#He looks so cuddly in his giant sweaters from the books so I just had to draw him in one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

skelanonymous · 4 years

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Song Prompt 4 - You Don’t Know Me

I’m trying my hand at some bad guy poly, and if I get to my Little Night AU, this may become a prequel of sorts.

Song: You Don’t Know Me by Elizabeth Gillies

Skeleton: Nightmare

Words: 3.2k

“Boss, you can’t be serious right now.” Killer’s mouth hung open. Dust sighed off to his left, rubbing his face hard enough to shake dust from his hood. Horror wouldn’t meet his eyes, Cross also nervously avoiding them, leaving Error the only one still looking, albeit with some exasperation.

“I’m very serious.” Night responded to Killer without bending. “This is not something I’d like to be a part of.”

“If that’s the reason, cuz you don’t wanna, then that’s fine. But that sounds like a crock and I ain’t one for bullshit.” Killer grabbed the end of the table with whitened knuckles. Nightmare could taste the frustration off all of them, but his icy resolution could outlast their mounting agitation. “So just be honest. We can handle whatever you got to say.”

Nightmare looked at his phalanges, faking disdain with ease, unaffected stone face a talent he’d picked up before leaving the tree’s shade.

“I have no reason to lie. I am not willing to join your polyamorous posse.” They’d all been having “sleepovers” for months now, and he’d caught on long before he walked into a dream he wished he could erase. It would’ve been fine had it been Horror or Killer, but Dust was always vigilant and had remembered Nightmare’s brief intrusion the next morning. “I admit, it’s impressive you’ve managed to keep this working between so many of you, and I don’t care what you spend your free time doing, but my time will be spent on other ventures.”

“But in the dream-”

“I’m not a nun, but walking into a dream orgy when you expect something a little more tame and having a reaction isn’t that ridiculous.” Dust’s gaze bore into his skull. He couldn’t crack, not if he was trying to pass off this lie. Keeping calm was critical.

“So that’s it then. No?” Killer just shook his head. Good, please, give up. Nightmare’s feigned nonchalance had held through much worse, but the backlash afterwards would be worse if he broke beneath it.

“It’s a no.” Night stood from the little table he’d been called to like an intervention. “Now I’m returning to my study. Come find me if anything happens to the castle.”

He did NOT run, but he portaled the instant he turned a corner. It dropped him into a forest patch on the edges of this world just before he lost his composure.

“Son of a fucking BITCH!” His tentacles lashed out, splitting apart all the trees in the area with a giant swing. The corruption roared out of his mouth, furious and wild, screaming his voice hoarse. He didn’t give a damn about any of it, just seeing red from the blackened aura that got denser and denser around his body as he raged in nature, a force all on his own.

Of course he wanted to say yes! Envy scorched through his hands, clawing ahead for what it could not reach. Rage he reserved for himself, though saved some for his damned fate, at being too fucked to just be with a person. Even now, not within their embrace, the greed seduced his pitch black soul to have so many loves with which to indulge, having them all pay attention to him, their king, their saviour, they OWED this to him!

“God damn it, NO! Fuck you!” He continued ruining the countryside, rampant as the growth surrounding him.

He couldn’t love them. Not like they wanted, not the way they did each other, forever an outsider to the perfect temptation. He’d tip the balance and break the scales. He would destroy this for them. Slowly, he felt the brain fog raise, the tinges of red outlining everything finally fading away with his energy.

When the colors of the ruined forest fully returned, he directly portaled to his study. Dust was waiting patiently on the desk’s edge.

“The castle couldn’t have had a disaster that quickly.” Nightmare sat at his desk without acknowledging he’d been caught moping outside. Damn his perceptiveness when not distracted.

“I mean, it did.” Dust stated in a matter of fact tone. “They’re unhappy with the answer.”

“And what? You’re here to force me to change it?” Lashing out was what he excelled at. He wasn’t meant for soft cuddle puddles and doting, his body literal poison to those around him, his aura a drain. Dust didn’t bite.

“No. It wouldn’t be honest if it was forced.” He spoke airily, as if admitting the blatant truth could be anything but bitter disaster.

“Then why have you come to my study?” Nightmare hoped he’d rise to the bait that time, more direct in his aggression, and Dust would meet and rise to it most days, but besides twitching a few times, he holds his sanity at the low blow.

“To remind you. I know what I saw, and you know what I saw.” Dust didn’t leave room for argument and Nightmare didn’t lie about it out of respect. “Just know that the door is open should you change your mind.”

“Thank you, but my answer remains the same.” Damn him. Each denial took away more of his resistance. Perhaps he knew that, persistence hunting him with a strong will borne of the endless loops that forged most of his loyal following, waiting until one day he asked over something inconsequential like breakfast for the yes to slip out without Nightmare even on guard enough to catch it.

“Whatever you say Boss.” Dust nodded, but those eyes haunted him. He hadn’t heard the last of this, but the tide would ebb for now.

Nightmare fell back into the plush chair tiredly, already awaiting the next wave.

He knew what he wanted, but he could not obtain it. If he acted on his wishes, he’d destroy what he sought. And if he denied it, he’d be acting against his natural state while forcing himself to be miserable. There wasn’t a way to win that he could conceive of so he settled with ignoring the feeling entirely.

Despite his refusal, they didn’t change their interactions with him in the slightest after that first day.

Meal times remained largely unchanged except for the stolen glances at him if he betrayed any affection or laughed (which wasn’t often, but they were his crew and knew his weaknesses). Missions and responses to commands had also remained the same, though that was expected. They still offered him the opportunity to join in on movie nights. He had refused all of those since the rejection.

Maybe it was the way Horror had frowned when he’d said no for the fifth time in a row that changed his mind. Ignoring feelings didn’t make them disappear and he’d always been a little softer for Horror’s requests. He only asked for what he considered essential.

“Let me finish this. I’ll be down in five minutes.” Tidying up his papers took seconds, but he needed the minutes for composure.

When he made it down, Horror had curled up into Error’s lap with a gigantic grin, Error softly praising him with small head pets. The others waved at him.

“Hey Boss! Sorry, we let Cross pick this time.” The ‘we didn’t think you’d say yes’ was implied. Nightmare nodded at Killer while moving to sit on the couch against the wall.

“I can live with choosing next time.” The little bursts of joy hit him like a face full of air freshener, his sludge rippling but otherwise unaffected. They’d popped in the DVD and set up before flicking off the lights.

Nightmare watched intently for the first fifteen minutes, he’d never seen it before, then looked around.

The group had paired off into cuddly duos, Killer and Cross, Horror and Error, leaving a lonely Dust seated by Nightmare. From here, he could feel Dust’s cold longing, wanting to join in like the others but knowing his only possible partner would refuse him. The movie was loud, the others absorbed in it or each other and not even able to see them from where they sat. Nightmare laid a tentative tentacle over Dust’s shoulder. He refused to speak a word, merely moving his arm for Dust to accept or not.

His dual colored eyes dilated before quietly shuffling over. Leaning in, he pressed himself along Night’s side with a little wiggle to get cozy.

From this angle, Dust’s ears within an inch of his mouth, he spoke softly.

“Is this okay?” He didn’t know what he felt like to others. Dust hummed so low that Night could only feel it.

“Yeah.” His right eye twitched, Papyrus must’ve said something. “What are those weird swords called?” Night’s eyes flicked up to the screen.

“A flamberge sword. It’s mostly used to counter others by-” Nightmare went into its varied history, a few famous wielders, its construction. They kept their eyes on the film, and Nightmare whispered it to Dust, like a secret history lesson while some cheesy dramatic scene full of loud music drowned out the rest. By the time he’d stopped, Dust comfortably leaned fully against him. His head had come into contact with the corner of Night’s mouth without ceremony, suddenly making Night aware of his proximity.

“You’ve read a lot.” Dust turned his head, now his teeth only a breath away. Nightmare couldn’t take his eyes off of them.

“Books were all I possessed before…” His eye roamed over the group before returning to the gentle intensity building in the centimeter between their teeth. “Dust…”

“You can have this Boss.” Dust’s soul pulsed with determination, Night washed over in its warm waters. “I know how much you wanted it.” His red and blue eyes dropped to Night’s teeth, hovering with hot breath, half-lidded in need. “Just take it Nightmare.”

The touch of their mouths made Night’s own soul explode in the rush of desire that blazed into an inferno at the smallest sprig of kindling. His tongue begged for entrance before he could think the action through, Dust letting it in without hesitation, shaky hands dug into Night’s sweater. The loud movie covered the quiet wet sounds, Night’s tentacles shifting silently to cradle Dust as he devoured all he was offered.

His soul lurched when he pulled back; he wanted to consume Dust but the rational part of his brain managed to catch him before he dove back.

“Hah. Nightmare, come back.” Dust’s hands had fisted in Night’s sweater tight enough to tear. Nightmare ignored it to squeeze his eye shut, trying to breathe through the mounting urge to take Dust apart, piece by piece, in view of the others, damn their relationship, he’d take ANY of them whenever HE wanted.

“Stop.” He said it at normal volume, shouting compared to the hushed exchange before. It drew the attention of the others. “I can’t.”

“Why?” Nightmare hadn’t opened his eye to see, but he could hear how hurt Dust sounded, hands trembling where they still balled in each other’s clothes. His normally distracted voice spoke firmly. “Tell me why.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. You just won’t. Tell me why.” Dust shook his head to dislodge Papyrus, ringing in crystal clear. It struck his soul, shattering the thin barrier holding back his honesty, unable to hold onto thoughts while containing the rot of his corruption from spilling over and swallowing them whole.

“I will devour you. All of you.” His tentacles sought them out, tentative. His vocal cords ached with an involuntary voice drop. “I will fucking ruin this. Your love cannot overcome my nature.” Each appendage curled around their throats, besides Dust, laying in his arms. The eye of the storm, Dust laid there calmly, like Nightmare’s tentacles weren’t threatening to strangle all of his loves in one fell swoop. Nightmare’s sludge dripped off of him, onto the couch, sizzling where it’d dropped onto Dust’s shins. He didn’t flinch.

“You wouldn’t know, you won’t let us try.”

He could feel the others struggling against him, hands sliding on the slick material while his tentacles grew tighter.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Night growled, his own fingers clamping down on Dust’s neck, pressing down on the bone hard enough to creak underneath them. “I’ll take what I want and dust the rest!”

“Then do it.” Dust met his eyes unafraid. He relaxed into the hold, even as Night’s hands got ever tighter.

The corruption buffeted the inside of his skull, whirlwind of thoughts and crazed emotion, fed by the slow building terror of the others, their struggles more and more frantic the longer his tentacles gripped them. The only exception was Dust. His eyes had slid shut, limp and relaxed in his hands. Nightmare didn’t realize how out of control it’d gotten until he heard the crack.

Nightmare released Dust instantly, hands struggling with the healing magic Nightmare was trying to force through the agitated sludge.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Night didn’t stop trembling until he felt Dust touch his wrists. The splashes of cyan across Dust’s calm smile startled him out of everything, tentacles dropping the others to curl in on himself. With a deep breath, the magic flowed more evenly, in control of this at the very least. The crack slowly wove together until only a scar remained. Nightmare avoided the gazes of the others he could feel staring him down, caught unaware by Dust pulling on his wrists, falling directly onto Dust’s chest, face onto his shoulder, forced to stare at his own mistake.

“Just relax…” Dust’s head rested atop his own. He felt the skilled hands slide into the crevices between his tentacles, pressing and rubbing away the tight balls of tension until he finally let them all go.

“How did he do that?” Cross whispered from the side.

“Hell if I know.” Killer sounded close as well, shuffling from just beyond his vision.

“Patience.” Dust’s fingers pressed down to unwind the stress of his back, though not the sins crawling there. Nightmare shifted to lay in a way that he could see off the couch. The others watched them from the floor with wide eyes. He sighed, tracing Dust’s sternum during inhales.

“I could have killed you.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Dust’s faith never wavered, the others radiated guilt. Nightmare averted his gaze.

“I’m still sorry.”

“Then make it up to me.” Nightmare sat up, resting his hands on Dust’s chest for leverage, ending up sitting on his lap before taking the hands that had fallen off his back. He pulled Dust up to match him.

“How?” Night blushed under Dust’s intense observing, relaxing at the gentle clank he got in exchange. It sent a tremor through his spine.

“Answer us honestly.” Dust’s skull twitched against him, tranquil determination a temporary state at best. He kissed Night softly over and over again, plying at his defenses with the promise of what this could be, curiosity over how they worked together. Dust wasn’t alone in this after all. “Do you want us?” The shuffling of knees hit his ears; the others had moved closer to hear him, their hearts glowing with so much hope and positivity it almost hurt to bear. Night’s voice broke under its weight.

“...yes…” The next kiss was triumphant, his face cradled close while he submitted to Dust’s tongue. Dust broke them apart, Night too dazed to see, his hands reaching out to pull his partner back.

The taste changed, the tonguework different, enthusiastic all the same. The hand on his cheek this time larger, he felt a thumb stroke across the line beneath his ruined eye. The name was out before he saw them.

“Cross.” Behind, someone had made a home amongst his tentacles, a back against his. “That’s unusually bold of you.” His eye trailed over the purple flush with an amused grin. He didn’t let the building anxiety pool in the poor guardsman, grabbing the collar of his jacket to kiss him again while his tentacles wound around his other ‘attacker.’ Killer’s groans drifted to his ears.

“Fuck Nightmare, didn’t think you’d get so handsy so fast.” The back of his skull tapped Night’s. Tentacles had wound up Killer’s legs to hold them still, a third binding around his chest to keep him pinned. The fourth explored his upper femurs, pressing over his shorts to his pelvis, Killer’s gasps music to his ears. He pulled back from Cross with a smirk.

“You seemed like you’d be into it.” Killer nodded against his back, but Cross also nodded in front of him, eyelights blown wide with Night’s taste in his mouth and his hands on his chin, wiping away the line of purple saliva from that last messy kiss.

Horror leaned against his leg from the floor. Night dropped a hand to rub against his skull, avoiding the large crack without seeing, knowing the location by memory alone.

“Thanks.” Horror purred from the ground, head falling more heavily in his lap.

Sitting on Dust, Killer against his back, Horror in his lap, and Cross leaning over to kiss him and Dust equally brought his soul peace. Error hadn’t joined, but Nightmare would’ve been more surprised if he had.

“I-I’m sure y-you know my stance on t-t-touching by now.” Error had his arms crossed, body still pixelated near his neck from the impromptu strangling earlier.

“Except Horror. He deals with Horror’s touches the best out of all of us.” Cross removed himself from the pile to offer his hand. Error glared at the TV, but took it anyway. “Most of us have gotten to hand holding though!” Cross’s enthusiasm turned Error blue.

“S-shut up…” He offered his other hand for Cross to take as well, even Error unable to contain his smile at Cross’s joy and attention.

It was laughably easy, Nightmare slotted into the dynamic with ease, an extension of their regular back and forths but sweeter, tinged with something warm. The loud voice in his mind still craved more but he could fight it off for now. Nightmare took a deep breath.

“I’m...still concerned, about everything, but I…” They waited for him to collect his thoughts. “If you’ll have me anyway, then I’ll give it all I have.”

“That’s all we can ask.” Dust smiled while Horror hummed his agreement.

“Hell, that’s what we’re doing too. You, aaaah, ain’t special.” Killer’s body writhed against him. His tentacles hadn’t been distracted by the moment, steadily edging Killer into whining pants, shorts wet against his appendage and thrusting back against it. Night raised him up to hold him solidly between himself and Dust.

“You know, this does offer many new opportunities to shut you up.” His black bones traced the rim of Killer’s pelvis peeking out over the waistband. Killer cursed when Dust leaned forward against Killer’s back, circling to the front to tease his lower sternum, finger peeking inside of his rib cage.

“None of them work. Trust me, we’ve tried.” Dust hid his smirk against Killer’s back, playfully nipping through the hoodie, shaking against the charged bones.

“Fuck you guys.” Night met Dust’s dual-tone gaze one more time. Hesitant to accept and run forward with them still. But Dust took his hand to bring it with him into Killer’s body, wrapping them both around his spine to a moan. They’d help and guide him, he need only ask for it, and with that, he laughed.

“Maybe we will.”

I’m very happy to have this out of my WIP folder.

#bad guy poly #story title #nightmare sans #dustmare #sfw #story time

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lihikainanea · 5 years

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What if Tiger has glasses for an astigmatism and mainly wears them when reading or doing computer work. One night she had them on and was about to take them off for sexy times with Bill and he just says “keep them on...”

NANI THIS IS SO CUTE AND LET ME TELL YOU WHY.

First of all, I have astigmatism. Except I can’t pronounce astigmatism, because I always add an extra “a” to it--it’s astigamatism. That happens sometimes, my mouth gets away on me. I also can’t pronounce ophthalmologist (those syllables really get away on me--it comes out as ophthalmomomologist or ophthalmololologist. I’ll just keep going with that word until people tell me to stop). Anyway, I also wear glasses which you usually have to twist my arm to get me to admit because glasses are a sign of WEAKNESS AND I HAVE NO WEAKNESSES I don’t like wearing them.

Anyway, listen. Tiger’s probably a bit of a bookworm (and Bill is too--fuck, my heart) except reading makes the little soff bean sleepy. And Bill will often walk in to the living room, the bedroom, whatever--and tiger will be fast asleep, the book on her chest, her glasses still on. And Bill usually has to very gently take her glasses off and put them on the nightstand so she doesn’t break them--and god this image is just so precious. Him with his giant hands, smiling softly at her, trying to take the frames off her face and not get stabbed if she wakes up and gets spooked by a big cycloptic idiot staring at her like the lovesick sap he is.

But also like...sometimes he just can’t help it. Maybe she was super cuddly that night, and he still has some work to do but she’s tired so she curls up in bed to read and waits for him there. Tiger doesn’t like going to bed without him, and it’s one of the things he cherishes so much--if he’s out with friends one night he’ll often come home to her on the couch, still deadass asleep, but she won’t go to bed unless he’s there too.

So he’s finishing up some notes on a script in the back room, and tiger takes one of his shirts from his drawer and pulls it on, gets settled in bed with her book. And she totally dozes off--when Bill’s finally done he walks in but she’s knocked out cold, the bedside lamp on bright, the book on her chest. And he always gets a little revved up anyway when she wears her glasses because he probably has a bit of a bookish, librarian kink--but here she is looking all tiny in his huge bed, looking even tinier in his big sweater, all comfy and warm, asleep and snuggled in the blanket. He walks over to her quietly, settles on the bed as gently as he can--and he had full intentions to just slide her glasses off, loop his arm around her and just lie her down. But she just looks...too cute. So he presses a soft kiss to her nose. Another one to the corner of her mouth. A very, very gentle one to her lips. She makes a tiny hum in her sleep, and his heart explodes. He kisses her chin, and then when he loops his arm gently around her back to lay her down, she seals his fate with the final blow: she makes a little pleased noise, and curls into his arms. He’s dead. It’ll kill him every time. He kisses her lips again with just a bit more pressure, then her nose, over her cheeks, he just can’t even stop himself--tiger wakes up to his gentle, warm kisses all over her face and she blinks up at him sleepily.

“Oops,” she mumbles.

“No oops,” he smiles his little lopsided grin at her, “M’sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. But I couldn’t help it--god you’re cute as a fucking button, you know that?”

“A button that could kick your lanky ass.”

“Sure kid,” he placates.

He just keeps kissing her everywhere, all soft and slow--her cheeks, her jaw, her cute little cupid’s bow between her nose and lips. And she’s starting to catch his lips whenever they come close enough, stealing kisses from him too, and after a few seconds she scoots down and pulls him on top of her. But when she goes to take her glasses off, he grabs her hand and kisses her knuckles.

“Can we uh, leave them on?” he asks shyly. She quirks a brow.

“Glasses, really?” she asks. His cheeks turn just a little pink, and his grin gets a little mischievous as he nods.

“But they’re so....nerdy,” she tries. Bill groans softly.

“Really, they’re just so bookish,” she continues, and Bill just moans in her ear as he presses his weight into her a little more.

“I mean, I just look like a....like a librarian,” she says, and Bill groans real loud and rolls his hips into hers. She can feel how hard he is, and his eyes are dark with lust when he brings his face to hers.

“Bingo, baby,” he whispers a little breathlessly against her lips.

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill

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stories-mostly · 6 years

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Starks Bug

Tony Stark x Son! Reader

This ones a bit short, sorry.

Words: 1664

Chapter 3

You were now two years old. And you were starting to create a bit of a mess around the house. Tony has recently been busy with a project so you spend most of your time downstairs in the lab with him. The small kitchen like part of the lab was now fenced in to keep you away from potentially dangerous things. Dum-E was also fenced in with you to keep you company.

Currently you were entertaining yourself with a recorder, it had a story cassette inside which wasn't playing since you used the microphone as you attempted sing along with ACDC. Which was played on a much lower volume than if you weren't in the lab.

Your dad was nodding his head along too.

You were having the time of your life performing Back in Black with lyrics that consisted of mumbling and dance moves that were basically just jumps.

Tony chuckled when he saw that. He was close to finishing the prototype he worked on, he already had a plan on what to do for the rest of the day.

And just as he put the last part into place his plan arrived.

"Uncle Rhodey!!!" you screamed as said man walked into the lab. You walked over and made grabby hands at him. He picked you up with one swift motion and began to tickle you.

"How's my favourite Stark? Still a little brat?" you screamed with laughter as he continued to tickle you before walking over to Tony.

"Are you two ready to go somewhere with me?" Rhodey asked as he hugged Tony.

"Mmmmh I don't know, I'm a bit busy at the moment... What do you think, Bug? You think we can go with him?"

"YES!" you shouted and threw your little fist up.

"Alright but only cause you said so, Bug. Go upstairs, get dressed with Uncle Rhodey I just have to clean some things up down here. See you in a minute."

Rhodey walked with you on his hip out of the lab and to your room to get you dressed for your adventure.

"Where do you think we're going?" He asked as he sat you down to rummage through your closet.

"... Park?"

"Close but not right. Try again."

"Woods?"

"No."

"Playground!?"

"There is a playground nearby but that's not where we're going."

"I don know." You said in your cute pouty 'pwease get me what I want. I'm just a helpless little baby'-voice

"Well I guess you'll just have to wait and see. Which one do you like better this one or this one?" Rhodey said and asked about the two sweaters he was holding.

One was a green one without anything on it and the other was your Mickey mouse sweater so obviously you had to go with that one. He wasn't even slightly fazed by your cutesy tone.

"Mickey!"

"The rodent it is!"

Rhodey put the entire outfit on your bed and helped you change into it.

"Okay now, who do you like better? Uncle Rhodey or Daddy?"

"Daddy and uncle Rhodey!"

"Oh? It's a tie? Don't tell daddy but I like you better than him."

He was finished with dressing you and picked you up again. You could walk just fine but he liked to carry you and you liked to be carried.

"Daddy come quick!" You shouted as Rhodey walked into the lab.

Rhodey put you down so you could run over to your dad.

"Look! Is Micky!"

"Woah that's so cool! Are you ready to go out with Daddy and Uncle Rhodey?"

"Yes Yes Yes! Let's gooooo!"

They put you into your car seat and got into the car themselves. Tony had already put everything you needed into the trunk.

On the ride to your destination you were once again performing your little heart out this time in the confinement of your car seat.

After a handful of songs you pulled up at your destination.

"So last guess, where are we?" Rhodey asked. You looked out the window but didn't see anything that gave little young you any clue as to where you were.

You shrugged.

"Then you'll have to wait until we're inside." Tony sing songed and both of them got out of the car.

You were released from your seat and put on your coat before climbing out of the car. Your dad was getting the stroller and a bag out of the trunk.

"Okay, one thing before we go. You have to stay close, no running off. No screaming, and you politely ask for something you want. Understood?" Tony was serious while he would love to spoil you rotten he didn't want to turn you in one of those unbearable brats.

You nodded and held onto the stroller while following Rhodey.

As you finally left the car park you rounded the corner and were struck with the realization on where you are.

"THE ZOO!" You screeched and jumped up and down. You had heard about zoos in the stories that were read to you. And Tony had given you a picture book full of pictures of actual zoos. This was one of them.

"Exactly! What do you wanna see inside?" Rhodey asked cheerfully.

" arks!"

"Sharks, Sh-arks. They're cool right?"

And with that your first adventure began. Once inside you were quieter, Rhodey had said how animals don't like screaming so you were nice and quiet.

You walked around and looked at all the different animals going about their day. Flamingos were one of your favorites.

"What color are they (y/n)?"

"Red!"

"No, they're pink!"

"Pink!"

"Yes, you're so smart!"

You answered a lot of questions that day from colors to noises to what that animal actually is. You really couldn't figure out what the hell a king penguin was. Up until then you had no concept of size variations within a species. You really thought all penguins were small and cuddly. But they aren't. These penguins were your size. Maybe even bigger. It was sort of a scary experience.

Last stop was the aquarium. You walked past the different tanks mimicking some fish and laughing at others.

"Look, that looks like nemo! Remember when we watched that movie?" Tony pointed out. You were lifted by Rhodey to get a better view. And there he was. A clownfish! A real life Nemo!

"Why Nemo here? Nemos not in ocean?" You asked as you intensely stared at the fish.

"Thats not actually Nemo. That's uhm, Max his uncle. He likes it here better than in the ocean so he moved here with his girlfriend." Rhodey explained. "Nemo and his friends are still in the ocean don't worry."

You nodded it made sense to you that it was his uncle that lived here.

You moved on.

"Dad Dad look look! Shhharks!" you said trying to pronounce it right.

"Wow they're soooo big! How long do you think they are?"

"This long!" you said spreading out your small arms as far as possible.

"Look! That Magic!" You said pointing to the stingray in the same tank and holding your stuffed one you named Magic against the glass.

"Wow no way!" Rhodey said. You were smiling very brightly and didn't notice the clicks of your fathers camera going off behind you as you stared at the sharks and stingrays swimming past.

At the end of your trip you were all tuckered out only the trip to the gift shop woke you up for a short time again.

"You can have one thing." Tony said and send you off. You decided to make this one count and tried to lift a giant shark plushie that was conveniently placed at your level.

"This one this one this one Dada!"

"Okay but that's the only thing you're getting." He said picking it up and going to pay for it. At that moment you heard a child that was about you age cry. Having been told what you were you went over to her and told her.

"Shhhh. You cannot be loud in zoo!" You said and gave her a hug. In her hands she was holding a relatively life sized stuffed lion cub.

"You want that?" You asked her after letting her out of the hug.

She nodded.

"Did you ask nice?" She nodded again. Meanwhile her parents were beside the two of you looking at you sadly.

"(y/n)! Good god there you are! Tony he's here. (y/n) you can't just walk away without telling us!" Rhodey suddenly grabbed you interrupting your train of thought.

"Jeez bug you almost gave me a heart attack. Mind telling why you ran off?"

"She is sad. I'm helping." You explained yourself in an insistent tone.

Both of the girls parents were suddenly frozen.

The parents stammered to explain that they couldn't afford what she wanted after promising her to get her a stuffed lion. They could barely afford the trip to the zoo altogether.

"Well it's rude to break a promise right?" you nodded at your father's statement. "Let me pay for it. How much is it?"

"Yes! My daddy can buy it!"

Both parents tried to refuse but your dad insisted and even asked if she was sure she wanted this one and not another one. But she was sure and the 25 dollar lion was paid for.

You waved at her while walking away she had the biggest smile on her face.

"You know what (y/n)? You're a really nice kid. I bet you'll grow into a good man." Rhodey praised as you crawled into your car seat close to falling asleep. Rhodey took your coat off and handed you your shark before strapping you in and closing the door.

On the drive back the music was quiet as you fell asleep in the back. Probably dreaming about all the different animals you saw today.

At home you were brought to your bed that you only used for naps as you slept in Tony's at night.

Rhodes and Tony skipped through the pictures on the camera. Your first time at the zoo was a success. And now you had a shark and a bunch of pictures to remember that day as you will forget it once you're older.

Tags: @shannonr2003 @art-estrange @nicholasbich @tater-thottie @tonystanktheirondad @gaylemonshark

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to be tagged please say so. Have a great day :).

#tony stark x son!reader #tony stark x male!reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark #male reader #male!reader #m!reader #child!reader #Starks bug chapter 3 #chapter 3 #marvel reader insert #reader instert #son!reader #child reader #marvel #Starks bug

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camillemontespan · 5 years

Text

this is your invitation to the beaumont bash [interview with maxwell beaumont]

I wrote this last week and it’s been in my drafts since. This is Maxwell’s turn for an interview (I know it might a weird way to write fic but I actually kind of enjoy writing this sort of thing). It’s pure fluff.

I also did this for Drake, which you can read here

@jovialyouthmusic @pug-bitch @moonlightgem7 @sirbeepsalot @drakesensworld @brightpinkpeppercorn @katedrakeohd @notoriouscs @be-still-my-aching-heart @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @dcbbw @iplaydrake

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

‘Cinnamon brioche bun?’

Maxwell Beaumont brandishes the pastry at me, a wide grin on his face. I have no choice but to take it; I feel like if I reject it, it will be like kicking a puppy.

We are sat in the Living area of the Beaumont Manor. It is now September, the month of the annual Beaumont Bash. It is like the Met Gala but on a lesser scale. That said, it is still the biggest party in Cordonia and anyone who is anyone marks the Bash in their calendars.

The Beaumont Bashes are legendary. Maxwell and his older brother, Bertrand, the Duke of Ramsford, are renowned for spending obscene amounts of money on menageries, fire breathers, a torchlit procession - yes, really- and everything else in between.

Today, I am interviewing the younger Beaumont brother as he is in the final stages of planning the Beaumont Bash. This is Maxwell’s first interview and I’m honoured he agreed to meet me. In three weeks, the Beaumont manor will open to the elite of society and wonders will await behind the door. He is giving Duke Magazine exclusive behind the scenes access to his final touches and judging from the mood boards he has propped up against the walls, this may be the biggest Beaumont Bash ever.

Maxwell is taller than he looks in photographs. He is lanky and a smile permanently lights up his features. His voice isn’t that deep, more soft and lilting, occasionally increasing into a high pitched screech as he gets excited showing me his mood boards.

‘Last year, the theme was Greek Odyssey,’ he tells me. ‘So think white dresses, white suits, waitresses dressed like goddesses, we had a giant fountain in the foyer with a life size statue of Poseidon built into it. But this year, we’re going bigger.’

He guides me over to the biggest mood board he has. It is pinned full of images of flapper dresses, vintage cars, bathtubs with champagne bottles inside, fireworks. The theme is obviously the 1920s, which seems apt considering a Beaumont Bash is always decadent and excessive.

‘I’ve hired a stage show!’ he says. I ask him to repeat that, certain I’ve misheard.

‘As in, I’ve hired a stage show!’ he repeats. ‘The Great Gatsby is currently on Broadway in New York, so I’ve hired the cast to come to the Bash and act out their show! It’s a musical!’

He runs me through the night’s time line. ‘Okay, so 7pm, our guests arrive. They have to dress up in 1920s style, otherwise there is no admittance. Sorry, but an effort has to be made. Drinks and canapes will be served - note the fountain which will pour out champagne- and then the stage show will perform for an hour and a half. Afterwards, fireworks outside, more drinks, more dancing, more debauchery!’

He leads me outside to the vast gardens. ‘The stage show will perform here,’ he says, pointing to a stage. As we walk, I study him. He is fizzing with energy. He is like a champagne bottle that has been waiting to be opened for months, before being shaken and its contents burst out of the bottle. I ask if he has always enjoyed parties and party planning; clearly, this should be his job.

‘I’ve always loved parties,’ he says. ‘My parents used to throw legendary parties when I was younger. I was always sent to bed early, just as the guests were getting a little more excited, and I would always sneak out of bed at midnight to watch. I’d sit on top of the stairs, trying to stay hidden, and watch as the guests drank more champagne and danced. I once saw my father use a sword to open a bottle of champagne; I learned how to do it so I can continue his party trick.’

I tell him that it’s interesting that his brother gets involved. The Duke of Ramsford is often seen with a serious expression on his face, tight lipped. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who lets his hair down but as photos and witness accounts tell me, he is the first person on the dance floor and the last to leave.

‘I think the Bashes give him an excuse to let loose,’ Maxwell admits. ‘He is always so serious, so responsible.. hosting the Bash means he can put on a different persona, be the person he wants to be. Do you think he enjoys wearing sweater vests? Hell no! If it was up to Bertrand, he would wear kimonos and sparkly boots every day. He is a flamboyant peacock hidden in the body of a pigeon.’

I blink at this description but I don’t question it; Maxwell knows his brother inside out. He takes me back into the manor and upstairs to his bedroom. It’s a large space, painted blue, with beautiful artwork hanging on the walls and random items that he tells me he picked up in flea markets or while on holidays to far off places. There is a painting of a peacock on the wall above his bed.

‘Peacocks are my favourites,’ he says bashfully. I ask why. It’s not like they’re cute or cuddly.

‘Why wouldn’t they be?!’

I ask Maxwell what he does in his free time.

‘I plan parties, I write, I like to visit museums and galleries..’

I’m surprised and I tell him so.

‘Why?’ he asks me. ‘Museums and galleries are where I get my inspiration. I visit the exhibits and I think of what I could do next. A few years back, I visited an exhibition about India and I was obsessed with this beautiful silver and blue sari that was on display. I went around and managed to source similar material and had it made into my own outfit; the Bash that year was India themed. We had elephants in the garden and the food was excellent.’

He looks down, picking at his fingernail, before saying quietly, ‘Life is meant to be beautiful. I never see things in black or grey. Everything to me is vivid. It has to be bold and bright; it’s why I’m always happy and positive. Life is to be enjoyed and surrounding myself with pretty things, making pretty things.. it makes me happy.’

I see now that Maxwell Beaumont is always underestimated. Many of the public just view him as a party boy who doesn’t contribute anything to society. Others adore him, mainly because his Instagram feed is full of fun photos of holidays, his friends, animals, books he is reading.

But he is so much more than that. In front of me is this young man who has a membership to the National Museum of Cordonia. He has a subscription to Architectural Digest magazine. He tells me he is currently writing a spy novel. He is warm and kind. I like him.

He stands up and opens his wardrobe to show me his outfit the Bash. It is a white shirt with black trousers, but he has made it interesting by adding a blue sequin blazer, blue sequin bow tie and blue suede loafers with silver tassels. He adds white gloves and a pocket watch on a chain.

He gives an excited giggle and claps his hands together. I ask who is on the VIP List.

‘Drake and Camille, obviously,’ he begins, name checking the Duke and Duchess of Valtoria. ‘I’m so excited to see how Camille depicts the theme, I’m thinking she’s going to be all sultry... the King is going, his brother Leo, Olivia, Hana...’

Maxwell blushes when he mentions Hana Lee’s name. The best friend of Duchess Camille of Valtoria, Hana has been spotted out on Maxwell’s arm over the past six months. The two of them kept their relationship private for a while but eagle eyed fans watched out for candid photos. When Maxwell finally made it Instagram official with a photo of the two of them at a carnival sharing candyfloss, with Hana shoving a big piece of it in Maxwell’s face as she laughed, captioned with a heart emoji, his followers rejoiced. They christened them Hanwell.

Having interviewed Hana myself, I was surprised to hear about the two of them. Hana is shy, quiet and incredibly polite. She was a tricky interviewee to begin with as she seemed so nervous in case of divulging private information, but once she settled and got into the swing of the interview, she opened up and was giggly, sweet and complimenting my shoes.

In contrast, Maxwell offered me a cinnamon brioche bun before I had even sat down.

But, having talked to him more fully now, I guess I can see why the two of them work.

‘I push her to be bold,’ he tells me. ‘She can be so down about herself but she is honestly brilliant at everything. Anything she does, she turns to gold. But she often doesn’t believe in herself so I push her to just do her best. Believe in herself more.’

What does she do for you? I ask.

‘She makes me see that I don’t have to be 100% on all the time. I’m allowed to feel sad, or be quiet, or just stay still. I’m always on the go, needing to do things. Maybe it’s because after my parents died, I felt like I needed to be the one to make my brother laugh.. I made myself into the joker, the fun loving guy. But Hana has taught me that it’s okay to have quiet moments and not to pressure myself to be constantly on adrenaline. I can relax and nothing is going to go up in flames.’

I feel I need to probe him further about his dynamic with his brother but I don’t want to over step. Their parents died in a car crash when Maxwell was ten and Bertrand was fifteen and it is common knowledge that Bertrand became Maxwell’s guardian - their family is very small and as a result, they were the only Beaumonts left.

Maxwell waves his hand away. ‘You can ask me,’ he tells me. ‘Bertrand is basically my dad, brother and teacher in one. He’s taught me so much about the importance of being a Beaumont, about our roles in society. He always made sure I studied hard at school; considering I couldn’t sit still most of the time, he made me put my head down and just work. I studied loads and got A’s across the board. I was such a geek! But in all seriousness, Bertrand assumed this responsibility for me. I owed it to him to work hard at school.’

Maxwell went on to study at Cordonia University, despite achieving top grades. He could have attended a more prestigious institution but, as he tells me, he wanted to experience something normal.

‘My life, being a Beaumont, it’s not normal,’ he admits, flopping down onto his bed. ‘I’m friends with the King. My life is just a carousel of parties, titles, etiquette, balls, money.. so when I graduated from high school, which was a private education that was full of boys like me, well, I wanted a change. So I chose to go to Cordonia University. Just to stress, it’s not a bad school in the slightest. It’s a great school; but compared to the institutions I could have gone to, it was on a lower level. I hope that comes across okay? I don’t want to sound arrogant..’

He blushes and stammers, trying to think of the best way to word it. I can tell you this now, reader; he is not arrogant.

‘Anyway,’ he says, giving up on trying to justify his words, ‘I went there and I loved it. I still studied hard but I made friends with people who weren’t noble. Bertrand wanted me to have a bodyguard with me at all times but I said no; I wanted to be a normal student. So for four years, I went to lectures and seminars. And the parties! That was my proper education! Beach parties, pizza parties, revision parties... so many parties! But some of the people I’m friends with are still from my university years. I think it’s why I’m not exactly your typical noble..’

He certainly isn’t that and it’s quite refreshing.

Maxwell finished university with first class grades (despite all the partying) and came back to Cordonia to learn the ropes from Bertrand.

We go back to lighter topics. I ask what he thinks about the Met Gala.

‘I am waiting on my invitation from Anna Wintour...’ he says, giving me a wink. His face then goes serious. ‘I mean it, I’m waiting. You work under the Conde Naste company right? They also house Vogue. Ask her to send me an invite!’

I wonder which celebrities he thinks interprets the Met theme perfectly every year.

‘Blake Lively,’ he says instantly. ‘Oh my God, her red dress and that crown she wore last year, god she looked incredible! Rihanna too, dressing as the Pope. I would love to invite her to a Bash. Who knows what she would do?!’

My questions turn to his guests. Who drinks the most? I think it has to be the Duke of Valtoria, due to the fact he is known for always drinking whiskey at balls and never champagne, and that he just looks like he can drink you under the table.

‘You would think that Drake drinks the most..’ Maxwell muses, ‘but honestly - I hope he doesn’t kill me for saying this because this could be treason.. is this treason? Can he decide what’s treason and what isn’t? Fuck it - King Liam. Liam drinks the most.’

I choke on my water.

He nods quickly. ‘The King, god save him, loves to let loose. He tried to raid our wine cellar once. Bertrand caught him.’

I ask who is the heavy weight.

‘Olivia,’ he answers. I blanch at her name. The Duchess of Lythikos is notorious for her cold exterior. Every journalist I know who has met her have left their meetings with her in tears.

‘Yeah, Olivia can shot straight vodka and just doesn’t feel any effect,’ he says. ‘By contrast, Camille can handle four drinks then ends up trying to steal the sword I use to open champagne bottles. A trip to A&E happened once.. ohhh boy, Drake looked like he was going to kill me for letting his wife near that thing.. '

I am tempted to get the full story on this but I have a feeling Maxwell won't be as forthcoming. Drake Walker might actually kill him this time.

We go back downstairs to the kitchen. Maxwell shows me his plans for the menu at the Bash. ‘Canapes first, but they’re... scientific...’ he says mysteriously. He won’t tell me why they’re scientific but I imagine they’ll taste interesting. ‘My favourite food item is always the dessert. This year, I’m putting together something mixed with Toblerlone, Nutella and marshmallows. A sugary feast!’

He starts to look impatient to continue his planning so I take this as my cue. I start to pack away my notes and dictaphone. Maxwell gives me a warm smile and stretches out his arms. 'Bring it in!' he hollers, pulling me into a bear hug.

I part from him awkwardly. Maxwell goes pale. 'Okaaay so what's the correct way to say bye to a journalist? I've never been interviewed before.. Sorry, I'm a hugger, everyone always gets a hug from me.'

He steps back and he looks at the table before clicking his fingers. He reaches out for a wrapped item and hands it to me.

'Another for the road!' he beams.

It's a cinnamon brioche bun.

#maxwell beaumont #beaumont bash #trr fanfic #the royal romance #choices the stories you play

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cosykaleb-blog · 6 years

Text

Muse page

“Hasbeen boy genius”

NAME: Kaleb (Kyle) Mordechai Broflovski AGE: 17 OCCUPATION: Junior Year of high school SEXUALITY: Bi sexual (But in major denial about it) GENDER: He/him MENTAL DISORDERS: Suspects he might be on the autism spectrum, but was never tested. RELIGION: Agnostic (Open to learn, but has a hard time believing what he was taught about his faith)

PERSONALITY TRAITS:

Logical

Book worm

Lacks empathy, but is sympathetic (or tries to be)

Organized

Hard worker academically

Lazy in just about everything else

Egotistic

Loose sweaters and baggy pants are life

HISTORY:

Kyle’s life have been seemingly uneventful other than what ever shenanigans and he his friends tend to get up to. He’s always been the smart kid of the house and always took that title for granted until Ike started to shine academically more and Kyle started finding himself fighting for his father’s approval. Gerald has always been inclined that his children do as best as possible in everything they do otherwise he sees no point in doing anything. Kyle never agrees with his father’s opinions on things because he sees it as biased and because of this there has been a lot of fights at the Broflovski dinner table which always ends with Gerald throwing the “I am your father you need to respect me” card and Kyle storming off to his room. His mother always take the liberty to bring up an extra plate of food and to talk to him trying very hard to keep the peace in the family. Kyle also conflicts with his parents when it comes to his sense of religion. He hardly considers himself an atheist, but he doesn’t really believe in most of what he was told about his faith and this causes fights mostly between him and his dad. Sheila isn’t very happy about it either, but she knows better than to fight with Kyle about something like religion and figured he’s an adult he can start believing what he wants to even if it upsets her. Kyle works very hard to make sure he’s top of his class because his dad wants him to get in to a career he sees fit enough like medicine even though Kyle has more of an interest in cooking. Though he struggles to keep his title as he started becoming second in his class and this causes even more conflict between him and his father. Because of his somewhat unstable relationship with his dad Kyle often feels anxious and uncomfortable whenever he’s home, so he spends most of his time at his friends houses. Kyle has a need to break away and do what he wants and to live his own life, but he’s too dependent on his parents and he values his mother too much to just run away, so he’s stuck. Because of the academic pressure he built a disdain for school and would skip classes and smoke in the school alley with the Goth kids if it weren’t for his conscious and the looming fear of how his father would react if he found him rebelling to that extreme. He’s always had a feeling that he might not be entirely heterosexual, but he pushes away any shred of doubt and tendencies in fear of how his father would react and managed to convince himself to live in denial of his identity

APPEARANCE:

Curly red hair that takes a lot of maintenance to stop it from taking over the world. In the beginning he would spend about an hour every morning to make sure it looked tidy and in place, but as he got older he decided “fuck it” and now let’s his hair do whatever it wants. It’s its own person it has the freedom to peruse it’s own path. He has freckles on most parts of his body though its more obvious on his face and shoulders. When he was little it wasn’t as clear, but the older he got the more prominent it became. He has no piercings at the moment. He used to have a septum piercing that he tried hiding from his parents by pushing it inside of his nose, but one day he was careless and forgot and his mother nearly fainted. He’s probably going to attempt to get another once he’s moved out and it’ll be easier to hide. He thought about getting a tattoo one day, but he’s squirmish about the thought of the needle. Fashion wise he’s got a fairly good sense of how to look somewhat decent with buttoned up shirts and nice shoes, but generally he lives in beanies and baggy pants with interesting patterns on them. He prefers the whole “poor college art/film student who lives off of noodles and weed and probably listens to red hot chili peppers” look because its easy. It’s only a coincidence that he just so happen to be a RHCP fan. He dreams about walking barefoot all the time if only it wasn’t so cold as well as his germ phobia. He is a very tall boy about 6'6 . He also has rather big hands that are always perfectly moisturized. He inherited his mother’s green eyes. Because of his diabetes he’s very careful about what he eats and sugar content in food, but his mom makes sure he’s well fed most of the time and also because he loves his mom’s cooking he has a pudgy belly. He shaves from time to time, but occasionally he’ll deal with walking around with a scruff stubble when the work load gets too much or he’s just too lazy to shave.

PERSONALITY:

Kyle comes off as like a really complicated person, but in reality he’s really simple when you get to know him. He thinks with logic and not emotion and sometimes that gets in his away with his ability to comfort his friends. That doesn’t mean he can’t be sympathetic, though he struggles with empathy. He’s a book worm and loves learning about things as much as he can and because of this people tend to label him as a nerd, he doesn’t really care all that much though cause labels are dumb. A lot of people get the impression, because of this label and his need for logical thinking, that he tends to be high strung and kind of anal when in reality he’s a massive dork that still laughs at farts. He’s not professionally diagnosed, but he’s always had a feeling he might be on the Autism spectrum and have been considering getting himself tested, but with his father there is a prejudice about learning disabilities and disorders, so he decided to just not bring it up to his parents to avoid drama and just find ways to deal with it himself. He’s very clean due to his light germ phobia so he avoids touching public things when he can and always carry around a bottle of hand sanitizer and seaweed scented hand cream. He also practices self care pretty much everyday and uses body butter and scrubs which means he’s extra soft and always smell amazing. (General scents he goes by is honey, peppermint or basil, but he’ll use anything if it tickles his fancy enough) Because of his logical thinking he’s always curious about testing out things for trial and error before he forms his own opinions so this means he’s open to experimenting with the occasional cigarette and joint just to see if he would actually enjoy it, though it’s not exactly something he would see himself indulging in. He has his limits though he’d never think about trying stuff like hard drugs cause he’s smart enough to know what a major effect it has on your life. Generally he finds stuff like drinking and partying rather trivial, but he will participate when his friends are doing it just to have some fun. It could be written off as peer pressure that he tends to fall for from time to time. With his parents being so academically strict and conservative because of their religious morals he does have a need to rebel, though he hardly ever acts out on it cause he’s not in the mood for whatever repercussions it has in store afterwards though that doesn’t stop him from doing what he wants, its just a matter of how well can he get away with it which can also be a problem considering he’s not a very good liar and his conscious gets the best of him. He loves like a man scorned. He’ll be friendly with you and treat you like an acquaintance in the beginning, but if you manage to work yourself in to an important role in his life he would become a lot more emotionally invested in you and can get kind of clingy. He’s not a very cuddly person either, but if you’re family or a very good friend he’ll hug you. Just don’t touch his hair that’s reserved for extra special people and his mom.

Extra info:

Major soft spot for small dogs like Pugs, Corgis and Boston Terriers

Dog person and would love to own one, but Ike is incredibly allergic to animal dandruff.

His aesthetic consists out of rainy days, the smell of coffee and a giant wool blanket.

His nails are like a pretty big deal, Always clean and trimmed.

When he’s not reading he’s on youtube looking up “10 best scenes from the movie ‘Mean Girls’”

His height makes him look very intimidating, but in reality he’s kind of a teddy bear. Just don’t piss him off if you know what’s good for you.

Has reading glasses, but never actually wears them

Proud collector of interesting socks

Favourite friend’s character is Rachael

Character peeve’s:

When people don’t put the lid back on to the toothpaste

People who pee with the bathroom door open

When his family barges in to his room and don’t close the door behind them when they leave

Cartman

#muse

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gukyi · 7 years

Text

i’ll give you my heart | myg

⇒ summary: gift exchanges are cool. gift exchanges with your ceo-slash-best friend min yoongi are less cool, because what the hell are you supposed to get the man that already has everything?

or, the three times that you could find something material to give to yoongi, and the one time you had to think outside of the box.

⇒ {christmas!au, friends to lovers!au}

⇒ pairing: min yoongi x female reader

⇒ word count: 6k

⇒ genre: fluff

⇒ warnings: none

⇒ a/n: here she is!! first off, shoutout to everyone who voted for this in that poll a while back. secondly, shoutout to everyone for being patient with me while getting this fic out. here it is, in all of its fluffy, soft glory! it’s also 1k longer than i thought it would be. big rip.

Yoongi and you have had this tradition ever since freshman year of college, where you would spend Christmas together, holed up in whatever room the two of you decided to share because both sets of your parents (and other relatives) were always busy around this time of year. Not to mention, you went to university across the country. So that’s a thing. You become recluses for a day, confined to a building or a room, and spend the entire day exchanging gag gifts and watching Christmas movies, drinking your entire body’s weight in hot chocolate.

It’s a pretty fucking great tradition, if you think about it. Nothing better than spending a day with the one person you could never get sick of.

Things began to change once the both of you moved out of the dorms, Yoongi’s fabulously wealthy parents hooking him up with a sick apartment right off campus, in the heart of the city. Human nature had always taught you to be envious of the things other people had that you did not, strive to be greater than them, but human nature can suck your left toe, because you’re happy that Yoongi’s happy and lives a better life than 99% of the human population. Kid deserves it.

You’d then begin to spend your Christmases at his place instead of the shitty dorms at the university, his place always extravagantly decorated for the season. Yoongi really spares no effort. What a guy.

And now it’s senior year of university and Yoongi’s only gotten bigger. So has his place, because he upgraded.

He upgraded and you’ve literally spent the entire break thus far lounging around at his house, eating through his cupboards, which are now devoid of all the ramen in the world. Seriously, he needs to get more. Thank God you didn’t make the same mistake you did last year, which was leaving all of your Christmas shopping until the last minute, because you ended up buying Yoongi a gigantic tin in the shape of a gingerbread man, filled to the brim with little gingerbread cookies inside. Like a gingerbread Russian doll. And you don’t need a gingerbread Russian doll repeat this year. This year, you swear you have a gift that’s worth giving to Yoongi.

His house is so damn big that you’re afraid you’ve hidden his gift somewhere so discreet you won’t even remember where you put it. It’s nearly midnight on Christmas Eve and you’re going to have to make up some excuse to scurry off and find his present since the two of you have done absolutely nothing all day except pig out on store-bought Christmas cookies and watch Elf over and over and over, to the point where you have definitely memorized the entire movie.

You’re lying together on his massive couch, big enough for at least four other people to fit onto it as well, your feet resting in his lap as you mindlessly stare at his television, letting the movie play in the background haze of your mind. It’s so natural for the two of you to be so close, at this point.

“Oh shit, it’s almost Christmas,” Yoongi blurts out after checking his phone, catching you off guard.

You squint your eyes as you peer at the clock under his television, only to be greeted with the fluorescent sight of 11:58PM.

“Oh shit,” you repeat, immediately scrambling up because it’s tradition that you do your gift exchange at midnight on the dot, and you are wholly unprepared.

“Miss something?” Yoongi taunts as he calls after you, watching you run down his massive hallway in nothing but an ugly Christmas sweater and pajama bottoms. Your bare feet are cold on his hardwood floor, but you don’t really mind, not when Yoongi’s body can warm them right up.

You fish through one of the many closets in his hallway until you snatch your gift up, pristinely wrapped in some festive paper. When you return to his living room, Yoongi is proudly waiting with a massive box beside him, your name written in obnoxious letters across the side of it.

“Holy balls,” you say, mouth dropping open. His gift could probably swallow yours up, if it tried hard enough.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N!” Yoongi shouts happily, though you can barely hear him, brain blocking out everything except the sight in front of you. you don’t know what on this godforsaken Earth Yoongi could have gotten you that looks to be the size of a small apartment (you’re kidding, it’s just double the size of you), but it’s here.

“Merry Christmas, Yoongi,” you say in response, holding out your gift to him warmly.

“Wanna open yours first, or should I?” He asks as he sits down on the couch. You follow him happily, curling up beside him, signaling that you want him to go first. He complies, ripping off the wrapping paper in the most ungraceful way possible. “You got me a Banksy book?” He asks, wonder lacing his features as he looks up at you.

“I know how much you love his work,” you admit sheepishly, recalling the one time you had taken a trip to New York City, remember him pointing out all of the graffiti that decorated the sides of the buildings. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I love it, Y/N, holy shit,” he says, and the way his face glows in the dim light of the living room warms your heart right up. Yoongi beams, his face illuminating, whenever he is truly happy, and nothing brings you more joy than knowing you’re the source. He envelopes you in a crushing hug, catching you by surprise as your palms to go rest on his chest as he engulfs you in his arms. “You always know me so well.”

“I try my best,” you admit when he lets you go, hand going up to rub the nape of your neck.

“Your turn,” he says excitedly, placing the book down beside him as he turns to face your gift. He pats his lap in anticipation as you get up, a little wary. You have half of a mind that whatever this thing is is going to come to life like a Christmas horror movie and brutally murder the both of you.

“How the fuck did you manage to wrap this thing?” You ask as you approach the box. It must have taken enormous amounts of wrapping paper to cover.

“With faith, trust, and Pixie dust,” Yoongi deadpans. “Open it!”

You find where the wrapping paper ends, and tear at it until you’re faced with an overwhelming pile of crumpled up paper beside you and a massive brown box.

“Merry Christmas!” Yoongi cheers, standing up. “I got you a box.”

“I’m touched,” you joke, knowing that there must be something in here. “For real, what the fresh hell is this, Yoongi?”

Yoongi just shrugs, being absolutely no help at all. You reach over to open the box, and when you take a good enough look inside, you see a fluffy bear head.

“No fucking way!” You shout as the realization dawns on you. One great tug and out pops one of those massive teddy bears, the ones that are double the size of you and the ultimate Cuddling Machine. You remember going to Costco with Yoongi a while back and mindlessly telling him that you always wanted to own one of those huge bears, and, well, looks like Yoongi remembered as well.

“Do you like it?” Yoongi asks, hopeful.

“Are you kidding? I love it!” You tell him happily, resisting the urge to collapse on the bear in a flurry of giggles and fluff. “This is amazing, Yoongi!”

You reach over to give Yoongi the same bone-crushing hug, only you lose your footing on a loose bit of wrapping paper and find yourself dragging him down with you. You land comfortably on the plush tummy of the bear, arms wrapped around each other.

“I could stay like this forever,” Yoongi admits, succumbing to the cuddliness that is the massive giant bear.

“Me too,” you agree, not taking your hands off of him as the beginning of Christmas slowly passes you by.

ii.

First Christmas out of university and, to be honest, you don’t really know where to begin. Yoongi’s taken after his father’s hugely successful instrument company—biggest in the nation—CEO-in-training as he learns to navigate the ropes of business life. You, on the other hand, are just living your best life, getting by with a job you don’t hate but you don’t particularly love either, and crashing with Yoongi most of the time. Your roommate’s nice and all, but she has an awful lot of sex for someone in her mid-twenties, so you find yourself sexiled more often than just plain kicked out.

Not that Yoongi minds you show up at his door, ever. It’s practically wide open for you, and he could be in the middle of a Very Important and Serious business phone call and happily toss his studying aside if you knock on his door. You think it’s a bit unhealthy, how he puts his definitely overbearing best friend ahead of the company that basically determines the fate of the rest of his financial life, but that’s on him.

He says that you’re a respite from the crushing pressures of business life, and you say that he needs to start worrying more about his company’s financial stability and less about his annoying best friend.

But it doesn’t matter, because Yoongi’s already got more money than he knows what to do with.

At this point in your long-term friendship, you don’t even knock on his door to alert him of your presence. Knocking is for friends who haven’t quite reached that stage of relationship yet. Knocking is also for chumps. You type in the passcode that opens his creepy automated door that talks to you if you get particularly lonely, and walk inside.

Despite the sheer massiveness of Yoongi’s mansion, you can hear his voice clear as day. It’s literally Christmas Eve and he’s screaming to someone on the phone, in that No-Nonsense Business Voice that definitely gives you the jitters. You hate hearing him like this, when he’s all serious and “I want what I want when I want it”, because it makes you feel like he’s a different person. Business Yoongi and Best Friend Yoongi are scarily different, but they both have that same determination, same wonder.

It’s still a bit freaky, though.

You’re standing in the middle of the foyer of his mansion, looking like a lost puppy, when he turns a corner and sees you, the phone pressed up against his ear. You send him an awkward wave, making absolutely no effort to disguise the box in your hand that is clearly his present.

“Um, can I call you back to get the details of the deal?” He asks to the person on the other end. “Make no mistake, I want this to happen, but under my conditions, not theirs. Got it?”

With that, Yoongi hangs up, and his furrowed brows immediately relax at the sight of you.

“Hey,” he says, voice a lot less intimidating. “I didn’t think you’d get here for another hour.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” you reply, pouting. “But you don’t seem that excited to see me.”

“Believe me, Y/N, I’m always excited to see you,” Yoongi says, breathing out a hefty sigh of relief as he pulls you in for a hug.

“Poor Mr. Min,” you mock, bottom lip drowning out your top one. “Busy busy busy businessman. You seem stressed, my good dude.”

“I am,” Yoongi huffs out. “God, you’re a sight for sore eyes, you know that? I’m so glad to see you,” he says, keeping you close to his body as he rocks the two of you back and forth. It’s a little romantic, terrifyingly so, and you resist the little voice in your brain that tells you to keep hugging him, savor the feeling, and tug yourself away.

“What’s up, hey?” You ask as you wander into his massive, state-of-the-art kitchen that even Gordon Ramsey would envy. Through his enormous, Plexiglass windows, the sun is setting against the frozen horizon.

“Ugh, nothing,” Yoongi says as he whips out two Minute Maid Lemonade cans for the both of you. He seems to have an endless supply, thank God, because it’s the only drink the two of you never get sick of, other than, of course, hot chocolate. “I’ve just been having this tussle with another production company. We’re trying to negotiate a deal on our marketing systems but they won’t budge.” He collapses in the bar stool next to you. The two of you open your cans at the exact same time, clinking them together before downing them.

“Want me to fight them for you?” You offer helpfully.

“You’d probably do a better job of scaring them into agreeing with me than I would,” Yoongi supplies.

“Oh, are you kidding? Have you even heard yourself when you’re all business-y?” You ask rhetorically. “You’re all serious and scary. It’s kind of terrifying, to be honest. If I didn’t know you so well, I’d avoid Business Min Yoongi at all costs.”

Yoongi chuckles. “Glad at least one person thinks that way.”

You give him a nudge, almost making him choke on his lemonade. “Give yourself more credit, Yoongi. Have a little faith. You’re a great businessman, you know. If you weren’t, your father wouldn’t have retired so early.”

Yoongi smiles softly at your words, and you know you’ve done your job.

That night, Yoongi makes the two of you a quiet Italian dinner (he insists it be called that, when really it’s just linguine and a Caprese salad that you could have made yourself in five minutes, given the ingredients) and the two of you eat on his mildly-stained nice leather couches, tinted with the remains of hot chocolate spills and popcorn butter.

Oh, these couches have seen better days. Days where you and Yoongi aren’t as messy and try to behave just like normal human beings and not weird best friends. Days like that don’t happen very often.

The Christmas movie of choice is The Polar Express, which, if you’re going to be totally real with yourself, freaked you out severely up until you were about sixteen. You don’t know what the hell it is, but the way the characters were animated had goosebumps appearing on your skin. You swear you’re not scared of a silly kid’s movie anymore, not as you settle into his couch for the night, piles of blankets wrapped around you, but Yoongi takes the liberty of teasing you anyway.

“Scared of Santa?” He asks, playing with your feet under the blanket.

You kick at his leg. “You’re such a little asshole. Do your employees know that?”

Yoongi scoffs. “They think I’m the Lord and Savior, the Jesus Christ of the country’s biggest instrument company.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” you remark. All hostility aside, you eventually settle into his arms as the day draws to a close, letting yourself curl up next to him as you find yourself dozing off to the movie. It might be the second or third time you’re watching this stupid movie, you just can’t help yourself—the sound of bells is tiring.

Yoongi keeps you awake, though, poking and prodding at your chubby cheeks to make sure you don’t conk out on him, keeping you awake for your tradition of the Midnight Gift Exchange.

Midnight rolls around and Yoongi gives you a pretty heavy shove to jerk you awake, one that has your arm extending out in instinct and hitting him straight in the nose. If this were anyone else you just totally smacked, you’d be apologizing, but the sight of Yoongi scrunching up his nose and blinking like that White Guy Meme has you on the floor, in tears.

“You’re such a sadist,” Yoongi comments as he gets up to retrieve his gift. You’re still laughing.

Eventually he returns with a box that scarily resembles the size of your own, and oh god, you have a feeling you know where this is going. He settles down beside you, the soles your feet matching up under the blankets, and on the count of three, as Christmas Eve turns to Christmas, you hand them to each other.

It’s unclear to both of you who rips open their gift first, but when you look down at yours to find a scarily expensive necklace, your heart stops. You remember dragging Yoongi into one of the high-end jewelry stores in the clean part of town, musing to him about how much you’d love to be able to afford a necklace or something from a place like this. One had caught your eye, a silver locket with a heart chain so delicate you’d probably live in constant fear of breaking it.

That same necklace rests in the box in your hands, right now.

Meanwhile, Yoongi is staring down at the watch in his hands, awestruck, making the blood rush to your cheeks as they heat up from the sensation. Yoongi never asked for that watch, but you remember him complaining about breaking his favorite one two weeks ago. Knowing him all too well, you had a feeling he wouldn’t get around to replacing it before the new year.

“Yoongi…” you begin, trailing off unhelpfully. You simply lack the right words to say. Or any words, for that matter. You recall staring down at the hefty price tag of this silver necklace, imagining only owning it in your dreams, and here it is.

Yoongi has more money than he knows what to do with, but you can’t quite put a finger on the feeling of him spending it on you. It feels too familiar, like he’s done it before and he’ll do it, over and over. You never ask him for expensive things like this but he gives them to you anyway, and it’s foreign and wonted all at the same time.

“Do you like it?” He asks, leaning over. “I remember you telling me you wanted it, at that jewelry place.”

“I love it,” you say, wishing that your words were a little more eloquent and a little less blunt. “But, why did you—?”

“I wanted to, Y/N,” Yoongi supplies, as if that’s any help. “You deserve it. You got me this sickass watch, after all.”

“You broke yours two weeks ago because you’re a dumbass,” you joke.

“It’s gorgeous. It’ll go great with my new hair,” Yoongi comments, staring down at the gift in his hands.

“New hair?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Yoongi asks, smirking. “I’m going platinum for the new year.”

“My god, your hairstylist is probably shaking,” you say, shaking your head. Yoongi chuckles, taking the necklace from your delicate fingers and wrapping it around your neck, fastening it at the back. The action is soft, gentle, and it has you turning around to face him in something akin to confusion and wonder, like there are so many dreams on the tips of his fingers.

“I’m glad you like it, Y/N,” Yoongi says happily. “It looks good on you. What are you going to put inside of it?”

“A picture of us,” you respond. “It only seems right.”

iii.

It’s becoming increasingly more difficult to get Yoongi gifts. Not that it hasn’t always been difficult, because it has. Kid owns everything, and you refuse to stoop as low as a gift card for something as special as Christmas.

It’s tradition.

You’ve spent the last several months hunting for something for Yoongi, something meaningful that he doesn’t already fucking own, and every time you go shopping, you come up short. It’s just so damn hard to pick a present for Yoongi that isn’t some ridiculous gag gift, because while Yoongi does love a good fake piece of shit, it’s not something that should be a Christmas present.

What makes matters worse is that you don’t make nearly as much money as he did, not that that’s ever been a problem before. You’re perfectly fine with where you are, financially, at least, but the Christmas season always reminds you that Yoongi is willing to buy you the moon and the stars if you ask for it, and you have trouble dropping cash on a new blender.

Ah, tradition.

Tradition also happens to consist of you finally getting to have your sweet, sweet revenge on your roommate for Christmas Eve, kicking her out of the apartment for the next two days so that you and Yoongi can have the place entirely to yourselves. She says goodbye with a whistle, hinting at something that you don’t want to know about.

Sure enough, not much later Yoongi is buzzing into your apartment, voice hazy on the speaker. You let him up, hear him knocking on your door hardly a minute after.

“Hey, stranger,” Yoongi says, little box tucked under his palm. Oh God, if he’s gotten you another necklace, you think you’ll lose it. He needs to stop getting you all of these expensive things.

“Oops!” You respond, pretending to shut the door on him. “I thought you were the pizza delivery guy.”

“Damn, pizza sounds good,” Yoongi says, barging his way in. He’s been over hundreds of times before, but strangely enough, you feel small in his presence. Like your apartment just isn’t good enough in comparison to his mansion of a home. The feeling is brief but very much there, and you’re hyperaware of it as Yoongi collapses on your couch and plucks a chocolate from the complimentary bowl on the coffee table. He unwraps the Dove and pops it into his mouth, smiling into the taste.

“Feet off of my couch,” you order playfully, grabbing your already-prepared bowl of popcorn and sitting next to him, using one hand to swing his legs off of where they’re resting on the arm rest so you can fit.

If you were at Yoongi’s place, both of your feet would be on his gigantic couch, big enough to fit your entire extended family without many compromises. But you’re not, and the two of you have to resort to resting your feet on the floor like peasants instead of kings.

“God, is this the crappy popcorn?” Yoongi asks, surprisingly excited for such a strange question. When you nod, he beams. “Nice. I love that smell of fake butter. It gets me hard.”

You’re at the point in your relationship where out-of-the-blue sexual comments like this hardly faze you, but still, you giggle at his random remark. You hold the bowl out to him, and he happily plucks a handful from it, shoving it all in his mouth at once as you channel surf to find whatever shitty Hallmark movie is playing.

You don’t really watch the movie this time, too busy trying to chuck popcorn bits into each other’s mouths (turns out you’re a lot better at this game than he is) and crunching down on unpopped kernels. Your dentists are shaking. They really are.

Yoongi’s right, shitty popcorn really is the best popcorn, because it’s rich and fattening and tastes sort of like cardboard. Like, the good kind of cardboard, if that’s a thing. You can’t seem to stop wanting more, and pretty soon you’ve gone through the entire box of popcorn bags before the night is even over.

“You ever think we’ll stop doing this?” Yoongi asks randomly.

“Doing what?”

“Watching crappy Christmas movies and spending the night at each other’s places and exchanging gifts at midnight,” Yoongi elaborates.

God, you hope you never stop doing this. Other than your immediate family, Yoongi is the one constant in your life. He’s always been there, he’ll always be there, even if he tries to get away. You won’t let him escape from you, not when you’ve made so many memories together already. He’s your best friend. You wouldn’t trade him or his presence for anything in the world. All this tradition does is confirm that, confirm the way you feel about him. Confirm that he’s it, he’s the end game. You’ll go through a hundred other friends but he’ll always be by your side.

It’s a strange feeling, knowing that someone will always be there. It’s like you have nothing to worry about.

“I hope we don’t,” you say, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck, between his shoulder and his chin. “I love doing this with you.”

“Me too,” Yoongi says, reaching an arm around you to rub at your side. “Christmas season is always busy for me, because everyone wants to buy their kid an instrument but at a discounted price, but you’ll always be there to calm me down.”

You hum in thought.

“Even when I’m about to lose it, you’ll always be there to save the day. I know you will.”

Soon, the shitty Hallmark movie on your beat-up television is ending, signaling the end of Christmas Eve as you know it.

“Oh, you know what that means.” Yoongi grins, winking at you as he whips out his gift. You don’t have much to give him in return, just a thin envelope you hope will be worth your while. “Who’s first?”

“I am,” you say, handing Yoongi the envelope you were hiding behind your back.

“What’s this?” Yoongi asks, eyes curious as he opens it, pulling out a certificate. His brows are furrowed as he reads through it, eyes squinting (kid forgot his glasses, how typical of him), but then his cheeks turn a bright red shade and his face begins to glow. “You bought me a star?”

“The one and only,” you say proudly, happy to see that he’s happy. “I know it’s not much, but I wanted to do something fun for you for Christmas—”

He hugs you, something that happens way too often these days, and you hear the crinkle of the paper certificate as he wraps his arms around you. “I love it, Y/N. I do. No one’s ever gotten me a star before. You’re brilliant.”

“What are you going to name it?” You ask him innocently.

“I’m gonna name it after you,” he says warmly, eyes crinkled up into a smile. “You’re the only sun in my life.”

You can do absolutely nothing except scoff, the noise hopefully covering up the sound of your thumping heart at his words. He’s always been cheesy like that, you swear. You swear that nothing’s changed.

“What did you get me?” You ask, motioning to the little box Yoongi’s playing with in his fingers.

“Oh, nothing,” Yoongi says, handing it over tentatively. As you begin to open it, his hand shoots back to the nape of his neck in nervousness. You wonder what on Earth could be in this box.

When you open it, you’re greeted with a note. Just a note amongst a bunch of that gift-basket shredded colored paper.

Please let me take you out to a fancy dinner party I was invited to, it reads. You’re the only person I’d want to go with.

“A dinner?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

Yoongi grimaces. “If you don’t want to, um, you don’t have to. It’s just—they want me to have a plus one, and you’re the only person I’d want to take. We can go shopping beforehand, for a nice dress for you. If you’d like.”

You don’t go to dinner parties much and you’re not exactly sure how you feel about Yoongi spending his hard-earned money on something as trivial as a dress you’ll only wear once, but unsurprisingly, something akin to a date with Yoongi doesn’t seem as out of the question as you thought it would.

You set the note down on the table, smiling. “I’d love to go with you, Yoongi.”

iv.

Christmas is cancelled.

Not really, but it’s literally the morning of Christmas Eve and you are absolutely, completely, one-hundred percent giftless. You’ve searched for months for the perfect gift for Yoongi, something meaningful and special that he doesn’t already own, that you haven’t already given him, and you’ve come up entirely short.

Needless to say, you’re in a bit of a panic. What the hell are you supposed to do, after all, when you know Yoongi’s probably gotten you something wonderfully expensive in return. What are you going to say to him? Hey, thanks for this expensive gift I don’t deserve, I didn’t get you anything but you can have my undying friendship?

Oh yeah, what a great way to start off Christmas.

Come to think of it, you don’t really deserve Yoongi. You don’t. You never have, not since freshman year of college when the two of you were just nervous underdogs, little fish in a very, very big pond. Even then, when you had no idea that Yoongi was the son of the CEO of the biggest instrument company in the country, no idea he had money to burn, when you thought all he could give to you was the love and support in his heart, you didn’t deserve him.

You don’t deserve him now, when he is so giving and kind to you, a ray of sunshine in this decaying world. When he buys you expensive things not because they’re expensive, but because he thinks of you when he sees them. When he has so much love to give to you and you can hardly provide him with half of it in return.

You don’t live like him, you can’t give him expensive things to celebrate his birthday or Christmas because that’s just not your reality. All you can give him are things touched by your love, your appreciation for your friendship, the generosity between the two of you that it’s based on.

If you asked him, Min Yoongi would give you the world. If he asked you, you’d wish you would.

You wonder what it is about him that draws you to him. Cements him as the end game, because you could never imagine a life without him by your side, without his sarcastic yet sage wisdom guiding you every step of the way. It’s not his money, because if it was, he’d have figured that out by now. It’s not his status, either, because even during freshman year, when you knew nothing about each other other than your favorite types of ramen, you knew that he was it. It’s Yoongi or nothing, and you’d rather lose everything than lose him.

It’s so strange. It’s always been like this, really. You always knew that Yoongi was meant to be in your life, but things are changing now, and you wonder if the way Yoongi acts as a part of your world is the way it should always be. Question whether or not he might be on this Earth, part of the life that you live, for a different reason.

The dinner party last year really switched things up. People there, Big Business Moguls who would faint if they found out about your commoner status, thought the two of you were a thing. An item, if you will. You were Mr. and Mrs. Min Yoongi, despite there being no ring on your finger.

The most peculiar part about it? Neither of you made any effort to stop the comments, explain that you were just friends. You just took it, went with it and happily obliged. You walked around that night with aching feet, almost tripping over the expensive dress you were wearing at least ten times, and with your arm wrapped around his. Like a real couple.

Even now, you don’t think you’d mind it. You don’t. You wouldn’t mind being a couple. You don’t see how it could change anything, how giving a different label to the relationship that the two of you share would make it all that different. But even now, when you think of Yoongi, you think of his bright smile, his warm brown eyes. The way his hair feels soft under your touch despite being dyed countless times. How your head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck.

The door opening in front of you snaps you out of your trance. Yoongi’s standing there in all of his Christmas glory, decked out in a terribly ugly Christmas jumper with a beaming glow on his face. You’re empty-handed when you walk in, though if Yoongi notices, he makes no comment about it. He probably thinks you’ve already stowed away your gift in his place, somewhere where he’s too lazy to look.

“Can you believe it’s already our seventh year doing this?” Yoongi asks.

“No, I can’t,” you admit, surprised at how fast the time passes by, how it feels like nothing at all when you’re by his side. “Feels like just yesterday we were just freshmen in college, trying to navigate our way through the semesters.”

“Damn, what a time,” says Yoongi fondly, reminiscing. “Since we’re starting a bit late today, let’s skip the part where I make a shitty dinner and go straight to movie watching.”

“Hmm…” you say, pausing as you pretend to think on the suggestion. “Sounds good. What are we watching?”

Yoongi presses a couple of buttons on the screen on the wall that he’s got hooked up to his entire electronics system in this house, something that you have no idea how he did. Rich people. When you turn to face the television, you see the menu screen for Love, Actually.

“Love, Actually?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

“What?” He asks defensively. “Can’t always watch shitty kids’ movies. Besides, I wanna make jokes about that one kid who looks like he’s five even though he’s like twenty.”

And so, with hot chocolate warming your palms and milk moustaches decorating your lips, you settle in for the night, curling up together under layers and layers of blankets as the movie begins.

This is such a common occurrence, cuddling together like it’s no big deal, but for some reason, this time there’s something else there. Something you can’t quite pinpoint, not as Yoongi wraps his arm around you to pull you closer. Not as he makes constant jokes about that poor young-looking fellow, or drinks his hot chocolate until he’s scraping at the sides for more.

And then it’s nearly midnight, and the guy on the screen is professing his love for the woman who speaks broken English, and you realize that this is it. This is how you want to spend every holiday season, with Min Yoongi by your side. Curled up together like two birds of a feather.

This is when you realize you know exactly what you’re giving to Yoongi, and it’s more meaningful and special than any other gift you can think of. One that doesn’t cost you a cent, just a bit of courage and a little bit of charm.

The movie ends at exactly midnight, and Yoongi claps his hands together cheerfully, getting up to get his gift for you. When he returns with a large, relatively thin box, your heart skips a beat, and momentarily, you wonder if the gift you’re giving him will compare.

“Guess I’m opening first, then?” You ask, and Yoongi nods, handing you the item with a delicate touch. He sits back down, eager to see your reaction.

You remove the lid of the box to find an absolutely stunning guitar, gleaming from all angles as it catches the Christmas lights that decorate Yoongi’s house. It’s gorgeous, a model that definitely cost Yoongi upwards of several thousand dollars, and all you can do is stare at it.

“Do you like it?” Yoongi asks, pressing closer. “I know you wanted to learn guitar. I thought this would be a good first step.”

“Yoongi, I—this is—” You say, unable to form even a coherent phrase with all of your stuttering. Now you’re really not sure if your gift can compare to this, to this absolutely stunning instrument in your lap and the breathtaking boy who gave it to you.

“If you want, I could teach you,” he helpfully adds, as if you need further convincing of his gift’s greatness.

“I love this,” you tell him, too scared to even lift it out of its box. All you want to do is ogle it, stare at it until your eyes bleed. It’s too beautiful to be played. You pick it up and gently set it down on the floor beside you. “I don’t—I don’t know what you’ll think of my gift. Or if you’ll even accept it.”

Yoongi shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ll love anything you give me.”

“Take my heart.”

“What?” Yoongi asks.

“Take it. It’s yours,” you tell him. “My heart is all yours.”

“Y/N, I don’t understand—”

“I’m giving you my heart, Min Yoongi,” you murmur. “Because it’s filled with love for you, and only you. You’re the only person my heart belongs to, so take it. Because I love you.”

Before you let him say anything else, you’re leaning over to him, pressing your soft lips on his in something of a playground kiss. It’s just lips on lips, gentle touches that convey nothing but love in them. Yoongi makes a noise of surprise but easily allows his body to give way, and out of the corner of your eyes you can see the way the blush creeps onto his cheeks.

When you part, you’re greeted with that eye-smile that you love so much, one that radiates a heavenly glow.

“I love you too,” he whispers back, soft enough for only you to hear, just in case the world may be listening in. This is a secret between friends. Between lovers. Between you. “I always have. Take my heart, too. It belongs to you.”

“Merry Christmas, Yoongi,” you murmur, staring up at him with nothing else but pure adoration. He’s it. You knew he always was. It’ll always be him.

He beams back, warm and bright, and it feels like home. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

And sitting there, as the world slowly turns around you, you think that this might be the best Christmas yet.

⇒ hmu with feedback or just talk to me here!

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sserpente · 7 years

Photo

A/N: After a cuddly Christmas Eve with hot cocoa and sweet love making, Loki’s Christmas present for you is… himself. Honestly, the best gift.

Fröhliche Weihnachten to all of you! I hope you all spend a wonderful and peaceful time with your loved ones today. Take care of yourselves and be safe! ♥ Request from anon and anon. Enjoy reading!

Words: 3691 Warnings: fluff and smut

„Jesus Christ!“ Your heart skipped a beat when you entered the vast living room of the Avengers Manor with a book in hand, dressed in a comfy over-sized sweater without a bra and loose pyjama pants.

What you expected to see was the beautifully lit Christmas tree, electric candles and shiny Christmas baubles in gold and red, not however, the God of Mischief reading peacefully on the couch right next to it. Well, that was until that surprised scream escaped your lips.

“Not quite, kitten.” He smirked upon spotting you standing there in the threshold, dressed like you didn’t plan to leave the house ever again. Your hair was messy too—forming an untidy bun on your head because you had been too lazy to wash it this morning. On Christmas Eve, you figured, it was alright. You had wanted some alone time and silence. If not today, when would you grant it to yourself?

“I thought you were at that Christmas party.” You explained quickly, crossing the room to sit down on the couch as well. The Christmas party all of the Avengers were invited to. Quite technically, Loki wasn’t part of the Avengers, heavens, he wasn’t even a superhero. But, he hadn’t mentioned with a word he was going to relinquish fun and drinks with Thor, whom he got along with pretty well lately, and instead chose to occupy the living room.

Now, you didn’t exactly mind his presence. Loki could be exhausting—both you and him knew that very well indeed—but when the Avengers would disgustedly snort at his behaviour, snarky comments or superior smugness, you would simply shrug it off or giggle away. He had a… unique nature and somehow, you liked it. It also explained his playful nickname for you. Kitten.

Only a month ago you had decided it would be a glorious idea to force Loki to watch a TV series with you. “Vikings” took a lot of inspiration from Norse Mythology and the satisfied look on his face combined with a vivid sparkling in his blue eyes whenever the characters mentioned him had been worth all the persuasion you had needed to convince him to watch it with you.

In the end, he had insisted on watching three seasons at once, keeping you awake until 4 AM in the morning. You had fallen asleep against him, snuggling into him like a needy little kitten. He never ceased to stop teasing you about it now but you could tell he had liked your affection as well.

Ever since then, you considered him a friend. You were, of course, still cautious around him, always reminding yourself that he was still the God of Mischief but mostly, he acted like a charming, confident and intelligent young man.

Smiling sheepishly to yourself, you remembered that Christmas present you had bought for him. It was an ancient dagger, origins unknown but believed to be holding spiritual powers when fought with it. The antique dealer had required a little fortune from you but since it was the only present you had had to buy along with Thor’s this year, you simply went along with it.

Tony had decided that since the Avengers team grew every year, now including Peter aka Spiderman as well, it would be a lot more fun to do Secret Santa. You had drawn Thor’s name but grumbled with heartache upon learning they had excluded Loki.

“No one’s gonna volunteer to get Reindeer Games a present, (Y/N). He should be grateful I tolerate his presence after all that he’s done.”

“Let me see… spending a sacred night with a handful of self-proclaimed superheroes who all despise me to the core? I much rather prefer reading a book in peace.” He responded coolly, ripping you from your thoughts with a soft voice. That was understandable.

“My words… I mean, not the part with everyone hating you but reading instead of partying on Christmas Eve.”

For just the briefest of moments, something in his blue eyes flashed. You couldn’t wrap your head around what it was but as quickly as it came into light, it was gone again.

“Well, uh… mind if I join you?” You smiled as you tapped your own book with your fingers, earning you a court nod.

Making yourself comfortable by crossing your legs on the couch, you then opened it, attempting to get lost in the fictional world captured on the thin paper. It was about a young woman falling for a black-haired man, shortly before Christmas. He was inviting her to a café, buying her a delicious mug of hot chocolate.

For a while, you received what you wished for. Silence, peace, calmness in midst the dim lights of the Christmas tree, curled up on the couch in cosy clothing. The longer you read, however, the more you noticed your thoughts drifting away from the story and over to the man reading right next to you.

He looked… attractive tonight, to say the least. You almost scoffed. Well, he always looked attractive, it was one of his defining traits but for some odd reason, tonight something was different. Was it the lights? The shadows dancing across his face and complimenting his blue eyes?

“What is it, kitten?” He suddenly spoke, not even bothering to look up from his book. Amazed by his ability to sense you were awkwardly staring at him without even lifting his head, you cleared your throat.

“Nothing, really. I’m just thinking about how handsome you look.” You stated honestly, shrugging your shoulders. You were friends. Friends could be honest with each other. Friends. Right?

If you didn’t have his attention before, you certainly had it now. Loki looked up almost surprised, his eyes slightly widened.

“Never mind! Hey, I’m gonna make myself some cocoa,” you changed the topic quickly, shrugging off the humiliation washing through you. “You want some too?”

His smile instantly evaporated your embarrassment and replaced it with… with what? Adoration? You were friends. Friends… you repeated the word like a mantra. Just because Loki was handsome, you had no right to suddenly hit on him or develop feelings for him at that. No… that was a really bad idea. Being friends with the God of Mischief was dangerous as is but being in love with him? Bloody suicide.

You almost stumbled and kissed the ground when you got to your feet again and staggered into the giant kitchen, returning back to Loki about ten minutes later.

You set the two steaming mugs containing delicious hot chocolate and tiny marshmallows on the small coffee table before you before sitting down again, not however, resuming reading your book.

Pondering, you turned to Loki once more, eyeing him for a split second to speak up again.

“Do you have a mind to continue Vikings? We still have one season to watch.”

The God of Mischief smirked again, this time causing your entire body to clench. You almost flinched. Friends. You were friends…

“Why not?” He finally gave back, amused by your suggestion. His book disappeared in a green shimmering of light only for you to part your lips in awe before reaching for the remote on the coffee table and switching on the TV to stream on Netflix.

It didn’t take you long to grab the blanket on the edge of the couch after starting the new season, clutching at your cocoa mug and snuggling on the soft surface a little too close to Loki. Your heart started beating like a steam hammer. He didn’t shove you off him, he didn’t even inch away, he… relaxed, devouring his hot chocolate, his eyes glued to the TV screen.

It was so perfect. A giant, beautiful Christmas tree, candle light and hot chocolate… this was so much better than your book. You could relate to what the protagonist was feeling. So content, so drunk on love, so… you were friends.

“You are staring again, kitten.”

I can’t help it. “Sorry.”

“What’s on your mind?” He asked softly. You. And I don’t know what’s happening to me. It must be the Christmas tree.

“It’s nothing, I guess I’m just tired.” You mumbled instead, gnashing your teeth and staring at the coffee table to avoid his blue eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat when he suddenly brought up his hand to lift your chin with two fingers, his gaze taunting. There it was again. That flashing in his eyes.

“You are a bad liar, kitten.”

“No I’m not!” You protested, arms akimbo. “I’m a fairly good liar, you’re just too good at detecting them.”

“I am the God of Lies.” Lifting his chin proudly, he elicited a childish giggle from you, your eyes travelling to his thin lips.

“Loki…” I don’t know how to put it. I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. I feel the urge to kiss you and I—

There was no need to finish the thought you would never speak out loud. Loki’s smirk widened as he leaned forward to cup your cheek with his soft palm, his taunting gaze once more resting on you so intently you feared to faint. You were friends…

“I…” Oh, fuck it.

The God of Mischief furrowed his brows when you paused, interrupting yourself by simply pressing your lips against his. Soft, sweet and tender, you pushed him back to kiss him, the sudden sexual tension between you tangible and scourging the air. You could almost hear it hiss when you heard Loki moan into your mouth, using the opportunity to sneak your tongue between his lips to deepen the kiss.

He didn’t pull away. He didn’t throw you off him. Instead, his hands came up to grasp your waist, refusing to let you go again. You were straddling him now, his crotch rubbing against your covered core and increasing naughty arousal that clouded your mind like pink cotton candy.

You were friends, right. Being friends didn’t compare to this in the slightest. Your whole body was on fire, longing for more contact, more friction, desiring Loki… inside you.

When you finally retreated to catch your breath, your lips moist and swollen, you were both panting, numbed by a single, passionate kiss.

Realisation hit you like a tidal wave that knocked you against a sharp crag, impaling your skin and drawing blood.

Your eyes locked with his, wide and startled. You were almost sure he could hear the rapid heartbeat in your chest.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“So this was what was on your mind.” Loki teased, only smirking in response to your stuttered apology. His smooth voice sounded hoarse, aroused. Aroused? You couldn’t possibly have the same effect on him, now could you?

Chewing on your lower lip, you looked away, blushing furiously. He surprised you yet again by gently grabbing your chin to turn you to face him once more.

“Lie down on the couch.”

You gulped. Only now did you notice your hands were still buried in his raven hair. It felt so soft… “W-what?”

“Was my request unclear? Lie down on the couch, kitten.”

“But… what are you…”

“I am going to give you what you crave.” His words made your lower regions pulsate with deprived need, your muscles clenching in joyful anticipation. Lie down, for Fuck’s sake!

You obliged with shaking limbs, climbing off him to meet his demand. You felt vulnerable—exposed although dressed, anxiously awaiting what he would do to.

You sucked in a deep breath when he hooked his fingers into the seam of your loose pants, tearing them off your legs effortlessly.

“Loki… are you sure… I mean you… we…” What were you trying to say? That you didn’t know if he wanted this? If he was merely pleasing you so you would leave him alone, annoyed by a simple mortal’s desire for an actual god?

Loki chuckled, the sound of it sending shivers up and down your spine and tingling right between your legs.

“Why are you humans so inhibited when it comes to love making, I wonder? Is it not the most natural thing to enjoy each other’s bodies?”

It confused you. He confused you. Enjoying each other’s bodies… Where were you standing right now? What was this? The beginning of a hazardous ‘friends with benefits’ relationship? Was it impossible for a man and a woman to be friends without ripping off each other’s clothes at some point?

The thought of it almost angered you. There was no guarantee that anything that happened after this would work out. Being friends was safe, uncomplicated. Being in love was… the exact opposite.

You cried out when Loki suddenly buried his face between your legs, breathing in deeply. Blushing, you attempted to push him away, running your fingers through his raven hair. It was to no avail—he was taking charge, refusing to stop this because you felt shy.

Purring, his tongue darted out to lick over your slit, tasting you with relish. Every inch of your pussy posed a helpless victim to him as he suckled on the sensitive skin, working his way up to your aching and swollen clit.

Loki closed his mouth around it, his tongue teasing you until you jerked, your hips thrusting up to meet his hot mouth, making you moan shamelessly. The needy sound encouraged him to suck on your sensitive bundle of nerves, building an orgasm he wanted to taste at any cost. He was going to take that pleasure, steal it from you until you melted in his arms—you were sure you already had.

You were his.

Loki knew exactly what he was doing. Pushing away the thought of where and how he had learned how to make a woman scream underneath him, your fists clenched around his hair, pressing him even closer into your leaking core. You were dripping for him, the wet sounds of his tongue flicking over your wetness sending jolts of electricity to your clit.

“L-Loki… fuck, I’m going to… ahh…”

He chuckled once more, licking over your pussy one last time before pulling away with a silent smack, his thin lips glistening with your evident arousal and making you swallow thickly.

“Unfortunately, kitten…” he started mischievously, “I want to feel you coming undone around my cock.”

He hovered above you like your saviour, his blue eyes wild with hunger and lust. It made your whole body clench, your lips parted in awe as you glanced up at him greedily.

Loki used his seidr to remove his clothes, his erect length springing free in joyful anticipation. It twitched under your gaze as you licked your lips; and he wasted no more time in positioning himself between your legs, the tip leaking with precum already, pressing against your petals.

“Please…” You whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek and pull him down for a kiss. Here, on the couch, alone and undisturbed in the dim light of the Christmas tree… it was all you’d ever wanted and more… however, you only realised now.

A whimper escaped your lips when he pushed into you, sheathing himself inside your aching core to the hilt. You nails dug into the bare and hot skin of his back, urging him on to move and increase that gorgeous feeling of being filled so completely.

“Fuck… Loki…”

Chuckling darkly and suppressing a moan himself, he started moving. Slowly at first, he rocked in and out of you, teasing you with lazy thrusts until you arched your back to meet his body. Your chest was still covered by your over-sized sweater—something, so he decided, he would have to remedy.

Using a single hand to not shift his full weight on you, he ripped the warm piece of clothing off your body, exposing your breasts to the regulated air in the room. Your nipples hardened, begging for attention.

“You… owe me… a sweater…” You choked out in between a few powerful thrusts, causing Loki to smirk down at you.

“I believe that is the least of your concerns right now.”

He was right. Loki hit that special spot inside you with every single thrust, bringing you back to that delicious cliff, right to the brink of orgasm. You needed it… you needed it so much…

“Cum,” he demanded, growling into your ear. You moaned in response. “Cum for me, kitten, now!”

It was easy to oblige him. Your whole body seemed to burst into millions of tiny pieces, shattering like a mirror. You moaned, thrashed, screamed, losing your mind from the intense waves of bliss cursing through your veins, your walls clenching around Loki’s cock and milking him until he lost control, his composure all but gone.

Pumping in and out of you so ruthlessly it almost hurt, he sought his own peek while you still attempted to calm down from your high, the arousing sensation of him spurting his cum deep inside you and claiming you as his having you seeing stars for a moment.

Loki stilled after riding out his own orgasm, his impressive length softening inside you, yet he didn’t pull out.

Letting several seconds pass in silence, you revelled in the feeling of being united, skin touching, so close to each other.

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

Smiling, you rested your forehead against his.

“Merry Christmas, Loki.”

When you woke up the next morning, Loki was gone. He had come to bed with you, pressing your back against his chest and wrapping his arms around you until you had fallen asleep. No words were needed—no explanations or questions.

This… whatever it was, for you still couldn’t quite name it yet, went beyond ‘friends with benefits’ or a bit of experimenting in the heat of the moment.

Yawning, you got out of bed, remembering with a start that you were naked. Loki had carried you to bed last night, his seed dripping from your pussy and staining the bed sheets but you couldn’t care less. Quickly, you wrapped yourself in your bathrobe and made your way into the living room where quite literally all of the Avengers had spread to unwrap their presents.

You were glad you had remembered to put Thor’s present underneath and when he spotted you, grinning from ear to ear, he instantly pulled you in a cordial hug, almost crushing you in the process.

“Thank you so much, (Y/N), I love it!” You had gotten him a gift voucher for his favourite store where they sold pop tarts. It was valid for several months, where he could munch on the treats completely for free.

“I’m glad you do,” you giggled, patting his shoulder. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you too!”

You proceeded to open your own present from Wanda—a special edition of your favourite book series—and thanked her exuberantly before looking around hugging yourself, your gaze darted from person to person, frantically searching for the one person you wanted to see the most. How would he behave around you after yesterday night? How would you behave and… would it all change between you now?

When you found Loki in an armchair in a corner, rather unimpressed by Peter’s joy who unwrapped an Xbox Tony had bought him, your heart jumped.

“Hey, who’s that one for?” Tony exclaimed, pointing at one last present under the neatly decorated tree.

You scoffed. “It’s wrapped in green with a gold ribbon, who do you think does it belong to?”

Loki’s head shot up to meet your gaze, his blue eyes locking with yours, questioning. Tony only raised an eyebrow when you picked up the package and handed it to the man you had had sex with only hours ago, smiling down at him innocently.

He took it from you rather hesitatingly, his brows furrowed just like yesterday night before you had kissed him. You could tell he wasn’t used to this much affection and it itched you to shower him with even more of it. Perhaps with more sex or a relaxing blowjob after a romantic day in the snow? A devilish plan formed in your mind.

“You got me a present?”

“I did, open it.”

The God of Mischief pursed his lips, fingering at the gold ribbon. Patiently, he tore the green wrapping paper off the wooden box and opened it to find the dagger. His eyes widened as he read the ancient inscription on it—not for a second you had doubted he wouldn’t be able to—and then looked up again to smile at you. An honest, cordial smile warming your heart and tickling all of your body parts.

“Thank you, (Y/N). Where did you get it from?”

“A secret,” you giggled. “I’ll go get myself a coffee and then get dressed. I’d love to take a walk in the park while it’s still sunny outside. Would you like to join me?”

“I would love to.”

Only Thor noticed the loving glances you kept exchanging until you vanished in the kitchen.

A few minutes and the loud rumbling of the coffee machine later, you returned to your room. You almost spilled the energising brew when you found Loki on your bed, wearing nothing but his tight and black leather pants… and a green bow around his neck.

“Surprise!”

You couldn’t help it. You burst out in laughter, tears rolling down your cheeks from the lack of oxygen.

“Loki, w-what are you d-doing?”

“Quite frankly I believe you should receive a Christmas gift too before we leave.”

“So?” You questioned, breathing in shakily to calm yourself.

“So I decided my present for you would be me.”

“You’re going to be my Christmas present?” He must have read your mind concerning that blowjob.

“Yes, kitten, I am.”

Still grinning wildly, you bit your lower lip. “So… unlike yesterday, I’m in charge?”

Loki nodded, lifting his arms in defeat and inviting you to climb on your bed to straddle him.

He was up for your revenge and until he screamed from antagonising pleasure, begging to cum in your mouth, you would take your time.

“I am all yours.”

It was all that you needed to hear from him.

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emma-writes-stuff · 8 years

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Hey, so I know I’ve only posted Supernatural so far on here, but here’s a little Harry Potter thingy I threw together because I felt like it.

Young Sirius x Reader

Word Count: 2646

I’m sorry, I know that there’s someone already “fan casted” for young Sirius, but whenever I picture young Sirius, I will always picture Ian Somerhalder, so that is who I’m using. Oopsies.

You were curled up in a small ball on a cream-colored chair in your bedroom, the one you had next to the window with the white curtains drawn shut, your knees tucked underneath you and a book laying across your legs. You were wearing a humungous long-sleeved Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt that fell about to your mid-thigh, as it had once belonged to your much taller than you and much more muscular than you boyfriend, before you “stole” it from him. (In reality, he was happy that you took it, seeing you wear his clothes was one of his favorite things in the world.)

It had been a week since your sixth year of Hogwarts had ended, and now it was summertime. Three in the morning and sixty degrees outside. Just the way you liked it.

However, you were internally panicking every second at the thought of the love of your life and what it must be like for him right now. While you were enjoying your summer with your lovely parents in your nice house with the pool in the backyard and your overly energetic ten-year-old dog, poor Sirius was stuck in a humungous gray, lifeless mansion, either in his room trying to avoid everyone, or being screamed at repeatedly for his “failures”. It made you tear up even thinking about anyone treating him like that. The fact that anyone could ever possibly think that your kind, incredibly handsome, strong, brave, (fairly) smart, funny, selfless, giggly, loving, cuddly, adorable boyfriend of three years and absolute best friend of six was a failure of any kind physically hurt you to think about.

Slamming your book shut and leaning your head back on your chair, you squeezed your eyes closed, unable to think about anything else now other than Sirius. You thought about how much you wanted to be laying across him on the couch, your head resting on his chest and listening to the sound of his heartbeat, the crackling of the fireplace, and the occasional rumbling of his voice as he whispered something to you, running his fingers through your hair endlessly, completely content to just be laying there. You thought about how much you wanted to spend Christmas with him at Hogwarts again, you, Sirius, James, and Remus all wearing ugly Christmas sweaters James had purchased, Sirius’ sweater hugging him perfectly while you drowned in yours, the thick wool falling almost to your knees. Staying up in the common room with Sirius on Christmas Eve after the two of you had so excitedly been counting down for the last month, both of you wearing lopsided but adorable Santa and Mrs. Claus hats, laughing and giggling at random things until it hit midnight and the two of you discovered you had been cuddling under the mistletoe all night, gently kissing as it officially became Christmas Day. Completely losing it and laughing your asses off when James walked down the steps into the common room the second you split apart, dressed in a full Santa suit (including the massive, white, slightly Dumbledore-esque beard), with a giant red sack full of your presents thrown over his shoulder. How wide his eyes had gotten when he realized the two of you were still awake and him laughing a little before hesitantly walking backwards up the steps with a, “Ho? Ho? Ho?” You and Sirius losing it again before making your way up to his room and falling asleep in his arms with a smile on your face. Being woken up by Remus and James leaping onto your bed in their previously mentioned ugly Christmas sweaters, jumping up and down and screaming “MERRY CHRISTMAS, LOVEBIRDS!!!” All four of you running downstairs to open gifts, the only four students that had stayed over the holiday. Spending the day by the fire and listening to the record player and collection of records (old and new) that Sirius had somehow bought you, which was extra sweet knowing that it was a Muggle invention that he would have had to learn about and figure out and then spend a ton of money on, knowing how much you would love one. The record player that was now only a few feet away from you on a stand in your room after you had brought it home for the summer.

You remembered playing Quidditch, a Chaser, until some random Slytherin you were playing against purposely threw a Bludger at your head and sent you toppling thirty feet straight down off your broomstick. How Sirius had zoomed to you the second you left the wooden stick, pushing with everything he had in him to get to you before you hit the ground, but failing to get there. You remembered being rushed to the hospital wing, how no matter how hard they tried to get him to go away, Sirius insisted that he was the first one to get to you on the field and he would be the last one to leave your side, that it was only fair as he followed like a lost puppy until you were in the hospital wing, his fingers intertwined with yours and body racked with sobs as he blamed himself for you getting hurt, convinced that he should have blocked the Bludger, caught you before you hit the ground, something, although there was nothing he could have done. You blacked out about three or four minutes after the fall, but you were told in private by James that he had been bawling, repeating “I’m sorry, I’m a terrible person and a worse boyfriend, I love you, I love you, please be okay, you can hate me if you want, sweetheart, but please be okay, I love you so much please” over and over again. The thought of it broke your heart. It had taken you a few months to remember everything that happened in the few minutes after you hit the ground, given that the hit had given you a concussion and three broken bones. Which, luckily Madam Pomfrey repaired in a week, but she highly recommended you stayed off the field the rest of the season, and you promised her that even if she hadn’t said something, there was no way Sirius would let you touch a broomstick any time before you were thirty. She had just smiled knowingly at you before saying, “I don’t think that boy’s left your side for a second the last week unless I told him he had to so I could do something. I’d be shocked if he’s eaten or gone to a single class since the game. You’ve got yourself a keeper, hon, you really do.”

After the fall, you had spent the last twelve games of the season in the stands, all decked out in some sort of house t-shirt and your team varsity jacket or sweatshirt. Most of the time you would also put face paint on each cheek: a line of red on each, a line of gold on each. Sirius loved it, especially when you would put his number on one underneath the lines. The team wasn’t as good without you, not nearly, but the fact that you were right there for them, cheering them on from the sidelines, seemed to give them enough of a reason to push through and (barely) win the majority of the games.

You remembered when you finally told each other how you felt and he begged asked you to be his. It was very early fourth year and James was so tired of hearing Sirius go on and on about you (as was Remus of hearing you go on and on about Sirius to him) that the two of them somehow convinced Sirius to just go for it and ask you to the Yule Ball. He had been so nervous approaching you, shaking and awkwardly holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers behind his back. “I, erm, I’ve kind of been slowly been writing this, um, big giant speech that I would eventually give you……erm, sort of for the last two years. And now I’m realizing that I’ve- um, forgotten, most of it and that, oh, god, I’m ruining this whole thing and- Y/N, you’re my best friend in this whole entire world. Don’t tell James. You’ve been there with me through everything, and I feel like I can tell you anything. I honestly, I don’t know how I would have made it through everything without you. I need you, Y/N. And as bad as I feel because I know there’s no way you’ll ever feel the same way, every time we hug or walk around together or you kiss my cheek or fall asleep against me or laugh or even just look at me- I guess I would say that, um, my heart, it just flies. I know I’m just embarrassing myself now and you probably just feel bad for me, I just, I think that- I think that you’re the greatest person in the world. You’re so beautiful and smart and funny and talented and kind and absolutely everything that I’m not. I’m in love with you. There, I finally said it out loud. I’m, um, I am in love with you, and I’m holding onto the tiniest chance that even after this shitty awful speech of mine that maybe you would be willing to, um, go with me? To the Yule Ball?” You remembered how he looked down at the ground, completely ashamed of himself for “ruining” everything, you standing there in shock until you stepped forward, lifted his head and said, “Sirius, I’ve been in love with you since first year,” and flung your arms around him. How he had laughed and spun you around, how as he put you down he cried, “Wait, so……is that a, a yes?!?” And how you replied, “Of course it’s a yes, you idiot!”

And you remembered the day you first met Sirius Black. The day that you, a confused, muggleborn eleven-year-old girl stumbled your way onto the huge train with gigantic eyes full of wonder. How you wandered from compartment to compartment, only to see that all of them were full………except for one. The one with the messy haired kid with dorky glasses and the (even then) handsome boy with ebony hair, fighting back and forth over some sort of sport team. How you had shyly slid the door open, despite your outgoing nature, and cautiously asked, “Can, um, can I sit in here with you two? All the other compartments are completely full.” How the handsome one had grinned at you, nodding his head as he quickly replied, “Yeah, definitely!” How the three of you sat together, laughing and joking and planning pranks, immediately hitting it off. You were instant friends. James and Sirius told you everything there was to know about the sorting ceremony, and how they were sure you would end up in Gryffindor, which they seemed to think was the best house by far. You remembered how close you and Sirius seemed to be after only a few minutes of talking, and how James had later told you that he could see it the second you stepped into their compartment.

You sighed, standing up and walking across your room to put your book back on the shelf, when you heard a loud crash and a yelp from downstairs. You leaped what seemed to be five feet in the air at the sudden noise cutting through the silence, heart racing out of your chest as you swiped your wand off your dresser, just in case, and crept swiftly down the stairs and into the living room. Running into the room and flicking on the light switch in a second, you yelled, “Who’s there?!?” in an angry tone, only to see a familiar, tall figure in front of your fireplace.

He turned to face you, black hair whipping around his head and an incredibly scared, vulnerable expression on his face that made your heart ache.

“Sirius?” you breathed out, running towards him and falling into his arms, wrapping yours around him. Taking a step back, you looked up at him, seeing that his eyebrows were furrowed together and it looked like he was holding back tears.

“Oh my god, are you okay? What are you doing here?” you sighed, relieved, heart still racing against your chest.

“I couldn’t take it, Y/N. I was asleep and she came running into my room, o-out of nowhere. Screaming at me like a bloody banshee……I couldn’t take it. She just wouldn’t stop- everything I ever did………it hurt, but I was alright, I could deal with it. But then she started on you. I’ve got, erm, I’ve got pictures of you, pasted all over my walls. She- she called you a bloody mudblood. A fucking mudblood. I was j-just so angry. I lost it on her and I- I finally ran away. I did it. I didn’t know where else to go, I’m sorry, I’m so stupid- bloody stupid…”

“Shhh shhh,” you whispered, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and pull his head into your shoulder, which he happily obliged to. “I am so glad you came here, and I am so glad that you finally left that place.” You could feel him shaking now, crying a little.

“God,” he said, his voice broken and muffled by your shoulder. “Why am I crying? I’m happy to be out, I am. Why can’t I- I stop crying?”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just me, you can- you can cry,” you whispered. “I love you so much, and I swear it’ll be fine. You can stay here, we can share my room, we can visit James all the time- it’ll all be fine.”

“Okay,” he paused to cough a little. “Okay.”

He let out a shaky laugh before saying, “You know, I was in such a hurry to get out of there, I didn’t grab anything but my wand. I literally have no clothes or anything.”

You laughed a little before responding, “I’ll go back to get all of your stuff tomorrow. I might also make a small stop to punch your mother in her ugly face, but…”

He wrapped his arms tighter around you, kissing your neck as he buried his head in your shoulder again. “You would really do that?”

“Punch your mother? Because, I mean, Sirius, after six years you know me well enough to know that I would totally…”

“I mean go back there. To that awful place where they would hate you, just to get some stuff of mine?”

“Well, yeah.”

He pulled away, staring at you with slightly wide eyes and his mouth hanging open, his eyes quickly filling with love and a smirk growing on his face.

“God, do you have any idea how much I love you?” he asked seriously. You grinned at him right before he crashed his lips against yours. “You are actually the greatest thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life.”

“You’re in the top ten,” you said with a crooked smile.

He raised his eyebrows as if challenging you. “I guess that means that over the next two and a half months that you’re stuck with me, I’m just gonna have to make my way to number one.”

“You really think you can beat junk food?”

He wiggled his eyebrows at you with a dorky smile before replying, “Trust me, I think this is a challenge I can win.”

You laughed. “Someone’s feeling pretty ambitious.”

“Well, if I can get you to somehow like my sorry ass, I can do just about anything.”

“Fair enough.” You grinned at him before finally saying meaningfully, “I hope you know that you really are the most important thing in my life, Sirius.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

“Thank you, really, for letting me stay.”

“Thank you for coming home.”

#sirius x reader #young sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #young sirius black x reader #harry potter #marauders #james potter #remus lupin #young marauders #sirius black #harry potter x reader

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taonsil · 8 years

Text

ftm ksoo | sesoo, 1.5k (#tinytransboyproblems)

this is set in the same 'verse as the previous sesoo drabble but takes place before it❀

Other than for gym back in highschool, Kyungsoo has never voluntarily worn sweatpants in is life. As comfortably slouchy as Chanyeol makes them look, it's just not for him (Chanyeol's legs are practically as long as the whole of Kyungsoo and still look good in thick, baggy fabric. Kyungsoo wears tight jeans so it's at least discernible where his thigh ends and his lower leg starts). But here he is looking at them. In great detail, like there's a lot to be studied in a pair of $9 sweats.

Even flanked by Sehun and Chanyeol when they came into the store, Kyungsoo has been a little pink in the cheeks as he's puttered through menswear. It's only the small clothes section of their local supermarket, nothing like those nice stores where a staff member will trail you with suggestions and help you into clothes. It's just that Kyungsoo has never stood on this side of the aisle before. Lost in a familiar space.

Sehun wandered off five minutes ago to look for dinner (they have dinner, but Sehun's terrible at visualising ingredients as actual meals), leaving Kyungsoo with only Chanyeol for assistance. And cover, but that feels stupid. Kyungsoo could just be browsing for a partner. Or, y'know, perfectly entitled to be here buying whatever he likes.

Kyungsoo isn't quite there yet, though. He's hyper aware of how tall everyone passing through this area is and wants to kick himself each time he ducks his head and makes way for someone to pass. He belongs here too. He just..has to get used to settling in. Like not startling like a mouse at the sound of heavy footsteps, god.

Hand fiddling with the zipper on his jacket, Kyungsoo stares ahead more determinedly. These sweats don't have a stupid slogan printed on them anywhere. Nice.

"There you are!" Chanyeol and his elephant footsteps come to a halt, and Chanyeol's chest bumps and then weighs against Kyungsoo's shoulder. "I thought you'd run away to catch Sehun or something, I looked around the jeans like three times and–," Dropping the leg of the sweats is what draws Chanyeol's attention to them. Kyungsoo's poker face is a strong one. "Um," Chanyeol says, "You wanted jeans?"

"Yeah." After a lot of pacing beside the socks waiting for the coast to be clear, so no one had to see Kyungsoo mistakenly hold up a pair that when unfolded spanned from the floor to his chest. "I already looked. There's nothing suitable, so I..looked around, and.." Kyungsoo may have been hesitant to embark on his first venture into menswear, but he sure hasn't been to start replacing his old clothes. All the damn pockets are too small since he upgraded phone. Sweaters are so much easier. "I didn't want to leave with nothing."

"Nothing?" Chanyeol echoes. He sounds disappointed. He is - his hands are on Kyungsoo's shoulders, thumbs rubbing under the hood of his jacket. Kyungsoo can't leave with nothing after all this time working up to coming here.

"Yeah, so. I figured I'd look at these. The sizing.." If Kyungsoo thought being here at all was something to be self-conscious of, having Chanyeol bear hugging him as they shuffle along the row of sweatpants is surprisingly ok. Chanyeol is comfortable here, and Kyungsoo is focused on his weight. "The jeans are kind of..if I have the right waist measurement, the legs are too long." Sweats are just L, M, S.

There's a dark maroon pair in S. Chanyeol's hand stretches over Kyungsoo and rummages in the hangers behind. "This looks ok?" He pulls a pair out. XS.

"No," Kyungsoo says before Chanyeol can pass them to him. They'd fit a waist like Chanyeol's or Sehun's, but it's the same with shirts – designed like tubes, straight up and down, cutting into Kyungsoo's hips.

"There are so many short guys?" Chanyeol sees Kyungsoo's point about the socks. They're just standard size, but they'd be far too big for Kyungsoo's feet. They don't even look as though they'd fit in his shoes, already one size larger than he takes. "Like, I know so many short guys? Where are they getting all their clothes from?"

He has the opposite problem - ankles breezy, sleeves never quite that bit long enough unless he buys oversized. Some things here would fit Kyungsoo; none would be the right size.

Kyungsoo shrugs, scuffing the toes of his shoes as he trudges along the aisle. He texted Sehun to come back and meet them so they can leave, and he hopes Sehun's not going to take his time about it. Bright side - at least it'll save some money. Kyungsoo can just look online, or ask on a forum or something. Chanyeol's right; Kyungsoo rarely stands eye to eye with other guys, but there are plenty who aren't giants like his boyfriend and Chanyeol.

A display stand of jewellery, thin scarves, cheap watches in pretty containers is in the centre of the divide between womenswear and mens. There's a lot of options, even if you don't want them. Just once Kyungsoo bought a cut plastic beaded bracelet from here, when he was maybe 16 and feeling grown up. Sehun liked the feel of the faux suede tie more than Kyungsoo liked wearing it.

Still edgy about this whole venture, it startles Kyungsoo when Chanyeol's big hand suddenly engulfs his shoulder again.

"Are you ok? You look super flushed." Chanyeol squeezes. They've been through enough of these kinds of experiences together that Kyungsoo knows what he means is do you need to go to the bathroom and cry. Kyungsoo's actually pretty ok. Everything is a learning curve right now.

It's not that Kyungsoo is upset, just that the whole store is overheated and then to compensate there's air conditioning. The whole mismatch of artificial temperature is adding to Kyungsoo's face burning up, while a stale, warm breeze blows down his neck. While they're still here he can't bear to unzip his jacket even an inch. With his year-worn binder it's inevitable after a few hours that things start to descend and spread, and it's not a baggy jacket, but it's covering the curve better than just his sweater alone.

"Hey," Sehun's voice comes from the end of the aisle. "What about these?"

Sehun's holding a pair of jeans exactly like Kyungsoo wants. Black, textured, slim fit (Kyungsoo may not exactly be slim fit, but honestly, at his height..).

Chanyeol squawks. Kyungsoo pats his hand and squirms out from under it to meet Sehun halfway.

"You said there wasn't anything," Sehun's scowl is entirely for Chanyeol. Kyungsoo takes the jeans from him, looking a much happier kind of flushed before he's even measured them against himself.

Chanyeol scowls right back. At least he was here trying, not eating free deli samples. "Where the hell– We looked at everything."

"I came from the other side of the aisle. Did you look round there?" Sehun points over the top of the high shelf beside them. "Those look fine. And if they're ok, there's lots– Soo, they're your size, right? Soo?"

If Kyungsoo looked a little pink before, now he's beet red. Sehun touches his ear to feel the heat. Kyungsoo isn't upset, but right now he feels muddled - the anticipation of coming here, the fear of being questioned, the sizing not being as straightforward as expected, the damn heat. (Watermelon head, his mother used to call it when she got one of her stress headaches. Kyungsoo never really got it, but he does now. One move in the wrong direction and the weight would keel him over.)

"It. Yeah. They're fine." Folding the jeans to hook over his arm, Kyungsoo gestures for them to go ahead of him. "I'll get them. Thanks, Hunnie."

Sehun puffs his cheeks. If it was fine he'd be getting fawned over for doing a good job. The fewer words Kyungsoo says the bigger sign it is that they shouldn't press the point, though. Chanyeol's the kind of person who laughs misfortune off, and Sehun can get past most things after a nice long cuddling session. Kyungsoo..he tends to shut down. Or cook. They do have a lot of ingredients at home.

Sehun probably just picked them up without even noticing it was the teen section (Sehun still is a teen, but Kyungsoo doesn't recall them having an 18-19 section). Kyungsoo is 21 and has been a size 10 for the last five years. Kyungsoo is going to be a man in jeans with a 13-14y.o label in the back. It's..fine.

But, oh. There's another realisation. "Actually," Kyungsoo gives Sehun's waist a pat and Chanyeol a less gentle push. "There's something else I need to look at. You two go ahead."

It's not like Kyungsoo doesn't like cute patterns, or comic books, or.. well, no, he's not a fan of bright colours, that's ruled out. He just isn't a teenager anymore. Especially not a thirteen year old.

Especially not a thirteen year old, because the waistband and thighs around the briefs cut in tight. He's too big. Nearly ten years too old; three centimetres shorter than the height average given on the label. The jeans were practically perfect, anyway.

And so is Sehun's sweater, when the sleeves are rolled up to Kyungsoo's elbows. Loose enough that Kyungsoo can breathe comfortably again without having to focus too much on the different view when he looks down, and room to spare for Sehun's arms to sneak in when he's full and sleepy and cuddly.

"Room for me?" Chanyeol asks when he comes back from the kitchen to find the start of a cuddle pile. He's been drying his hands on his jeans, and they're still damp and hot where they fumble against Kyungsoo's forearms as Chanyeol wriggles his way comfortably against Kyungsoo's other side.

"I didn't agree to this," Sehun grumbles, like he's the one having to deal with two sets of elbows in his waist and two heavy weights on his shoulders. Chanyeol raises his head to respond. Kyungsoo shushes them both, and Sehun comfortably settles again once he's had a placating kiss to his forehead.

Anyway, if Kyungsoo was the same size as these two they'd break the couch.

#aa its been a while since I added to this drabble set #I go inspired by that Relatable comic the other day n did most of this on my phone in the middle of the night orz #words i wrote #sesoo

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