dropped over the years, especially with rumors attaching themselves like maggots all over your stupid manager’s name. You wouldn’t be surprised if his stomach exploded ala Alien (1979) style with how much bullshit resides in his body and soul.

You’ve long since given up on anyone saving you, not when everyone was either too busy taking advantage of the free food or too scared to confront your shitty boss. You resign to your fate, ready to scrub yourself clean with a brick once you get home in a futile attempt to rid yourself of the feeling of his hands on you.

That is, until someone clears their throat from behind you.

Salvation comes to you wrapped in a crisp white button-up, thick-rimmed glasses, and cat-like eyes. You almost want to start breaking into Gregorian chant just then to fully express your gratitude to the deities of above for sending an angel in your time of tribulation.

“Excuse me,” the (welcome) intruder says, voice quiet but clear even amidst the cacophonous music and chatter. Min Yoongi steps forward until he is to your right, and you don’t miss the way his shoulder “accidentally” bumps your manager hard enough for him to drop his hand from your back. When Yoongi smiles at your manager, it is all teeth and no mirth, his eyes carefully blank.

Thankfully, your manager isn’t quite as fortunate in his brains department as he is in his stomach. “Oh, Yoongi! It is so nice to finally see you attend one of our social functions. You are enjoying yourself, I hope?” your manager asks, guffawing loudly despite no joke being said. You never did quite understand how some men think they are the most hilarious thing to ever exist since clowns, though you suppose your manager was only missing the red nose to complete the look.

“Thrilled, Mister Lee. Absolutely thrilled,” Yoongi says in a dead monotone voice. You can’t help but giggle at his sarcasm, and Yoongi points a wicked grin back at you before returning to his neutral and passive “work” face.

The sarcasm flies over your managers head like you expected, though you can hardly blame the alcohol for his lack of cognizance. You wouldn’t be half surprised if you knocked lightly on his head, only to hear a resounding echo following thereafter.

“I have never seen you at any of our parties before, Yoongi. What’s with the sudden change of heart?” your manager asks.

“Sir, I’ve attended every single social gathering since I was hired,” Yoongi says plainly, his composure never faltering. He must have better control than you, because you’re sure you would’ve barely held yourself back from smacking your manager had it been you. Though in fairness, you aren’t sure if you’ve ever noticed Yoongi at any of the other parties before this one either.

“Oh really? Well then, you mustn’t have said hello before then!” your manager laughs, patting Yoongi on the shoulder. “Always so enigmatic, our dear Yoongi! Well, keep up the good work.” When your manager turns his attention to speak to another one of your poor coworkers, Yoongi visibly gags from behind your manager’s back, grimacing as he pats away all traces of that foul man’s hand germs away from his dress shirt.

“Gross. Now my sleeve is damp,” he mutters, just audible enough so that only you could hear. You laugh out loud at that, nodding in understanding.

“Same here. There’s probably a gross sweaty handprint on my back now,” you say, wincing when you do feel a noticeable damp spot near the small of your back. “Ugh, what a pig.”

“Tell me about it,” Yoongi shakes his head, making a move to get away from your awful manager. He gestures for you to follow him, and you are more than happy to oblige.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way,” you add, keeping in step with him. He leads you out of the disorienting ballroom, though he doesn’t head towards the exit like you had expected. He appears to know the building much more than you do, given by how assuredly he walks. Either that, or he could be leading you to a deadend, but confidently.

“No problem. You honestly looked like you were about to punt him across the room, though I doubt anyone would be opposed to that magnificent spectacle,” Yoongi jokes, same mischievous grin from before decorating his face. He is so different from the taciturn man you had met two weeks ago, back when he had half-hidden behind his desk like an animal being cornered. Though, that might not be the best analogy to think of, as it only painted you as some sort of predator who came after meek and soft-looking men. Which you aren’t. Hopefully.

“Oh, I would’ve done more than just that, so really he should be thanking you for saving him,” you snort, and Yoongi chuckles lightly in response. Like before, his laughter is just as pleasant as you remember. Your greedy heart yearns to elicit the same sound from him once more, for as many times as you can muster before the night ends.

You had been so immersed in trying to keep up with his quick strides that you don’t notice where exactly he has taken you. The two of you haven’t gone too far away from the ballroom before he stops right in front of a metal double door, the neon green exit sign about it glowing conspicuously in the otherwise dimly lit corridor. He pushes it open, allowing the cool evening air to blow across you and your hand-me-down dress.

“Are we… at the balcony?” you ask, though the view that greets you is answer enough. How Yoongi could have known where the balcony is, you can’t say for certain. But any sort of question dies on your lips when you see how beautiful the skyline is: the stars and city lights twinkling indiscriminately, the sound of nightlife and traffic sounding loud despite the streets being so far away, the smell of ozone signalling an oncoming storm.

This, of course, is what you imagine the view to be like. You know, if the ever reliable Seoul smog wasn’t there to obstruct any sort of magical, romantic view that you should have been privy to.

“Oh damn. I forgot the smog forecast today was especially bad,” Yoongi groans from beside you, quickly shuffling through his pant pockets for a face mask. He procurs two black masks, still in their plastic packaging, and hands one of them to you. “Jesus. Sorry about this. Didn’t expect the smog to be so bad… We can just go back inside, if you want?”

Then, you are reminded of your manager, who is basically pollution incarnate with how terrible his breath is. So, you accept Yoongi’s proffered mask and promptly put it on. “Yeah, no thanks,” you say, voice muffled slightly by the fabric. The implication of your acceptance makes Yoongi grin cheekily back at you (or so you think, guessing by how his eyes crinkle cutely above his mask.)

Now properly equipped to not inhale disgusting air matter into your lungs, you step out farther across the balcony, enjoying the way the cool night breeze feels against your alcohol flushed face. (Though, if you were being honest, the heat on your cheeks has less to do with the meager flute of champagne you had earlier and more to do with the company you currently find yourself with.)

“I fucking hate these company dinners,” you whine a little bit too petulantly, complete with the jutted lip of a child who has been forced to wait as her mother engages in an eternity long conversation with an acquaintance. You lean against the railings near the edge of the building, watching idly as Yoongi does the same. “Don’t you think that if they wanted us to get ‘closer’ with one another, they’d first want to address the fact that some of our coworkers happen to be pigs dressed in white collared shirts?”

Yoongi snorts at that, his right hand immediately coming up to his mouth to silence the unflattering sound. Not that it wasn’t completely charming to you, but you do enjoy the slight abashment that blooms across his face shortly thereafter. “Sorry, didn’t mean to laugh like that. But, I do agree with you… I can’t say that anyone in our department is especially fond of that Habsburg motherfucker.”

Maybe it was the little bit of alcohol in your system, or perhaps it was the sudden rush of realizing that Yoongi is strangely attractive when he swears, but the laugh that exits your mouth sounds a touch too crazed for your liking. Either that, or perhaps you’re finally dying from the pollution.

Luckily for the both of you, it seems that Yoongi likes your weird laugh just as much as you like his. He tries to hide a smile before continuing, “Like, come on! I’m sorry for saying that because attacks on physical appearance is always a low blow, but why the fuck does that dude look like he’s been compressed and flattened on Photoshop? He’s got perpetual flat-face syndrome. You could - you could land a damn plane on his face or some shit.”

The cork inside of your bursts, and you let out the most ungodly guffaw in your life. You don’t even have the time to be embarrassed by how loud your howls are, not when every word he says hits the mark a little bit too close to home. There’s nothing quite as pleasing than sharing mutual dislike for the same person, and it fills you with the utmost glee that Yoongi is no exception to that rule.

“Oh god… You’re right. You are absolutely right. I seriously can’t believe anyone can put up with him. I mean, the damned bastard couldn’t even remember my name until two weeks ago,” you say, shaking your head in disgust. The first few times he had forgotten, you had been gracious enough to laugh away his mistakes as little more than that: mistakes. But when five years pass and peanuts-for-a-brain still hasn’t deemed that remembering your name to be as important as when the “next big Game™” is, then it’s easy to understand the depth of your resentment towards your manager.

“Are you for real?” Yoongi asks, brows raised in shock. “How could anyone ever forget you – I mean, shit, uh,” Yoongi coughs suddenly, red-faced. You tilt your head in confusion, waiting for him to finish. He’s still kind of spluttering when he continues, “What I meant to say is… H-how could anyone forget their employees name after working here for so long?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I have no idea. Honestly, I think he’s trying to purposefully forget everything I tell him. One time, he had asked me what plans I had for Christmas, and I mentioned to him how I was going to be visiting my parents back home, and he has the gall to ask what country I’m from. Like???” Your face contorts as if you had eaten an entire lemon, so wracked with disbelief that Yoongi can see the hypothetical question marks floating above your head. “Bitch, do I look foreign to that bastard? I’ve lived here all my life!”

Yoongi hums, thoughtful. “Your parents live just an hour away from here, right?”

“I… Yeah, they do,” you reply. You eye Yoongi curiously, watching his all-too familiar flush resurfacing on his neck once more. “Wait… How do you know that?”

“You… You were talking about them, once. To Seulgi? Yea, you were, um…” Yoongi coughs unassuredly, rubbing the back of his neck. A nervous tick of his, you suppose. “It was a year ago? Something about visiting them during the weekend… Not that I was eavesdropping on purpose! I would never, er, do that…”

You don’t even register his embarrassment as you are mostly shell shocked that he had even remembered that little tidbit from over a year ago. Hell, you didn’t even remember going to your parent’s house until he mentioned it. “No it’s fine, I get it. I’m just surprised that you even bothered to remember that.”

Now it’s his turn to look at you strangely. “Of course I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”

You stare at him in disbelief. Fluttering of wings begin to erupt in your stomach, but you hardly have the peace of mind to fully grasp why you were even feeling so flustered in the first place. It was just that he had said it so… matter-of-fact, like there was no possible way he could’ve forgotten even if he tried. It was kind of disconcerting, but flattering all the same. But more importantly--

“Wait, you’ve been working at the company since last year? How have I never seen you before this month?!”

“Oh,” Yoongi coughs out a laugh, scratching the end of his nose. He turns his gaze away, looking anywhere but you. “I was just, umm… Really quiet? I don’t really talk to anyone unless I need to. I’m more of a listener.”

“Oh my God, now I feel even more terrible for not knowing your name! I must look like an egotistic bitch to you,” you despair lowly, cupping your face into your hands in shame. You feel another pair of cold hands clasp your wrists, and you watch in shock as he pulls your palms away with a determined expression.

“What? Of course not. You are definitely not an egotistic bitch, Y/N. In fact, you’re the complete opposite,” Yoongi whispers, so quiet that you might have imagined it. He grasps your hands tightly, like he’s desperate for you to believe him.

You stammer in embarrassment, staring wide-eyed at Yoongi as you try to regrasp your comprehension skills. It’s especially hard to concentrate with how close Yoongi is to you, the latter unaware of his own proximity. He had stepped closer towards you to hold your hand, and normally you hated it when people touched you without permission, but somehow… This was alright.

(Unbeknownst to you, this will not be the first time that Yoongi becomes your secret little exception. It’s only the first of many.)

“I-I don’t really know what to say?” Your gaze is locked on his firm grip on your hands, the only thing flitting through your mind: damn, this dude’s hands really are fucking freezing!

It takes another few seconds for Yoongi to calm down, and you know when it happens because the realization of what he had said makes itself apparent on his expression. He turns beet red in a second, stepping away from you with his arms flying off of you like those inflatable tube men outside car dealerships.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, taking two steps away from you. You almost take two steps forward to keep the distance closer, but you have a feeling that he would keep walking away from you until you both inevitably fall off the balcony, so you smartly choose to stay away (even if it pains you to do so). You wait for his breathing to settle, all the while still reeling from his blatant confession just moments ago.

Could you even consider it a confession? Were you being delulu, or is there some sort of connection that you and Yoongi were both feeling?

“Yoongi, it’s fine! Really,” you smile wryly, raising your hands towards him open-faced, much like how you would do when approaching an agitated animal. Like a nervous kitty, you think privately to yourself. “I’m really flattered that you feel so… strongly?”

“I’m… I’m really not like this normally. Honest,” Yoongi says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… I never… do that. Whatever that was. Umm.”

Because you’re a freak of nature and enjoy exacerbating awkward social interactions, you decide to respond to him like this: “No worries, I’m flattered, honest! But hey, maybe next time you try to give me a compliment, you could look me in the eye?” You know, like an asshole. Who points out people’s social anxieties like that? You bitch!

On cue, Yoongi’s cheeks bloom into cherry blossoms once more. “I––I, I didn’t mean to––uh!” he stammers.

“No, no, I’m sorry for even saying that!” You apologize profusely, bowing so low that he could probably see the top of your spine. “I didn’t mean to tease you like that! I’m sorry! That was seriously out of line!”

What a pair the two of you were… Like two trains crashing into each other at mach speed, continuously and eternally. A constant and ongoing catastrophe!

(The little gremlin living inside your brain is knocking at your empty skull, whispering deviously, “But doesn’t that make the two of you the perfect pair?”)

When he doesn’t respond back immediately, you have to wrack up enough courage to look back at him. You gasp audibly when you do, and you have to forcibly grip the insides of your bicep to keep yourself from squealing in pure anguish.

Because there, right before your very eyes, is a blushing Min Yoongi looking you straight in the eye with his face squished between his hands, as if he’s forcibly keeping his head locked in place. His pupils are noticeably shaking and his brows are furrowed in concentration, but he’s looking at you. Like you asked.

He’s… He’s too…

“Okay, let me try this again.” Yoongi takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what may be the most embarrassing thing he has ever done in his life. “Y… You’re a great person, Y/N. I hope you know that,” he whispers, voice trailing off by the end of his sentence.

He’s dry heaving like he’s just finished a marathon, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. You’re worried if he even remembers how to blink with how intensely he’s staring you down, but you can’t bring yourself to ask him when your heart is quite literally beating out of your chest like a cartoon character from the 80’s.

“I…” You’re at a loss of words. If Min Yoongi can capture you like this with just a look, then think of how much more powerful he would be if he just learned how to use it. You’re slipping into real dangerous waters, and you don’t know if you’re just a frog in boiling water or if this is where you were meant to be all along.

“Yoongi, I didn’t mean for you to… force yourself like that, really…”

The moment breaks, finally, when Yoongi begins to cry.

“Shit!” you both exclaim, but for two different reasons. “Are you okay? Oh my god!” you reach out for him, not even thinking when you cup his cheeks in your hands. He gently pushes you away with one hand, while the other goes to scrub at his tears.

“Yes, I’m fine! A piece of dust got caught in my eye and I was too slow to blink it away,” he explains, still wiping at his cheeks. He pulls his mask down to his chin, pouting cutely at you. “Sorry. I’m not used to looking people in the eye yet. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Oh my god. At this point, you’d be surprised if your heart was located anywhere near your body. You were running purely on autopilot, so enamored by the boy in front of you that you could almost faint. He was entirely too unreal, unbelievably so. Perhaps, if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to find your heart again, and you know the first place where you’d look.

“Give it back,” you mumble, and Yoongi tilts his head at you in confusion.

“Sorry? Did you say something?”

“Nothing,” you reply, reaching over him and snapping his mask back on his face. You laugh as he splutters in surprise, floundering about overdramatically as if the elastic on the mask had done any damage to him at all. “Oh, stop it. You’re just being silly now.”

“Hey, I have delicate skin! You never know,” he jokes, but stops when you give him an unimpressed look.

“Sorry,” he laughs again. “And well, since I keep saying sorry today, and you look like you could use a little warming up, do you wanna leave this place and get some coffee? My treat.”

And really, who were you to say no to that?

And really, who were you to say no to Min Yoongi?

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his thoughtfulness quietly. It would go something like this:

A steaming hot coffee cup from the nearby cafe manifests itself on your desk one Monday morning. In your sleep-deprived haze, you had originally failed to realize that there was a hand connected to that cup and that it hadn’t actually just materialized from thin air like you had thought. After much blinking and staring, you crane your head up to see Jesus standing in front of you, his glasses still fogged from the outside chill.

“I got you a drink. I hope I remembered your order right,” Yoongi says in lieu of a greeting, a small smile gracing his lips as he watches you lethargically reach over for the cup to lift the lid open. His grin widens when he sees your eyes light up at the sight of little marshmallows bobbing up and down in your hot chocolate, bits of whipped cream already melting away from the heat. When you take a sip, you breathe a content sigh, your eyelids fluttering shut.

“Yoongi, I’m going to kiss your feet right now and you can’t stop me,” you say, upper lip lined with cream and sugar. Yoongi’s hand twitches by his side, but he doesn’t move.

“Even if I have toe fungus?”

“Especially if you have toe fungus,” you say, downing as much hot chocolate down your throat without choking and barfing all over him.

From the rim of your cup, you can see that Yoongi still has his parka on, his signature black mask pulled down his chin indicating that he’s only just arrived at the office. It makes your heart jump a little, knowing that he went straight to you first before anyone else that day.

“I still don’t understand how you hate coffee. Like, I don’t think I’d be able to be conversing with you right now if I didn’t have caffeine running through my veins,” he says, staring at you(r lips) as you chew a marshmallow thoughtfully.

You want to tell him that Yoongi doesn’t talk a lot anyway in the first place, though you have begun to notice that he’s becoming more talkative the more you hang out with him. However, you aren’t quite sure if you’re imagining it, but it seems like Yoongi’s change in personality doesn’t really apply when he’s with anyone else. On the days where you’d pass by his cubicle on the way to the water coolers, he’d still have his usual stoic expression on his face as he goes through his paperwork with the grace of a robot. When he’s with you, however…

“Says the guy who’s started drinking frappes after I suggested them to you. Don’t lie to me, Min Yoongi.” You’re giggling softly, and you can tell Yoongi’s seams are already breaking. Pink gums and straight teeth are seconds away from peaking through. You wink cheekily at him. “You’re just as sweet as your personality is.”

“Stop, that’s so embarrassing!” he exclaims, hiding behind his hands. He’s already smiling. “I’m not as sweet as you think! I’m a mean guy!”

“Yoongi, you literally just bought me hot chocolate with marshmallows because you remembered what I like. I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body,” you retort, rolling your eyes at the prominent pout on his face.

“Not true! I stole an extra coupon booklet when I was at the grocery store the other day.”

“Ooooh, I do love a bad boy,” you say, but the two of you are already laughing hysterically. “Seriously, thanks. I really needed this today.”

“Dang, bad morning already?” he winces, having noticed the purple moons under your eyes when he had approached you. He didn’t want to mention it without you bringing it up first, but he had been worried about you since last Friday when you had left the workplace with a slammed door.

“Try bad weekend. Mr. Lee has been pushing my buttons for months now, but I seriously didn’t think he thought it was a challenge. He’s been giving me shitty filing jobs to complete like I’m some overworked intern!”

Yoongi cocks his head, confused. “Aren’t you, like… In the advertising department? Why would he make you file things?”

“Exactly!” You’re all but roaring now, but Yoongi can’t help smirking at the stray dollop of whipped cream that had somehow found its way on your nose. He pulls his sleeve over his wrist, swiping it away with the fabric as nonchalantly as possible (which is to say, he’s as red as a spanked ass when he does it.)

You don’t even notice his actions, still deep in the abyss of your rage. “And also! My shitty phone ran out of storage space the other day so I’ve had to delete all the songs on my library and I can’t find any good playlists on Spotify to help me dissociate on the train!”

“Wow, that’s a mood,” Yoongi says, chuckling. He clears his throat, an idea popping into his head. He turns bashful all of a sudden, gaze diverting upwards as he musters the courage to say, “I-I mean, I think I can help you with that last problem, if you want…”

You stop huffing and puffing long enough to appear intrigued. “Oh? Are you gonna send me a playlist?”

Yoongi splutters. “I mean! If you want it, I do have some songs that I like listening to.”

Yoongi squeaks when you smile at that, radiant and all-encompassing. He wonders how he’s not dead right now.

“Oh god, that would be great actually! Text me the link, would you?” you say, already making grabby hands for his phone. “Here, lemme put my phone number in your phone.”

Yoongi almost drops his phone as he takes it out of his pocket, staring in awe as he watches you type in your number into his phone. He has to keep himself from outright howling when he sees you place a sunflower emoji beside your name. How fitting, he thinks to himself.

When you return the phone back to him, he immediately texts you the link to his playlist. You have to keep yourself from screaming to the heavens when you see the very Yoongi-esque title, “Songs for the Sleepless,” complete with the grainy-noir-film-type playlist art to complete the look. It was just so… personal, so Yoongi, and it’s making you clench organs that you didn’t know were clenchable.

You whistle at the sheer number of songs on the playlist, with the first song being—“Didn’t peg you as a Lana Del Rey fan,” you pipe up, scrolling through his playlist with acute interest. “Kendrick Lamar and Epik High, I understand. But Lana?”

To his credit, the playlist did seem like it had a narrative of sorts, despite the eclectic range of artists and genres. You only recognize maybe ten of the songs from his five hundred song playlist, and you’re very curious to see what type of songs he connects to.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he shrugs his shoulders, though a little bit embarrassed. “Lana Del Rey could sing my obituary and I’d jump out of my grave in an instant.”

“Bit morbid but okay,” you laugh, finger ready to close your music player app when you catch sight of a song with an artist you didn’t expect to see. You reach over to tug on his sleeve, your sly smile already causing Yoongi to break out in hives. “Hey… I didn’t know you shared your name with a singer, unless, of course…”

Yoongi doesn’t even let you finish your sentence when he yelps in surprise, snatching your phone out of your grip as his eyes bug out of his sockets. His ears redden, words tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall as he tries to explain himself despite your raucous giggling.

“I––You weren’t supposed to––I forgot about! That was––I was just––Ugh,” he groans despairingly, smacking himself in the forehead with your phone. You’re still giggling madly, enjoying the spectacle before you as Yoongi’s ears are practically shooting out steam.

“You’re so cute.” It slips out of your mouth with such ease that you almost don’t notice saying it at all; you’re still smiling dreamily at Yoongi as he stares at you in shock, mouth still agape from his earlier rambling. You gasp loudly when your brain cells finally catch up, but by then it’s already too late. Now, the two of you were a matching pair, with your fire engine red ears standing at attention.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that,” you mutter into your hands. You wish the earth would swallow you whole right now.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that,” Yoongi wails beside you, but you don’t notice the small satisfied smile he’s sporting on his reddened face. “Y-You can’t just say things and not expect me to…”

You look up, wondering why he’d suddenly trailed off at the end. “Expect you to what?”

Yoongi, once again, defies the laws of the universe by somehow turning even redder than humanly possible. “N-nothing. Ignore me. Let’s just admit we’re both embarrassing and carry on, can we?”

“Sure,” you agree, nodding enthusiastically. “But, does that mean I can listen to your songs, Mister Min ‘I’m-a-superstar-singer-in-my-spare-time’ Yoongi?”

“I’m not a superstar! I just record songs in my free time, that’s all,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Says the guy who apparently raps as a hobby! Seriously, I can tell I’m gonna love it already.”

His gaze is turned upwards, cheeks puffed up in embarrassment. He looks like he wants to say something else, however, and you wait for him as he tries to gather the courage to say what else is on his mind. “S-say, I was wondering… Since I’m already here and all, do you want to maybe go out wi—”

“Yo! Hyung!”

A deep voice from across the office floor snaps the two of you out of your little bubble in an instant. It doesn’t take a genius to tell who it is, not when there’s only one person in the entire company who would dare wear a sushi-print tie to work at one of the most lucrative companies in the country.

Kim Namjoon hobbles over to your little cubicle space in all his sushi-print tie glory, knocking over a coworker’s potted plant in the process. Between you and Yoongi, you had been more surprised by Namjoon’s sudden exclamation, mostly because you’d never been particularly close with the eccentric man. Yoongi probably can’t say the same since he had briefly mentioned that he and Namjoon go way back, though you’re starting to have some doubts about that due to the dirty glare Yoongi was currently pointing at the sentient noodles-for-legs.

Namjoon waves cheerily at you before cutting to the chase as he envelops Yoongi in a not-too-gentle hug. “Hyung! I’ve been looking for you. You weren’t at your desk this morning so I was wondering where you’d wandered off, but of course I’d find you here at Y/N’s de––”

Yoongi promptly stomps on Namjoon’s feet, causing the younger to yelp out in pain. “Namjoon. I told you I’d talk to you later.” Yoongi smiles sweetly, but you can see the aura of danger radiating off of him in waves. “Emphasis on later.”

Namjoon pouts petulantly, but he doesn’t look all that offended. “I was just gonna remind you to ask Y/N if she wanted to join us for lunch la––OUCH! WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET!”

Yoongi appears unbothered, not even looking back at Namjoon’s shouts of betrayal. All the while, he still has his gaze trained on you, never wavering for one second.

“Please ignore my colleague. He can a bit… Unnecessarily loud,” Yoongi says, accompanied by Namjoon’s splutters of indignation.

“Umm?? I’m right here?? Your actual best friend?? Geez!” Namjoon huffs, looking at the both of you incredulously. You just shrug your shoulders, completely dumbfounded by the last five minutes of human interaction.

“As Namjoon was saying before we were so rudely interrupted… I was going to ask if you wanted to have lunch with me? Namjoon can join too, but only if he behaves,” Yoongi jokes, smirking at Namjoon’s ireful glares.

You giggle quietly at the unlikely pair, amused beyond belief at this new side of Yoongi that you hadn’t been aware of. So this is how he is with his friends… Cocky Yoongi is definitely someone you wouldn’t mind talking to occasionally, you admit.

“Sure, I’d love to. Just let me finish all this filing crap for Mr. Lee, then I’ll head over to your desk at around 12?” If you work at a breakneck pace, then you could probably finish sooner if you didn’t let anything else distract you. “Oh! And I should probably return your umbrella before you leave. I keep forgetting to give it back to you.”

“No worries,” Yoongi says. “You should keep the umbrella. I’ve got a spare anyway.”

Namjoon’s head whips toward Yoongi at that, staring at him skeptically. “Dude. Ain’t that your favorite Kumamon umbrella though? Didn’t you almost murder me that one time I forgot it at the McDonald’s last mo––WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET! I’M GONNA GET FLATFOOT SYNDROME!”

“Not my problem,” Yoongi replies, pinching Namjoon’s nose for good measure. He turns to you, waving goodbye. “See you in a few?”

You stretch your back, psyching yourself up to get back to work. “Right. I’ll text you when I’m done okay? See you at 12-ish!”

The boys make their leave, bickering all the while. You catch wind of a bit of their conversation as they turn the corner, their voices echoing down the hall.

“Hey, I noticed that you were looking Y/N in the eye when you were speaking. Why don’t you ever look me in the eye when we talk!”

Yoongi snorts, flipping him off. “It’s because you’re not as nice to look at. Simple as that.”

In your seat, you smile secretly to yourself, butterflies erupting in your chest. Filled with newly found fervor, you chip away at the pile of work on your desk until it starts to vanish from view.

Before you know it, you’re off to see Yoongi once more.

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his vulnerability quietly. It would go something like this:

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his love quietly. It would go something like this:

Your day begins with a phone call: a warning. Your boss tells you to come into work as soon as possible, not a note of enthusiasm or friendliness in his tone. He ends the call just as abruptly as it had come, the silence following soon after deafening your ears. Your heart races marathons in your chest, and your brain goes to the worst place it can go.

Your hands are sweating gallons upon gallons as you shrug your coat on, fumbling with your keys as you struggle to place them in your pocket. For a brief moment, you think about calling Yoongi for moral support, but think better of it. You don’t want to bother anyone, especially not him.

You, the lone ranger, walk out of your apartment and into the murky urban outdoors, the first pitter-patters of rain making their descent the moment your foot meets the pavement. You don’t have quite the energy to go back inside to grab your umbrella, not when you’re unsure if you’ll be courageous enough to leave your bedroom once more if you did.

You’d always been a coward, a soft-hearted fool. Content with shouldering the consequences of your actions without another word: a sufferer in silence. For the past few weeks, you thought you might have changed. You’d been smiling a lot more, laughing a lot more. Your cheeks were often more red than any other color these days, and it was all thanks to a boy you know.

He was shy, but brave. Quiet, but talkative. Mysterious, but vulnerable.

He made you realize that there was no need to settle for one side of a coin, not when you could have both. The longer you stuck around him, the stronger your desire was to become… more.

You wanted to be open; you wanted to be known. You wanted to be able to ask for what you want, and never feel the crushing sense of guilt that usually came afterwards. You wanted to be unapologetic, wanted to keep your hands open, waiting for good things to come your way. To never cower in the face of a gift being handed to you. You wanted to have all that life has to offer––

(Him. Him. Him.)

But there is something pitiful about being unable to keep your own promises. The embarrassment of returning to the state where you once were, of turning meek at the first sign of adversity. The dreams of a happier life drifts away from you like mist under the morning sun, and the pressing weight of the world once again makes its home on your shoulders.

And so, you do not cry when your boss tells you to pack up your things within the hour.

You do not cry when you cut your finger on the corner of your desk that had never been replaced during your five-year stay at this company.

You do not cry when one of your potted plants smash to the floor when you try to carry too many things at once.

You do not cry when co-workers you’d only barely spoken to come over to your desk with showers of condolences, as if you’d already died.

You do not cry when Kim Namjoon walks over to you, quietly bending down to help you carry your boxes down to the lobby.

And when all is said and done, you most especially do not cry when Min Yoongi runs to you with his lungs burning in his chest, glasses still fogged up from the morning cold outside. His hair is in disarray and his shirt is on backwards, as if he’d jumped out of bed the moment he knew something was wrong. When he skids to a halt right in front of you, the pain etched on his face is as plain as day.

Wordlessly, he takes the last box out of your hands, placing his car keys on top when he can’t hold onto them both. His eyes flit towards your clenched fists for a second, but looks away the moment you notice. Instead, he walks out to the elevator, and you follow soon after.

You do not cry when Min Yoongi helps you load his car with your things. You do not cry when he takes a first-aid kit out of his glovebox and puts a band-aid on your finger. You do not cry when he offers to pass by the local home depot to pick up a new plant when he notices yours is gone. You do not cry when he doesn’t treat you like your life has ended.

(But you feel it. Pricking along your eyes like a dam about to break. He is doing this to you. He’s making you feel again, and it fucking hurts.)

And so, he drives you home.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Yoongi starts after a while, tapping a rhythm away on his steering wheel as he waits for the morning rush traffic to subside. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, worried when you don’t respond. You keep your head pressed against the cool car window, staring blankly at the gray skyline.

“I… I hope you don’t mind if I play you something. Just… Just listen to it, okay?”

You don’t see him, but you hear his fingers switch their tapping to his phone as he unlocks it, searching for the song he wants you to hear. It takes a moment or two for him to find it, soft curses tumbling from his lips as he goes through his Google Drive for the unfinished draft that he hadn’t meant to show you until it was complete, but well––

You were always an exception to him, weren’t you?

The first notes come creeping up from behind you, and it reminds you of the way Yoongi would speak to you. All soft whispers and gummy smiles, like he’s restraining himself. Slowly but surely, the music grows louder, more confident with its sound. You can picture Yoongi standing upright, hand outstretched towards you as he asks you to follow him.

The song is unfamiliar, but there’s something about it that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention. You’re trying to go through your memories, sorting through the hundreds of songs that Yoongi has made you listen to but none of them seem to ring a bell. You’re still trying to figure out if you’d heard this before when the lyrics finally start.

“Lost in the sea of my regrets, you became my polaris.”

Yoongi’s voice comes from the radio speaker, jolting you from your seat. Your spine straightens, and you stare bullets at Yoongi’s phone as the song continues to play. When you look towards him, Yoongi’s face is a statue; the only thing giving away the fact that he was with you at all was the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“The shadows, which had been my haven, no longer feel as good as they once did. You, my light, have changed all of that.”

You gasp, and Yoongi’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. It seems like the two of you stop moving at that moment, neither of you daring to breathe. Even the outside traffic sounds muted compared to the sound of your hearts hammering inside your chests.

“I’ve long since forgotten to pray, but I will remember for you. I only dream of happiness for you, my morning light, my northern star. And I’d give it all up for you.”

Yoongi notices your tears fall before you even do; he’s quick to fluster, scrambling through his car side door for a tissue to hand to you, but he stops the moment he feels your hand fist the elbow of his sleeve. He turns to look at you, all blotchy and tear-stained, but beautiful all the same. And even through your tears, you smile just as radiantly as when he had first seen you.

“Thank you,” you mouth, fingers trembling as you fight to keep more tears from falling, but nothing can stop a dam from breaking. Not when you’re sitting beside the hurricane who broke it in the first place; it was the boy with feelings that never did quite fit in his body the way other people’s did.

Luckily, they fit right in with you.

When the song comes to the end, you’re sniffling up a storm, but you still haven’t let go of him. When you’re only a few minutes away from your apartment, Yoongi parks a little bit far off from your doorstep, so you have to walk the rest of the way home. But you’re still unwilling to let go, not yet.

Gently, Yoongi pries your hand away from his sleeve and you’re about to protest, but the words die on your lips the moment they form when Yoongi rubs his hands along the side of his slacks before placing them in yours. His hands are still cold, but comforting all the same.

“Let me walk you home?” he whispers.

You nod. Of course, you want to say. But he knows what you mean, anyway.

When he goes to unpack your things from the trunk, you shake your head, stopping him from moving any further. “I… I don’t feel like sorting through those things right now. Is it fine with you if I just… Go home for now? Please?” Your brain feels like lead in your skull after all the bottled up tears had finally escaped from years of constant pressure, and you don’t think you’re quite ready to go through all those emotions again. You feel deflated, but better. He always makes you feel better.

Yoongi closes the trunk, locking his car before stretching out his hands for you. You stare at the proffered hand for a moment.

“Oh, right.” Yoongi goes to rub his hands to warm them, but you stop him once more in his ministrations. He looks at you, confused, as you grab his hand from him. You rub circles into his palm, staring at the ground in embarrassment.

“You’re always warming your hands for me… So this time, I’ll warm them for you, okay?”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything in response to that. Instead, he tugs you along towards the sidewalk and keeps you close to him. As he walks with you, you notice the way he leans slightly to the left, like he’s drawn to you––like he can’t help be more than an inch further from you.

You keep glancing back down at your linked hands; he’s shaking, but then again, that could also be you.

You arrive at the gate of your apartment quicker than you would have liked. Neither of you move to separate; when you look back at Yoongi, you see that his eyes are trained on you. He doesn’t even flinch away like he used to. His lips are pursed, like he wants to say something but he’s still too afraid to.

So you say it for him instead.

“Do you have… somewhere to be?” Unlike you, he still has a job. He still has commitments. He still has a life outside of you. You’re hit with fear, once again, at the sudden change in your circumstances.

You might never get to see him again. Is this where your paths cross, never to intersect again? Your stomach drops at the thought, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

“No, I don’t. I could…” Yoongi trails off, glancing at your apartment with soft hesitance. “If… If you want me to…”

Yes. Please. I’d love it. I love yo–– ”Yes. Stay with me?” you mumble.

“Always,” he promises.

The pair of you trudge up to your apartment, passing by the prying eyes of housewives with your heads bowed in embarrassment. They don’t miss your pinkies linked behind your backs, nor the subtle blushes on the apples of your cheeks. Thankfully, they don’t comment when Yoongi enters your apartment after you, but they do giggle when his coat gets caught on the door handle in his rush.

When the two of you are finally alone, the air isn’t as awkward as you had feared. You work like two cogs in a machine; he readies your TV and scrolls through your Netflix for a movie, while you go to your kitchen and have a small mental breakdown (while also microwaving some popcorn). Soon, the two of you are snuggled into your small couch, elbows barely brushing against each other.

You’re only half paying attention to the generic action movie that Yoongi had put on; you were still deep in your thoughts. You’re picking away at your hangnail, worrying your lip as you try to enjoy what might be the last time you’ll ever get to hang out with Yoongi again. You’re so deep in your musings that you don’t immediately feel when Yoongi wraps his arms around your shoulder, nestling your head into his chest.

“W… What?” You crane your head and stare at Yoongi in shock, but he’s already returned his attention back to the movie. His cheeks are burning.

You’re still stiff with tension despite his comforting caresses against your hair, so he changes tactics and brings your hand up to his.

You think he’s just going to hold your hand, but he keeps bringing your hand up until it gently caresses his face. Just as you’re about to ask him what he’s doing, he curls your fingers until only your pointer is left unfurled, and casually uses it to poke himself in the cheek.

He leaves it there for a second or two, and when you finally turn to face him, he’s smiling so sweetly at you that you almost feel compelled to cry again. His eyes and nose are all scrunched up, rose petal gums on full display. Your finger is still pressed gently into his soft cheeks.

“You said you liked to dream about poking my bread cheeks. Well, here’s your chance,” he says, like it’s nothing at all. As if what he has done was as simple as breathing.

Yoongi’s smile brightens when he feels your form relax against him, giggling softly when you go to pinch his cheek for good measure.

“Bread cheekies,” you say, like you’re in a trance.

Yoongi nods. “Bread cheekies,” he repeats. “And it’s all yours.”

There’s a promise in there, you know. Somehow, he had sensed your worry and had thought of the perfect way to calm you. Like always, he never has to say it. He’s never needed words, anyway.

The two of you stay like that for hours. The sun sets as surely as the moon rises, and Min Yoongi stays with you through the night. When your mind drifts off and only your steady breathing fills the room, Min Yoongi brushes a small kiss against your forehead.

“Dream of happiness, my love,” he whispers into your skin, just when he thinks you’re asleep, “I’ll dream of you, too.”

It’s a promise that he keeps.

There is a boy you know who never learned how to say he loves you, but it never mattered all that much to you––not when he’s willing to show you over and over again. It goes something like this––

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fandom-collective-writers · 3 years

Text

Bonding a Mate

Fandom: Ikémen Sengoku Suitor: Kenshin Uesugi Author: @otome-smut-queen Tags: Dubcon, ABO, smut, breeding, bondage, modern AU, NSFW, impregnation, Alpha/Omega

Mai wrinkled her nose as the stench of Alpha flooded the room. She had come to her friend’s bar to escape the coupling going off back at her house, though she was still doubtful that Hideyoshi even knew that she wasn’t in the house after causing a problem at work with her post-heat pheromones. Despite working for Nobunaga Oda for several years, she had been able to hide her true secondary nature from all of the high-level management she worked as a personal assistant to. Until the previous month when she had her first full-blown heat and had been unable to do anything except try to sate herself in bed. Now she was dealing with the usual bull that came with Alphas trying to tell her that she wasn’t capable at her job and she should just ‘settle down’ and let someone else have her job who could provide for their family that way. It made her angry. The only saving grace was the part where her boss didn’t care about her secondary gender. He only cared for the quality of her work, which only suffered when toxic Alpha managers would suddenly come up to the CEO and Director floor to tell Mai about why they should be dating. He had issued a company-wide directive that afternoon after she had been pinned in the corridor and intimidated, Mai was not to be approached unless they were willing to risk their jobs. It was likely to go unnoticed until Nobunaga fired someone for that reason, but she was glad her boss had faith in her still.

She groaned and necked back the remainder of her rum and coke. If the Alpha group were anything like those at her workplace, then she would be better off going home now.

Then Kanetsugu grabbed her hand, stopping her from leaving the bar. His silvery hair usually framed an icy pair of purple eyes, but he wasn’t looking at her with them for once. The bar dropped a few drops very swiftly, making her shiver before the sound of Kenshin’s footsteps broke the spell that Kanetsugu had weaved over her body’s inability to move. She swallowed nervously as Kenshin’s hand replaced Kanetsugu’s on her forearm. Then she was led down the bar, her arm lifted over the pumps and tills as the room watched the display of dominance silently. Mai didn’t dare to look over her shoulder as they reached the end of the bar, and the door to the employee-only area was opened by Kenshin. He scoffed loudly and pushed Mai through first. She caught a glimpse of a group of Alphas, probably the same group that she had smelled entering the bar, and they had been positioning themselves to make a move on her from their positions in the room. She swallowed nervously, looking up at her friend and waiting for the explanation. She trembled slightly, not because she was scared of Kenshin, but because she was so angry that strange Alphas thought they had the right to do as they pleased to her.

“I’m so weak, this is disgusting,” she scoffed, before Kenshin wrapped her up in his arms, stroking her hair out of her face.

“You need to be more aware of your surroundings. You smell of Omega right now,” he commented sharply, rubbing her back to help soothe her. He was also pumping out his scent, designed to calm down any distressed Omega and make them pliable to his commands. “I’m taking you back to my place. You’ll hold on tight to me on the back of my bike,” he instructed, already manoeuvring Mai through to the staff room where he picked up his motorcycle helmet and a spare one he kept at work for these occasions. Not that Mai thought anything of his actions, her body reacting like a puppet on strings as Kenshin gently pushed the helmet onto her head and helped secure it before the two were on the bike and speeding off through the city’s streets. The streetlamps twinkled as they zipped through the corners, Mai holding on firmly to Kenshins’ waist as he had told her to. She was only in jeans and a blouse since she hadn’t been able to get changed before escaping out of her house several hours before, but she melded herself to the Alpha to protect herself from falling off.

It had been a while since she had been at Kenshin’s apartment. A modern, top floor, two-bedroomed home with every gadget possible it seemed as Mai put the helmet down on the sideboard next to Kenshin’s. He watched her silently, waiting to see what she did while guarding the front door so there was no escape for her.

She stretched her arms out, rolling her shoulders to release the tension as she looked out over the Kyoto skyline. There was something beautiful and memorising about the scene as she gazed out of the window. Kenshin purposefully pumped out his scent, keeping her pliable as his arms slid around her from behind, holding her body against his. She groaned softly as his lips brushed her neck, her head tilting to the side to give him plenty of access. Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips kissed up to her jaw, a soft growl down her ear sending shivers down her spine as Kenshin felt her ass push back against his hips. He smirked to himself as he turned her head and claimed her lips possessively. Mai was completely at his mercy as the Alpha parted from her, ignoring her whines as he picked her up roughly and stormed through to his bedroom.

“Strip,” he grunted his command, pulling away from her only for long enough to check that he had locked the front door. He had been watching Mai carefully since they had reunited after her career brought her to Kyoto once she had completed university. He had kept every suitor away from her, and thankfully her stupid bosses had never made any attempt to woo her. But he had waited patiently enough, and now she was his as he came back into his room.

Her nervousness was adorable, she was down to her underwear as Kenshin quickly stripped, his clothes left in a trail from the door to the bed. He kissed her with a passion that threatened to burn them both, leaning over her and pulling open a drawer in his bedside table, purposely obscuring her view of it as he pulled out the restraints. He looped them through his headboard bars, one eye on the writhing Omega underneath him and the other on his hand that was keeping hold of her wrists before he had her locked in them.

Mai squeaked, tugging reactively on the material cuffs as she glanced up to see what Kenshin had done. Not that Kenshin minded, since it left her neck open to his markings. He groaned as the soft floral of cherry blossoms came from her scent glands, his cock throbbing and desperate to be touched as he continued to kiss down her skin.

He used raw strength to break through the centre of her bra, and then snapped the straps to toss the offensive item clear of the bed. Her confusion was cute as Kenshin took a nipple into his mouth, using his tongue and teeth to tease it into a hard peak, his mismatched eyes watching Mai’s expression change to one of bliss. Her hips rutted up, groaning as Kenshin’s nimble fingers slowly began to tease her clit through her panties. He smirked as she whined in frustration that he wasn’t touching her directly and chuckled softly.

“I told you to strip, and you didn’t get fully undressed, so this is your punishment,” he stated simply, before turning his attention to her neglected nipple. He used his tongue to roll it between his teeth, sucking and nibbling on her skin, as the pad of his middle finger circled against her clit, using the wet fabric to deny her what she really wanted. He knew that she was close to being open to anything he said, her secondary nature was taking control and leaving her free to his will. He needed her to say that she was his, to mark her up and to never leave as the blush on her cheeks started to darken.

“Kenshin, please, Alpha, I’m sorry,” she stuttered, the words falling out of her mouth as she pulled on the cuffs. Her hips rutted and writhed against the bedsheets, trying to work the offending item of clothing down. He kept her legs pinned under his body as her moaning increased in volume, it was getting harder to not just tear the panties off her as Kenshin weighed up the idea in his mind. No underwear would mean that Mai would need to wait in for him to get what she needed, it would mean that she couldn’t leave until the world knew that she belonged to him.

He couldn’t wait any longer, as he pulled so harshly on the fabric that it tore under the pressure, and left marks on her hips. He would apologise later and make her think it was unintentional. Mai was producing so much slick, she would be able to take him as he parted her legs. It was a view that he never wanted anyone else to see unless Kenshin was the one breeding her.

“Kenshin,” she whined, wriggling underneath him. It was cute, she was trying to flip herself over to present for him like a good little Omega would do. He would have to try that position next time as he smiled down at her, her breasts now shiny with his spit and the desperation evident on her face before he thrust his whole length into her core in one swift motion. Mai cried out in delight, her pussy filled with Alpha cock, and a nice thick one at that, this was meant to be her position in life. Kenshin knew that he needed to put his pups in her as he rocked his hips swiftly against hers. He needed to breed her as her neck was bared to him, his hands pinning her legs back to her torso as he started to slam harder and faster into her. The way she squeaked and moaned was addictive, it was cute how she babbled about needing to cum, he knew that his knot was starting to bloom before he growled possessively and sunk his teeth into the crook of her neck.

It was a white-hot ecstasy that exploded inside of him. His teeth pierced her skin at the same time that his knot popped inside of her core, Mai’s screams of pleasure threatening to bring the apartment block down while she spasmed around his cock as it poured his cum into her. He had slid an arm around her back to hold her close to him as they rode out their mutual climax. His tongue lapping at the freshly laid mating mark over her scent glands on her neck, his Alpha nearly content to bask in the afterglow. He nudged her face towards his glands, nipping at her tender skin as a hint before Mai returned the favour. They would be locked together for a little while, his cock was keen to keep her pussy full of cum for the moment as Kenshin kissed Mai on the temple.

He could hear her brain starting to clear and work out what was happening.

“Shhh,” he soothed, pumping out his scent to keep her placid. “I’m looking after you now. There’s nothing for you to worry about, you’ll be kept with me, just nice and pregnant with my pups, doesn’t that sound so nice? Nothing to worry about and no other Alphas to run from,” he purred as her brain slipped back into Omega mode, accepting the affection from her new mate. He’d get her to comply easily enough, she was safe now with him.

#ikemen sengoku kenshin uesugi #ikesen kenshin uesugi #kenshin x mc #lasteaparty #kenshin smut

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yoditorian · 3 years

Text

a law divine - 1

soulmate au!ezra/reader

this is solely the fault of one single anon who called out something i put in the tags and now it’s a whole universe but you know what?? it’s the love of my life. anon i hope u see this 💛 i also just want to say i know there isn’t A Lot of soulmate talk in this one but it’s important for the narrative okay bear with me

playlist // series masterlist // main masterlist

word count: 7.2k (a Big Boy)

warnings: swearing, my usual allusions to smut bc we keep things neutral in this house, brief food/alcohol mentions, 18+ please no babies

It might be the ugliest ship you’ve ever seen.

Not that you’re really one to judge, the one you charter out when you’re running point on a job is a mismatched patchwork of rusty panels held together with electrical tape and hope. If there’s the slightest possibility you might be a teeny tiny bit disappointed in it, it’s only because agency jobs are usually a little cushier. A little safer for once. You could do with a bit safer.

Your family might prefer a lot safer, but you’d sooner take your chances in open space without a suit than take a job working scrapyards. At least risking your life on digs gets a decent payout.

“You the danger mouse?”

It’s not an accent you hear often on the Pug, the majority of the station’s population is human, but you turn with a smile to meet the bright purple eyes of the Thanne. Armour-strong scales and sharp teeth, but he seems kind and mild mannered despite his clear predatory biology. You nod as you readjust the pack on your shoulders.

“I’m Iras.” He holds his hand out to you. A distinctly human gesture made a little awkward by the sharp edged scales and extra fingers, but you shake it nonetheless. He’s your captain for this job after all. You wonder where a Thanne became so well versed in human custom, the species as a whole tend to keep to themselves instead of branching out into the universe like so many others, until his crew members appear on the boarding ramp.

Iras gestures to each of them in turn. Summer, a blonde woman with dark skin and a kind smile, and Milo, an older man with a swirling tattoo above his left eyebrow that matches the navy blue of his eyes.

“Is it just us?” You ask. You could have sworn there was a fifth name on the manifest you’d been forwarded, but teams are always subject to change. You just hope you’ll have your own room.

“Ezra always leaves things down to the wire, he’ll show up right before we’re due to push out.” Summer laughs fondly, throwing an arm around your shoulders like she’s known you her whole life. You’re usually a little wary with brand new teams but the way she’s already chatting away makes you feel at home. The last agency job you were sent on got dicey, fast, somehow you’re sure the same won’t happen with this lot.

“There he is.” Milo leans out of the ship to point out into the docks.

You turn to see a man sauntering through the throngs of harvesters towards the ship, and it’s odd. The rest of the crowd seems to melt away as he closes the distance, even the weight of Summer’s arm on your shoulders feels not quite there. You take the moment to study him. He looks all business with his dark hair and his charcoal grey shirt and the neat pack slung over his shoulder, but his pants and boots have seen better days and the streak of blonde at his temple makes you smile. It’s nice to finally be with a crew without a single stuffy addition.

“It’s not often I get to congregate with like-minded souls.” He grins when he’s in earshot, a flash of something feline in his eyes. You don’t want to admit that you like it.

“Like-minded?” You tilt your head at him as you follow Summer up the ramp and into the ship. Ezra slips in behind you just as it starts to raise. Just like the others said.

“We’ve all got the same death wish, Sunspot.”

The launch, at least, is smooth despite the beaten up ship and it’s only about twenty minutes before you’re far enough from the Pug to punch a lane to the next system over. At least it isn’t far, there’s only a day between now and making planetfall. Somehow, you’re not surprised to find that it’s more of a barracks and bunk beds situation rather than each having a private quarters. Last time you were hired by the agency, you definitely got your own room. But it gives you a chance to chat with the others as you unpack.

Milo explains the air isn’t breathable, so he’ll need to double check to make sure everyone’s filters are running at capacity. But he reassures you that it’s a comfortable temperature, so it’s good to know you won’t be sweltering in your suits or freezing your asses off.

You pick the bed on the wall beside the door, taking out a few essentials from your pack and tucking the rest safely away in the storage compartment. Just as he did back at the docks, Ezra is the last to find his way to the room. He settles his things on the bunk opposite yours because the universe has it out for you, apparently.

“Did I hear one of them call you the danger mouse?”

You struggle not to roll your eyes at the nickname awarded to anyone stupid enough to do your job, although admittedly he doesn’t sound like he knows why. You offer him your name instead and pretend the way he rolls it around in his mouth doesn’t send a shock right down to your bones. You’re not in the habit of sleeping with colleagues, not until the job’s over at least. But you’d be lying if you said you’re not tempted.

“They call me in when a site’s unstable but too profitable to close.” You answer, tugging your sleeves up as the climate control settles to a comfortable temperature.

Ezra raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue, and you pull off your gloves. They land on your thin mattress as you hold your hands out between you. Not even the slightest twitch.

“Steadiest hands on the Pug.”

“So they are.” There’s a challenge in his voice that threatens to send a shiver up your spine. It’s clear he doesn’t doubt your skill in the field, but the return of that glint in his eye from the docks has you wondering exactly what else he’s thinking about as he studies your hands. It’s not hard to work out.

It’s been so long since you had to travel out of the system, you forgot how much inter-system lanes can fuck with the human brain. You’re half asleep for the thirty minutes you spend sorting your things for the morning, barely enough energy to change into the sweatpants and ratty t-shirt you call pyjamas, before you crawl into bed and settle down almost immediately.

Only you don’t get to sleep for as long as you’d like. The rest of the crew seem to have filtered in after you, the shift of sheets and snores float through the dimmed room. Except, it’s not just that. There’s shuffling and bed creaking from further down the line of bunks. A hushed giggle sounds in the silence and-

Oh god. Oh no.

They’re not. They can’t be, they- they are.

You’re very awake all of a sudden, eyes wide as you keep them firmly on the ceiling and wishing as hard as you can for an alarm to start beeping or something. Anything to get whoever’s banging Summer to stop. A deep voice hushes her when she laughs again. Iras. Knowing is somehow worse. The mechanics- you don’t even want to think about it.

You turn onto your side slowly, but loud enough to hint that maybe they should find somewhere else for their escapades, and fold your pillow around your head as a kind of makeshift set of earmuffs. Whether they’ve quieted down or it muffles the noise, you’re not sure, but it seems to have worked enough. You catch Ezra’s eye in the almost-darkness, much in the same position as he holds his pillow over his own ears.

It’s embarrassing for the both of you, even as you share a conspiratorial look. But somehow, it’s less awkward to have to hear Iras and Summer going at it when you know he’s awake. He winces when a particularly loud squeak echoes through the room, and it takes everything in you not to bust out laughing. You fall asleep again eventually, making faces at Ezra in the dark until neither of you can keep your eyes open anymore.

You’re surprisingly well rested come the morning, when the whole ship jolts as it punches into the system and you’re almost thrown out of bed. So much so that it’s easy to forget that you woke up at all until you shuffle into the main living compartment of the ship. One of the crates by the wall has been cracked open, Milo hands out granola bars for breakfast.

Summer and Iras are sitting in the same chair, feeding each other, and it might be cute if you’d been awake longer and hadn’t been woken up by their activities in the middle of the night. You slump into a free chair, face twisted in disgust for a moment. You’re pretty sure nobody else sees until Ezra laughs and drops into the seat beside you. They’re nice people, from how they took you as a friend immediately, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s just a bit much for your perpetually single heart to take.

“It’s a week-long job, they can’t take a break?” You watch as they finally pry themselves apart to start, you know, actually working. But not without a genuinely gross kiss that definitely toes the line of public decency. Suddenly the half-eaten bar in your hand isn’t all that appealing anymore.

“Soulmates take no breaks, Sunspot. I’m sure yours would be hard pressed to be anywhere but in bed with you whenever they get the chance.” Ezra winks and it takes you a moment to remember where you are. A glance at the pair makes your new knowledge obvious, the way they seem to be touching, even now, on opposite sides of the room.

“I’m not sure I believe in all that red string stuff.”

Once the ship is safely landed a short walk from the site, the days you spend digging pass with ease. The deposit is a decent size, it takes all five of you to cover it completely, and the payout should be enough to keep you all comfortable for a little while even with the agency’s cut. The crew around you fill the time enough that you barely notice the week coming to a close.

Summer sings in the mornings as she cleans her equipment and readies her pack for the day. Miles talks gently to the cells as though they can hear him, shushing them any time he worries a gem might corrupt. Iras seems to have a secret superpower when it comes to the ration packs, they always taste better when he’s the one on lunch duty. And Ezra spends the afternoons regaling you all with tales of ancient beasts, laying eggs that fossilise into the very gems you’re harvesting. Although you’re not sure how true they are.

You almost get through the whole dig without a hitch. Almost. But aurelac is a tricky thing, even a change in the wind can turn a site for the worst. You’re all sitting around at lunch when it happens. The telltale smoke wafts up into the air for no visible reason at all and although you’ve collected enough to cover the quota, you’d still rather not lose viable gems.

“Get to what you came here for.” Iras gestures in your direction and you dive into the pit head first.

You’re not even sure you stop to think as you follow the harvesting steps at lightning speed, salvaging half the corrupted cells before someone tugs you out by the collar of your suit. The rest of the site starts to smoke the moment you’re out of range, spitting and hissing and rendering the rest of the gems worthless.

“Danger mouse indeed.” Ezra chuckles over the comm system, hand still fisted in the fabric of your suit. For once, the nickname makes you smile.

While you all go your separate ways after the ship has docked back on the Pug, Summer makes you all promise to meet later at a club you’ve only heard of in your friends’ messy night out stories. Still, you pinky swear when she holds her hand out to you and try to remember if you have a single item in your wardrobe that’ll pass as club attire. Or at least something that isn’t so worn there are holes in it.

Even if it’s a song he knows, there’s no chance that Ezra could recognise it with the volume cranked so high through the cheap speaker that everything but the beat is distorted. Still, it doesn’t stop people from dancing.

He’s a little late, as usual, but he doesn’t need to worry as Iras appears behind him and claps a hand on his shoulder, pointing to a booth across the room where Milo is looking increasingly uncomfortable.

It doesn’t take long for Ezra to spot you and Summer in the middle of the dance floor, as he follows Iras around the edge of the space to the booth Milo’s claimed. You’re both more jumping than dancing, yelling the unintelligible lyrics of the song into each other's faces. He can’t hear your breathless laughter as Summer spins you in a circle, smile wide and bright, but he can feel it in his ribs. The drums of the song kick in at the same time the swirling lights of the club light you up like some kind of celestial being, just as you catch his eye through the crowd. And everyone else disappears. The rest of the world, rest of the universe, fades into the background. Just like they did the first time he saw you, glaring suspiciously at the ship on the docks.

Summer’s dragging you back to the table when the song comes to a close, the both of you out of breath and laughing, and Ezra has to try desperately to remember how to speak when he watches a little bead of sweat slide down the side of your neck. And stop himself from just licking a line straight up it. His silent suffering only increases when Milo holds out a shot of the most potent alcohol the Pug has to offer and you down it without so much as a flinch, winking at him when you return the glass to the table for good measure.

Milo calls it a night only an hour later, clearly only having braved the crowds of the club to celebrate the job. Summer and Iras are tangled in each other on the dancefloor, or the booth, as they keep the shots coming. You, at least, decide to keep your wits about you, declining every drink after the one Milo had handed you. Nobody’s going to fuck with a Thanne, even in as seedy a club as this, so you don’t worry about Summer as she gets sloppier and sloppier. But there’s no spiky non-human boyfriend looking out for you down here, it’s just you and the knife you keep at your hip.

You pull yourself from the dance floor, eyes tracking the room for the missing member of your party, until you feel a set of eyes on you from above. Ezra’s leaning on the bannister of the stairs, his unflinching gaze set solely on you. And you can’t help but smile. You follow him up to the mezzanine without hesitation when he glances upwards and back to you. The buzz of the shot has mostly faded from your veins, replaced by something much more dangerous by the way he’s looking at you. The way he’s looked at you since you met him.

It’s not hard to spot your friends from up here, leaning over the barrier with Ezra to people watch. He crafts stories about every stranger who catches his eye. The man hunched over the bar in a beaten up jacket, the waitress who fiddles with her necklace any time her hands aren’t occupied, the pair of lovers tucked away in the dark corner on the other side of the mezzanine. You find yourself sliding closer to him the more he talks, wrapped up in the warmth of his voice even in the rundown club. Your shoulder knocks into his as you mindlessly bop to the music and listen to his made up stories. Utterly enchanted. It’s hard to remember a time when you felt this way with anybody, if you ever did at all. To tell the truth, it’s hard to remember anyone before Ezra. And neither of you have even made a move yet.

He's got his arms braced on the barrier, and you find yourself lifting the one closest to you so you can slip in between them. Surrounded on all sides and you couldn’t feel more comfortable. To his credit, he doesn’t falter in his vivid storytelling about the group now settled in the booth your crew had claimed earlier, not even a stutter as you turn in his arms to face him. He’s decided they’re here to celebrate the beginning of a new job, rather than a successful harvest. His eyes flick to you for the barest moment, enough to notice yours are firmly focused on the way his lips move around his words, before searching the club below for another story. Another way to keep his mind and mouth occupied so he doesn’t accidentally admit all the sinful things he wants to do to you when you press your ass up against him like that.

“Ezra.”

He shouldn’t be able to hear you over the music, but you’re nose to nose and he’d be hard pressed to ignore the way you practically purr his name. He’s expecting you to make another flirty comment in that voice that sends his mind reeling into all manner of indecent places the same way you have been all night.

“Can I kiss you?”

He doesn’t expect you to just outright ask him.

“Yeah.” Yeah. Hell of a time for his eloquence to fail, not that it matters anyway. You’re on him the moment he stops speaking.

It’s like the sun explodes inside him, the way his stomach bottoms out the second your lips touch his. There’s nothing soft about it, not the way he might have imagined there would be. If he’d been so bold as to let himself imagine what kissing you might be like. You’re all warmth and heat and you still taste a little bit like the shot you’d thrown back earlier, and he finds himself falling. Not that Ezra minds, he hopes his parachute never opens if it means you’ll keep kissing him like this.

You let your fingers roam under his jacket, twist themselves in the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and you sigh into his mouth. God, you knew he’d be good at this. His hands leave a trail of starlight as they trace over your body, never quite choosing a place to rest. They start to settle on your shoulders, only to skim down your arms and squeeze harshly on your waist, to play along the strip of skin he finds just underneath the hem of your shirt, to grip harder than he might mean to onto the meat of your ass through your pants. You gasp, break the kiss for barely a moment, and stop his apology in its tracks.

He doesn’t protest when you walk him backwards, still groping at each other like it’s just the two of you in the whole club. Ezra only groans when his back hits the wall and you push even closer into him, as if there was even any space left for air between your bodies already. He’s not about to complain. He could kiss you for a thousand years and it still wouldn’t be enough. It’’ll never be enough, not for a soul as hungry as his. You pull back too soon, far too soon, and it takes a solid minute for his brain to kick in and break the vice grip he still has a little too low for the public eye.

Oh, that look on your face. He’s in trouble.

“Where are you off to?” Ezra asks, flushed and breathless, a hand stretched halfway out to where you’re backing toward the stairs.

“Home,” You say with a sly smile, “You coming?”

He can’t push off the wall fast enough.

You don’t live far from the club, a ten minute walk at the most, but Ezra manages to make it a solid twenty with the way he keeps pulling you to him. Not that you’re about to complain. You’ve been waiting a week to let him get his hands on you. At the press of his lips on your neck, the shudder it sends down your spine, you wonder if part of you has been waiting even longer than that.

You’re trying, desperately, to type in the keycode to your apartment. If Ezra could calm down with the grabby hands, you might have gotten it right straight away.

“No roommates?” He asks, kissing along your shoulder, and you take the temporary reprieve to kick your brain into gear and remember the fucking numbers.

“Hugo won’t be too upset if I make him sleep on the couch.”

The door slides back into the wall to reveal a dark apartment, a strip of light from the hall falling on a very orange cat. He stares at you for a second, clearly not particularly pleased that he’s been so rudely roused from a nap, before he settles back to sleep stretched out on the couch cushions. Hugo. Ezra is silently relieved that the roommate is just a cat, he’s not sure he’s got the self control to stay quiet tonight. Or to make sure you do.

You waste no time once you gesture for Ezra to walk in ahead of you, flicking the switch on the wall to slide the door shut and pulling him back to your lips. He doesn’t hesitate to crowd you up against the cold metal.

Although you could devour each other until the closest sun explodes and swallows the station whole, Ezra has to break away. To think, to breathe, to tease you a little about the moan he just swallowed from you. But you beat him to it.

“Gotta catch your breath?” The smile on your face threatens to make his knees buckle, and with you pressed up against the closed door the way you are? He might just let them.

“What do you want, Sunspot?”

You left a lamp on in your bedroom, the door cracked just enough to let a little filter through to the main living space. Still, he’s almost completely silhouetted against the warm yellow glow. As if he’s some kind of ethereal being, maybe he is.

“Make me see the stars.” You pull him in as close as you can and let your lips brush over his as you whisper. His next words make you shudder almost as much as the way he drags the zipper of your jacket down, slowly, tooth by tooth.

“As you wish.”

And boy, does he deliver.

You’re expecting things to feel more unfamiliar than they do, as you explore each other for the first time, but it’s like you’ve been here before. Once, twice, a hundred times before. Every move feels oddly choreographed. Ezra knows exactly how to take you apart and put you back together again, the way he pulls every twitch and moan out of you so expertly. You’re no different, as your fingers map the plains of his chest like it’s muscle memory.

You shake it off, put the thoughts to the back of your mind. You’ve been around the block a little in your time on the Pug, it only makes sense that he has the same kind of experience. But shared experience or not, you can’t deny how much having him so close feels like a homecoming of sorts.

It’s the best sleep of your whole fucking life and, honestly, you’re not that surprised. Ezra makes a damn good pillow. Even if you both wake hours later into the day cycle than either of you normally would. Even if he’s more of a morning person than you are. It’s kind of nice, to sit still snuggled in your pile of blankets and watch him potter around your apartment as Hugo winds around his ankles like he’s been there for years.

Your fridge, however, is heartbreakingly empty and renders his offer of making breakfast pointless. Instead, he pulls his shirt on and offers to take you to the best little diner he knows, tucked away in the heart of the marketplace. It’s a hard offer to turn down.

“What kind of gentleman would I be to have so much income at my disposal and not treat such a beauty as yourself to a good meal?” He winks as he flashes his credit chit at you as if you didn’t scan in for your paychecks at the same time. You laugh as you empty a food pouch into Hugo’s bowl, and tell him he better show you all the good breakfast spots. You shrug off his raised eyebrow and mutters of a ‘next time’. As if he didn’t already know.

Still, Ezra takes you by the hand the moment your apartment door secures itself shut behind you, leading you through the hall and out into the street, and you’ve never felt more wanted.

It’s like everything’s brighter, walking leisurely through the bustling market stalls with Ezra. The smells are stronger as spices in the air cling to your nose, the cacophony of vendors calling out almost sounds like music, and you start to laugh. Hand in his, in the middle of the maze of stalls full of food and tools and trinkets. As if it’s just the two of you in the whole universe.

At least Ezra doesn’t look back at you like you’re crazy. He smiles too, just as big, and you feel bathed in warmth the same as when the sun comes out planetside.

You’re both still grinning when he leads you deeper through the market, down an alley and up a flight of stairs to an unassuming door.

“Is this where you murder me?” You joke just as the door opens to reveal a short older woman with an eyepatch, who pulls Ezra down into a tight hug as soon as he’s in arms reach. He introduces her as Merse, the woman who’s run the best diner no one’s ever heard of on the whole station. She slaps his arm for his cheek, but her grin grows twice as wide when she spots your intertwined hands.

Ezra pulls you through the doorway after him as he follows Merse, chatting about how she always keeps the best table open just in case he brings a friend and you try not to smile too wide when she wiggles her eyebrows at you. He says something to you, but you’re too distracted by the view from the big windows.

The far wall is completely glass, overlooking the main docks, lined with booths. A small family sits in one of them, their two children standing up on the seats to watch the ships come and go. You’ve never seen it from this angle before, always down in the masses and scanning the boards for new jobs. It’s kind of beautiful. In a rusty, patchwork sort of way.

Merse points you towards one of the booths with a promise that she’ll bring you the best breakfast you’ll ever have, something tells you she’s not lying.

It’s not long after you slide into the booth that she comes marching out of the kitchen with two plates, wafting steam that makes your mouth water and your stomach rumble. Rice and vegetables and eggs and all sorts of things you’ve never even seen pile high, and you’d worry you wouldn’t be able to finish it all if you weren’t so hungry.

“You know I won’t break, right?” You push your fork around in the remaining rice on your plate as you watch Ezra absorb your words. He thinks about it for a long moment, dark eyes over you before settling on your own.

“What’s this about?” He knows, you know he knows. More importantly, you know he’s going to make you say it. In the middle of the day cycle, in this family friendly diner.

“Just,” You exhale sharply, “Making sure you’re aware.” Your body floods with a shyness that’s alien compared to the confidence you had last night and suddenly, your breakfast is the most interesting thing on the Pug. You can practically feel him smiling at you, but you don’t dare look up to meet it.

He was right though, the food really is some of the best you’ve ever had.

It’s not until you’ve wandered back through the market, still hand in hand, and found your way back to your apartment that Ezra decides to bring it up. He may have been more than a little distracted last night, but he’s sure he spotted a set of old books sitting on a shelf above your couch. You freeze, ready to go on the defensive about how ink and paper will never be obsolete, until you realise he’s genuinely interested. He’s not judging you by any means. Something about the curiosity shining in his eyes makes your heart flutter more than you care to admit.

He could watch you talk about your books all day, every day, for the rest of his life. How your eyes lit up when you recognised his interest, a paperback lover himself. You can’t seem to stop yourself as you dive into the intricate details of your favourite classics, two or three hundred year old texts that make you feel like you’ve lived a thousand different lives at once. He wants so badly for you to keep talking but the more impassioned you become, the more he wants to kiss you.

You trail off at some point, he loses track when you climb into his lap to point out notes you’ve made in margins and the books lie scattered on the couch beside you as you kiss him until neither of you can breathe. You’re still a little achy from last night, deep in your bones, and you hiss when his teeth scrape across your shoulder.

“Won’t break, is that right?” Ezra chuckles darkly and nips at your jaw, “Can I try?”

“Please.”

You wake at the creak of your bedroom door, sometime in the early hours. Hugo noses his way through the narrow gap and hops up onto the bed, curling up on the unclaimed pillow by your head. Ezra sleeps deeply, face buried in your neck, and you let the warmth of him wash over you. It ebbs and flows like a tide, that familiarity. The undeniable fact that something about this just feels right. You’ve known this man a week and yet you’re here wondering, as he rests in your arms, if he might want more than just this with you.

Oh, but you are so afraid. Afraid to put a name to anything about him because what then? Will he tell you that you’re simply a placeholder in his life for something better, or that his heart might bleed through his skin when you’re apart? You’re not sure which is worse. Not that it matters, there is no word in any language that would be able to explain exactly how you feel about the man asleep in your arms. It’s enough, you think, to have him with you at all. In any capacity. Whatever pieces of his soul he bares as your breathing evens and his mind wanders. That is enough, and you will protect it with your life.

You have to part ways at some point, of course. Another week of rolling around in your bed sheets together, on the couch, on your pitiful kitchen counter, up against the wall, and Ezra gets a call from the agency. It’s a last minute job, the crew only need an extra set of hands to fit the safety standards, but it’s several systems out from the Pug. It’ll take him away for at least a month. You trail after him at the docks, with promises of messages in his absence and all manner of unsavoury activities on his return. It’s with a deep kiss and a wolf whistle from a couple of dock workers on their break, that you wish him luck. And ask him to hurry back.

Summer’s message surprises you when it dings through on your tablet. Some gajillionaire on Dallore T53 has found an aurelac deposit on the grounds of his new estate and wants it gone. She’s preoccupied, already out on another dig with Iras and a new crew. But it’s the kindness of her even thinking to offer it to you that makes your heart swell. It’s been a while since you’ve had real, honest to god, friends.

You’d go in alone, normally, for something like this. But now? Now, you’re punching in Ezra’s comm pin before you can even really register what it is that you’re doing. He only got back a week ago, and you made him settle in back home before he could settle in yours. It’s not like the two of you would be doing any resting on his return to your apartment, exactly. The job was a pain, he’d told you, it ran months longer than anyone expected and you’re sure he’s still exhausted. He won’t agree, but you find you have to ask. Just in case.

“Sunspot?” He sounds happy, rested. And you breathe a sigh of relief, at least he can follow your orders when he wants to.

Hugo snakes around your ankles at the familiar voice, the same way he does any time the man himself walks through the door. If you didn’t know that the little orange devil’s alliances lie in who feeds him, you might think he loves him more than you.

You explain about the job, make sure to stress that he doesn’t have to come. That you don’t even really need to take it if he’d rather you stay close by. Okay, you don’t say that out loud, but the smile you hear in his words through the speaker makes it known that he’s heard you. Loud and clear.

It doesn’t matter in the end, not when he accepts before you even have a chance to give him any details. You don’t know why you were so worried he might say no.

“Any excuse to be warmed by your light, Sunspot.” Hugo brushes up against your leg at the same time Ezra’s voice practically drips through the speaker, smooth as honey.

“Is that a euphemism?”

“Do you want it to be?”

You choke on your breath and he laughs like you’ve told the funniest joke in the universe. He’ll kill you one of these days, you’re sure of it.

You charter the ship you usually take on private jobs, the space a little smaller than you remember with another person on board, but it’s not like either of you aren’t used to being in close quarters with each other by now. At least Ezra has the decency not to be mean about the beaten up exterior, she still flies true. He’d grinned at that, told you how a rough outside often means the opposite of the interior mechanics. The glint in his eye is enough to know he’s not just talking about the ship.

At least the planet is in the same system as the Pug, so there’s no need to punch through to a lane. You fly in silence for a few hours, the familiar feel of the controls under your fingers as you guide it through the sky. Ezra’s eyes remain firmly on you although you pretend as though you don’t notice, and it takes him a moment to come back to the present when you ask him to flick a few switches and prepare to enter the atmosphere.

The coordinates the client gave you to land are only a short walk from the house itself, a great stone castle-looking thing. It’s kind of ugly, the way the limestone juts out above the treeline. A big white block among the rich reds and oranges of the leaves. They grow that colour all year round, perpetually stuck in spring and summer. It must be nice to have the kind of money to find somewhere like that and decide you’ll build a house there. The air is breathable, and a quick look at the planet file proves it’s never too hot or too cold. A perfect place to build a house really. Although, if it were you making that kind of decision, you’d maybe go for a design that’s a little less cubist.

The deposit isn’t huge, but it’ll be a good payout nonetheless providing the cells are all in good nick. You and Ezra wade through swathes of long grass and wildflowers until you find a spot to set up camp. At least you’re not stuck in bulky suits and having to lug around your equipment.

You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect dig if you’d tried. Each of the cells sit far enough away from each other that even if one were to fail, it wouldn’t corrupt a whole mess of the others. Although with both of your talents, it doesn’t surprise you when you collect every last crystal without a single misstep.

You’d told Ezra the profit would be split down the middle, equal pay for equal work. But it doesn’t stop him from sliding an extra gem into your pack to cover the ship charter. After all, you’re the one who was offered the job in the first place. He’s just following his heart, the one that walks around outside of his body and throws itself into deposits mid-corruption.

You hold one of the little gems aloft in the sunlight and watch as it sparkles.

“I used to think it was weird how rabid people go for these. But the more I dig the more I get it, isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

Ezra tilts his head like he’s studying the rock, but his dark eyes don’t leave yours.

“It’s a close second.”

Sap.

Night falls before either of you realise just how late it is, clearing out the last few cells of the deposit. It’s not worth going back to the Pug now, he reasons, and you find it hard to disagree. The ache of the few days you’ve spent digging has settled deep in your muscles, the thought of having to run through docking procedure when you’re so tired is enough to make you wince.

You let him take you for all you’re worth under the watchful eye of the heavens, and find there’s more stars behind your eyelids than you could ever hope to see in the skies. It’s all you can do to cry out the name of the only god to ever make you feel this holy. Ezra.

He wakes with the sun, the same way he always has on jobs, to find you curled so tightly against him that it bubbles up from his toes all the way to his throat and he finds his eyes threatening to spill over. Everything in the universe seems to slot so perfectly together when you’re like this. Ezra sighs, content to never let the moment end. You are so beautiful.

He shifts up onto his elbow a little, still cradling you against him, and lets his free hand trail softly over your face. Tracing the shell of your ear, the curve of your cheekbone, the bridge of your nose. The dawn’s sunlight breaks over the trees and filters through the fabric of the tent, bathing you in soft green light. He could stay here, holding you, until the universe implodes. Ezra doubts he’d notice such an insignificant thing with you beside him.

But end it must, and he rouses you gently with soft whispers and kisses against your temple. You stretch in his arms, not unlike Hugo, and sigh as your joints pop and settle. Packing up happens slowly, moving around each other so naturally it’s as though you’ve done it a thousand times before. Every time Ezra passes, you drop a kiss wherever you can reach. His shoulder, the arm of his jacket, that little patch on his jaw. He pretends not to blush when you catch his hand and carefully press your lips to the little tattoo between his thumb and index finger, you pretend not to notice when he does.

You’ll be the death of him, he’s sure of it. The way you keep watching him out of the corner of your eye, the way your smile is so bright when he catches you that he can barely stand to look at it. With the tent and equipment packed up, his fingers itch to thread through your own as you start the walk back to the ship, there’s not a word in the universe strong enough to describe just how much he hates that both his and your hands are too full.

It’s odd, thinking about it. How you met by pure chance, hired by the agency just because you were on the same station at the same time. Would he have ever met you if you’d chosen a different career path, if he had? Maybe somewhere, centuries before or after this moment, where you’re meeting again. Different lives, different times, spanning across all of existence. Maybe, right here and now, you’re starting to feel the way he does about you. Just a little. Maybe he’ll get up the courage to ask what you think, how far you want to take things. He’d give himself to you in a heartbeat, without question. In a way, he already has.

Ezra can’t stop himself.

“What do you make of the red string of fate?”

“All you’ve seen of the universe and you still believe in soulmates?”

“Maybe I’m more foolish that I made myself out to be.” He shrugs, trying not to let his eyes fall to the little finger of his right hand. Trying not to clench his fist to show you exactly how much your disbelief affects him down to his bones, as though his soul itself is frowning. You’re smiling. Uncharacteristically quiet, but you seem appropriately pleased by his answer and stray a little further out into the long grass.

Curiosity gets the better of you.

“Can you see yours?” You have to call out across the gap you’ve unintentionally created, yellow stalks swishing in the breeze between you, and for a moment you’re not sure he heard.

Ezra looks at his right hand, at the thin red string tied neatly at the knuckle of his little finger, and follows the line as it threads through the grass to where it’s knotted at your left.

“No.”

TAGLIST (add yourself here):

@bee-dameron @keeper0fthestars @thevoiceinyourheadx @firstofficerwiggles @1800-fight-me @ew-erin @chatterbean @gotta-have-faye @freeshavocadoooo @darnitdraco @greeneyedblondie44 @fire-is-catching-always

#oh god here it is i hope it lives up to what i've made it out to be #a law divine #prospect (2019)#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #ezra x you #liz does words #soulmate au #smut

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volexis · 3 years

Text

⤷ december 12 ▸ i have fillings for you ft. sugawara

summary: in hindsight, staying up till 2 am might’ve not been one of your best ideas. that is, until you get a call from your very frantic boyfriend asking for your help in baking cookies. what could go wrong?

warnings: there’s like one quasi-suggestive sentence but other than that pure fluff (i hope)

wc: 1.5k

a/n: lowkey ngl i don’t really like how this turned out but she’s here! i was in a suga mood a couple of weeks ago and i wrote this and somehow it turned into me creating this event lmao

note: find the rest of the advent calendar here!

You all but sunk into the mattress as you let out a deep sigh. After an exhausting day, all you wanted was to let sleep overtake you as you bundled yourself in a slew of snug, cozy blankets. Your room was peaceful. The dark emptiness of the night filled you with balmy, heady delight as you shut your burning eyes for the first time in what seemed like days.

A dull buzz rang through the room, sharp enough to pull you out of your half-asleep state. You groaned and rolled over, praying whatever noise dared interrupt you would stop soon. It did, and you smiled in relief, snuggling back into your bed. The noise returned not a second later, this time, accompanied with a bright, blinding light. You reached over to your bedside table, staring at the culprit, your phone, through bleary eyes.

Twenty-four new messages alongside seven missed calls, all from the same person: your dear, loving boyfriend. You clenched your jaw after a glance at the clock, irritation clouding your mind. You answered the incoming call with a growl. “Suga, you better have a good reason for even thinking of calling me at—”

“(Y/N) thank goodness you’ve answered, I need your help!”

Any other day you would’ve hung up on him after thoroughly berating him for calling you at such an ungodly hour, but his words were saturated with desperation and something you hadn’t heard from him in a while: unmitigated panic. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

You could practically feel the warmth from his relieved smile through the phone, and you couldn’t help but glower. “Tell me what happened.”

“So, you remember I have a holiday party at work tomorrow, right?”

You confirmed, and he continued, practically tripping over his words as they sped to leave his mouth all at once. “Ikindasortaforgotthatineededtobakecookiesforthekidsand—”

“I’m stopping you right there. I did not understand a single thing you just said. It’s too early for this,” You felt bad, but you couldn’t help but laugh at your panic-stricken boyfriend. He resembled one of his students before giving a class presentation. “Please, can you slow down and repeat that?”

He took a shaky breath. His next words were slower, sounding them out in a bashful, apologetic tone. “I kind of, sort of, maybe, forgot that I promised the kids I’d bake cookies for their winter party... now all the stores closed and won’t open until after school starts…”

He tapered off as his voice softened into silence, words practically drenched in nervous anticipation. Your irritation bled into a temperate ire as you processed his words. “Let’s see if I understand this. What you called me for, at two in the morning, was to help you bake?”

His silence was answer enough. Your anger faded as his words sunk in, in its place a resigned smile. “You’re lucky you’re so cute. Anyways how’re we even going to get this done? Where are we even going to mee—”

“I’m already outside.” You swore you’d murder him one day.

You swung the door open unceremoniously, not at all surprised to see him towing bags of supplies with what could’ve passed as a sheepish smile if you didn’t know him well enough to see the gentle yet smug grin lying beneath it.

You followed him as he strode through your apartment, wincing as he upended the contents of his bags on your counter with a resounding crash. He dusted his hands and turned to you. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

You smiled, and he mirrored it with one of his own, quickly settling into a practiced rhythm beside you. He was in charge of shaping the cookies and monitoring the oven while you mixed the ingredients. The silence that soon enveloped your kitchen was nothing if not comfortable, a perfect backdrop to the soft clatter of your latest midnight endeavor.

“Babe, I’m almost out; can you pass me that flour over there?” Nothing.

“Babe? Suga? Kou?” You turned to face him and almost dropped your bowl. His hands were still; fingers wrapped tight around the scoop, dough dribbling off its edge while his eyes glued to your figure. He sported a smile sweet as sunshine, brimming with tender adoration.

“Kou?” Your breath caught in your throat, voice barely above a gentle whisper. It was enough to snap him out of whatever reverie absorbed him.

As if embarrassed to have been caught staring so unabashedly, he turned away quickly to face the bowl in front of him, pointedly avoiding your inquisitive glances. You wouldn’t have guessed Suga was feeling so flustered if it hadn’t been for the warm tint spreading over his cheeks and up to kiss the tips of his ears.

“What was that all about?” your tone dripped with the same teasing lilt he’d use to croon sweet nothings in your ear in your most intimate moments. It never failed to send electricity singing through your every nerve, and you hoped it would affect him the same way.

“Can’t I look at my beautiful partner?” His words were more brazen than you expected, having recovered from the ruffled state he was in just seconds before. You swiveled to gawk at him, scowling as he snickered at the mild disbelief in your eyes.

“I wouldn’t exactly call this,” you motioned to your attire: rumpled pajamas far too large for your frame paired with mismatched socks, and, to top it all off, a starchy lime green apron. “The epitome of beauty.”

Suga's smile melted into something tender and compassionate as he let go of his utensils; his lithe fingers reached to cup your cheeks and tilt your head to meet his gaze. You held your breath, incapable of tearing your eyes from his.

“I don’t care what you’re wearing, you could be wearing nothing at all, and it wouldn’t change the fact that you’re absolutely radiant.”

He firmly pressed his lips against yours, chuckling softly at your jolt of surprise. The two of you part, and he leans back to look at you, hands drifting to hold your waist and draw you closer. He kisses you again, and again, and again; fervently as your mind spins into delicious emptiness.

You’re both brought back to reality as a timer beeps obnoxiously loud beside you. Suga laughs against your skin and reaches over to check his phone, eyes widening in horror as realization crashes over him. He peels away from you and rushes to the oven, fretting over the condition of his treats.

You smile from your place on the counter, lowering yourself onto one of the nearby chairs to watch your boyfriend dart around the kitchen. You check your phone, and it dawns on you that you’ve been baking for the past four hours. Exhaustion envelops your every sense, and you yawn widely. Suga notices and looks down, smiling sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, love. We’re almost done, though. I think this is the last batch. After that, we can go to bed.”

You nod numbly and rest your chin on your palm, eyes slipping shut as you gently succumb to your long-awaited slumber.

You’re woken by soft, dim sunlight streaming through the cracks in your curtains. Almost out of habit, you reach over and search for your phone to turn off any alarms. Instead, you find a plate of cookies, delicately frosted. A small card rested by their side, the ink partially smeared in Suga’s hurry. You laughed quietly. He must’ve woken up late.

Dearest (Y/N),

You don’t know how much I appreciate your help last night. It was extremely unfair of me to call you so late, but you responded regardless. You turned what could have been an evening of inevitable disaster into a memory I’ll treasure forever. You fell asleep after we put the last batch in so don’t worry, I cleaned everything before heading out! Thank you again, really. I can’t wait to see you when I come home; love.

Yours always,

Kou

A fond smile makes its way across your lips as you scan his neat yet rushed handwriting. You dropped the card on the table with a sigh, almost missing a small post-it note attached to the back. Eyebrows furrowing, you flip the paper over to read the words, gentle and deliberate in its delicate script.

P.S. Ironically, I wrote this before I wrote what’s on the card, which makes this more of a pre-script rather than a postscript? Anyways, I’m rambling, on to the actual message.

I got to thinking after you fell asleep last night. Your words stuck to me. I never once stopped to consider you might not believe me when I remind you of how gorgeous you are. You’re my everything; my heart is full of you, so full my words fail me even now as I write this.

I said it once, and I’ll say it eternally. You are beautiful. Though you may not see it, I’ll make sure to repeat it every day until you learn how beautiful you are.

taglist: @tsumuseum @amoroushero @mrslordexplosionmurder @ssat0ris @osamusriceballs @seraphgabrielle @1642lux

additional note: event taglist is open! Send an ask if you’d like to be added <3

#sugawara x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #sugawara koushi x reader #sugawara imagine #haikyu!! imagine #haikyuu!! imagine #haikyuu imagine #haikyu!! x reader #hq x reader #sugawara x y/n #sugawara koushi x y/n #haikyuu fluff #sugawara koushi #sugawara fluff #e: writes

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high-warlock-of-brooklyn · 3 years

Text

take every chance, drop every fear

Note: The art is made by the brilliant and amazing @miss-shiva-adler Thank you so much for agreeing to collab with me, you have been so terrific 💙

Summary: The Clave has given a mandate for Simon- a new mission. Get the dagger that killed the first Shadowhunter, and get it quickly. Only problem? The dagger is in possession of Jace Herondale, the continent's most notorious Vampire King. Simon has to fulfil the mission, come what may. Except, the Vampire is already aware of his intentions, and is ready to face him. The result is sure to be deadly for at least one of them. Except, the mission doesn't go the way either of them expect.

Ao3: LINK

---------

“I’m going.”

“No you’re not.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Like hell I can’t.”

Simon sighs, putting the briefing file back on the ops table. “Are you going to be like this the entire mission?”

“No.” Raphael shakes his head. “I’m not. Because there’s not going to be a mission in the first place.”

“Raphael, this isn’t your decision to make.” Simon crosses his arms.

“Okay. You’re right.” Raphael scowls. “This is your mission. But I have to say, it’s a very stupid mission.”

“What’s so stupid about it? It’s literally the simplest mission we’ve ever done. Even the Clave signed off on it.” Simon shrugs. “Get in, get the dagger, get out. It’s that easy.”

“Except for the part where you’re going into the lair of a Vampire king who’s been known to hold grudges against Shadowhunters in the past, and who guards his property more fiercely than a Draconea .”

Simon seems to bristle at that. “You don’t think I can do this?”

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t want you going in without backup. We’re Parabatais, we’re supposed to watch each other’s backs.” Raphael explains, his tone softening. Simon’s face brightens like a Mundane child on Christmas morning. “Aww you want to come with me! You want to keep me safe! I knew you were a softie inside, you big ole huggy bear.”

Raphael’s scowl deepens. “I know two hundred and sixty ways to kill someone and make it look like an accident, don’t tempt me.”

“Noted.” Simon offers him a lopsided smile. “This isn’t gonna be a cakewalk, I know that. I just- I know I’m up to it. And I’m long due for assignments anyway, I’ve been on patrol duty for way too long.”

“Nothing wrong with good old fashioned Shadowhunting,” Raphael remarks. “But if you’re so adamant, I’m going to help you with the plan.”

“I already told you my plan.” Simon reminds him.

“Yeah and I said it’s a stupid plan.” Raphael rolls his eyes. “Listen, I might not be inside watching your back, but I’ll be damned if I send you in without a proper plan. And no- don’t you dare-” he slaps away Simon’s attempt to squeeze his cheeks, “Don’t try to stop me.”

“Aye aye boss.” Simon offers him a mock salute, earning another eyeroll.

“Now I was thinking we could chart the ins and outs of the DuMort, maybe get some floor plans from the Archive.” Raphael says.

“I have a better idea,” Simon follows him out of the ops centre. “There have been missions of this type that I’ve seen before, and I was thinking we could maybe go through those. Learn how it works.”

“There has?” Skepticism clouds Raphael’s face, “I thought the Clave didn’t normally allow missions like this.”

“I know,” Simon nods gravely, “But these are crucial. You could even say that they provide- leverage .”

That stops Raphael in his tracks, the older Parabatai groaning as he pieces it together. “Simon Levi Lovelace, tell me you’re not going to put me through hours of a Mundane heist movie.”

“Of course not. I won’t make you sit through a movie.” Simon assures him, before breaking into a shiteating grin. “It’s a tv series!”

“Ay dios mio.”

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

“I can’t believe you’re still grumpy about this.”

“I’m your Parabatai, I’m allowed to be grumpy about your lack of self-preservation instincts.” Raphael tells him flatly.

“Why are you so upset? I’ve done vigorous research as you’re aware!” Simon protests weakly.

“Watching hours of tv and reading up on the man is not enough. What if you need an exit strategy quickly?” Raphael holds out a hand, a tiny round disk on it. “I asked Lily to make this specifically for you. Put it in your ear.”

“If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me to put something in my ear, I’d have two dollars. Which isn’t much but it’s weird that it has happened twice.” Simon looks at the device, debating the decision in his mind. “I know you’re concerned about my safety, and I appreciate the gesture, but I can’t take it.”

“Listen-”

Simon cuts him off before he can complain further. “I’m not refusing it because I want this to be a solo mission. I’m not taking this because Jace Herondale is the most powerful vampire on this continent and I’d rather not be caught with a device on me that crackles every time it turns on. He’ll expose me in a second. I have to focus on keeping my heartbeat even and my glamour intact, I can’t have any other distractions.”

Raphael stays silent for a moment, and Simon worries that he has insulted his best friend by declining the clearly thoughtful gift. But Raphael is nodding in agreement the next moment, and relief almost knocks Simon off his feet.

DuMort looks as sullen and abandoned as it perpetually does, and Simon feels tendrils of insecurity creep in as he stands outside wearing a white t shirt under the black leather jacket he raided from Raphael’s closet.

What if the intel was wrong and there’s no party at all and he looks like a fool when he has to go back to the Institute empty handed?

His hands fly to fidget with the cuffs of his jacket, nervously bouncing on his toes. Finally, after an excruciating wait of three minutes, Simon spots the stray lights of a strobe, a distant thumping vibrating the ground under his feet. He walks into the building, his senses at the highest of his abilities. Simon isn’t sure if it’s because of all the runes he’s activated under his glamour, or his anxiety sending a tingling sensation at his fingertips.

A healthy dose of each, he supposes.

The thumping of bass increases tangentially the closer he gets to the party venue. Simon spots no less than six vampires lounging in the dark corridors, a few perched on the banisters. It’s not something to inspire confidence, but it’s certainly a manageable number, if a situation rises. Finally, after a few minutes of going through some of the most complicated floor plans he’s ever seen, he comes face to face with the actual venue.

The party is….well there is a reason the Vampire king’s parties have a certain reputation .

There are aerial acrobats hanging from the chandelier that’s roughly the size of Simon’s room in the Institute, worth way more than he can probably imagine. The buzz of music is ever present, the bass shaking him to his very bones. Numerous waitstaff in wide ranges of clothing mingle in the crowd, offering drinks to the patrons.

The Herondale Clan symbol can be seen standing stark against the ashen skin of their wrists, the tattoo of a set of fangs biting a dagger dripping blood seared in his memory from Raphael’s in depth briefing. The knowledge does very little to soothe his nerves, hands flying to fidget with the decorative chains on his jacket.

One of the waitresses approaches him, and Simon debates between turning her away to remain alert but risk sticking out, or drinking anyway and take a gamble on his generally lightweight nature. But turns out he doesn’t need to make a decision after all, as she puts a glass of golden liquid in front of him, gesturing to the back of the club when he looks at her curiously, leaving just as gracefully as she came.

Simon picks the glass up, the doubtless expensive glass a comforting weight in his hands. The back of the club is darkly lit, adorned with only a single leather sofa big enough for two people, three at most. Simon tries not to stare, all the wheels in his mind whirring loudly to figure out just who would send him a drink so soon since his arrival.

Call it a professional curiosity.

At last, the strobe overhead flashes in the direction he’s been squinting at for the past three minutes, and Simon catches a flash of golden hair, and a set of glowing mismatched eyes, and all the bells in his head go off at once.

-----------

Jace is trying really hard not to be offended. He really is.

It’s one thing to come to the farce they call Clave Downworlder Relations meetings and lie to his face. He expects that after so many years in the Shadow World. It’s another thing to plan to steal from right under his nose.

The moment his informant at the Institute told him about the operation, he was ready for the Shadowhunter to step into his club, so he could rip his throat out and get on with his night without a hitch.

He just didn’t expect the guy to be so non threatening. Almost……. cute .

Well it’s not a hindrance really, definitely not a wrench into his plans. More like a ring lost in a birthday cake dough that you only notice after baking. A spilled ice cream scoop at most.

Whatever, Jace thinks. He’s just going to have to toy a little with the guy before he kills him.

----------

“I haven’t seen you around here before.”

Simon tries not to bristle or let any excitement show as the golden haired vampire claims the seat next to him at the bar, the crowd parting reverently to make space for him. Simon fidgets in his seat, hoping the man assumes his racing pulse as excitement rather than the truth.

He’d rather not die so soon into the assignment. Who’d finish his new Lego set?

The vampire gestures at the bartender for a drink, not taking his eyes off of Simon even for a second. The bartender, a wiry pale man, almost passable for a Mundane were it not for the purple eyes devoid of any iris. He hands over a drink to Herondale’s hand, the liquid sloshing against the rim in his hurry. Simon notices the dark red of it in the pulsing strobe light, and shudders inside.

Blood .

Simon takes a deep breath, settling his nerves. He’s a Nephilim. This is a mission. There is no room for error. He takes a swig of his drink before speaking, the alcohol warming its way down his throat. “You know everyone who comes here?”

“I never forget a face. Besides, I’d remember a face that pretty.” The vampire answers smoothly. Simon hopes the warmth in his cheeks is from the alcohol and not the implication of whatever this is.

Hope being a loose word.

“I’m Jace Herondale, I own this place.” the blond nods at him, lips stretching in a brilliant smile. A set of fangs behind his flawless set of teeth glint in the club lights, and Simon feels a shiver go down his spine.

“Simon.” He offers, stopping himself before he blurts out the Lovelace part. Herondale raises an eyebrow.

“Just Simon?”

“Just Simon. For tonight anyway.” The brunette purses his lips.

“Well then, Just Simon ,” the vampire’s eyes sparkle with mirth, looking Simon up and down, then offers an elbow casually, “You look like someone who could use some air. Fancy a tour?”

Simon straightens in his bar stool. “Mr Herondale, I-”

“Jace, please. I insist.” Herondale smiles dangerously.

“Jace.” Simon says slowly, as if feeling out the sound of it first. “I have to say, I’m not as easy to impress as I look.”

“Well then,” the blond smirks, “I guess I will have to try my best.”

Simon takes the offered arm, walking towards the back of the club, and up the stairs towards a lavish penthouse at the top of the DuMort.

The eagle has landed in the nest, Simon thinks, the eagle has landed in the freaking nest!

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

It’s like taking candy from a baby honestly. Well, not that he’d actually take candy away from a child. He might be a bastard Vampire king, but even he’s not that much of an asshole.

Jace guesses it’s more like tearing throats of pretty, unaware Shadowhunters.

The Nephilim gapes as they step into the penthouse. Jace suppresses the urge to laugh as the boy stares at the glass ceiling, the New York sky resplendent with millions of stars, the Milky Way partially visible this time of year. “Cat got your tongue?” He asks. The Shadowhunter almost forces himself to tear his eyes away, as if regretting it the second he does.

Jace feels curious if Nephilims do ever get to have the time to look up at the stars.

“This- this is, just brillian- wait.” Simon stops in the middle of the drawing room, “Don’t sunlight also come in?”

“It’s reinforced. UV resistant.” Jace explains. “Made for people with sun allergies.”

Simon nods in understanding, face sincere. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Jace answers. “Come on, I have something to show you.”

Simon follows him wordlessly, remnants of the childlike wonder still on his face, until he notices the narrow lobby and hand flies instinctively towards the breast of his jacket.

As if Jace wasn’t already feeling the glare of the adamas stele in his pocket.

Jace resists the urge to scowl. In his long life, if he knows one thing, it’s that Shadowhunters respond well only to one language.

He’ll show them what violence can mean.

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

“Why do you have four different bathtubs? In four different bathrooms as well?” Simon asks confusedly. “Seems kind of overkill.”

“So I can bathe however I like.” Jace shrugs. “Three of those are for specific moods, and one is for spaghetti baths.”

Simon stares at him for a moment. “I honestly don’t even want to know.” Jace laughs, throwing his head back. Simon tries not to pay attention to how beautiful the man looks when he smiles.

“It’s an inside joke.” Jace explains, before straightening up, expressions smoothing to neutral ones. “There’s something I’d like to show you. Come on.”

The man moves closer into the penthouse, and Simon follows, mapping out the escape routes almost instinctively, noting how far they are from any immediate help should he need to avail it in an emergency. There’s a twinge of disappointment somewhere underneath the part of his brain that has been trained for two and a half decades to be vigilant, and Simon has to remind himself to focus on the matter at hand.

Right. The mission.

“Here.” Jace gestures at an open door to a separate part of the structure, light from inside the room illuminating his golden locks into a resplendent sunlit glow. The Vampire offers him a tight lipped smile, and Simon notices the deadlocks on the door, and a set of biometric scanners that shouldn’t be needed for a vampire.

What the hell is he keeping in there? And what exactly does he want with Simon?

“Listen.” Jace says hesitantly before Simon can step inside, hand on the doorknob. “I haven’t really shown this room to anyone. This is somewhat of a private indulgence, and you are one of the only few to ever witness everything that’s in this room.”

Simon’s heart lurches, but he tries to keep the ruse going, lips stretched into a practiced smile. “Hey, at least if something’s missing, you’d know who to ask.”

“Yes I would.” Jace answers, fangs shining as he offers a sharp smile.

Simon is so fucking screwed.

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

“By the A-”

The Nephilim clamps both his hands over his mouth, possibly to keep himself from saying the name of their precious Angel. Jace pushes the eyeroll down under the feeling of knowing he rendered a Shadowhunter speechless.

“You- you have- this is- I mean I expected- but- but this- I-”

Simon sputters on, and Jace debates over how to approach the situation. He could keep up the ruse of this being a date and show off his prized possessions, and this would definitely send a clear message to the Clave not to mess with the vampire king ever again. Or he could step back and let the boy intimidate himself.

Oh well, his best friend has been telling him to practice subtlety for the past few centuries anyway.

Jace lets Simon go up to the aisles between the artifacts, eyes weaving between all them, as if trying to take them all in at once. Jace waits for a reaction, ready to relish in the knowledge that he outsmarted the Clave.

“This is the best day ever!”

Wait what?

-----------

It’s been a little over one and a half hours. They still haven’t left the collection room. Jace is beginning to fear he never will.

The Nephilim, to Jace’s utter astonishment, and more than a little disgruntled feeling, looks just as excited to see the sword that fell Vikramaditya as he is seeing the Black Volume of the Dead. He’s been over sixty such oddities, every single one of them the only one of their kind, either by nature or by design, eyeing them like a child on their birthday. He makes a mention of having a fascination with unique artifacts like these since childhood, telling Jace everything he knows about them, seeking out any extra facts the age old Vampire might know that a historical record could have missed.

Jace is starting to suspect the Clave sent this specific Nephilim planning to undermine his strategies.

Not that he’d ever admit that it’s working. Nope.

He definitely does not preen as Simon tames the usually wild Black Volume like a house cat. He absolutely does not smile indulgently when Simon gushes over the kukri used to stab Genghis Khan affectionately.

He scoffs at the mere notion that someone like him would ever even be anything other than wrathful at a Nephilim, let alone be…. fond .

Yet Simon is going up to the countless artifacts that any museum would sell all their available limbs for, and treating them the same way a Mundane might treat an old friend, and Jace’s lips quirk up in an amused smile without any conscious effort on his part.

Finally, finally, Simon rounds up the first room of the collection, coming to stand in front of a dais at the north-east corner where a single dagger lies buried in a mound of solid dirt, preserved in a decorative glass case, warlock charms the only thing keeping it the way it appears against the harshness of time.

Jace waits for something to happen, and feels something blooming deep under all the amusement and excitement and more than a little satisfaction, and tries to put a name to the feeling. It’s disappointment, he realizes a moment later.

It’s ever so rare to find someone who truly appreciates his collection, not for what they can be used for, but rather for what they represent- the undeniable unshakable proof of the world’s wonders, spanning millennia of history. It’s rarer for them to be the very joyous, caring and sweet way that he thinks is distinctly Simon.

That’s the reason for this sudden melancholy, Jace tells himself, because the alternative is so much worse. Especially when he’s going to have to wipe off the blood of the boy in front of him from his fingers in a few moments.

Simon’s back has gone ramrod straight, his expression troubled, and Jace wonders what lie he’s going to hear. Jace finds himself wondering if he will use adamas on him.

“I have a confession to make.” Simon says without turning back.

-----------

Raphael was right, he really has lost his mind.

“I need to tell you something.” Simon rambles on without a break, worried that the nerve he’s worked up will falter at the slightest pause. “I lied when I came here. I didn’t- I’m not- I’m not a Mundane. I’m a Shadowhunter. And this was my mission. To infiltrate the DuMort and obtain the dagger that killed Cain Shadowhunter. So that the Silent Brothers can study it.”

As Simon speaks, the glamour around him ripples as if every word is a stone cast in the water, and as he finishes, it falls away to nothing, showing the black runes stark against Simon’s pale skin.

Jace narrows his eyes, apprehensive of the Shadowhunter for an entirely different reason than he expected.

Simon keeps on talking. “I’m aware you might think I’m playing games with you, but I’m truly not, you can believe it. My Parabatai suggested a heist, not a con, and I wanted to do it alone. I watch a lot of Mundane TV you see, and I just wanted to test it out. Coming here undercover, flirting with you so you’d show me the dagger. All of it. But I wasn’t prepared for- for this.”

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

He’s done it, that wild Shadowhunter. He has managed to render Jace Herondale speechless.

He’s been expecting a lot of things. Lies. Accusations. Glamours. Even a fight. But not this. Not a clear admission of guilt. Not a confession. Not honesty.

Definitely not from a Shadowhunter of all people.

But standing in front of him, Simon looks as open as the book Jace’s mother used to read him, a time that seems like more than a few lifetimes ago. And just as familiar.

It’s not surprise, particularly, that makes him ask the question. Rather it’s the increasingly unsettling feeling, the uneasiness that claws inside some old forgotten part of him. “Why are you telling me this?” Jace asks, hoping the answer would tilt the world back into the way it was, the way it should be- a Shadowhunter cheating and lying their way into his lair, and him tearing them apart without a second thought.

But Simon, it seems, has a natural knack at surprising him.

He laughs, leaning forward, a clear sound Jace wants to hear again as soon as it subsides. His form shakes with the bouts of laughter, dark blue sneakers scuffing against the floor as Simon has to make a conscious effort to steady himself lest he topples the thirteenth century jade vase with a hidden message only to be read under clear moonlight.

Jace looks at him, questions swimming in his stare. Simon stops laughing for a second to catch his breath before he can answer.

“I’m telling you this because I’m an absolute idiot.” Simon wipes away a few stray tears that had sneaked their ways down his cheeks. “I’m a Shadowhunter, here to take back what is essentially historically ours. And I’m worried about you, the literal Vampire King, being sad.”

“What?” Jace asks, stupefied.

“My thoughts exactly.” Simon echoes. “Raphael is going to kill me.”

“Who?”

“My Parabatai,” Simon clarifies, then straightens up, shoulders rigid, the typical Shadowhunter mannerism shining through that lopsided smile. But even then, Jace notices it being filtered by a prism made of a good heart with an open mind. Then the Nephilim speaks, and the tone is, understandably, much more firm than it was a moment before.

“I have to take it. Dimensional portals are being breached, demons that haven’t been seen for millennia are swarming their way back. And we need more information. I’ll fight you if I have to. But really, you have to understand. This is a matter of safety of the whole Shadow World.”

That brings Jace back from his stupor, Simon’s words playing in his head on repeat like a beloved record. He squares his shoulders, regaining his lost composure, and regards Simon closely before he speaks. “I was aware of the ‘mission’, as you put it.” He silences Simon with a raised hand. “Yes, I have sources inside the Institute. Don’t insult my intelligence by arguing otherwise.”

“I was going to kill you once I caught you trying to steal the dagger.” Jace notices as Simon digs his nails in his palm, trying to fight off a shiver. “However, I have to admit, I was not ready for you to confess. And I was definitely not prepared for you to be so forthcoming with your intentions.”

Simon stares at him, expression resting somewhere between apprehensive and curious. “What should we do now, then?”

Jace turns, sitting against a high-backed leather chair he keeps inside the room. “In any case, I don’t see why we have to tarnish our professionalism.”

Simon squints in confusion. “You mean like a….. fight?”

“No, of course not. I see no reason we can’t be civilized.” Jace makes a show of mulling over the matter, before deciding on it. “I propose a deal.”

Simon crosses his arms. “I’m listening.”

“I offer the dagger to the Clave for their research, on loan . In return, I receive a generous compensation from the Institute.” Simon opens his mouth to ask something, but Jace keeps going on. “Let me finish. I also get a date with you. An actual one.”

That succeeds in shutting Simon up completely. The Shadowhunter stops, confident expression faltering at the face of the statement. He swallows, throat bobbing. “Why?”

“Why not?” Jace counters. “I had fun today, infiltration and all.” The blond smiles, as if letting Simon in on a private joke. “And it is awfully hard to find anyone that’s actually as interested in these as I am. I’ve been told most find these grim and improper for date night.”

“Ugh, amateurs.” Simon exclaims, face lit in a shining smile. “Okay then. I’ll go on a date. You know, for the greater good.”

“Ah, right. The greater good .” Jace teases.

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

“What the hell were you doing there for six hours?” Raphael asks in an accusatory tone as soon as he steps inside the Institute. Simon doesn’t answer, putting the wooden box gingerly on the ops table first, then shrugs off the jacket, bending his head this way and that to pop a muscle joint.

“You got the dagger.” Raphael says quietly as he opens the box. His eyes go wide once he takes in the content, enthralled to be in the presence of the stuff of legend every Nephilim child is told during bedtime.

“We have a mole here in the Institute.” Simon says, quiet enough only for Raphael to listen. The latter barely registers the words, eyes transfixed on the dagger at hand.

“Don’t be absurd.” Raphael scoffs.

“He knew about the mission, about me being undercover.” Simon raises an eyebrow.

That seems to snap Raphael out of whatever trance he’s been in ever since he took the dagger in hand. “What? Your cover’s blown?” Simon nods in agreement.

“We have to fix this right now.” Raphael puts the box away, focusing on the problem at hand. “We need to take Herondale out.”

“Already ahead of you, Rapha.” Simon claps a hand over his Parabatai ’s shoulder, assuring him. “We’re going out to Taki’s this Thursday.”

“Okay then.” Raphael nods along, before his face scrunches up as the words fully register. “Wait, what?!”

Simon can’t wait for Thursday.

#hmdiscord #nephilimdaily #idrisnnetdaily #tsccreatenet #dailyjimon #jimondaily #jace herondale #simon lewis #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles #tsc #the mortal instruments #tmi #jay.fic #collab fic #art

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sadaboutniall · 4 years

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Without Fear

masterlist | tag | wattpad

Chapter One. January.

remember that first laugh? all it changed once I had that // like a hurricane, but I don't care where I land - rome, dermot kennedy

The whole thing had started out as a joke. Or maybe a pipe dream. Or maybe a massive mental breakdown and a poorly thought-through trip to the passport office for a rush renewal and a visa application.

No matter how it had started, Luna hadn’t actually thought it would pan out. Two and a half months ago, standing in her parents’ kitchen in New York, reading the lawyer’s letter, it had been a shiny, exciting, half-baked idea—an escape she could cling to while everything else was going to shit. It hadn’t been a reality.

It was hardly a reality even as it began to happen: Luna, packing her bags on a Friday night, deciding which pictures of her ex to keep and which to toss; Luna’s dad, hoisting her bags into the trunk of the car for her; Luna’s mom, petting her hair as she hugged her goodbye at the airport.

And it wasn’t real when she got to Inis Mór either: her snug little apartment above the coffee shop, the smattering of mismatched furniture that her Great Aunt Niamh had left behind, Ruairí, the black cat her new neighbor had been feeding, the mess of her suitcases, exploding on the floor, markedly different to the seemingly ancient chairs and quilts and sweaters that Niamh left for her.

Or, just left. It’s been hard for Luna to tell what’s for her and what isn’t.

And even now, nearly a month into living here and it only half feels real, the way she gets up every morning and putters down to the shop to open up, the cat following behind her, meowing for breakfast and Siobhan, the baker, already well on her way to done with the morning’s pastries, the smell of cinnamon and dough and vanilla and the cold air outside wafting through the shop to wake Luna up sweetly; the way old Mr. Whelan is always her first customer, never deviates from his order of a black coffee and a croissant, toasted; the rush of cold air every time someone opens the door, feeling like it’s flaying the shop open, sending napkins fluttering to the floor, causing Ruairí to hiss in protest and curl up closer to the fireplace. There’s nothing real in the way the sun sets at 4pm these days, quick as a wink over the hill outside the window, a flash of orange and purple the only reminder that day once broke in this place that always feels dark, under cover. There’s nothing real in the way Luna needn’t worry about anything here—her rent is paid and there are no deadlines anymore, no screaming bosses, no one angry with her for dropping an artist file or fucking up a coffee order. It’s not real, not even when she calls home and talks to her parents, when they tell her about her brother Sam’s new PhD research and his girlfriend Mary’s trip to Honduras. It’s not real, any of it. And it works. It’s fine. And so is Luna.

It’s hardly real on a Monday night at the end of January, either, after Siobhan has already left for the day and Luna is quietly closing up, tucking mugs into cabinets and dropping bits of pastry on the floor for the cat. She’s not thinking about much of anything—in the month she’s been here, Lu’s found the very start and very end of her days to be the most relaxing, the way she can clear up the shop or fire up the coffee maker without having to talk to anyone, think about anything. It’s so markedly different from what feels like a lifetime ago: bustling into the office at 8:30 and still feeling like she was late, a tray of coffees balanced in one hand, someone’s dry cleaning in the other, 12 voicemails already waiting for her, 30 emails, more coming through as her phone vibrated in her pocketbook. This is quiet and slow: Ruairí is weaving between her legs, meowing gently when he wants more treats, and outside it’s dark and still and cold, despite it being only 7pm. Luna is tired but not wiped—a feeling she forgot existed before leaving New York—and it occurs to her that she can have a slice of cake tonight in front of the TV, and maybe a glass of wine, while watching Law and Order until she falls asleep.

She’s lost in that thought—and the already building annoyance at the fact that she knows she’ll inevitably wake up on the couch at 3am and have to stumble to bed—when the door creaks open, nighttime wind rushing in, a boy stumbling after it.

“So sorry,” Lu looks up from where she’s been wiping down the counter behind the pastry display. “I’m closing up. But I still have a few leftover slices of cake if you want—”

“Oh, erm,” the boy stills, maybe surprised, and Lu does too. He’s—well. Lu hasn’t seen anyone here who looks like him.

He’s a mess of hat hair, dark at the roots and an unnatural blonde at the tips, curling over his ears and flopping over one eyebrow. He’s bright blue eyes, wide when he looks at her, and cheeks flushed red to match the tip of his nose, and a smattering of stubble along his face, darkening in the dimple of his chin, his pink lips chapped where his tongue darts out to soothe them. He takes her breath away for half a second—or maybe that’s the rush of wind that crashed against her chest when he opened the door.

The boy is clutching a guitar by its neck, gloved hand wrapped almost reverently around it, and his white high-top sneakers are mucky where the rubber soles have been sludging through the perma-mud outside. He looks like something out of a dream, maybe, Lu’s heart catching a little in her throat.

“Hi,” he says, finally, looking just as out of sorts as Lu feels. She’s not sure if that’s good or bad, but he carries on. “I wasn’t expecting—I didn’t think you would be so… uh. American? Uh,” gently, he tucks the guitar under his arm and tugs off his navy blue gloves, the cotton pilling from wear. “I’m Niall,” he reaches out a hand. It’s cold when Lu takes it to shake, when he wraps it gently around her own. “I live Kilronan.”

“Hiya,” Lu’s voice comes out softer than she expected it to. “I’m Lu. I work here.”

“Right, right,” Niall nods, swallows thick. “You’re Niamh’s niece? I was so sorry to hear about her passing—she—”

“Great niece,” Lu rushes over Niall, exhausted, even a month later, of every introduction on this island starting with a condolence. “I actually only met her once. But it sounds like she was a force.”

“You—once?” Niall shoves his gloves into the pocket of his puffer jacket.

“Yeah,” Lu shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. Was there, uh,” she doesn’t want to get rid of him, but doesn’t know where to go next. “Did you want one of those slices of cake? I’m sorry for you to come all the way from Kilronan for nothing.”

“Oh,” Niall looks like he’s only just remembered where he is. “No, I didn’t come for cake. I, uh, I have a… a question? An idea?”

Briefly, Lu worries if she should be nervous—but crime doesn’t happen here, not like this, and Lu knows the statistics when it comes to stranger attacks. Either way, Niall keeps talking before she can spiral, the words tumbling out like he knows he has to speak before he thinks better of it.

“I, uh, I was wondering if there’s any chance you were looking for someone to, like, play guitar and sing a bit? Like, live music in the shop for a couple hours a week? You don’t have to pay me or anything, ‘m not asking for that, but I could maybe leave my case open for tips? I can do covers or requests or—whatever you want, really. And I can give you my work schedule and we can work around that; I’m free on the weekends mostly, except for when I coach football, but also on weeknights if you’d prefer that and if you want to split the tips I understand, we can do that too, and also—”

“Niall,” Lu can’t take it. He’s speaking so fast it’s shuttling her toward an anxiety attack, and throwing up on the shoes of the first cute boy she’s seen in a month was not on her agenda for today. Meeting a cute boy in general was not on her agenda for today, but Lu’s been learning that things don’t tend to pan out the way she plans them. “I like the idea. That sounds cool.”

“I totally understand if—wait, really?” Niall pauses, hand halfway up to his face, like he was going to cover his mouth, or rub his eyes, or bite his nails. His brow furrows and his mouth drops open a little, like he didn’t expect it to be that easy. Like he didn’t accept Lu to be agreeable at all.

“Yeah,” Lu shrugs, then nods at the guitar still tucked under Niall’s arm, “but you’ll need to audition for me,” she bites back a cheeky smile, watches Niall do the same. “I can’t have a crap singer driving away all my customers.”

“Ah, fair play,” the left side of Niall’s mouth pulls up into a smile, and Lu pointedly ignores the kick in her chest. “What would you like to hear?”

She shrugs again, as if “casual” or “easygoing” were ever words people would’ve used to describe her back home. “Your favorite song?”

“My favorite—” Niall scoffs, but there’s no malice in it—it’s playful, inviting, fun. It makes Lu feel like he wants to keep talking to her. Like he wants her to keep winding him up. “You think I can narrow it down to one favorite song?”

“I can,” Lu smiles, soft, “I’m good at making decisions.”

“Go on, tell us then.”

“You first,” Lu gestures toward a table, the only one in the shop that isn’t rickety when there’s too much weight on it. “Then I’ll tell ya.”

Niall hums under his breath, approval, and settles himself on top of the table easily, feet perched on the chair, guitar natural in his lap. He strums once, to check that everything is in tune, and then glances up through the bit of hair that’s fallen over his eye. He’s striking—bright blue eyes, a shock of blonde at the tips of his hair, a lone dimple digging into his filled out cheeks—and Lu feels her stomach swoop and kick again. She takes a deep breath, crosses her arms over her chest. Niall sits up straight.

“Alright,” he says it so quietly that Lu thinks it might just be for him. She’s suddenly struck with the notion that she’s intruding on something, a moment between Niall and his guitar and himself that isn’t for her—that, maybe, this isn’t something a lot of people get to see.

And, if that’s true, Lu realises the second he starts strumming, it’s a damn shame.

It takes Lu a second to recognize the song, but it doesn’t even matter. With a guitar in his hand Niall is even more mesmerizing. Hypnotizing. Completely, incomprehensibly, irresistible.

And then he opens his mouth. And Lu feels sick.

It’s “With or Without You”.

But there’s none of the corniness, none of the playful groaning and eye rolling that usually accompanies a U2 cover. Instead, Lu feels frozen to her spot in the middle of the shop, Niall, seated atop the table, eyes down, an anchor in the middle of this island. His voice, lower than she expected, and raspy in all the right places, is somehow vulnerable and confident at the same time—somehow makes her want to simultaneously hold him and be held by him, to protect him and let him protect her. It’s real. It’s vulnerable. It’s terrifying. Lu doesn’t know what to do with it.

The song lasts forever and is over in an instant. Eyes closed, Niall carries out the final, desperate, confident, terrified, “I can’t live, with or without you,” as he stops playing and lets his voice take over. The whole shop shakes with it. Or maybe that’s just Lu, trembling.

His eyes don’t open for a few seconds. Lu can feel herself breathing, she can feel her heart beating, she can feel the wind, outside, throwing itself against the shop’s ancient windows. She can feel it when Niall opens his eyes.

“Was it that shite?”

Overwhelmed, Lu exhales an unstoppable, lovely laugh. Niall’s cheeks are red and his eyes are a little glassy and he runs a hand through his thick hair, his bicep flexing just a millimeter. Lu already knows there’s no way this can last.

“Terrible,” she smiles. “Worst I’ve ever heard. When can you start?”

####

They work out the schedule together, leaning over the only good table, comparing planners. Lu still keeps her old Moleskin, dark purple, embossed with her college seal and the year she graduated. She hasn’t needed it much lately—after years of her work, and eventually her social life, revolving around Google Calendar, she feels a freedom in being able to jot down appointments and approximate times in a messy journal. Niall’s got a battered leather one—doodles on the front, his name in script on the first page. He flips through it quickly, keeps it close to his chest.

He works at a local furniture and home goods boutique most days, as a design consultant, and coaches the middle school’s co-ed soccer team on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoons, with games on Saturdays. Lu tells him not to overbook himself but he does it anyway, and they settle on Monday, Thursday, and Friday nights, as well as Saturday mornings, starting the next week. He says he’ll have a friend work up posters to advertise, and tries, again, to tell Lu he’ll split his tips.

At 10:30, he notices the time, his cheeks pinking up, his chapped lower lip caught between his teeth. They’d been splitting the final two slices of cake, and there’s a tiny glob of chocolate caught in the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck,” he says, looking reluctant, “I’ve got to go, I’m meant to be at work at 8 tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, God,” Lu feels a bit like she’s coming out of a daze, that feeling she gets, sometimes, when she’s been reading a book or watching a movie and then has to reimmerse herself in the real world. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“No, no,” Niall rushes, “you didn’t. I—thank you. For the chocolate cake. And the, uh, opportunity.”

“Don’t mention it.” Lu presses her lips together, resists the urge to lean forward and thumb at the chocolate on his mouth. “You’ve got, uh, a bit of chocolate,” she touches the mirroring spot on her own mouth, “right there.”

“Right,” he smiles, tongue darting out to catch it. “I won’t. Thanks.”

Lu gathers the plates and cups and totes them to the sink while Niall gets his things together. When she turns around, he’s bundled in his coat and scarf, hat pulled low over his brows, free hand shoved into the pocket of his puffer. She doesn’t know how to look away from him.

“I guess I’ll see you next week, then?” He asks, fiddling with the zipper on his puffer. He hasn’t got all the chocolate—Lu wonders what it would taste like against his lips.

“Next week,” she echoes. “Yeah.”

“Brilliant. I’ll, uh—I’m excited. Have a good week.”

Lu’s “and you” gets lost in her throat as she watches Niall head toward the door. His hand is on the knob when he turns back around.

“Wait, Lu.”

The sound of her name in his mouth makes her heart stutter. She hopes her raised brow will pass for a response.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“What?” She gets that out, at least.

“Your favorite song of all time,” Niall smiles, dimple prominent. “What is it?”

Looking back, Lu has no idea where the sudden confidence comes from. But, somehow, it does. She smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not sure I want to tell you yet,” she says, kind. “I want to see if you figure it out for yourself.”

####

taglist: @missy14us @coconutdawn @ficnarry @okaaayniall @theresnooneheretosave @niallgolden @tinyfelthat @adoremp3 @thelifeofbo @crocodileniall @niallsguitarthings

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#one direction #1dff #one direction fan fiction #niall horan #niall horan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan imagine #niall #without fear #eeeeek!#ok hope you like this!!#im nervous

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wizardofahz · 4 years

Text

Introducing Grim

A/N: Just a little bit of silly to get back into writing. This is a follow up to Fulfilling the Lie.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I think someone’s going to die.”

The panic in Nia’s voice has Kara shooting straight up out of bed though she manages to stop before crashing into the ceiling. Still hovering in the air, she asks, “Did you have a dream? Are you okay? Where are you?”

It’s the middle of the night--3:52 AM according to her phone--which makes the dream scenario most likely. Hopefully that means Nia is safe at home. Still, Kara mentally prepares herself to change into her super suit and fly out the window.

“I’m at home,” Nia responds, speaking a mile a minute. “I dreamed that there was this big black dog, like you know the Grim in Harry Potter? The omen of death? And I think Alex was there, but I don’t-- I didn’t get the sense that she was in danger? But I don’t know. It’s the Grim, right? I keep thinking about Ron’s Uncle Bilius and how he saw a Grim and died. And I know that’s Harry Potter, but, I mean, the messages in my dreams come in symbols, right? So maybe my powers are finally trying to communicate with me in a language that I’ll understand, and maybe that means that someone else is going to die even though I saw Alex, and--”

“Oh,” Kara says once Nia’s words register. All the adrenaline dissipates from Kara’s body, and she sinks back down onto her bed. “No, you dreamed about Alex’s cat.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Nia sighs with relief. “I was really worried. Like I said, I didn’t think Alex was going to die, but I’d really hate to be wrong about that. You know how hard it can be to interpret my dreams.”

“I get it,” Kara says, and she means it. If there was any sign that something would happen to Alex, anything at all, and there was something Kara could do to stop it, she would. “I’m glad you called.”

“Me too,” Nia says with a shaky laugh. “All that freaking out, and it was just Alex’s cat.” A brief silence. “Kara?”

“Yeah?”

“Since when does Alex have a cat?”

Oh, right. After they left the animal shelter, their day had been a whirlwind of pet supply shops and cat-proofing the apartment, and with Alex and Grim’s matching lack of enthusiasm for attention, they hadn’t really told anyone other than Eliza, J’onn, and Kelly. Oops. Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. Almost literally. “Today, or I guess, technically yesterday. It’s a long story, but his name is Grim.”

“Okay,” Nia says in a tone that indicates that she doesn’t really understand but she’s willing to go along with it for the moment. “No one’s going to get hurt, and that’s what matters.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Kara mutters, thinking about the unfortunate mismatch between sharp claws and soft human flesh.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

...

Kara’s breakthrough moment with Grim comes entirely by accident.

Her mission for the evening is to keep Grim away from the kitchen while Alex and Kelly finish preparing dinner. Unaware that Kara is an invulnerable Kryptonian, Kelly had given her an apologetic look upon hearing her assignment. Kara doesn’t mind the teeth and the claws. She just hopes Grim doesn’t get too mad at her. She’s still trying to get on his good side.

“I’m sorry. You can’t,” Kara says, intercepting Grim as he wanders in the direction of the kitchen. She crouches in front of him and tries to redirect him. “Alex is busy. How about the cat tower? Want to climb on that instead?”

He does not.

After a few repetitions of this, Kara brings Grim to the couch, holding him in her lap as he tries to wiggle free. He meows his discontent and begins to claw at her.

“No, no, no,” Kara whispers quickly, grabbing a blanket and pushing it between them. “You can’t. Kelly doesn’t know.”

Normally accustomed to a Kara who’s willing to play scratching post, Grim looks up at her in consternation. He paws at her tentatively, testing her reaction. His claws sink into the blanket instead. He pushes into her and then pauses as if processing the feeling. He flexes, stretching his toes out before grabbing the soft material again.

Kara joins him, running her hands through the blanket as well. “I know. It’s nice, right?”

Grim begins to knead the blanket in earnest.

“They’re so cute,” Kara hears Kelly whisper from the other side of the kitchen island.

“Yeah,” Alex whispers back.

It’s one word, and a quiet one at that, but it’s so full of love and happiness. Kara knows how important family harmony is to Alex, and Grim is part of the family now. She knows, without Alex having to say anything, that Alex has been waiting for this moment.

She is going to hug Alex as soon as she can.

...

J’onn J’onzz is a cheater. Of this, Alex is convinced.

After meeting Grim, he initially keeps his distance, but after a while, J’onn seems to know exactly when Grim will tolerate being pet--not to mention exactly where he wants to be pet--and when he’s feeling antisocial. Alex has no doubt that J’onn is reading Grim’s mind.

Because of this, J’onn and Grim establish an understanding faster than anyone other than Alex.

That is until her mom arrives.

“Mom, this is Grim,” Alex says. Grim is currently in her arms for everyone’s safety and comfort, but Alex kneels and places him on the ground between them.

Eliza kneels opposite her. “Hi, Grim. It’s nice to meet you.”

Grim looks to Alex, who nods with approval. “It’s okay,” she says. “It’s just Mom.”

Grim takes a tentative step towards Eliza. She reaches out a hand to let him sniff her, and it’s not long before she’s allowed to pet him, scratching him gently behind the ears.

“What? How?” Kara whines. “That’s not fair.”

“Apparently Alex is only deferential to Eliza,” J’onn says. “He can sense it.”

Alex’s eyes narrow. There it is, evidence of her suspicions. “How do you know that? Are you reading my cat’s mind?”

“I may not work for the DEO anymore, but I still find it prudent to investigate and track potential threats.”

“Hey!”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Eliza says, joining Alex in coming to Grim’s defense. Years of raising Alex has taught Eliza to recognize when someone is reaching their limit. “It’s okay, sweetie. You can go.”

Grim scampers off for the moment, but he returns to her regularly throughout her visit for more head scratchings.

...

Trust has to be earned.

As a therapist, Kelly is very well aware of this. She has a lot of practice ensuring that her patients grow to trust that they will be listened to and not judged.

The problem is that she has done this by communicating in English, a language that Alex’s cat Grim does not speak, and Kelly, being allergic to cats as she is, does not have a lot of experience speaking cat.

“I’m not trying to hurt her,” she insists to Grim, who is scowling at her from Alex’s side.

Kelly is using her lunch break to check on Alex, who has had a long couple of days vigilante-ing. Sure enough, upon letting herself into the apartment, she was met with the sight of Alex asleep on the couch, still in her outfit with the tight suit and boots on.

Kelly had simply thought to wake Alex just long enough to get her to change and into bed, but Grim seems to be taking offense to the idea of disturbing Alex’s rest.

Ironically one of his growls nudges Alex into consciousness. She drowsily blinks a couple of times before recognizing her visitor.

“Kelly?”

“Hey,” Kelly says gently. “I thought you might want to change out of that outfit and get into bed. You know, be more comfortable?”

Alex looks down the length of her body. “Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea.” She instinctively reaches for Grim. “Come on, dude.”

When she slides into bed, Grim settles beside her again.

“Do you need anything?” Kelly asks before she leaves. “I can refill Grim’s bowl. I noticed it was empty.”

“Ye--” Alex yawns. “--ah, that’d be great. Thanks. You’re the best.”

After several repeat occurrences, Kelly can tell that Grim is growing to trust her more.

The ultimate show of acceptance comes when she’s staying at Alex’s because of a cold. She wakes up feeling better but with a weight on her chest. That weight is Grim, curled up and purring up a storm.

Kelly smiles and reaches out a hand to pet him. “Thanks, Grim.”

...

Grim backs away from Nia with a hiss.

“Maybe try again with a little less enthusiasm,” Kelly says. “Less is better with him.”

Alex keeps an eye on the three as she talks to Brainy. She has finally been coaxed into bringing Grim to game night to meet the rest of the Super Friends. She trusts Kelly to make sure Grim is all right, the only reason she isn’t glued to his side.

Brainy is a question machine. He asks if Alex met Streaky, the differences between Grim and Streaky, the differences in cat personalities, inherent cat behaviors, and the logistics of cat care. Alex is sure Brainy has additional questions, but Kara and J’onn are approaching from the kitchen area with the drinks, and Grim is starting to look overwhelmed by all the people.

Alex is about to rescue him when she catches the look on Lena’s face.

Lena is looking at Grim with an expression of horror in multiple senses of the word, maybe half foreboding horror like one watching a horror movie and half distasteful horror like someone being given a rancid fruit and being told it is an exquisite solid wine.

Alex finds that latter half offensive.

“You cannot use my cat as an excuse to restart Non Nocere,” Alex says, startling Lena.

“I wasn’t thinking about it,” Lena says, her voice entirely lacking in conviction. In fact, her face says that if she hadn’t been thinking about it before, she’s started thinking about it now.

William is running late, and by the time he arrives, Grim has disappeared into the shadows.

That’s not to say that William doesn’t meet him.

Sort of.

When William goes to the bathroom, the sound of the door closing is followed by a scream of surprise from William and a series of yowls from Grim.

Kara and Alex run for the bathroom and skid to a stop as William stumbles out of it.

“Kara, you were right about the cat.”

...

By the time Andrea comes to her first game night, Grim has gotten used to socializing and learned how to let people know he’s had enough in a non-threatening manner.

Kara helps Lena welcome her to the group and introduce her to the few people she has yet to meet. Alex and Grim give Andrea identical wary looks. It is one of the cutest things Kara’s ever seen. That doesn’t stop her from steering Andrea to the other side of the room.

“Uh, maybe you should sit over here.”

#supergirl #alex danvers #kara danvers #nia nal #eliza danvers #j'onn j'onzz #kelly olsen #et al.#moments in the life of superfam #i'm sorry i barely stopped being lazy enough to write this #i still have enough laziness to not tag all appropriate parties

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spidercakes · 4 years

Text

Have the finally finished full version of that ABO high school cheerleader Peter and punk Tony AU I posed the other day! Think I might make this into a series of their sexcapades but we’ll see.

Warnings: smut, mentions of abusive relationships, abo, first time (not that that’s terribly relevant).

Peter thinks people might think they’re mismatched, him and Tony. Probably because he’s a cheerleader and Tony has his um... well, some type of eighties thing going on. Big fan of the era and its reflected in pretty much everything he does but Peter likes that about him. Sure Tony is a little over dramatic, and he thinks Tony’s obsession with AC/DC is a bit ridiculous, and the eyeliner is... hot, actually. And Peter knows he has kind of a thing for pink even if he’s stuck in his red cheerleading uniform a lot, and he’s blonde, and basically looks like a priss who wouldn’t be caught dead around Tony and his bad smoking habit but he kind of loves him, bad smoking habit and all.

He leans forward and kisses Tony soft and slow, smiling a little when his hands drift downward just a little too far to be acceptable. When he pulls away Tony nips at his bottom lip, “you look gorgeous today, baby,” he murmurs and Peter smiles wider.

“I didn’t even do anything,” he says, tucking his face into Tony’s neck.

Tony laughs, finger tips trailing up and down his back before his hands settle just a hair above his ass. “Since when have you had to do anything to look amazing?” he asks.

Well, according to his ex all the time but Tony isn’t anything like Quentin so he smiles softly. “For you? Nothing.”

“For everyone with functioning eyes, nothing. Shit, even Murdock thinks you’re cute and he’s blind,” Tony says.

Yeah, helps that they had a science project together and Peter didn’t assume blind meant stupid. Probably helped a lot in the ‘thinks he’s cute’ department. “Uh huh. You’re just biased,” Peter tells him because its true.

“Maybe, but I’m also objectively right. You gunna come over to my place after school?” he asks and Peter buzzes with excitement. He loves going to Tony’s, loves the way Tony touches him there, how gentle he is.

“‘Course I am,” Peter murmurs, leaning forward and kissing him again. “But I gotta go to practice though,” he says, frowning.

“Don’t frown baby, I’ll take care of you when you get home,” Tony tells him and he bites his lip softly at that. He likes the way Tony says that, when he gets home.

Fuck, Tony remembers the first time Peter let him do this, how nervous he was. His poor baby didn’t even know what it was like to have someone focus on his pleasure. Fucking Beck, Tony hopes a bird shits in his open mouth for that. And to think he was stupid enough to miss out on all this anyway. Only a total fucking dunce would want to miss out on Peter like this.

He loves the way Peter looks, head thrown back, beautiful curls in slight disarray, mouth open as he moans. “Baby, that’s it, fuck yourself on my fingers,” Tony tells him, expertly moving his hand with Peter’s hip movements. Peter bounces, curls shifting with him and fuck Tony would give up the world to see Peter like this every day. He’s still wearing his cheerleader uniform, built in underwear pushed to the side and that’s even hotter. Was never a thing for Tony until he saw how pretty Peter looked with his legs spread in that pretty pleated skirt of his. Fuck, he’d worn a plug that day too and Tony nearly creamed his fucking pants looking at him. He ate him out for almost an hour that day, until Peter was a sobbing, begging mess desperately pulling at his hair.

“Tony,” Peter says, whines almost. Tony curls his fingers a little, knowing exactly what his baby needs. “Oh fuck Tony, just like that,” Peter tells him, grip on Tony’s shoulders getting tighter.

“You gunna cum for me?” he asks, free hand moving to Peter’s hip to guide him some.

Peter lets out a soft whine. “I think so baby- oh, do that again,” Peter tells him as he curls his fingers.

He does as Peter asks, holding back a moan as Peter’s hips stutter in their rhythm. “Cum pretty for me, baby,” he murmurs and Peter nods somewhat frantically. “Fuck, that’s it gorgeous. Ride me faster,” he tells him. Peter whimpers, fingers curling tighter into Tony’s shirt. “S’okay baby, wanna see you cum for me,” Tony tells him.

Peter’s mouth drops open for a moment before he bites his lip, “Tony,” he says, voice low and soft.

“Come on baby, wanna see you cum,” Tony tells him, kissing him softly for encouragement. It works because it pushes Peter over the edge, resulting in him clinging almost desperately to tony as his hips rock forward. Soft gestures like that always work on Peter and Tony will never tire of the way Peter reacts to a kiss, or him brushing a curl away from his face. He’ll never tire of anything Peter does.

“Fuck Tony,” Peter moans, “that was... was really good,” he murmurs as Tony pulls his fingers out of Peter’s ass.

“Good,” Tony murmurs, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Peter lets out a soft moan and tilts his head to the side for Tony. It’s the first time he’s done that, at least like this, and Tony bites his lip to hold back a moan.

Peter’s hand on his crotch takes him by surprise, as does the hand Tony finds curled into his hair. “Don’t hold back on me,” Peter tells him. “I like it when you moan, when I know I make you feel good.”

He lets out a soft laugh that turns to a moan when Peter carefully massages him through his jeans. “Baby you always make me feel good,” he tells Peter, nosing at the underside of his jaw. Peter arches his back into him, fingers tightening in his hair as he guides Tony’s head downward some. Fuck, he can’t believe Peter is letting him do this. Some omegas don’t much care about scenting but plenty treat it as extra intimate, something to do with someone you actually care about. Usually Peter falls into that category not that Tony is about to complain about the change in heart.

He licks at the space between his collarbone and his neck, nosing at it softly and Peter moans. “You want me to claim you, baby?” he murmurs, expecting some kind of fantasy or something but Peter does him one better.

“Want you to fuck me too, then cum inside me and knot me,” he murmurs in Tony’s ear and his hips buck up into Peter’s hand involuntarily.

“You fucking serious?” he asks, pulling away a little to look at Peter.

Doesn’t work much, Peter pushes his face back into his neck and it’s not like he minds. “Been thinking about it for weeks,” Peter tells him. “Imagining how your cock will stretch me out, the way your knot will spread me open wide, how your teeth will feel in my neck. Been fucking myself with my dildo thinking of you,” he says and Tony’s back arches into Peter, hand settling over Peter’s at his crotch.

He guides Peter’s hand a little, “like that,” he murmurs to Peter. “Nice and slow, keep a tight grip and keep fucking talking like that.” Peter pulls his hand from Tony’s hair and leans back a little, smiling.

“What, you like that baby?” he asks, hand massaging him just perfect through his jeans.

Tony huffs, head tilted back. “Yeah I do gorgeous. Can’t get the image of you with a dildo out of my head,” he murmurs.

Peter smiles, wiggling a bit on his lap as his cheeks go a little red. “I could bring it tomorrow, show you what I do when you’re not around. Can watch me try and fuck myself like you would ‘till you can’t hold back anymore then fuck me yourself, show me what I’ve been missing,” Peter murmurs.

Tony swears, hand back over Peter’s as he bucks up into his hand again. “Fuck yeah, wanna see what you look like all flushed and pretty,” Tony tells him.

“Wanna come over tomorrow, stay the weekend so you can take your time. Like it when you do that,” Peter says. Tony moans, fingers curling tight over Peter’s as he cums. It earns a bright look of happiness from Peter anyway. “That’s the first time you let me make you cum,” he says, pleased with himself.

Yeah, because his shitty ex made sexual favours feel like transactions and Tony didn’t want that for Peter. Also he likes focusing on his partner anyway, he’s always had a thing for figuring out how things work and this happens to be the only area where people make any sense to him at all. “Is it?” he murmurs maybe because this sure shit isn’t the first time he’s gotten off to Peter somehow.

Peter nods, leaning in and kissing him softly. “Mhm. Should let me take care of you more often,” Peter murmurs as he noses at Tony’s neck.

He runs his hands up and down Peter’s back, “I should, hmm?” he says, head tilted to the side as Peter kisses his way down it.

“Yeah, you should,” Peter tells him. “You aren’t the only one who likes to make people feel good and I miss it. Feels like you’re doing all the work.”

Tony snorts, “baby, watching you cum will never be work to me.”

When Tony gets home he doesn’t expect Peter let alone Peter on his bed in lingerie. He grins, dropping his bag and walking over to his bed before pushing Peter onto his back and kissing him. Peter’s arms curl around his neck and his legs curl up to his sides. “Hey baby,” Tony murmurs, “didn’t expect to see you here till later.” He’s got cheerleading most days after school so its not like he figured he’d find Peter here for another couple hours.

Peter grabs one of Tony’s hands and places it between his legs, shifting his hips up into it. “Been thinking about this all day and I couldn’t wait anymore,” Peter murmurs. “Played sick to get here faster.”

He shivers, touching Peter softly through the lace panties he’s wearing. “Fuck, okay. Wasn’t totally sure you were serious about that,” he says. Peter happens to be a known prude not that he’s ever really lived up to that to Tony but given Beck’s propensity to turn anything he doesn’t like into some kind of personal slight against him he’s not shocked Peter got caught in the crossfire. But he has held out on sex and Tony’s fine with that, really, Peter moving at his own pace has never irritated him regardless of Peter’s worries about it.

Peter grins up at him, circling an arm around his neck and leaning up into him. “Wanna see how serious I am?” he murmurs in his ear. Tony shivers and nods, wondering what Peter got up to while he had the space temporarily to himself. He can feel that he got himself worked up quite a bit but he suspects that’s not what Peter’s talking about. “Take off my panties,” Peter tells him.

He swears softly and sits back some. “Got a surprise for me under there, hmm?” Tony asks and Peter nods, cheeks turning a little red. At least he isn’t embarrassed of his body anymore, Tony’s got no idea where that came from given the fact that he’s stupid hot though he has his suspicions. “You’re absolutely gorgeous,” he murmurs, running his hand down Peter’s side because he doesn’t tell him enough.

Peter smiles up at him, “I know,” he says, a hand settling over Tony’s at his hip.

Tony smiles back, happy that finally- finally- his compliments have sunken in. “So glad you finally agree with me,” he murmurs. He looks Peter back over, taking in the flowy red fabric and the slightly darker red panties and he can’t help the small moan he lets out. “Seriously baby, you’re something else.”

“Gunna take off my panties or not?” Peter murmurs, blinking up at him.

Hell yeah he is. “Lift your hips, gorgeous,” Tony tells him. Peter does as he’s asked and Tony pulls the panties off slowly, dragging them down his pale skin while he admires the view. He’ll never get tired of how beautiful Peter looks for him, how attractive he is. He tosses the panties aside and Peter spreads his legs for Tony, drawing a low whine that turns to an outright moan when he notices the plug.

“Remembered how much you liked that last time,” Peter tells him. “And I didn’t want to worry about foreplay.”

Tony looks Peter over, legs spread open for him in his favorite color and he bites his lip, head tilting back as he reaches down and cups himself through his jeans. He swears every time Peter can’t get better he does.

Peter lets out an annoyed huff and sits up, crawling over to Tony and smacking his hand away from his crotch. “Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, his hand replacing Tony’s. He lets out a soft moan as he feels Tony, “you’re so hard baby, so ready for me.”

Yeah, like that’s difficult with Peter sitting in his lap in lingerie ready to fuck him. “You really want this?” he murmurs, earning a small huff out of Peter.

He leans into Tony, nose brushing on the underside of his jaw. Tony shivers as Peter kisses him softly, tongue flicking out to trace his jawline. “When I woke up this morning I was already hard thinking about you, had to cum. Thought I’d be fine for school but I was so worked up, couldn’t stop thinking about you fucking me, how good you’d be, your knot. Came again before I went to school. Had to concentrate so hard to keep it together during school but then I got here and your room smells like you and-“ Peter shivers, moaning soft and low in Tony’s ear. “And fuck, baby I couldn’t hold back I had to cum again. So yeah, I really, really want this,” Peter tells him.

Tony sits there for a long moment without saying anything until Peter pulls back some. “You want this too, right?” he asks, a little concerned.

He lets out a soft laugh, “baby of course I want this, but I need a minute to recover from that if I want to last longer than an embarrassingly short amount time.”

Peter circles his arms around Tony’s neck and crawls into his lap properly, ass positioned just right as he shifts his hips into him. “I don’t need you to last long,” Peter tells him, nuzzling the space under his ear after he says it. “I need you to knot me.”

Fuck, Tony can only take so much before he breaks and Peter telling him to knot him is his limit. He quickly sheds the jacket he’s still wearing for some ungodly reason and Peter grins, happily helping him toss it aside before reaching for his shirt. Tony lets him pull it over his head and toss it aside. Peter wastes no time jumping to his belt, fingers curling around it as he fiddles with it for only a moment before he’s popping the button of Tony’s jeans open. “Want you inside of me,” Peter tells him, pouting.

Tony moans, “okay baby, lay back hmm? Gotta get out of these pants and get that plug out,” he murmurs.

Peter nods, crawling out of Tony’s lap and laying back, legs spread like they were before and Tony bites his lip to keep from ruining this early. He gives Peter a quick once over before he hurries out of his jeans and returns to him. “You look so hot right now,” Peter tells him, one leg curling over his hip as he leans into Peter’s body.

“Yeah, I’m not worried about me at the moment,” Tony murmurs, fingers trailing down Peter’s thigh. Peter’s head tilts back a little and lets out a soft sigh. He’s not sure he meant to expose his neck like that but the image is almost lewd and Tony can’t help but lean his head into his neck, nosing at it as Peter arches into him.

“Tony,” he murmurs, fingers pressing into his hips. Peter lets out a soft whine as Tony toys with the plug, pulling and pushing at it to tease him. “Come on, Tony. Want you, want you so bad,” he says, back arching a little again.

His teeth graze Peter’s neck and he lets out a small gasp that turns to a moan when Tony pulls the plug out. Tony bites his lip when he looks at it because Peter didn’t exactly decide to pick something small. “Fuck, you’re amazing,” he tells Peter as he tosses the plug aside. He pays no attention to where it lands.

Peter curls a leg around his waist and pulls him in, “come on Tony, fuck me. Been waiting all day and I can’t wait anymore,” he says, pouting. Fuck, yeah. He nods, sure that Peter genuinely wants this so he leans in and kisses him hard, nipping at Peter’s bottom lip as he presses in. Peter moans into his mouth, head tipping back as his legs curl around Tony’s waist. “Tony,” Peter moans, “yeah, like that. Oh-” he stops talking and instead makes these adorable little noises of pleasure as Tony moves slowly, easing Peter into it.

He lets out a shaky breath into Peter’s neck, nosing softly at it and earning a moan out of Peter for his efforts. “Fuck you feel so good,” Tony tells him, hand on his hip tightening a little.

“Yeah?” Peter asks, cheeks flushed a little. He looks so damn hot like that, spread out under Tony in his pretty lingerie, mouth open in pleasure and eyes half lidded.

“Fuck, yes baby. So tight around me, so wet.” He’s always found that Peter gets wet fast but fuck this is something new altogether and he moans. “So slick for me baby, taking me so well.”

Peter smiles for a moment before he groans, hips tilting into Tony’s and fuck that’s good too. “Fuck me harder,” Peter tells him. For a half a second he considers asking if he’s sure but abandons the idea on account of Peter clearly fucking wants it and so does he so he shifts his position a little bit and slams into Peter hard. “Fuck,” Peter says, back arching, “yes, just like that,” he tells Tony, pulling at him to do it again so he does.

Peter makes one fuck of an image with his cheeks flushed and his curls bouncing as Tony fucks into his fast and rough. “Fuck baby, you’re so good like this,” Tony tells him, “so good.”

He lets out a soft laugh, “can feel how worked up your are baby, can feel your knot already.” Tony moans, unable to help his reaction to that and Peter gasps, hips tilting up into Tony’s. “Oh fuck Tony yeah, come on. Wanna feel you knot me, feel you stretch me out, wanna cum on your knot so bad,” Peter tells him.

“Shit Peter, keep talking like that and I don’t think I’ll last,” he murmurs, biting his lip hard.

Peter grins, seemingly taking that as a personal challenge as he tilts his hips up into Tony’s again. “Come on Tony, fuck into me good, wanna be able to feel you for a week- yes like that, just like that,” Peter tells him as he slams into him harder. “That’s it baby, fuck into me like you want me- oh baby your knot is so good, its getting so big oh!” Tony moans, pressing his face into Peter’s neck to scent him. He doesn’t expect Peter’s hand threaded tightly through his hair, tilting his head so he can press Tony into him further but its not unwelcome by any means. “Keep fucking me like that baby, wanna feel you knot me so bad. Fuck baby, yes,” he tells Tony, fingers tightening in his hair as Tony’s teeth graze his neck. “Don’t stop, Tony, claim me. Please baby, please claim me wanna be yours, make me your- oh!”

He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, but Peter is literally begging for it, fingers curled tightly in his hair and his fucking slick- Tony doesn’t think he’s ever felt him this worked up before and its beyond hot. So he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, that’s what he tells himself as he bites into Peter’s neck anyway because he’s fucking impossible to resist and the way Peter’s back arches into him tells him all he needs to know about where Peter stands on this. “Fuck Tony I’m cumming, oh my god, yes!” he yells, fingers in his hair curled tight enough to hurt but Tony likes that too.

He moans, slowing his pace a little however much he doesn’t want to so give Peter a break not that he takes it. “No Tony, don’t stop, don’t want you to- come on baby finish in me, knot me,” Peter tells him, voice so fucking desperate for it even though he just came and Tony can’t fucking help it he’s so good.

“I’m so close Peter, keep talking like that,” he says, fucking into him hard and it won’t be long now anyway.

“Come on baby, your knot feels so good already and its not even fully in me yet, gunna feel so good when you pop off in me, yes- fuck me like that,” Peter tells him. Tony moans, licking at Peter’s fresh claim bite and Peter moans too, tiling his head to give Tony better access to it. “That’s it baby, feel they way you marked me up as yours. I belong to you now baby, make me feel how much I’m yours, fuck into me so good I could never be with anyone else- yeah, like that. Fuck, just like that, keep going baby knot my ass, show me I belong to you- oh!” Peter moans loud underneath of him, back arching up as he gasps. “Oh baby I’m gunna cum again, gunna- oh, Tony please knot me, wanna cum on your knot oh baby please I want you so bad- ah!”

Tony presses into him one last time, teeth sinking into his neck again and Peter yells, legs curling around Tony to make sure he’s locked in and he feels himself throb inside Peter. “Fuck baby, you’re so god damn good,” he murmurs.

Peter lets out a soft huff. “Holy shit, wow. We’re gunna do that again, right?” he asks and Tony laughs.

“As much as you want, gorgeous.”

Peter thinks all those romantic tales of first times are stupid but he also wasn’t about to settle for something shit either, he’s heard too many stories of lackluster first times to walk into it all willy nilly. He figures Tony being freakishly good, not, he supposes, that he has anything to compare it to, means he was right to hold out. Not that Tony seemed to realize that until right now. “You were, I thought- seriously?” he asks and Peter rolls his eyes.

“Alphas and their weird collective virginity kink. But yeah, that was my first time,” he says.

“What the fuck is with your talent at dirty talk then? Where the hell did you learn that?” he asks, confused.

Peter rolls his eyes, “Tony you don’t need to have sex to talk dirty and you’re not exactly difficult to get going. You might not be a jackass like ninety percent of other alphas but in the bedroom you’re pretty much the same as the rest of them.” Tony raises an eyebrow and Peter huffs, “I watch porn okay, and unlike alphas who don’t seem to know its all fictional I know how to parse out the weird bullshit from stuff that actually makes sense in real life. And also you aren’t the first person I’ve dated, I had guinea pigs before you.”

Tony wrinkles his nose, “don’t bring up your exes, that kills my afterglow,” he mumbles like its not at all a possessive thing. Peter doesn’t mind though, he’ll give Tony being possessive in this one area only.

“You asked,” Peter points out.

“Yeah, but I didn’t want an image of you with fucking Beck in my head. You watching porn though? There’s something I’d like to see,” Tony tells him, pulling him into his lap.

Peter laughs, curling up with Tony and pressing his face into his neck. “That can be arranged. But its going to have to get in line with all my other ideas,” Peter tells him, delighting in the sharp shiver Tony lets out.

“You have plans, hmm?” he asks and Peter nods.

“I have a list, actually. Wanna see how much of it we can get through over the weekend?” he asks like that was ever a real question.

“Give me the list,” Tony tells him.

#tony stark x peter parker #starker #alternate universe #fanfiction #abo fanfic

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toysoldiers-rwby · 4 years

Text

[SYT] 5. the leading lamb

Show Your Teeth

Characters: Fiona, Winter, May, Robyn, Joanna Rating: Mature Tags: implied abuse, hurt/comfort, parental sibling, confessions, fluff Word Count: 7,219

Summary: Three Mantle Rats are invited to an Atlesian Party. What can go wrong?

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A/N: as a survive it’s very important for me to NEVER focus on the abuse itself. I try very hard to imply it and show the damage it can do but honestly I’m tired of reading stories where it’s just pain. So I try very hard to focus on the recovery and healing. I’d love feedback on this. Also check Ao3 for NSFW art lol. i forgot tumblr hates links so i think i’ll just edit it back in after a week or something to keep things organized.

Some how a shopping trip also turned into a raid on the local arcade. Fiona was winning despite what all the leaderboards was saying. Winter was cheating, she had to be. Robyn and Joanna was the better shot, they were the only ones that used range weapons a regular basis! Still Winter came in first. May should have won the batter’s game, her favorite weapon was a staff. Number One? Winter Schnee. The other three loudly cheered Fiona on as she adjusted her grip on the hammer.

The last game was a the gold on ‘Test of the Strength.’ Sure, some of was actual strength but almost all of it was leverage. Fiona loved stealing… borrowing! Loved borrowing heavy weapons. Axes… Elm’s hammer. She almost got Marrow’s boomerang and still had two years to do it. A worker quickly stepped in as Joanna was some how about to convince the man they’ll settle the matter like adults.

Several minutes later they had enough tickets to buy all the giant stuff animals on display. Like adults, everyone gave their tickets to the children nearby.

Like an adult, Fiona slammed her fist on the counter and demanded the giant lion.

“By the brothers, Fi…” Robyn mumbled a little embarrassed.

It was the fifth time she’d manage to surprise and fluster the women. Fiona wasn’t counting the smirk tugging at her lips and cute mole on her chin. The fluttering in her chest wasn’t getting worse and her hands didn’t feel cold and empty when she looked at Robyn. Fiona only hugged her stuff animal tighter.

“I won and Winter cheated! I deserve a trophy!” Fiona argued sticking her tongue out at them. In truth she just needed something to desperately keep her hands occupied. Joanna was the only one that smiled fondly at her and ruffled her hair. The other three acted disappointed.

And to be extra annoying she refused to absorbed it and forced the group to return to Robyn’s apartment. Fiona dumped several bags of clothes onto the living room floor and then took the couch with her new best friend. May took the time to choose to pick out everyone’s outfit and will most likely buy a few more accessories when they head up to Atlas.

“What should I name it?” Fiona asked with a grin, ears wiggling happily.

“Childish,” Robyn said with a soft teasing bite. Fiona didn’t notice the way her eyes light up, all bright and unguarded. Or noticed Robyn’s habit of blowing her fringe out of her eyes.

“Deviant,” May said slowly shifting through the bags. Eventually the others helped her but Fiona stayed on the couch.

“Selfish,” Joanna added.

“You all suck,” Fiona mumbled. She fell back, laying down on the couch and not even taking up all the space. She held up the stuff lion above her, playing with its tiny round ears as her own fluttered happily.

Today was the most fun she had in years. And not because of the sex. A sudden shiver rolled through Fiona’s body, a flash of heat dried her mouth and warmed her cheeks. The sight of Robyn stretched out before her… The sweetness rolling off her tongue and down her chin and neck. Her ears fluttered, remembering how Robyn screamed Fiona’s name.

Fiona buried her face against the muzzle. Trying not to groan at the memory. Robyn was her teammate, going to be her huntress partner. Not… Fiona tried to shelved her dancing heart. It was just… stress relief between friends. Casual hookups and friends with benefits weren’t unheard of when majority of Atlas’ population was asexual.

Robyn will be her new partner. They’ll pass their combat final with flying colors and… and ideally Robyn will stay. Fiona swallowed her racing heart back down to her chest. She’d get to see those stupid eyes everyday.

“I’ll name you… Spring.” Fiona said cuddling her trophy. Robyn glanced at her with a smirk and raised brow. “For new beginnings!” Fiona huffed and pouted at the women. Robyn’s smile eased the tension from her shoulders, looking… a lot how like Winter looks at May. Stupidly fond and earnest and Fiona had to look away with ears fluttering about.

“You have competition now,” Joanna teased, elbowing her partner. Fiona saw a light blush on Robyn’s tanned cheeks for a second. They all turned back to the elites, noticing May holding up an outfit that wasn’t for any of them.

“They won’t be able to do any compression for awhile,” Winter said. They, meaning the Thief. Fiona sat up, resting her chin on her trophy’s shoulder. The two elites picked out an outfit for the Thief on their last shopping trip. May shifted a little more, looking away uncomfortably.

Fiona realized that she never saw May in anything that she didn’t want to wear. She switched between the boy’s and girl’s uniform according to her mood, wore makeup whenever she felt like it and never because it was required. Fiona always thought it was May being May, a rebellious brat tired of all the rules… the rules just never applied to her in the beginning.

Fiona touched her ears, only being able to relate on a different level. “Scarf’s are good too,” Fiona said. Her teammates gave her a pointed look with a soft sneer. Fiona pouted at it back before Robyn playfully sat down next to her and tugged at the scarf around her neck.

“Are you ever going to give it back?” May tried to be teasing but was still a little tense.

“Maybe… not?” Fiona mumbled, an idea hitting her. She blushed and looked away. It was stupid and humans always got the wrong impression but it was true. “Maybe we should give it to the Thief-”

“Glade,” May gently reminded.

“We should give it to Glade,” Fiona corrected. “They responded pretty well to me and May so it might calm them down.” Joanna and Robyn glanced at each other a little confused. “Um… Faunus are wired differently,” Fiona answered, fidgeting a little in her seat. She never actually had to explain it to May and Winter. The pair picked up on it because they’re secretly super attentive and sweet. “We’re not hunting dogs, it works on a subconscious level and we don’t really notice it.” Fiona said. She was dancing around the subject a little because her nose was a little more sensitive than the average Faunus. Everyone had their own unique scent. Winter smelled of cool fresh air, like fresh dawn and a new beginning. May smelled of flowers, so soft it wrapped and cuddle Fiona from the inside.

Robyn and Joanna smelled like the forest of Mistral. Deep and rich, the kind of ground you could really set roots in and grace with flowers. Every bit of them was different parts of a home Fiona would like some day. No wonder Glade snuck in earlier.

Robyn and Joanna raised a brow. The slight movement helping Fiona realize she was quiet a little too long, “People just smell nice,” Fiona blurted out with a blush. “Familiar smells are calming while strangers are…”

“Upsetting?” Robyn asked.

“Kinda? It’s why May cuddles me when we need to sleep in hotels.”

“And why they practically dragged you into Robyn’s room last night,” Joanna said with chuckled, “That’s adorable.” The three students blushed softly.

The little lamb grumbled and shifted in her seat. Fiona didn’t tell them it was a sign of trust and acceptance in Faunus culture. So when they dropped off the clothes at the clinic and the Thief- Glade, walked into the clinic’s staff lounge with the scarf wrapped around their neck, Fiona smiled brightly, ears wiggling happily.

They chose the grunge outfit her elites bought, subtly turtling into the scarf as they tucked their wavy pale green hair into beanie… Keeping their eyes closed until they slipped on the dark reflective shades. Was their Faunus trait their eyes? Where they nocturnal or did they have non-human eyes?

“Thanks,” The Thief. said with a soft smile.

“Yeah, of course,” May tried to act like Winter, stoic and aloof. It was an adorable failure that had Fiona and her group of mismatched friends snickering. She grumbled at the mismatch group and looked focused on Dr. Pietro, “Are you attending the Schnee recital tonight?”

“Perhaps, Young Glade here has offered to help me finish my work but I will definitely attending Silvio’s birthday later this week,” Dr. Pietro said with a smile while the Thief frowned a little.

“Glade? What am I a stray dog?”

“We even got you a collar,” May taunted, pulling at collar of their flannel shirt. Glade only scoffed and quickly retreated back into the clinic, favoring one side over the other. Everyone noticed and gave Dr. Pietro a worried look.

“A broken leg that never healed right. Completely unrelated to what happened this morning.” Dr. Pietro said. " We had a close call with Ms. Goodwitch and Silvio earlier but they’ll be safe. If they stay here," He stressed the last bit loudly and pointedly.

“I promise I’ll keep you all out of trouble,” Glade yelled somewhere in the clinic.

“Not reassuring!” Fiona yelled back as they left. She took a few dancing steps in front of the group, smiling up at her friends, “So we ready to head back to Atlas?”

“Let’s see… Glade? Treated and recovering. Window. Fixed. Weapons?” Robyn asked.

“Check!” Fiona smile with a flick of her wrist, a switchblade was suddenly in her hands and flicked open. The others seemed to falter a little, a quick blush appearing on everyones face and Robyn looking particularly… bothered. Fiona only brightly smiled at her until Winter cleared her throat.

“Atlesian lesson 101?” The Schnee asked next.

“They’re bitches,” May and Robyn answered at the same time. Fiona giggled as Winter lightly glared at them both. “Public opinion is everything,” Robyn answered. “And 102, deliver what they think they want.”

What the Atlesians wanted from Robyn wasn’t far from who she actually was.

Joanna cleared her throat, “An average civilian, rising to the occasion to save a brilliant mind during a sudden attack on Mantle, the charismatic hero who always gets the girl in the end,” she narrated the hard-light poster dramatically before throwing her head back and laughing.

Thank god Winter had the foresight to drag them to Schnee Manor before the actual recital started. The only people around were servers, security, and fiends. It gave time for the Mantle Rats to get used to the environment, to the disgusting show of wealth. They had space for real trees in the city. Gated behind a wall with security cameras pointing out in every direction. Marble, chrome, rich dark oaks constructed the building and hard-light lamps advertised the Schnee emblem and tied it all with a soft blue glow.

Then there was the hijacked hard-light poster.

It was suppose to be displaying the poster May showed them earlier today, Weiss sinking on stage. Instead it was Robyn. Valiantly fighting Grimm in the foreground, fending off those creepy long fingers and giving Fiona time to grab Silvio as the ground erupted beneath them. Fiona tilted her head.

It looked like a movie still.

A very hot one Fiona would probably take for herself later but it didn’t feel right. “Is this what people see when they watch Huntsmen and Huntresses fight?” She asked softly. “Just action and adventure? Not, y’know… helping people?”

“It always seems like saving people is the ultimate form of help. It gets rather tiresome.”

The group turned around to see Goodwitch approaching. Her usual wear was formal enough, a lot more than the group’s casual suits and dresses. Robyn’s tie was purposely loose the top two buttons left open for that perfectly clean your-not-important-enough-for-me-to-care persona the group decided on. Just thinking about it made Fiona’s hand twitched. She wanted to pull at it for a while now. She enjoyed Robyn’s shock and flustered face and that tie… Robyn’s her teammate, not a casual fuck.

Fiona took a slow breath and looked back up at Goodwitch who eye did bounce between the gold bird pin everyone wore on their body.

“I’d like to formally apologize on Qrow’s behalf,” Goodwitch said a bit reluctantly. “Though I do not apologize for his absence. He’ll probably just puke all over the floor or hassle the servers.”

"If you want to apologize stop bringing up that drunk," May said, her arm leaving the small dip of WInter’s back. Winter tried to stay relax but was glaring hard up at the Vale huntress.

Goodwitch smile, “Best idea all day. Worse being people sneaking Grimm into the city,” She finished looking at Robyn and Fiona. The words made Fiona’s heartbeat leap into her throat. There… that was one explanation. The only reasonable. May did say something about a greater plan. Glade was the only one that acted- No. Fiona looked at Robyn, Glade was the only one that had the skill and resources to act. “James has told me you’ve looked into previous cases, Detective Hill?”

Detect… Detective?! Fiona tried not to sputter at the title. She tried to relax her ears, stop them from sticking straight out from the sides of her head. Joanna chuckled softly beside her and ruffled her hear, unfreezing her muscles.

“Fighting rings have started to bring in small non-Atlas Grimm to spice things up,” Robyn said. Fiona pulled her head out of the gutter, trying to focus on the conversation. Joanna set a hand on her partner’s shoulder, calming her down enough to continue civilly. “We’ve been trying to get the military involved for months.”

“Do you think these events are related?” Goodwitch asked.

“We put a dent in the major rings so I hope not,” Joanna whispered. “If Atlas gangs figure out how to turn Grimm into weapons…” Fiona didn’t want to think about those Imps agains.

“We’re already seeing some bandit tribes in Anima use similar tactics,” Goodwitch informed. One reason why Atlas was so crowded and industrialized was that Solitas made living outside of proper settlements difficult. Normal citizens without a protective Aura can’t even leave the kingdom without expensive equipment. “Extort them for protection by leading the Grimm to them and leave them once the main horde arrives.”

“They can’t all be connect,” Robyn said firmly shaking her head. “Twisted mines follow the same path every now and then.”

Goodwitch stared at the group for a long while, then smiled sadly, “I don’t suppose I can steal you from Atlas, can I?” Goodwitch asked.

“She’s mine,” Fiona blurted out, heart skipping a few beats as panic filled her for a second. She was so close to making things up to Winter and May. Just one last thing before they all continue with their training and studies, two years until they graduation. Robyn nudged her out of it a playful smirk comforting the little lamb. “She’s my partner for our combative final.”

“Ridiculous,” Goodwitch said with a deep scowl, “With how you all fought, I’ll see ensure James pass the three of you and accept you two into the Academy,” She looked at the students then at the detectives. The group blinked stunned until Goodwitch raised a brow.

“Thank you… ma’am,” Winter said softly. Even her eyes were wide.

Goodwitch only nodded. She turned on those high heels and practically marched away, “I look forward to working with you ladies again.”

“As long as that creepy as bird doesn’t break my shit!” Robyn called out after her. Robyn was practically bouncing, a large smile on her face as grabbed Joanna’s hands and practically bounced, “Heard that Joan! We’re Atlas students-”

“Your an Atlas student.” Joanna said pulling her hands free and pushing them firm on Robyn’s shoulders to stop her small bounce. " We don’t have the money for both of us to attend."

Fiona winced in sympathy, “I’m on almost five scholarships and it’s… not easy,” Fiona said softly. She needed to write essay’s attend tournaments, her workload was nearly tripped the average student’s. Another reason why she was so desperate to stay with Winter and May, another team would just hold her back. “I’m lucky i got teamed up with a perfectionist and a competitive idiot.” She nodded to Winter and May, both avoiding their gaze with an uncomfortable look. This wasn’t a conversation her elites usually hear.

Robyn scowled, gritting her teeth. Joanna smiled and patted her head like a she was pouting puppy, “We’ll figure something out Rob… Today is still our day off, right?” She looked at May who nodded.

“Would you two like a small tour of the manor?” Winter ask, already leading the group out of the foyer. They headed to the kitchen first, trying to walk past all the giant paintings of her family but Robyn stopped at the giant portrait. Winter tried to encourage the group to walk past but Joanna eyed the giant suit of armor and sword next to it. “My grandfather, Nicolas Schnee.”

“I read about him,” Joanna said, “When Robyn first suggested we go to Atlas Academy I laughed at her.”

“Yeah, I was so hurt I almost kicked you out,” Robyn mumbled. She turned towards Winter, “But you three know why we want to become Huntresses now.”

Fiona looked at Winter who pressed her lips tight. She only turned and walked deeper into the manor, forcing the group to follow. May didn’t leave her side, pressing into her shoulder every time a server passed with a tray of empty wine glasses. Their hands brushed every so often but neither of them made a move to hold on.

It was obvious why May joined. Winter was hung up on the fact that they only met their new friends yesterday.

“Same as you but a little different,” Fiona said, wiggling her ears for effect. “To help everyone, Mantle is just the start-” Suddenly hear ears perked up, flicking in the direction of the private area of the manor. It sounded like glass breaking.

“Damn it…” May mumbled. This time her hand finally slid into Winter’s, “I’ll check, you stay.”

“No.” Winter said, voice brittle and body so taunt it was ready to snap. Fiona hung back, letting May try and calm her not-girlfriend teammate. She also stopped Robyn from springing into action.

May stepped close, their heads leaned together to whisper as soft as possible. Fiona tried to ignore it but it was impossible with how quiet the hallways were. “You come, they come.” May said. Then her voice soften, “Please… Don’t put this all on me, Win.”

Winter blinked. Blue eyes shinning and cracking. Fiona would never say tears were in her eyes. After another squeeze Winter finally relaxed and let go of May’s hand. “Alright… Let’s go-”

“Stop! Please!” Silvio’s voice broke through the thick walls.

Immediately the group broke into a sprint. Winter was the fastest and Fiona was trailing behind her after absorbing her heels. A Glyph light the hallway. Before Fiona could stop her, a Beowolf roared, crawling out of it and slashing the door opened. She could hear two kids scream and another glass breaking.

Fiona only had a moment to take in the scene before the two kids ran towards them. Three adults and thanks to Fiona’s sensitive nose she could smell some alcohol on all their breaths. Weiss was in Winter’s arms in seconds and once Silvio stumbled out of Author Watt’s slacken grip, he was behind May.

“Let’s go.” May shoved Winter out of the room. She fought it, eyes on her mother and father. The Beowolf slowly growling.

“Please,” Weiss whispered. That finally broke Winter’s furious trance. She stepped back but left her Beowolf growling viciously it made Fiona’s ears twitch painfully low.

May lead them back to kitchens, Fiona could tell by the delicious smell and the clanking pots. It was the only life in the manor, the staff singing loudly and enjoying their work until the rich snobs came in and they’d have to act pleasant. When the group came in they immediately froze, nervous. They took one look at the kids and quieted down. The singing wasn’t as loud but still lively and cheerful.

Fiona watched some energy and return to the kids, a small weight lifting off their shoulders as Klein quickly appeared. His light brown eyes shifted from them to Winter, “Oh dear… what happened now-”

“Nothing.” Weiss said softly.

“Nothing new,” Silvio said with a scoff. He sat at the table, taking a dessert and stuffing it in his face before retreating into his Scroll. Klein sighed and replaced it with a fresh treat from the counter.

Fiona looked at Winter and May who gave her a gentle pleading look. The little lamb grabbed both Joanna and Robyn’s hands, leading them out of the kitchen. “Come on, their garden has real flowers in them,” Fiona said, trying to sound cheerful for the sake of the kids. Weiss didn’t smile and Silvio didn’t look up from his Scroll.

No one wanted to speak until they got the garden. Even then the heavy silence lingered, growing heavier as the trio watched the sunset on a bench. Finally Joanna sigh let out a loud sigh, leaning heavily into Fiona and pushing her into Robyn who easily bore the additional weight of two people.

“Maybe we should take Goodwitch’s offer and go to Vale?” Joanna mused softly. “It’d be cheaper too. Warmer. Friendlier.”

“But they don’t need us,” Fiona said softly.

Robyn came back to reality. Fiona and Joanna had to right themselves as she leaned forward and rubbed her face. “That is so messed up… Not even the rich has it easy in this fucking kingdom,” She was trembling. Voice on the verge of breaking and so damn angry. When Fiona tried bending down Robyn harshly turned away.

“I can smell you crying… sensitive nose remember?” Fiona whispered. She moved, taking Robyn’s other side so her and Joanna could sandwich Robyn in. Her hand hesitated, hovering above Robyn’s knee. Just as she was about to pull back Robyn uncurled and grabbed her hand. She held onto tightly as she leaned her head on Joanna’s shoulder and whipped away the tears with her other hand. “Now you know why they’re so protective of me… And why Winter wants to become a huntress.” Fiona said softly, rubbing comforting circles on Robyn’s skin with her thumb.

“What’s good is being an officer if I can’t even arrest a drunk huntsmen, let alone those three,” Joanna growled. She took a deep breath. Her arm was long enough to rest heavily on Robyn and Fiona’s shoulder. It was like a loose hold, so Fiona snuggled into both of them. For a long moment they all just sat there, letting their brains turn off.

Winter was the first to find them with a tray of food and drinks. She looked guilty but smiled seeing Fiona’s and Robyn’s hand tightly intertwine. Fiona haded how soft Winter’s voice came out, “I’m… I’m sorry you three had to see that.” She said. Fiona got up, passing the tray to Robyn and wrapping her arms tight around Winter.

“I’m sorry we can’t do anything they deserve,” Joanna said back. The three Mantle Rats invited Winter to sit with them on the bench but Winter politely refused, withdrawing a little instead. But she was here… and May asked her not to put it all on her anymore.

Fiona extruded a picnic blanket for them to sit on. Joanna and Robyn looked comfortable on the bench looked relaxed stretched out on the ground. After some thought, Robyn dropped her head onto Fiona’s lap. The little lamb smiled down at her, both enjoying and needing a sense of touch. Fiona selfishly let her heart beat faster, eyes wandering to Robyn lips and eyes as she played with the platinum strands of hair.

The cowardly part of Fiona wished Robyn didn’t relax the way she did, closing her eyes and humming softly in approval. At same time she’d hope to see it more. No wonder her two elite always got grumpy whenever their morning routine was interrupted.

“We’ve dealt with families with… similar situation,” Robyn explained, slowly turning her brain back on. “I can recommend some good therapist for your sister. Silvio too.”

“That’d… that’d be much appreciated. You’d have to talk to May about Silvio, she’s already helping him with… other things.” Winter said softly. She hide half her face behind a drink, her eyes meeting Fiona’s for a moment then down to Robyn and Joanna. “Thank you,” She whispered into her drink.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Robyn said with a small smile. She rolled onto her stomach and Fiona missed the warmth of her scalp and softness of her hair. “One more thing. Just pin May to the wall and fuck her already.” Winter blushed hard, coughing softly and trying to clear her throat. Joanna patted her back while Fiona giggled.

“I… I can’t-”

"Can’t? You practically fucking her through me," Robyn continued to press. Winter blushed harder, completely off balance and embarrassed by the topic. It was rare a sight, one that only May pulls off on a good day so Fiona jumped in.

“Technically, I was fucking you,” Fiona corrected, lightly flicking Robyn’s nose. “Because Winter’s too sweet on May to actually fuck another person,” She leaned forward and grinning at the Schnee. Winter tried to get Fiona to submit with a hard look. When Fiona started wiggling her brows a little Winter was forced to set her drink down or risk spilling it all over their semi-formal clothes. She barely remembered they were here for an Atlesian party.

“I don’t know if I should be upset that you two noticed before May did,” Winter grumbled softly. “But I didn’t think she liked me back until this morning.”

Fiona tapped her chin thinking back on their years together. “Honestly… I didn’t either. You? You were so obvious! The morning routines with the hair, how protective you were over her!” The pair might have edged each other to the extremes but that also meant they were always softer and much more relaxed when together.

“I have been hinting at it when since we were young,” Winter confessed. All the Mantle rats flinched. Joanna ran a hand through her hair, messing up the gel the Marigold styled it with.

“Well of course May don’t realize it!” Joanna said with an annoyed sigh. “You’ve been giving her mix signals-”

"How was this morning mixed signals?!" Winter hissed with a deepening blush.

“Just tell her,” Robyn said waving her hand.

“Tell who what?” May asked rounding the corner of bushes with another tray of food. “Klein wanted to make Fiona’s favorite since we haven’t snuck back in awhile.”

“Yes!” Fiona cheered taking the tray of fruits and sweets, strawberries covered in chocolates to fluffy cream stuffed puff. After throwing one in her mouth she teasingly dangled one in front of Robyn’s face. The women rolled her eyes, taking a bite of the strawberry and watching as Fiona finished it off.

May sneered, “Glad I haven’t missed much.”

“They’re trying to convince me to tell you about my undying love for you,” Winter said, in her default tightly controlled and dry tone. Before anyone could act surprised May threw her head back and laughed so hard her face went a little red.

“Yeah! Do it after Weiss’ performance.” May said with a bratty cute grin. Fiona tensed, a smile plastered to her face as she tried not to scream. Damn it May! “Announce our engagement so your father and my cousin can die of a heart attack!” She bent down, taking Winter’s hands and gently pulling her up, “Come on! Show’s starting soon and Silvio wouldn’t shut up about us grabbing front row seats.”

Within a few minutes the the theater was full and the lights dimmed to darkness. Fiona looked around. Her eyes spotting most of the military in the booths above the crowd. Goodwitch sitting irritably next to General Ironwood. Across from them senior Clover Ebi was sitting next to the freshmen Marrow. The other Faunus was busy looking around the theater too, a determine look on his face.

“There’s a lot of Atlas students here…” Fiona whispered a little uneasily.

“We do have two Atlesian scientist and the one visiting from Vale with his family,” Robyn said. Fiona looked back up the balconies. Sure enough she spotted the Vale scientist with his Faunus wife and daughter.

Unfortunately due to May and Robyn’s hassling each other, they didn’t get center seats, but from this angle Fiona was able to see just behind the curtains. At the side of the stage was a hooded figure in robs… Weiss next to them with Silvio a little ways off. Fiona strained her ears but it was too far.

The hooded not-Schnee figure took the center of the stage and from his Scroll Silvo activated the music. A slow piano piece fitting for the rich audience. Slowly the stage lights turned on, letting Fiona’s sensitive eyes adjust while gradually getting brighter for the humans to see, piano growing louder, picking up tempo.

“You are an ocean of waves, weaving a dream like thoughts, become a river stream,” the mysterious stranger sang. Her voice was lower than Weiss. A shock mummer spread across the crowd but the opening act wasn’t phased even as Fiona watched the military in the booths grow a little tense. They only relaxed when they realized another voice would join occasionally, Weiss standing beside Silvio, harmonizing into her mic. “Yet may the tide every change, flowing like time to the path, yours to climb.”

Fiona turned back to the stage, ears flinching a little whenever the music was too high for her sensitive ears. Whoever the mysterious singer was, she knew how to entertain walking the stage, posing and gesturing to the audience until the easily swayed like Marrow was at the edge of his seat and the reserved ones like Vine was absolutely enthralled. Robyn looked amazed, beautiful lavender eyes wide.

“Thou seek the light with an outstretched hand,” Slowly the opening act’s voice faded. Weiss’ voice growing louder but she hadn’t walked on stage yet, “A divine blade lies before you so command the wake of dreams, to restore the world, cut 'way the seams,”

Then the tempo picked up yet again, a drum encouraging Fiona’s heart into a powerful and steady beat. The mysterious singer reached out the audience, “Join in our prayer, in our song of birthrights and love,” She sang loudly. Weiss’ voice slowly appeared again, matching harmonizing so perfectly it had Fiona’s ears shuttering in pleasure, “Come the sun, illuminate the sky. Pray that we may quell the dark. Light take the throne. Lost in thoughts, all alone.”

Then the lights dimmed, the music slowed to pause. Fiona heard Robyn and Joanna catch their breath next to her. Fiona saw the mysterious singer rush to the side, encouraging Weiss onto the stage. She vigorously shook her head for a moment until Silvio whispered his own words of encouragement, gesturing to where Winter was sitting.

With a huff and a stomp she rushed to her position, the opening act helping her on the left and then rushed to their own position on the right side. It was then she noticed the slight shaking in her hands. As Silvio increased the lighting, Fiona could see the redness in her eyes she missed before.

Poor kid. Still having to preform after the bullshit three adults put her through. Fiona heard Robyn gasp softly, “This is all improved…” she muttered.

The verse repeated but this time the music didn’t slow. The drums became louder, drums and violins filling Fiona with a rush as she listened to every word, “Thou seek the dark with an un-sheathed blade,” Weiss’ voice was beautiful, it sent chills down her spine and the haunting familiarity of her assistant pulled everyone in like it was story, “Now a white ivory throne beckons so obtain the fate you sow on this path be wary friend and foe.”

The way they moved on stage, circling each other or stepping close and matching their steps was almost poetic. “May thy chosen path lead way, and grace you with virtue but surely balance awaits,” Slowly Weiss took the lead, the opening act smiling as Weiss’ hands stopped shaking. She looked directly at her sister in the front row, “So be it bliss or pain you gain beyond the route-way’s end. You’ll gain resilience and weakness. The trials, the thorn in your side becomes the greatest strength, in you.”

The song was a message to her sister, Fiona realized with a happy smile. She looked at the older Schnee. Winter looked proud. She reached over to her partner, grabbing her hand giving it a thankful squeeze. Fiona glanced at Robyn her own hand feeling stupidly empty. Until she notice Silvio and the hooded singer nodding at each other.

“Descend into the abyss thou see- Hey!” Weiss screamed as she was suddenly shoved into the orchestra pit. One of the musicians threw their instrument aside to catch her. The crowd gasped, all the military huntsmen and students shocked in their seats. The music changed, suddenly blaring through the speakers but the volume wasn’t enough to make Fiona flinch.

“The future is bulletproof the after is secondary!” The opening act sang. Finally the hooded opening act ripped off their hood. Fiona’s mouth hung open as a familiar helmet and gold horns standing on stage. I promise I’ll keep you all out of trouble, Glade said before they left Mantle. “It’s time to do it now and do it loud!”

“Are you serious!?” May screamed in the theater. Fiona looked at her elites. May was almost pulling her hair out and Winter jumped into the orchestra pit to check on her sister. Glade grinned, hard-light ears taking shape and floating above their helmet.

They pointed at May, “Kill joys! Make some noise!”

“Your fucking dead-”

“Na, na, na, na, na!” Glade stomped their feet in time with the rock music. Fiona barely pushed May back into her seat as the military moved in. Thankfully it was the students first. Vine swinging in with his semblance and Elm’s massive thighs launched her off the balcony and towards the stage. But Glade only smiled, never missing a beat, “Drugs, gimme drugs, gimme drugs, I don’t need it but I’ll sell what you got,” The pair was only able to make an entrance. The Dust in Glade’s clothes glowed a bright purple. A low warping sound ran deep in the room. Vine gasp a sudden weight pulling him down with Elm. It was enough force for the pair to crash through the stage.

The crowd sneered and laughed. “Bring what Rat in and they all come,” Someone said behind them. Fiona was pretty sure it was May’s cousin but she wasn’t about to ask the Marigold to check. Fiona only kept watching. Winter had snuck Weiss back behind the curtain and was now glaring at Silvio. It looked like she was trying to lecture them but the kids were smiling, busy watching Marrow clumsily climb onto the stage while Harriet appeared with a trail of lightning behind her.

Fiona laughed at the nervous looking boy, “Come on Marrow!” She cheered. Glade has yet to attack anything sentient and alive so he won’t get his ass beat but humiliation can be just as painful.

“You’re looking good for someone who almost died this morning,” Harriet taunted.

Glade only smirked, “But I’ll take what I want form your heart and I’ll keep it in a bag, in a box, put an X on the floor!” They continued to sing. Glade bounced around, light on their feet and motioned for the pair to come at them, “Gimme more, gimme more, gimme more! Shut up and Sing it with me!”

“Marrow…” Harriet ordered the kid.

Marrow took a deep breath, tail straightening as he concentrated, "Stay!" He hasn’t perfected his semblance yet but Glade’s singing paused, body moving slowly but still moving.

Harriet grinned cracking her knuckles before running forward. Just as she was about to reach them, the gravity Dust glowed bright. Harriet lost her footing but the momentum continued until she crashed into the wall. The audience laughed even harder. Robyn and Joanna roaring next to her.

The poor freshmen couldn’t hold his semblance and dropped it, panting heavily. Just as Clover was about to step onto the stage the lights shut off. Glade reach over, throwing Clover at Marrow. With a sharp whistle a wall of ice rose up, blocking all of Ironwood’s favorite students on stage. Glade ran to the side, grabbing the blind Schnees and Watt and running out of the theater. Before they disappeared they gave Fiona a pointed look.

The little lamb grabbed everyone and ran to the nearest side door. Klein gasped, semblance activating with a small scared sneeze and red eyes was looking at them. “Good, good, I was worried ya’ lot wouldn’t catch on,” Klein smirked, voice gruff and a little aggressive. Fiona giggled, she always like this one the best. “You… I can’t believe you’re in on this too!”

“Don’t blame me lil’ miss,” Klein scowled and growled back up at May, “Originally we were just gonna turn off the lights and sneak Weiss out, but the lil cunt made a friend and well…” Klein gestured to the theater and the loud shouts and yells. Ironwood was demanding the lights be turned back on and the crowd was starting to panic a little, “Best get ya’ out of here, eh? Rides out back, hurry on, now.”

Fiona new the manor well enough to get the group there. Robyn tried to stop laughing. It was a good thing Fiona was still holding her hand because she was sure Robyn would have been several halls behind them. There were other security guards around but they would see a server accidentally stumble into them or slow down the cart of food or equipment.

“I’m glad Weiss is still being look after.” May muttered softly under her breath. That finally got Robyn to stop laughing a sobering smile aimed at her elite.

A chauffeur waited patiently with the door opened for them. Winter didn’t jump, only gave them a small smile while the kids giggled to themselves. May was the only one still furious, “Where’s Glade?”

“They ran off while I was lecturing Weiss and Silvio,” Winter explain. “Said something about, 'How they weren’t paid enough for that,” She finished looking pointedly at the young adopted Watts. “How long have you two been planning this?”

“Sneaking out in the middle of the performance…” Weiss blushed and looked away. “A few… weeks?”

“It was suppose to be during my party but… then… fuck my uncle,” Silvio huffed. The mood died a little but Silvio was still grinning. “It was so worth it.”

“You two should have told me,” Winter said.

“You should come around more often- Ow!” Silvio winced as both May and Weiss punched him.

Winter took it in stride. She closed her eyes, as if concentrating to break the aloof and cool facade. She smiled, gently and earnestly leaning towards her sister and the young genius, “I guess you two will need to fill me. How exactly did two brilliant kids made a fool of the military? Hm?” They both grinned up at her.

May acted like a grump rolling her eyes but leaning heavily into her partner side. Fiona grinned at the scene, ears fluttering happily. Robyn sneered and chuckled, fingers playing with the tips of her ears while Joanna had an arm slung around both their shoulders again.

Fiona hadn’t realized she didn’t let go of Robyn’s hand until she was swinging their joined hands in the elevator. May set the kids up in another suite, talking a little more with the kids. Fiona and Robyn naturally gravitated to the balcony while Winter and Joanna collapsed onto the king sized bed with a deep sigh.

“What a day…”

“I’ll say. Fighting Grimm, sex in the changing room, a picnic and a show,” Joanna teased. The trio blushed hard and Robyn still made no move to pull their hands apart. This time she caught the women glancing at her lips. Fiona tighten her grip, fighting the urge to pull at the loose tie.

“I’m going to live variously through you two again.” Winter said. Fiona nearly jumped and the pair looked at Winter, lounging like a cat next to a bear that was Joanna. The Schnee looked pointedly at their hands, “Just make out already.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Robyn whispered, voice husky and slow. It sent a shiver down Fiona’s spine and she realized the women was quiet for awhile now. Fiona could almost feel just how long Robyn was holding herself back. At first the kiss was desperate and almost vicious. Fiona gasp softly when Robyn bit her lip and her tongue danced against hers. Both of Fiona’s hands was held in Robyn’s against the railing, as if this is how she wanted to take Fiona during their two rounds this morning.

With a dazed heart Fiona followed whatever mood Robyn wanted to give. Meeting her energy as best as possible. The frenzy kiss slowed to a passionate one. Finally Robyn let her hands go and Fiona let them wrap around her neck. The kiss might have slowed but it didn’t die. Fiona only felt the warmth in her chest spread, the cold metal of the rail worth the feeling of Robyn pressed against her.

“There’s no way you’d kiss May like that,” Joanna mumbled next to Winter. “It’d be a lot more sweet and chaste.”

“Shut up,” Winter mumbled softly. Robyn and Fiona broke apart giggling at their banter and at each other. Fiona swallowed trying not to think too much about how she wanted to keep those lavender eyes for longer than their academic years. How Robyn’s sweetness reminded her for her elites or how that Mantle attitude reminded Fiona that she wasn’t alone in their fight.

She didn’t want to fall but Robyn and the others were making it tempting.

Robyn leaned in again but not for a kiss, her nose nuzzled Fiona’s cheek trying to push her head to the right but Fiona fought it for a second and took a deep breath. Lavender and a fresh spring fields filled her nose, clouding her mind in a happy daze and settling her heart into a slow dancing rhythm. When Fiona finally opened her eyes she saw May on the balcony next to them. Face red and gold eyes wide.

“I want to do it right because…” Winter’s soft words floated through the open air. Robyn and Fiona giggled, watching May blush so hard it must have been painful but the smile on her face didn’t make her worry. Instead Fiona pulled gently pulled on that loose tie around Robyn’s neck and pull her down for a kiss.

This kiss was slowest yet. A practiced and gentle dance as Winter continued to speak, “Because I’ve loved her since I can remember.”

#robyn hill #springthyme #rwby #rwby7 #winter schnee #may marigold #fiona thyme #joanna greenleaf #happy huntresses #very happy huntresses #hellbore #Show Your Teeth #very seasoned huntresses

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

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A Boy Like You Preview | Yoongi

→ summary: for whenever you are feeling low, always remember that there is a boy you know who would lift the sky for you.

{or alternatively: Min Yoongi loves you, though he never says it. He’s always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than any words ever could.}

→ genre: coworker!au, f2l, fluff → warnings: an overabundance of shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to squish his cheeks; kinda ooc but it is what it is don’t murder me!!! → words: anticipated 15k (?) → a/n: it’s like so fucking late rn and i have a midterm to study for but you know what....... you know what....... sometimes you gotta write blushy yoongi to make yourself forget that you are a poor college student whose boss just cut your work hours in half, so yea!!!!!! here’s whatever this is

There is a boy you know who likes to show his kindness quietly. It would go something like this:

Then comes the hand of God. It touches your shoulder gently, hesitantly. You turn around to face a stranger, a boy with shaggy black hair and pale moonlight skin. It is not God, but he comes close.

He doesn't find the words, after all. You aren't too offended by his silence, but he appears to be mortified. And so, he leaves just as quickly as he had appeared, like a whirlwind dressed in an oversized blazer flapping behind him like wings. He runs through the rain without another thought, an arm raised above his head in a futile attempt to avoid the rain.

You try calling out to him, wanting to thank him once more and maybe to ask how you could return his umbrella, but he is long gone. A speck of black dashing through the gray.

You clutch the umbrella closer to you, a feeling of something new growing inside of you. It is too small to call anything, but it is warm.

———

Umbrella boy has a name, and he happens to work on the same floor as you. You know this because he is standing right in front of you in all his bespectacled glory.

He ducks out of view the moment your eyes meet his. There is a stack of folders in his arms, and he bows his head until his nose touches manila. It's too late––he knows you caught him staring. He scurries behind walls of filing cabinets and desk cubicles, desperate to get back to his desk where he hopes you'll never find him.

(You can already imagine your HR department contacting you about nonconsensual manhandling... You admit that you tend to get overzealous with your affection, especially when confronted with cute things. This boy would definitely need to watch out for you if he knows what’s best for him.)

((Also note to self: Stop having these psychopathic conversations with yourself. Being stuck inside the cage which is your brain is torture enough, so let’s not encourage it to get worse.))

“Are you… umm…” You hesitate with your words, fearing that any sudden movement on your part might cause umbrella boy to combust on the spot. “Do you need help… picking those up?”

“Min Yoongi,” he replies, pausing for a second too long. He must have realized his delay because he coughs awkwardly into his forearm, averting his face away from you in a futile attempt to become nothing more than an abstract thought.

“I just… I’m sorry if I’m acting odd right now. I just wasn’t expecting you to come to my cubicle and I would’ve... I don’t know, tidied up? If I knew you were coming,” he mutters, propping his glasses back up when they start sliding down his nose. They make their slow descent back down immediately after, forever on an endless cycle of up and down his face.

You cock your head to the side. “Nerves? From what?”

Yoongi visibly relaxes when you accept his flimsy excuse, not really lingering on the validity of his statement. “Oh, sure! Don’t overwork yourself too much, okay?” you say, smiling sweetly back at him. He stares, wide-eyed, not really sure how to go on with his life after he’d been blasted by the full force of your grin.

God, you hope you remembered to use a toothpick during lunch. Was there spinach in your teeth? Oh fuck.

#my wips #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts reader insert #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi imagines #LISTEN I KNOW I SAID I'D POST FOX RAIN 4.5 AND I WILL #I JUST..... OVERESTIMATED MYSELF AND I THOT I'D FINISH EARLIER THAN EXPECTED #WELL!!!!!!! JUST ANOTHER DAY OF ZEE FUCKING UP AND WRITING SOME OTHER BULLSHIT INSTEAD LOL

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theficklemuses · 4 years

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Prompt: Commission! :D OCs: Joshoa Jefferson and Seikatsu Kazuma OC Creators: @kaiyaru Ship: Joshoa/Seikatsu

---

His palms were sweating again.

It didn’t matter that this wasn’t their first date, or even their second, third, fourth, fifth, or sixth. Joshoa had to keep his hands in his pockets just to keep from nervous fiddling with his fingers, glad at least his gloves would keep the sweaty palms from being noticeable. He kept his expression schooled to at least look calm to the average passerby, his back to the tree that was their designated meeting point, his eyes fixed firmly on the single dandelion growing on the patch of grass around him instead of up and around looking for Kaz- Seikatsu.

Why was his heart determined to beat out of his chest every time he saw him? It was a flat out betrayal. Making him nervous and out to look like a fool, making it hard to look at Seikatsu’s face without thinking about kissing him and turning so red he thought he might explode - even thinking about thinking about it was heating his face up. He propped one of his feet up against the tree, trying to will the color away, given that his date would be here any minute and would no doubt make a comment about it.

A comment that, if their history together was anything to go by, would only make it a thousand times worse.

He heard rather than saw Ka- Seikatsu coming. Skateboards weren’t all that rare in the city but Joshoa was convinced Seikatsu’s had a distinct sound to it, and knew even before he glanced up from the dandelion that he’d see his ray of sunshine rolling towards him down the sidewalk.

God he hated his own cheesy thoughts sometimes.

“Sup!” Seikatsu kicked his board up and caught it in one smooth move, coming up to lean against the tree and shoot a cheeky grin up at him. “Here I am. What are your next two wishes?”

“Shut up.” Joshoa quickly looked away from him, though the good natured laughing told him his flush was just as noticeable as it felt. He was quick to push away from the tree and start walking away, not at all because he needed to run away from his own emotional floundering.

It wasn’t until he was on the opposite side of the block, Seikatsu having jogged to catch up with him, that Joshoa realized he had no idea where they were going. He stopped abruptly, clearing his throat as Seikatsu stopped a step ahead of him, turning and beaming back in that way that made his heart beat far too fast to possibly be healthy.

“Sooooo…?”

“What?” Joshoa crossed his arms tightly, hoping that might make his heart cool it.

Seikatsu shrugged, readjusting his hold on his skateboard. “You seemed like you knew where you wanted to go. Guess we should have talked about it before- hey, look!” The younger boy hopped right off the sidewalk into the well manicured lawn of some business Joshoa didn’t recognize, heading straight for some mixed colored flowers hanging from poles in ornate pots dotted here and there. “These are those one flowers- wait, I can remember their name.”

“Daisies.”

“Yeah, those!” Without any more thought than that, Seikatsu plucked an orange one right from the hanging pot before jogging right back to Joshoa and presenting it with a beaming smile. “Here. It’s only half as pretty as you, though.”

With a very loud groan, Joshoa spun right on his heels and marched back down the street in the direction they’d just come from, once again very done with the feeling of his face burning off. He didn’t get very far before Seikatsu got in his way though, mirth sparkling in his miss-matched eyes, the warmth in his laughter matching perfectly with the daisy he’d picked at random from the rainbow of colors he’d had to choose from.

Of course, he probably didn’t know that. Floriography kinda required one to know flower names to begin with, and since it had only been a few weeks since he’d learned what daisies were (and had barely remembered their name this time), there was little chance he knew what the orange ones symbolized. And that they perfectly captured Seikatsu’s roll in his life.

Sunshine of his life, the source of the warmth that spread from his heart like tendrils, roots making themselves cozy and planting themselves firm in his chest.

God, his own thoughts were embarrassing as hell.

“Sorry, was the flower too much?” Despite the question, Seikatsu quickly tucked it right behind Joshoa’s ear, trailing the back of his fingers against his very red cheek on the way back down even though they were in public and anyone could walk by and see them right now. “Guess I lost myself there in your eyes.”

“Stop it.”

He laughed again, stretching his arm behind his back as he took a step away from Joshoa. “Sorry, sorry. You’re just so cute when you blush.”

“Do you do anything besides tease people?”

That, in hindsight, was either the best or worst thing he could have asked in that moment. He should have known better, really should have known he’d take it as a challenge. There wasn’t a challenge alive Seikatsu would back down from, even if it was just one he made for himself, so the smalling hint of one (even one Joshoa didn’t actually mean) had his nostrils flaring and his mismatched eyes sparking like a fire.

“What, don’t like to be teased?” Just like that, Seikatsu was back in his space, leaning up and in even as Joshoa instinctively leaned back, though he knew it was too late to escape. “Bet I could change that. All it would take is one night.”

“Wha-?”

“It’s a little too soon for that, though.” Instead of explaining exactly what ‘that’ was, Seikatsu reached out to tap his fingers against Joshoa’s collar, playing with the edges of his clothes as if they were in private and not outside, on a sidewalk, in the middle of the day, where anyone could see them-

So why was it that Joshoa couldn’t push him away?

“Guess I’ll just…” He had to stand on his tippy toes to get any closer, but then Seikatsu was just a hair’s breath away, his own breath ghosting over Joshoa’s lips. “…have to settle for a kiss for now.”

‘Settle’ isn’t exactly how Joshoa would put it but he found talking a bit difficult when they were so close, their lips almost touching. And breathing. Breathing was difficult, too. All he found himself able to do was lean closer, horrified that he was really going to kiss Seikatsu out in the open like this - but his heart didn’t care and wouldn’t hear no for an answer, and before his brain could argue any further he found the distance between them non-existent, once again lost in the feeling of Seikatsu’s lips against his own.

A feeling he didn’t get to enjoy for long, since out of the corner of his eye he saw a couple passing them by. The two girls had knowing sparkles in their eyes, one hiding a laugh behind the hand that wasn’t holding on tight to the other girls, and if that wasn’t enough to sent a jolt through Joshoa then nothing was. He jumped back with an undignified noise he’d never admit to, leaving Seikatsu blinking as he dropped back to his heels, watching as Joshoa sputtered over his own embarrassment.

“We can’t just- you aren’t- we- you can’t just kiss people in public like that, Kaze!”

“Pretty sure you kissed me.” Seikatsu grinned and scratched the back of his neck, not looking nearly guilty enough over the whole thing. “Besides, our first kiss was in public, too. Remember?”

“That was different!”

“How?”

“Shut up.”

At least, for once, Seikatsu was willing to let it go. He readjusted his skateboard to be crooked in his right arm, still looking far too pleased with himself, still just as bright and sunny as ever as he beamed over at his boyfriend. “So. Got an idea for where you wanna go yet? Or should I run off to a gas station for some supplies for a night in?”

“We’re going to the beach.” Joshoa firmly ignored how high pitched his voice was there for a second, once more spinning on his heels to march down the street away from the walking embarrassment he was far too attached to for his own good. Though he had to turn around again, this time much more slowly, when Seikatsu caught up with him to remind him the beach was, in fact, not on the west side of town - the west side being where he’d marched off towards without thinking of geography in the slightest.

He’d also not given any thought to how neither of them were dressed for the beach. Nor did they have anything like towels or sunscreen or really anything beach like with them. But it was far too late to turn back now that he’d said it, so he marched on anyway, the only hiccup in his steps caused by the hand that reached out to hold his own gently as they walked.

And as much as it made his face burn hotter than the sun burn he’d be sure to be regretting by the next morning, Joshoa supposed he could handle a bit of hand holding. Especially if it made his sunshine all that much brighter with joy.

#joshoa #seikatsu #joshoa/seikatsu #not my oc #commission #super late commission #sorry :(

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slurpingsoba · 5 years

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How about a first date with Spinner in a amusement park? :3 Reader could win him some plushie or something. Oh and maybe reader held him durning the hunted house ride thing??? :33 please and thank you! Oh and if possible can you make the reader female? If not than that’s okay! :33

This is such a cute first date idea!! I tried to do this prompt justice to the best of my abilities, so it took long for me to write. And it’s also sorta long so it’s under a cut.

Word Count: 2.1k

On a phone call with Spinner, you suggested going to the amusement park with him. You met him not too long ago in a video game store and instantly recognized him as a member of the League of Villains, even though he was in disguise. At first, he was scared that you would turn him in to the heroes, but once he found out you actually supported the League, he relaxed around you.

After hanging out with him for a while, you thought asking him out on a date wasn’t a bad idea. To your surprise, he accepted your proposal.

So you two decided to meet at an amusement park that wasn’t too far from where you first had your encounter. You sat down on a bench in the park, waiting for Spinner to arrive. When he came, you noticed that he was wearing a hoodie under his jacket. It looked nice on him, but you were worried that someone would be able to identify him.

“Is this you being incognito?” You asked him as he approached you.

“I was planning on hiding in plain sight and it seems to be working well so far.”

“Hmm,” you mumbled to yourself before standing up and gazing at his smooth leather jacket sleeve and taking his hand in yours. He squeezed your hand slightly in surprise, and when you looked up at him, you saw that a light blush dusted his cheeks.

“You’ve never held hands before?”

“O-of course I have.” Spinner’s cheeks turned an even darker shade of pink; an overstatement, of course. Blush on Spinner just looked like a more muted shade of green, like olive, in comparison to his usual bright complexion. You chuckled at his obvious lie.

Interlacing your fingers with his, a water shooting game not too far in the distance caught your attention. The stuffed animals hanging on display waved slightly in the breeze. From what you could see, there was a periwinkle bunny with mismatched ears, a monkey with chestnut colored fur, and-

“Spinner, let’s go over here!” You pointed towards the vibrant string of prizes dangling over the game, waiting to be claimed, “I wanna win you something!”

Not waiting for a response, you pulled him behind you as you made your way towards the activity. Both of you weaseled your way through the bustling crowd of visitors, with Spinner bowing his head to hide his face.

“Nobody’s gonna report you to a hero,” you began, noticing his unease, “everyone’s here to have fun, just like us.”

Spinner didn’t answer, but he lifted his head up, and that was enough proof to show that he believed in your statement.

You let go of his hand when you reached the water gun stand, and you clasped your hands together enthusiastically while watching the game’s attendant reset the activity. Other people waited patiently for the game to start as they sat on plastic stools, and it occurred to Spinner that only one open chair was left.

“You’re playing, right?” Spinner said, nudging you with his elbow and gesturing towards the empty seat.

“Yep.” Sitting down, you fetched some change out of your purse to pay for the game and handed it to the employee. You placed each of your hands on opposite sides of the water gun, holding the black handles tightly. When the game began and water started squirting from the gun’s nozzle, you had a hard time accurately aiming your stream of water at the target across from you.

“Down! Down! Point down!” Spinner exclaimed, almost reaching over you and seizing control of the water gun.

“I’m trying!” You replied, but whenever you tried to change the water stream’s course, it always seemed to travel in the opposite direction that you wanted it to. Still, your meter rose higher than your opponents, and when you looked up to assess your status, you realized that you were close to winning!

A few seconds passed before a bell rung, declaring your victory.

You jumped out of your stool and raised your arms into the air in triumph, cheering for yourself before leaping into Spinner’s arms. You got some weird looks from the people around you.

“Woohoo! We won!” You tried to say, but your face was flush against Spinner’s chest, so your words came out muffled. Your cheek touched the soft fabric of his hoodie, and you nuzzled into him a bit before the attendant called for you to collect your prize.

“That one,” you said, pointing to the grass green dinosaur that caught your attention earlier. When it was handed to you, you immediately passed the animal to Spinner.

“Here! I thought it looked a little like you.”

Smiling, Spinner took the plushie from you and held it out in front of him. “Just a little bit,” he tucked it under his arm after examining it, “thanks y/n, it’s cute.”

You beamed, glad to bring innocent joy into Spinner’s life. You couldn’t imagine the last time he’s gone out and had fun, even before he became a villain. He let it slip once that he was sort of a shut-in when he was younger, so as his girlfriend, you wanted to make sure that he got to experience life as beautifully as possible.

Well, maybe you were getting ahead of yourself. You and Spinner weren’t dating yet, but at the end of this date, you hoped that Spinner would ask you out officially.

But for now, you were content with just spending time with him.

“What do you want to do next?” Spinner asked, scanning the park grounds for a new attraction.

“A roller coaster?”

“Scared of heights.” Spinner answered tersely.

“Ferris wheel?”

“That’s no better!”

“The haunted house?” You said, suspiciously eyeing a shabby looking shack with spider webs decorating the exterior. To be honest, you weren’t sure if the building was up and running or not, but you assumed it was, and that the offputting aura that the shack gave off was intentional.

“Scared of-“

“Ghosts? What, is the big bad villain actually a scaredy cat?” You teased.

“Shh. Don’t say the v-word so loudly.”

“Villain.” You whispered in his ear repeatedly, your voice growing louder with each use of the “v-word”. “Villain. Villain. Villain.”

“God,” Spinner swatted at you playfully like you were a fly invading his personal space, “you’re so annoying!”

You giggled, grabbed his hand, and dragged him with you. “Haunted house time!”

Now, according to your observations, the haunted house in front of you didn’t look like the average spooky feature. The rundown place didn’t even have a sign on the front, let alone a marked entrance. The only distinguishable thing about it was the trail of nauseous-looking people exiting the house, their faces green - like Spinner-level green - and pale.

One guy threw up. You had second thoughts about going in.

“C’mon, you can’t get cold feet already.” Spinner said, “and besides, I kinda wanna go in now.”

“After seeing that?!” you said, referencing the pile of vomit that was deposited rather close to you. Too close for comfort.

This time, Spinner was the one persuading you to live life to the fullest and have a good time at the fair. You still had doubts about the haunted house, but with Spinner by your side, you knew you would be safe.

Or so you thought…

Ten seconds into the attraction, a pair of actors covered in ghastly cloth to resemble ghosts chased you down a hallway. You weren’t sure who screamed louder: you or Spinner. But the terror was far from over.

The hallway ended abruptly, and you and Spinner were pressed into a corner, cowering and fearing for your life. You held onto Spinner for support, and he did the same with his stuffed dinosaur.

Then, as anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach, a previously unseen door - or coffin, you didn’t get a good look - on your left opened to reveal a mummy wrapped up in dusty gray wrappings. It moved slowly, like a mummy should, thank god, so you had the opportunity to escape with Spinner through the coffin-door in which the mummy came from. After all, that secret opening seemed to be the only way out.

The floor creaked under your feet in the next room, startling you. Ominous pictures lined the walls, and they seemed to move with every step you took. You held onto Spinner tighter as you headed down the deep and dark passageway.

Just then, a high pitched scream was heard in the distance. You weren’t sure if it was from another visitor like you or one of the actors, but it jolted Spinner out of his wits. He answered the scream with an ear-shattering yelp of his own. You would’ve laughed at him if you weren’t paralyzed with fear.

“Y/n,” Spinner whispered, “I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

“Me either. I know this was supposed to be scary, but not this scary.”

You heard footsteps approach, and then, the unmistakable sound of a chainsaw powering up made your eyes widen. Slowly, you turned around, locking eyes with the mummy from before holding the weapon menacingly.

“Run!” You shouted, letting go of Spinner to pivot on your heels and sprint away from the mummy. Spinner followed suit, dashing behind you like a madman.

The end of the passageway was near pitch black, but you felt around the wall in front of you for a doorknob. And sure enough, there was one. Turning it as quickly as you could, you opened the door, light from outside pouring in as you exited the haunted house.

“G-geez, that was no joke.” You said, attempted to catch your breath.

“I think we skipped most of it too,” Spinner added, “I don’t think we were supposed to go through that coffin thing.”

“At least we’re out, right? All three of us intact.”

Spinner raised an eyebrow at you before realizing that you were talking about the dinosaur plush. Fear subsiding, Spinner looked down at the animal in his hands fondly.

“Mhm. All three of us.”

Some time had passed since you went into the haunted house. You shared some disgustingly sweet fair food with Spinner, and both of you felt ill from the sugar rush not too long after. But it was now nighttime, signaling the end of your date.

As you two were exiting the amusement park, Spinner pulled you close to him and took a deep breath.

You knew this was the moment you’ve been waiting for all afternoon.

“Hey,” Spinner’s voice was shaky, and his shyness from the beginning of your date was returning, “I had a really great time with you today, and I was wondering…”

“Go on.” You prodded.

“Will y-you be my boyfriend?”

You gave him a second to realize what he said and make up for his mistake.

“S-shit! I meant girlfriend. You know what I meant! I’m just really nervous if you couldn’t already tell.”

Not for the first time today, you burst out laughing. In fact, you found his little error so funny that you ended up doubling over, tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

When you regained your composure, you said your piece. “Of course I’ll be your girlfriend, Spinner! I’ve been waiting for you to ask!”

“Really?” His eyes lit up, brighter than the stars that gathered up above the both of you in the sky.

“Really.”

With that, you leaned in the kiss Spinner. You thought this was the perfect time to do so, with the romantic but awkward confession and perfect scenery around you. He wrapped his arms around you and anticipated the fated moment between the two of you.

It was his first kiss, but he wasn’t going to tell you that.

When your lips were supposed to touch, your face met his at an odd angle, and you bumped your nose into his snout. The collision caught both of you off guard, but it made you smile nonetheless.

Even though you couldn’t end the night with a perfect kiss, at least you could end it in the arms of the man you were passionate about.

#bnha spinner #shuichi iguchi #bnha #mha #spinner x reader #shuichi iguchi x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha scenarios #I'm just realizing this is the first time I've ever written in second person?#so this story probably sounds choppy #but I'm new to this so hopefully the next one will flow better

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stellamancer · 5 years

Text

FFxivWrite 2019 || prompt 13: wax

notes: for @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast‘s event.

i was gonna submit this as extra credit but it seems i’m just a tiny bit late. oh well. originally, i was going to have this a bit reversed, but, i liked it better this way. it was also a bit more serious but. /shrug

after writing this, i’ve come to realize luna says some things that could be taken as flirtatious, but she doesn’t mean it as such. >_>

also once again, not beta read. i was really trying to post it before noon. alas. also wax. as in. the moon. LOL. idk maybe i’m reaching.

“Luna, have you seen G’raha?”

The adventurer shakes her head, answering Biggs’ question. The roegadyn man sighs. “Would you mind finding ‘im? It’s just about time to eat.”

Luna nods and leaves Biggs to finish preparing the evening meal. The camp isn’t the largest area, so if he is still within its grounds she figures she’ll find him in no time. She first stops by his tent to see if maybe he’s there. When he isn’t she checks her own, as he has a tendency to settle in her tent to read the tomes he stashes there. But he isn’t there either.

With the first two likely options out, Luna begins to circle the camp, asking any of the scholars she runs into if they’ve seen her miqo’te friend. When it seems like no one has seen him, one person mentions that they saw him heading toward the Crystal Tower within the last bell. Glad for the lead, Luna heads in that direction.

As she approaches Eight Sentinels, a very distinct voice echoes across the ruins. Luna’s pace quickens as she heads toward the source, a strange excitement swelling in her chest. She takes the steps up to the platform where one can view the tower two at a time and when she gets to the top she finally finds him.

Luna has always been fond of G’raha’s voice, there’s something about it that is just pleasant to the ears. Even when they first ‘met’ and his disembodied voice mocked and teased her as she sought the wind and water aspected aethersands, she could not deny that there was something in his voice that made it hard to be angry with him, even if he was toying with her.

Besides, she knew that if he pulled anything funny she could probably beat him up.

She’s heard G’raha speak passionately on many subjects, read various Allagan texts and stories to her and even hum little melodies, but this is the very first time she’s ever heard him actually sing. Luna can’t help but be entranced as she watches him from a distance, his form bathed in the light of the waxing moon and the glow of the tower as he sings.

When he finishes his song, Luna finally walks forward, calling out to him, “G’raha!”

He jumps a little and whirls around to face her. He averts his eyes just slightly as he speaks, “L-Luna! How long have you been standing there?”

She stops before him and crosses her arms with a slight grin on her face. “Long enough to know that you are quite the singer.”

His ears twitch and Luna isn’t quite sure if he’s pleased or if he’s embarrassed. “Is that so…?”

She nods happily. “Of course! Why isn’t it that I’ve heard you sing around camp before?”

“Rammbroes says it can be rather distracting as he works.”

“Oh…” Luna frowns a bit, though she does see where Rammbroes is coming from. She’d probably get distracted herself. “That is a shame.”

G’raha blinks owlishly at her. “A shame?”

“Your voice is quite lovely- I think it’d be nice to hear to sing more often.”

His mismatched eyes widen and G’raha looks away again. “I… I see.”

“Will you sing for me again sometime?” Luna waits for G’raha’s answer, but when he doesn’t say anything she steps closer, leaning down to peer into his face. He’s definitely embarrassed. It’s kind of cute. “G’raha?”

“G’raha?”

He suddenly straightens and bobs his head up and down. “Of course!”

Luna smiles. “Looking forward to it, then.”

#ffxivwrite2019 #ffxiv fanfic #g'raha tia #warrior of light x g'raha tia #less squinting again this time #and more fluff #:D #i do see some people liking this so #i hope you guys are enjoying ;;#luna tag

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echoes-of-realities · 5 years

Text

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 16/25

* * *

[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Santana and Brittany make an ornament together; Brittany asks Santana out on their first date, or at least, their first official one.

Chapter 16: that the cold would be freezing, the world would be white

///

Winter has settled deeply into New York and Brittany spends the morning freezing in her apartment despite the fact that, with Mercedes spending last night at Sam’s, she can crank the heat up as high as she wants without Mercedes complaining about their heating bill. Though it’s so cold that she thinks even Mercedes wouldn’t argue with her. The light snow that had dusted the city the past two days had turned into pouring rain overnight, and the streets are filled with brown slush and grumbling pedestrians as they fight against the weight of the gross dampness that clings to the city. Sam had picked Mercedes up from the theatre last night, and Mercedes had left her keys in Brittany’s care with a playful warning to not crash her car—as if she would, she’s a more careful driver than even Mercedes is and they both know it—or, much more likely, spill coffee something in it.

She’s grateful for Mercedes’ car on days like these and, never far from her thoughts, she wonders how Santana’s planning on getting to the theatre; she doesn’t have a car, Brittany knows, and Tina and Mike live pretty far away from her neighbourhood. She only debates it for half a second before she’s texting Santana and asking if she wants to meet for breakfast, partly because it’s another two-show day and she doesn’t want Santana to go without eating again, but mostly because she just wants to spend as much time as possible with Santana.

Santana answers instantly, accepting the offer for breakfast and asking where she wants to meet.

It’s a surprise, Brittany says with a smiley emoji, Pick you up in 15?

Is Mercedes coming? Santana asks, and even through the text she can sense Santana’s slight disappointment. Her and Mercedes get along better than Brittany could ever hope for, but she can’t blame Santana for wanting to have time to themselves.

Her car is, Brittany answers cryptically, I’m leaving now. See you soon!

She quickly collects everything that she needs for the day, knowing that she won’t have time to swing back around and pick it up after breakfast, before heading out of her apartment, thankful that the complex has an underground parkade. It doesn’t take long for her to get to Santana’s and, surprisingly, there’s a parking spot almost right in front of the entrance, so she quickly pulls in to it. She grabs her stuff off the passenger seat and takes a deep breath to prepare herself for the rain before slipping out into the cold and darting across the sidewalk.

She spots Santana in the lobby again, only wearing a thin jacket that doesn’t look very waterproof, and taps on the glass. Santana glances up from her phone and her face blooms in that dimpled smile that makes the butterflies in Brittany’s stomach swoop and flutter all the way down to her toes. Santana quickly crosses the lobby and opens the door, her smile only widening when she sees what’s in Brittany’s hands.

“You know me too well,” she greets.

Brittany grins and shrugs a little. “You’re too stubborn,” she says easily, tossing the scarf over her shoulder so she has both hands available. “You never dress for the weather,” she teases, tenderly reaching up to brush Santana’s hair back behind her ears before tugging the extra hat from the back of her closet over Santana’s head, making sure those adorable tiny ears of hers are fully covered. Santana sighs softly and nuzzles into Brittany’s touch like a cat looking for more scratches, and something deep in Brittany’s chest spasms and trembles. She carefully winds the scarf around Santana’s neck, her hands curling tighter into the ends as she realizes how easily it would be to tug on the scarf and have Santana’s lips upon hers. A strong gust of wind snaps her out of her thoughts as Santana shivers and cold rain sprinkles against Brittany’s back.

“Where are we going?” Santana asks innocently, completely oblivious to where Brittany’s thoughts just were but curiously studying the blush that Brittany can feel in her cheeks. This woman seriously makes Brittany blush far too easily; Brittany usually delights in making everyone else blush, but Santana seems to have the innate ability to make heat crawl in Brittany’s cheeks just by glancing at her.

“It’s a surprise,” Brittany singsongs.

“Britt,” Santana whines.

Brittany just grins and finally releases the ends of the scarf to wind Santana’s left arm through hers. “Santana,” she teases.

Santana huffs out a breath. “Ugh, fine, don’t tell me,” she says petulantly.

Brittany beams at her and tugs a little on her captured arm, drawing Santana closer to her. “I won’t!” she chirps, and then, “Let’s go!”

Santana shrieks a laugh as Brittany rushes them out into the pelting rain, hurrying to Mercedes’ car and again chivalrously opening Santana’s door like the gentlewoman she is, making sure all limbs are safely tucking inside before shutting the door and hurrying around to her own side. As soon as she’s in, she quickly starts the car and blasts the heat, feeling a little damp but not soaked.

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” Santana asks suspiciously.

Brittany grins as she shoulder checks and pulls out of her parking spot. “Nope,” she answers brightly, popping the p.

Santana playfully groans and falls back against the seat. “You’re the worst,” she complains.

Brittany just grins wider.

///

The small café Brittany takes Santana to looks like Christmas threw up all over it, blindingly red and green and gold with mismatched decorations scattered around, messily hung homemade ornaments at knee level and delicately draped garland at eye level.

“Wow,” Santana says as they step through the door, “It looks like a Christmas elf did a hit and run on this place.”

Brittany grins and nods at the decorations. “The costumers decorate it,” she explains, “You can either bring your own ornaments and decorate or they have stuff to make your own and hang them here.”

Santana considers the café, a smile tugging on her lips. “That’s cool,” she says with such a transparent tough façade that Brittany giggles.

“C’mon,” she says, tugging on Santana’s jacket near her elbow, “we can’t waste time or we’ll be late.”

There’s a short line before they place their order and Brittany gently elbows Santana out of the way before she can offer to pay. “My treat,” she says with a wink, and Santana flusters, her hands fumbling clumsily together for a moment before she relents. As easily as Santana can make her blush, it’s just as easy for Brittany to fluster Santana in return.

Brittany takes Santana to one of the taller tables, tucked near the back of the café where it’s a little quieter. There’s a pile of craft materials on the table and some instruction sheets that they completely ignore as they paw through the papers and pipe cleaners and googly eyes and popsicle sticks as they wait for their food and drinks.

“How’d you ever find this place?” Santana marvels as her gaze darts around, absently fiddling with a pipe cleaner, curling it into abstract shapes and completely distracting Brittany with the movement of her fingers.

Brittany starts when a waitress appears with their order and quickly blinks out of her daze, hoping Santana hasn’t noticed her distraction, but the smirk Santana wears is far too knowing for her own good. She clears her throat a little and thanks the waitress before turning back to Santana and ignoring the burning in her cheeks.

“My parents and sister flew out here for Christmas my first year of college as like a half family vacation and half family Christmas,” she explains. “My sister was, like, ten at the time and I found this place and I thought she’d like it.”

“That’s cute,” Santana says, a smile tugging softly on her lips.

Brittany laughs a little as she remembers the look on her sister’s face when they first walked into the café all those years ago, awed and lit up with the childish excitement for Christmas, the excitement that most adults seem to lose far too soon, a lose Brittany knows all too well. “We spent hours here, and as soon as we left she wanted to know when we were coming back.”

Santana grins. “Aww that’s so nice.”

Brittany bobs her head in agreement as the conversation turns to some of the more impressive—and some of the more amateur—ornaments. Brittany finishes first because Santana’s kind of a slow eater when she’s distracted, and she starts picking out materials for an ornament. Santana watches her with a small smile as she quickly finishes up her food and stacks her plate on Brittany’s before scooting her chair even closer to Brittany’s, the ugly scraping sound it makes against the floor causing both of them to wince and laugh.

“So what are you making?” Santana asks as she reaches for a pipe cleaner, playfully poking Brittany in the cheek with it.

Brittany giggles and swats at the offending material before shyly glancing at Santana. “I thought we could make one together,” she suggests, and the only way to describe Santana’s reaction is that she absolutely melts into Brittany’s side, their shoulders pressed together as she ducks her head forward to meet Brittany’s eyes.

“I’d love to,” she whispers.

Brittany smiles, her nose scrunching a little as they get lost in each other for a moment, only looking away when their waitress appears out of seemingly nowhere to take their plates. They laugh sheepishly and glance back down to the craft materials as they start to work together on their ornament.

It ends up being both expertly constructed and amateur, Brittany’s crafting expertise from having a sister much younger unable to completely cancel out Santana’s inexperience, but it just makes Brittany love it even more because they made it together. The face of the ornament has a crude drawing of a nutcracker soldier and a carefully scripted 2018 in the brim of his hat, and a Merry Christmas above that.

Santana bursts out laughing as soon as Brittany holds it up for her inspection. “It looks like a two year old drew it,” she manages around her giggles.

Brittany bites down on her own laughter as she studies it. “I love it,” she declares, only succeeding in making Santana laugh harder, “your poor artistic skills and all.”

Santana rolls her eyes, her head bobbing back and forth a little as she grins, dimples deep and glowing. “Come on, you should hang it up high so that atrocity is out of everyone’s sight.”

Brittany grins, having no intention to hide it from anyone’s view as they find an empty spot on a strand of garland. It ends up closer to Santana’s eye level than to Brittany’s and Santana groans playfully as she realizes that Brittany isn’t going to hide her awful artistic skills from the general public. Brittany takes a step back right into Santana’s space, forcing Santana to curl around Brittany’s shoulder a little to admire the ornament. For basically the first time since she brought her sister here all those years ago, Brittany feels liquid warmth curl through her at the thought that Christmas is less than ten days, and she marvels at the feeling for a moment, having a sneaking suspicion that, despite Santana’s own indifference to the holiday season, she has Santana to thank for that.

“It’s perfect,” Brittany says quietly, “because it’s ours.” Santana’s so close that Brittany can feel the heat of her blush, hot and bright, against her cheek and she tips her face slightly to the side so she’s almost brushing Santana’s skin with her lips as she speaks, “Your poor nutcracker and all.”

Santana sighs a little, her breath sweet and minty from the gum she produced from her pocket after they finished their coffees. “You know,” she says, her voice quiet and warm with soft marvel, “this is my favourite show I’ve ever worked on.”

“I’ve been in this production of The Nutcracker for three years, and I’ve done a bunch of smaller productions for it too,” Brittany whispers, meeting Santana’s gaze, deep and dark and liquid, “But this year is my absolute favourite too.” Santana’s smile could probably power the entire electricity grid of New York City, and again Brittany has to beat down the urge to tug Santana closer and kiss the hell out of her. Instead she sighs and shakes her head a little. “Speaking of the show,” she says, “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

Santana sighs too and they slowly move back to their table to shrug on their jackets, Santana smiling down at her feet as she tugs her borrowed hat on and winds the scarf around her neck.

Brittany doesn’t even get a chance to offer Santana her arm as they head towards the front of the café, because Santana’s cool hand has already slipped into hers, tangling their fingers tightly together and guiding them to the door.

///

They barely have a break on Sundays because of how close together the two shows are, so Brittany only really has time to shove the sandwich Mercedes brings her into her mouth as she leaves the costume department and heads back to her dressing room, hopefully so she can sit for the last thirty minutes of her only break.

She trudges through the theatre, thankful that her mouthfuls of sandwich mean she can just wave her greetings at people instead of being forced to stop and chat for a couple minutes, saving her so much time. All she really wants out of life at this moment is a catnap and a good stretch before she has to do it all over again.

She finishes off her last bite of sandwich just as she reaches her dressing room, tiredly pushing open the door and pausing in the doorway, the light from the hallway and her dressing room bathroom illuminating the sight the greets her.

Santana is curled up on the couch, her hair cascading in a dark wave over the arm where her head is awkwardly resting on, her back steadily rising and falling as she sleeps. Brittany melts as she watches her, the way her nose twitches little, the slight clenching of her fingers where they’re curled on the edge of the couch cushion, her tiny little snuffling breaths as she sighs in her sleep. She’s pretty sure Santana’s sleeping form is far more captivating than it has any right to be, and Brittany could probably spend all day just hovering in the doorway and watching her, but a yawn prompts her further into the room. She kicks off her sneakers by Santana’s and shuts the door behind her, digging her phone out of her hoodie pocket and setting an alarm for twenty minutes from now before dropping it on the coffee table.

She contemplates her options for a moment before shrugging and carefully crawling over Santana, draping herself partially over Santana like a blanket. Santana shifts and sniffles a little as Brittany gently manhandles her until her neck isn’t so strained against the arm of the couch, offering up her own arm as Santana’s pillow and not caring the least bit about how numb it will probably be when she wakes up.

Santana sighs and curls back into Brittany, her breathing evening back out as she sinks further into sleep. Brittany nuzzles into her sweet smelling hair and curls her other arm over low over Santana’s waist, falling asleep almost instantly with the scent of citrus and vanilla surrounding her and the sound of Santana’s soft and steady breathing soothing her.

///

It’s Santana’s shifting in her arms, not the blaring alarm, that brings Brittany back into consciousness. She mumbles at the movement, soothing as soon as the alarm has stopped screaming and Santana has shifted back and turned into her embrace.

“Britt-Britt,” Santana says softly, her breath and stray strands of her hair tickling at Brittany’s face and causing her nose to wrinkle up. Santana giggles softly and then there’s a warm hand cupping her jaw and a thumb stroking softly across her cheek, causing Brittany’s eyes to flutter open. Santana’s eyes are still sleepy and languid from their nap, and the only thing that Brittany can think of is melting chocolate, warm and gooey and sweet. “Your warmups are starting in ten minutes,” Santana murmurs, “And you should probably stretch again.”

Brittany hums in acknowledgement, content to stay right where she is for the next ten minutes but knowing she probably can’t. “Did you sleep well?” she mumbles.

Santana’s cheeks crease up in a smile that’s all in her eyes and only a little on her lips. “Better than ever,” she answers.

“Me too,” Brittany yawns. Santana shifts a little in her arms, bringing them closer together and Brittany hums until a sudden tingling pain is shooting up her arm and she hisses out a curse. Santana’s eyes grow wide and worried, her hand curving a light tighter around her jaw in question, and Brittany grits her teeth and shakes her head a little before Santana can give voice to her concern. “I’m fine,” she gasps out, “Just pins and needles.”

Santana’s eyes clear but worry still furrows her brow. “Do you want me to move?”

Brittany can’t really think of anything, let alone whether or not that would help, but thankfully Santana seems to realize this and slowly moves her head off Brittany’s arm, propping herself up on her elbow before helping Brittany stretch her arm out until the pins and needles are less painful prickling and more soft tingling.

Once Brittany can move her fingers again without wanting to scream, Santana manoeuvres herself into a sitting position before helping Brittany up too.

“Sorry,” Brittany mumbles, cursing herself for ruining her plan to convince Santana to cuddle with her for their remaining ten minutes.

Santana shakes her head with a small smile. “I mean, it was kinda my fault, repurposing your arm as a pillow and all.”

Brittany pouts at Santana. “You big meanie,” she whines, causing Santana to just giggle until Brittany’s lips tug up into a lopsided grin.

Santana boops her playfully on the nose with a wide grin before sighing and standing. “I really gotta get back. Who knows what’s fallen apart during about my only break all day. And thanks for not kicking me out,” she adds, ducking her head down as she flusters a little, “I needed a place for a nap and Tina and Mike were both having supper with their understudies so, you know, thanks for letting me sleep here unannounced, and for being my pillow and blanket and all.”

“Any time,” Brittany promises, because there’s pretty much nothing Brittany wants more than to continue to be Santana’s pillow and blanket sometime in the near future.

Santana smiles down at her toes, more to herself than anything. “Anyways,” she says, and her voice is breathless and dreamy and basically Brittany’s favourite sound in the entire world, “I’m doing notes tonight so I’ll see you then?”

Brittany nods and smiles as Santana backs towards the door. “See you.”

“Cool,” Santana pauses at the door and slips her sneakers on, pulling her hair back into a ponytail with the band on her wrist before giving Brittany another smile. “Good luck tonight, not that you need it,” she says as she opens the door, casting the room a little brighter with the hallway light adding to the thin rectangle of gold falling across the carpet from the dressing room bathroom.

“Hey,” Brittany calls suddenly and Santana pauses in the doorway. Curious brown eyes meet hers and Brittany takes a steadying breath as she gathers every last ounce of courage hidden away in her body. “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

Santana’s lips twitch in a small smile as she slowly shakes her head.

Brittany takes another deep breath and smiles at Santana, unable to control the fluttering of nerves coursing through her body even though she thinks she already knows the answer to her coming question. “Would you like to go out on a date with me then?” she blurts all in a rush, her words squishing together and reflecting the jittery feeling fluttering in her stomach.

Santana’s smile grows until Brittany thinks it might never fade ever again. “A date date?” she clarifies.

Brittany swallows and manages a nod.

Santana’s smile never wavers, and her eyes almost sparkle in the dim light. “Just you and me?”

Brittany manages another nod and a small smile.

“Well, in that case,” she drawls, giving an overdramatic pause before her smile and her eyes and her expression and her everything completely softens. “I would love to, Britt,” she murmurs, her voice easily carrying across the dressing room despite its volume.

Brittany sucks in a large breath of relief and beams at Santana, belatedly wondering why she was even nervous in the first place. “Awesome,” she says breathlessly, “I’ll pick you up around four?”

Santana nods eagerly, her cheeks dimpled and plump and Brittany kind of wants to race across the dressing room and kiss them. “It’s a date,” she says, and she sounds almost as giddy as Brittany feels.

They just keep staring at each other until Santana manages to snap herself out of their daze and gesture vaguely over her shoulder. “I’ve— Uh, gotta, you know— Work and stuff,” she manages. Brittany nods and waves a little as Santana shoots her one more heart-melting smile before tugging the door closed behind her.

Brittany flops back on the couch and grins unabashedly up at the ceiling, barely able to contain her excitement. “Score,” she whispers to herself.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe)#filler chapters still remain Hard to write lmao

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