#also him recognizing link on sight!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul · 5 months ago

Text

The Prince - Chapter Two

A/N: Hi all! Thank you for all your love for chapter one! More excitement this chapter, I promise! Let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged. It's settling in that we won't see Jace for another two years :( but at least he made it through season 2 safely.

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 4.1k Synopsis: To Jace's distress, the reader continues to avoid him, until a gathering makes the two of them spend an evening together, where feelings become harder to deny.

Tag List: @rinisfruity14, @gaiaea

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Jace needs to see you again, as soon as possible.

The walk back to his quarters, Jace can hardly make sense of his feelings. Years ago, he had known you for a week, and fallen completely for you. In the time since he’s seen you, so much has changed. He knows you can see it, too. When you first saw him, you didn’t recognize the man who stood before you. He knew you instantly. The years had been kind to you, to say the least, but they hadn’t changed the woman he had initially fallen for.

In that time apart, he nursed his crush on you, keeping it close for the dark days he faced. He assumed it would stop being a comfort to him as time went on. He thought, if war ever came to an end, and you did finally come to King’s Landing, he would be past his feelings.

Seeing you again was a bolt to his heart, to his duty. He was to be married in a matter of weeks. He knew he shouldn’t be having these thoughts. But just walking with you, having your arm linked with his, made him feel more than he ever had with Baela. He loves her, but not in the way he wants to love the woman who will be at his side for the rest of his life.

The next morning, Jace is up early. He typically takes breakfast in his quarters, but now that you’re here, he hopes the two of you can fall back into your old habit from the Vale.

He is disappointed when he spends all morning with Lord Celtigar instead.

Jace is not to be dissuaded though. After breakfast, he looks for you in the library. You came to the Red Keep to further your studies – what better place to continue them than here? But after walking up and down the shelves, a task he hasn’t done since he was a young boy, he is left disappointed again.

And this pattern continues. For the next week, the only time he sees you is in passing. You’ll exit the room shortly after he arrives. He’ll find you speaking with Rhaena, and before he can get a word in edgewise, you find a way to dismiss yourself. He is finding it increasingly more difficult to not take your absence personally.

Up until then, he hadn’t been looking forward to the ball his mother was throwing in honor of the return of her younger sons. It had been months now since the war had come to an end, and still, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see so many faces he fought alongside, ones he fought against, who eventually bent the knee. But he knew that going was important to his mother, and to his future ruling. He also knew that you would be there, and it would be another chance to spend some time with you.

The evening of the banquet, Jace gets ready quickly. He waits in Joffrey’s room, teasing the younger boy at his discomfort in his new princely wear. It seems when he was in the Vale, the dress code wasn’t as strict. They walk down to the banquet together, greeting lords and ladies in passing.

Jace sits at the banquet table arranged in the center of the room. The table is already filling quickly, and as he does a quick scan of the guests, he can’t seem to find you. He assumes this is just another way you are going about avoiding him, but his head pops up immediately at the sight of blue in the doorway.

He spots you the moment you step into the banquet hall. The blue dress you wear clings to every curve of your body. The fabric is so soft, it looks like as if it’s made of water – as if one touch could break through its glossy surface. Your hair is down, and cascades down your back in long curls.

Jace is momentarily frozen in awe, but Joffrey elbows him, jarring him back to the present. Just before he looks away from you though, he catches your gaze on his.

The meal progresses as he expected. You are seated at the other end of the table, and although others have moved from their assigned seats and begun to mill about with friends, he isn’t so bold. He stays at the end with his family, watching with growing envy as Joffrey does what he can’t.

The younger boy has moved down the table, greeting old friends and introducing himself to new ones. Eventually, he stops in the empty seat next to you. When you see him, your eyes light up.

Jace watches as his brother tells you a story, making you throw your head back with laughter. He stares at the column of your neck, the easy way you laugh with Joff. As his jealousy grows, he tries to remind himself that Joffrey is thirteen, and it is only because you have known him for so long that you are comfortable around him.

He does not compare the way you look at Joffrey to the way you won’t look at him.

The night grows darker, and the table begins to clear. The guests, all well into their cups, begin to dance and break off into groups to gossip. In his cup as well, Jace finally musters up the courage to move closer to you. As someone gets up from the table, he takes their seat, ever moving closer to you, like he’s playing a game by himself, and the end goal is to be at your side.

When he finally does sit down next to you, your back is turned to him, your attention still fully on Joffrey. The younger prince’s eyes flick to him, and you look back to follow. You let out a small, surprised sound that has Jace questioning everything he knows about himself.

“Your Highness,” you say with a smile.

“Jace,” he corrects, smiling back. He glances at Joff, who excuses himself immediately. You bid him goodbye and smirk as you turn back to Jace. You are the only two people left at the banquet table, everyone else has moved into the room, dancing and drinking.

“I haven’t seen you,” he says, “How are you adjusting to King’s Landing?” Red warmth creeps over your cheeks, which Jace takes as confirmation that you were, in fact, avoiding him.

“It is a lot different than the Vale,” you say with a sigh, “I’m glad to have met Rhaena before I came here, she has made the adjustment easier.”

“You miss Lady Jeyne,” he says simply. Your eyes find his, a sad smile on your face.

“Yes,” you say with a nod. You are quiet for a moment, staring off at the small group of dancers. Jace considers asking if you’d like to join them, when you speak again. “That is not to say that I am ungrateful to your family,” you say, looking at him. He sits up straighter as he meets your eyes. “I am immensely glad to have met you and your brothers before coming here, too.”

“We all want you to feel comfortable here,” he says. “I’ve looked for you—”

“I know,” you say softly, your gaze falling to the goblet in front of you.

“I want to be someone you can turn to, too,” he presses, “I know Rhaena and Balea can get caught up in each other. You can always come to me when you are missing home, too.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” you say. Jace frowns at the title and it makes you laugh. It’s not as hard as the laugh you let out with Joffrey, but it warms him, nonetheless.

“I am having a gathering tonight,” he says, “I’d be honored if you would come.”

“Tonight?” you ask in surprise. “Is this current gathering not enough for you?”

“Mine will be much less stuffy,” he says, again making you laugh.

“Well, I’m not sure—”

“Please,” he says gently. Your eyebrows scrunch as you study his face, and Jace finds the look completely adorable. He bites back his smile so you can’t tell.

“Alright,” you say, nodding your head. “I’ll come.”

“Good. Now, how about a dance?” he asks, holding out his hand.

Jacaerys’s room is crowded, a fact you are grateful for as you enter its warm interior. With how full it is, you can pretend that your stomach isn’t in knots. You can pretend that you didn’t feel your heart flip each time Jace’s hand touched yours as you danced. You can pretend that his eyes didn’t burn each time they met yours.

Your plan to avoid him is going dreadfully, primarily because he seems to have enacted the exact opposite plan.

One dance turned into three, and only when you insisted that you were too tired to keep going did he take a turn with someone else. You watched him all night, the carefree smile that spread across his face when he interacted with his family, the way he always seemed to keep moving, never standing still for longer than a moment.

You are sure to be going mad. Just a week ago, you swore you would not be around him, unless absolutely necessary. Clearly, the crush he had from years ago had ricocheted to you, and you needed to steer far away from him. The evening was supposed to be spent meeting eligible suitors, not spending time with a man you knew was already engaged.

Rhaena stands across the room, talking with a lord you don’t recognize. She knows of your mission here. It is high time you enlist her to your task. But before you can get to her, a curly head of hair appears out of the corner of your eye.

“Y/N,” Jace says, drinks in hand. He extends one out to you. You take a hearty sip. You have not drunk much mead in your life, but if you’re to make it through this evening, you’re going to need it.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“You know,” you say, turning to him with a smile, “This room seems much stuffier in comparison to the banquet hall.” Jace smiles, surveying the room himself.

“I was not expecting everyone to say yes.”

“Who could say no to the crown prince?” you say. Jace’s gaze dips momentarily to your lips and you look away quickly. You tell yourself he could have been looking anywhere, that maybe you had a bit of mead stuck to your upper lip, but you know better than that. You seem to know him better than that, and you hardly know him at all.

“If you’d like,” he says, “I can find us a spot that’s less crowded.” You should say no. Rhaena is right across the room, talking to a very handsome man. You should be doing the same.

Jace’s hand touches the small of your back delicately, bringing your attention to him.

It might be the touch, or it might be the mead, it might very well be the way he’s looking at you, but you nod. He smiles and presses his hand to your back a tad more firmly, guiding you to a deeper section of his chambers.

He sits you down on a settee along the back wall of his chambers, just outside the door that leads into his bedroom. You are still in the crowd, but back here, it is quieter, and a bit more intimate.

“Better?” he asks.

“Better,” you say, smiling meekly as he sits next to you. Just as quick as he sits down, he gets back up. You watch him move across the room gracefully, stopping to chat with one of his servants. He gives her a kind smile, tells her something that makes her laugh, and pats her shoulder warmly. For some reason, the interaction makes your heart melt.

“Everything alright?” he asks when he comes back, breaking your attention from the crowd. You hadn’t even noticed he moved back towards you.

“Yes.”

Jace doesn’t leave your side for much of the night. He seems content to prove the friendship he offered you earlier in the night. He asks nearly everything about you, even the bad. You tell him about your father, about growing up with your title stripped. He listens intently, his gaze very rarely breaking from your own.

The mead has yet to stop flowing, and your head is starting to ache. You know you should call it a night. The room has begun to clear slowly. Jace sent Joffrey to bed an hour ago, much to the younger boy’s chagrin. There are still at least twenty people in the room, but Jace doesn't pay any of them attention like he pays you.

“What do you remember about your time in the Vale?” you ask, when it seems the two of you have run out of talking points. Jace studies you for a moment.

“I remember it’s beauty,” he says with a coy smile. You laugh into your goblet.

“Yes, I think everyone saw what you admired,” you tease.

“Was I so transparent?” he asks, laughing good-humoredly as a blush creeps across his cheeks.

“It was sweet,” you say.

“I’m sure it was quite pathetic,” he says, grinning at your laughter. “Joff says Lady Arryn found it particularly so.”

“Jeyne never said anything like that,” you say, “She thought it was endearing. It’s not in her nature to be cruel. Teasing, mocking, beating a joke to death? Those are her strengths.” Jace laughs, taking a drink of his own mead.

“So, what would she say?” he asks. “I can take it.”

“It’s stupid,” you say with a shake of your head.

“Tell me,” he says, scooting closer to you.

“She said a lot,” you say with a shrug.

“Y/N,” he goads gently. You look down at your hands, fiddling with the signet ring on your pointer finger.

“She said you fell in love the moment you walked in,” you say quietly. “And that she was surprised a kiss wasn’t included in the terms of your agreement.” He is blushing harder now, but the sight is adorable. He looks like he is going to say something, a half-smile growing on his face, when a guard draws his attention.

You recognize Ser Harrold immediately. He had been loyal to the Targaryens for years and was now Jacaerys’s sworn protector.

“A word, My Prince?” he asks, nodding his head politely to you.

“I’m sorry,” Jace says, standing. You shake your head and watch him cross the room. The loss of his presence gives you a moment to gather yourself. You cannot believe what you just told him. Cannot believe that you mocked his crush on you. If he ever speaks to you again, you’ll be amazed.

Ser Harrold shrugs at his prince, putting his hands up defensively, as if to say, “I’ve made my case.” You watch Jace sigh and move into the thralls of his guests. His first stop is next to Baela.

Whatever he is saying has her laughing, and it makes a strange feeling turn in your stomach. He has spent nearly all night with you, so what if he spends a moment with his fiancé? You want to call the feeling in your stomach anything but jealousy, but alone on this couch, you know that is what it is. You avert your gaze, hoping that if they are out of sight the feeling might subside, but it does not.

It is then you realize, this is not jealousy. Suddenly, a new feeling sweeps over you and in horror, you realize you are going to be sick. If you don’t leave Jacaerys’s quarters quickly, you are going to be sick in this very room.

As quickly, and as delicately as possible, you stand up. You leave your goblet with one of the passing maids, giving her a polite nod as you kept your lips sealed. You make your way through the group of people to the nearest exit and slip out. The hallway is cooler, much less crowded with only two guards at the door.

Your chambers are at least a five-minute walk from here. You are worried you won’t make it in time but are intent on trying. You pick up the hem of your dress to make haste, but don’t even get to the end of the hallway before you hear his voice, calling your name. It isn’t a command, you know you could keep walking, but he is your prince, and somehow everything he says can feel like a command.

You halt mid-step and turn to face him. You are breathing in through your nose, out through your mouth, something a maester had taught you years ago, as the prince jogs to catch up. Some of the dark curls around his face fall at his movement, and you watch intently as he flips them away.

“You didn’t say goodbye,” he says softly as he stops next to you.

“I’m sorry, My Prince, I—”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Jace?” he asks. You give him a tight-lipped smile, feeling the mead churning in your stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I wasn’t feeling well.” His expression changes to something softer, understanding.

“Here, let me walk you back to your chambers,” he says immediately, putting a hand on your back to guide you. You arch from his touch and laugh gently.

“You have an entire party in there, Your Highness—”

“Jace,” he corrects firmly.

“Jace,” you say, looking at him with a sigh. “You have a party in there. It is a small walk; I shall manage on my own.” What seems more likely is that once you turn the corner from him, you will vomit into the nearest plant, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“And you are one of my guests,” he says, again putting his hand on your back. “It’s my responsibility to make sure that you return safely.” This time you don’t fight; you don’t have the time to.

You don’t say much on the walk to your chambers, and thankfully, it helps keep the sick down. As you see the door to your room, you let out a sigh of relief. Jace opens the door for you, letting you walk in first before following.

You’re not sure either one of you realizes that he’s in your room, a place he absolutely shouldn’t be, especially at night, until the door thuds close. You turn to face him, your breathing still shallow as you fight to keep the mead down.

“Thank you,” you say, “For escorting me back. I’m sure your party awaits—”

“Y/N,” he says gently, stepping towards you. “I feel like you’re trying to get away from me. I feel like you have been since you got here, up until tonight. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course not,” you say, inching away from him, only to be closer to the chamber pot.

“Then why are you running from me?”

“I’m not,” you say, taking another step back from him.

“You literally are, right now,” he says with a laugh. “If I did anything to upset you, I’m sorry. I know I can—”

His sentence is cut off when you can’t fight it anymore. You spin away from him, still too far from the chamber pot, and throw up into a nearby vase. Over the sounds of your heaving, all you hear from Jace is a muttering. You cannot be more embarrassed.

But then, to your immediate surprise, a warm hand pulls the hair off your face, and the other is soothing on your back. You retch a few more times, each time, Jace saying soft, encouraging words you can’t make out. Your maid, Brigitta, must walk in during this, because you hear Jace say something to her.

When you are done, you stand up straight, your stomach settling as embarrassment does, too.

“I’m so sorry, My Prince,” you say, immediately moving away from him, cheeks flaming. You move towards the pitcher of water and take a healthy drink from the glass to clear the taste in your mouth.

“Do you feel better?” Jace asks.

“I feel mortified.”

“Why?”

“Because I just hurled my guts out before my future king,” you say, taking another drink of water.

“I wish you wouldn’t worry about that. And you should be sitting down,” he says, moving towards you carefully, like he’s worried you’ll run again. He guides you over to your bed, sitting down next to you as he props up the pillows behind you. “I sent Brigitta to the maester,” he says.

“Thank you,” you say, relaxing against the pillow. You close your eyes for a moment, letting your stomach settle. When you open them again, Jace is watching you with a soft smile. He blushes when he sees you notice.

“Sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“What—”

“I was avoiding you.”

“Oh,” he says.

“I just wanted to focus on my task here, I thought if I spent time with you, it would distract me from it.” A muscle in his jaw clenches but he nods. “And I’m sorry for what I said about your time in the Vale. I was being cruel—”

“You were right,” he says, meeting your eyes.

“I was?” you ask quietly.

“And Lady Jeyne,” he says. “I did really want to kiss you back then.” You can’t move, can’t say anything. “But tonight, after dancing with you, talking with you, bringing you back here, I have never wanted to kiss you more.” You look at him in awe, waiting for him to take it back, tell you he is joking. You can’t help but laugh.

“That cannot be true,” you say, “Did you not just witness what came out of me?” Jace laughs, his curls falling over his eyes.

“I did,” he says, “But I like taking care of you.” Your smile falls into a softer one. You realize how close the two of you are sitting – on your bed, nonetheless. His eyes are on yours, and the intensity in his makes your cheeks warm.

“You are too kind, Your High—” He cuts you off with a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“Jace,” he corrects.

“Jace,” you repeat. His eyes brighten at the name. Somehow, you have gotten even closer still, his kiss bringing him closer. Without knowing it, your fingers are on your cheek, where his lips had been. Jace smiles, and in this moment, you don’t want to fight your feelings. He leans in first, but you follow. Just a breath away from his lips on yours, and then –

“Alright, m’lady,” Brigitta says, walking into the room. Jace is up before you even realize, nodding to your maid. “Maester says this should do the trick.” She hands you a small vial, and then looks up in surprise at Jace. “Your Highness, I didn’t realize you were still here.”

He picks up his head to answer, a blush on his cheeks, a look that only endears him to you, but you cut in, “He was just keeping an eye on me until you returned. I’m sure his party is eager to have him back.” He searches your face, then nods.

“Of course. I hope you feel better, Y/N,” he says, nodding to you. He turns away but you can see the smile on his face as he leaves your room.

You were going to kiss him. Jace is certain of this, as he begrudgingly walks back to his small gathering. You were going to kiss him, and if Brigitta had been a minute later, he would have felt your lips on his.

He had emboldened himself to even kiss your cheek, and just that touch had sent him nearly spiraling. It’s true, he had loved you from the start. Five years older than him, you were everything he thought a woman should be. With lovely curves, a full mouth, and long hair he wanted to tangle himself into, he had fallen easily.

But when you had met those years ago, you saw a boy. He thought he saw the change in you when you came to King’s Landing, but the way you were looking at him tonight, looking at him all night, you saw the man he had become. And it seemed like your avoidance of him had little to do with finding a suitor, and more to do with the fact that you had feelings for him, too.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction

473 notes · View notes

backmuscles21 · 2 months ago

Text

Providing

Tsu'tey x Reader

Summary: Just some fluff about Tsu'tey being a good mate while still being rude to everyone else.

Tsu’tey called himself a provider, he was a provider of many things to many people. He provided for his clan, his family, and his home but he’d never provide for anyone more than you. He prided himself on being the best mate ever and being able to protect you and provide for you. You would tell him constantly that he was the best mate anyone could ask for, it only served to inflate his ego further.

However, one thing Tsu’tey hated, you were so different from him and not just because you were a girl but because you were human still. Now you did have an avatar, you have mated with him before Eywa, but you did want to wait before fully transferring over your consciousness completely. You and Norm enjoyed getting to have a human side still. Tsu’tey hated it, he hated that when you fell asleep you weren’t really there with him. Don’t get me wrong, caring for two bodies is a challenge and sometimes you do wish that you didn’t have to. Tsu’tey hated that sometimes you’d sleep in or something and he’d have to go to the sky people and see you. He also hated when you got sick or something and then you wouldn’t link in for a while, he hated not having you in your avatar body.

Like today, you stayed up really late doing some paperwork and science experiments with some plants and you may have gone to bed at like four in the morning. The Na’vi were early risers for the most part, so when you weren’t up at around nine, Tsu’tey came to you. He walked over to the scientists’ tents and metal home base with his usual scowl on his face. He hated being over here with the humans, he warmed up to the sky people once he got to know you and Jake but he still didn’t love being by a whole bunch of them.

He walked up to the metal door, crouched down to get inside and grabbed one of the breathing masks. He walked into the lab and saw some faces he recognized not that he cared about any of them.

“Hey Tsu’tey,” Norm said as he brought his fingers to his forehead to sign ‘I see you’ which Tsu’tey returned out of respect.

“I’m looking for my mate.”

“She’s in her room.”

Tsu’tey stayed quiet, he didn’t know where your room was or at least couldn’t remember.

“It’s at the back, first right. You’ll see her name on the door.”

Tsu’tey nodded as he headed to your room with the directions given to him. He saw your name on the door, after you showed him how to spell your name and what your name being written out in English looked like, and entered the room. Boy, you were a sight for sore eyes, you had kicked some of the sheets off your body in your sleep. Your arms were raised and your head rested on its side as you lay on your back. You looked so peaceful and so soft, Tsu’tey couldn’t help but smile and brush the back of a finger on your cheek.

You stirred lightly, Tsu’tey placed a hand on your exposed stomach, his hands were so warm. Since Pandora was so hot, you wore next to nothing to sleep, your short shorts and cropped tank top revealed a lot of skin. Tsu’tey wasn’t bothered by it, not to mention he liked to feel your soft and smooth skin. His large hand was the size of your torso, his hand splayed on your stomach dwarfing you compared to him.

He decided to kiss you awake, he kissed your forehead then your stomach. He felt your legs move and watched as your face contorted and you whined as you were being woken from your slumber. Your eyes opened slowly and you looked at the blue giant kneeling by your bed, you smiled at him and stretched. You move to sit up a little and kiss his cheek, he pulls you right off the bed and into his lap. He held you close to his large body and you snuggled into him.

“I missed you this morning.”

“Sorry, I was up late.”

“I told you not to do that.”

“But I was making good headway.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry Tsu’tey, how could I ever make it up to you.”

“Be with me forever.”

“I already am.”

He kissed your cheek and you giggled slightly, he kissed you a few more times as you giggled and squirmed in his hold. His large hands held onto your tiny body as you held onto his much larger and longer arms.

You finally decided to get up out of bed, you stretched and grabbed your water bottle by your bed. You drank the little bit left inside before the sound of you sucking in air through the straw could be heard. You went to leave your room to get more water for your water bottle before Tsu’tey wrapped his arm around your waist.

“Where are you going?”

“Just to get more water.”

“I’ll get it for you.”

“It’s fine Tsu’tey, really.”

“I am your mate and I can provide for you.”

“Do you even know where the water cooler is?”

“I can find it.”

“Well, all the power to you then,” you hand him your water bottle and sit on your bed as he leaves, you knew there was no fighting with him on it.

He leaves your room and walks to where all the scientists are.

“You,” Tsu’tey points at Norm, “where do I find the water to fill this?” Tsu’tey showed him your water bottle he held.

“I can fill it up for you.”

“No, I can fill it myself for my mate.”

“It would probably be easier if I-“

“Just show me where it is.”

“It’s back down the same hallway as the bedrooms, but it will be the room without a door. You see the jug with the water in it. Just push the little handle down.” Tsu’tey didn’t entirely understand but he was nothing if not a good mate.

Tsu’tey went and searched for the contraption the human talked about, once he found what he presumed was the machine, he kneeled down and his large hand held your water bottle and his single finger pushed down on the lever. He felt so silly for doing things this way when he could go out and forge you fresh water with no problem.

He felt too big for this place and really, he was, it was made for at best a six-foot frame, he was like quadruple that. He went back to your room and handed you your water bottle, you had sat up on your bed and Tsu’tey sat on the floor in front of you. You smiled at him and took a big drink.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for my mate.”

#tsu'tey te rongloa ateyitan #avatar #tsu'tey x reader #avatar 2009 #tsu'tey avatar

262 notes · View notes

kingofbodyrolls · 7 months ago

Text

7 Summers at the Sea | bts | series masterlist

Spending the summer by the sea might bring with it more than just the sweet summer breeze of the salty ocean.

→ AUs: mermaid!au (they are mermen!), fantasy, magical → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack, drama, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Taglist: do you want to be added to the taglist? Just drop a comment or send an ask (remember to tell me if you want to be tagged in all, one or more members). → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: hi!!!! I love mermaid stories, and I don’t think there’s enough out there, so here’s me creating my own 🧜 This is a collection of mermaid stories for each member of bangtan! They are one-shots and stand-alone, but operate in the same universe ✨

🌊Namjoon You’ve been searching for gemstones deep on the seabed— having found a broken piece of blue aquamarine. Searching for the missing piece and your new rival, you find it and much more with the blue tailed merman Namjoon while on a quest for crystals. → Deep Dive [19.8k]

🌊Seokjin Life as a mermaid is wonderful, especially when your merman boyfriend, Seokjin, treats you just right. But you’re beginning to recall memories that you don’t think are yours from life on land— from a past life maybe? When you do realize that the memories are in fact your own, the world comes tumbling down around you, questioning your very existence. Are you even a real mermaid? → When it Sinks In [13.1k]

🌊Yoongi You know how the story goes; girl meets charming man, only to find out that he’s a merman and the more you get to know him you realize how cold and unforgiving he is. Thinking you can bring the sun to calm his storm you fall deep for him— only problem? He doesn’t love you back. → Of Salt and Shadow [TBA]

🌊Hoseok Hoseok is royalty in the underwater city of Naraeum, and he’s bored. Bored of duties and responsibility, he recklessly searches for fun on land, testing love potions he stole from the Sea Witch. None of them have worked so far, until one day; there’s you, a human he doesn’t know claiming to be in love with him. It might be fun, he thinks, a way for him to rebel against his family because they would never allow him to mate with a human. → Forelsket [TBA]

🌊Jimin You don’t really enjoy your work on a trawler, but it pays the rent. When you hear some ruckus out of the deck, you go out to investigate, only to be met by an unreal sight: a blonde merman with a sparkly golden tail caught in the net, struggling to get free. → To Catch a Merman [17.8k]

🌊Taehyung You’ve always been captivated by the sea—a love as deep and endless as the tides. But when tragedy strikes, that love turns bittersweet, and you find yourself drawn to the very thing that stole a part of your soul. Night after night, you pour your sorrows into the embrace of moonlight and whisper your pain to the stars. Then, one fateful evening, a merman surfaces from the depths—a being of myth and wonder. Will you dare to believe in fairytales and the magic of second chances? In hope, love, and the possibility of forever? Perhaps, he’s here to show you that even in the darkest corners, beauty and light can still thrive. → Moonglade [15.4k]

🌊Jungkook When your childhood friend that you had a crush on, moved away out of the blue— you never thought you’d see him again. A night swim in the ocean will have you feeling delusional, but the voice that fills your ears— sweet like cotton candy, you’d recognize that voice anywhere, it’s Jungkook. → Till We Meet Again [11.4k]

I don’t plan to have them all ready this summer, lol 😂 But they are all in the works, with my other 100+ wips (I really don’t have that many, I’m just exaggerating).

The list will be updated as I post them ✨

Also, please, do let me know if you’re excited— I’m struggling with posting and sometimes I feel like there’s no point in posting, because people don’t engage (= I’m losing motivation is what I’m saying).

Are you ready to take a swim? 🌊🧜

467 notes · View notes

vampsywrites · 1 year ago

Text

II — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Sun&Moon couple, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped, Mentions of Jealousy&Possessiveness, Romantic tension, Neteyam wanting to impress his girl, Lo'ak having the time of his life teasing the shit out of Neteyam, Reader has that Tsahik rizz

Word Count: 2.8k | AO3 LINK

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

With the village of the Iuva'ri clan now their new home, the Sullys followed you past open fields, their eyes wandering in amazement at the sights.

Everywhere they looked, the hustle and bustle of daily life surrounded them. Hunters could be seen hauling large beasts into the village, farmers had their hands deep in the earth as they worked to ensure a bountiful harvest, and weavers, with their deft hands, skillfully crafted intricate patterns into fabric.

Though the environment was not too different from what they were used to in the forest, it was still a significant change from the wild, cluttered jungle they had known all their life.

While his family was busy taking all of the clan in, Neteyam was fully focused on you. He watched in fascination as the village parted when you walked past, people practically throwing themselves aside to clear your path. From elders to children, they bowed in reverence and greeted you with warmth and admiration, recognizing you as their Tsahìk.

Through the walk, Neteyam also couldn't help but notice how your presence captured the attention of the young men and women around. Warriors, weavers, hunters – they all seemed to be drawn to you, stopping in their tracks with blushing cheeks as they exchanged hushed words. Their lingering gazes and subtle glances, their eyes which seemed to follow you like a predator stalking its prey, didn't escape Neteyam's watchful eyes.

As he observed this intense attention you garnered, a pang of possessiveness surged through his gut, and his tail lashed out in irritation.

Neteyam felt torn, battling with the internal struggle of feeling irrationally possessive. Deep down, he knew he had no right to be jealous. After all, he had no claim over you, and he had yet to truly earn your trust and affection.

The announcement of your courtship clearly took the clan by surprise. While some genuinely celebrated your happiness, others found it difficult to hide their envy. Evident by the glares sent his way from those who might have hoped to be in his place.

This scrutiny only served to intensify his emotions.

"This will be your home now," you called out, your voice calm and welcoming, pulling him away from his thoughts. Neteyam watched as you guided them to a beautifully crafted hut elevated on bamboo wooden stilts. It stood gracefully above the ground, a testament to the skilled craftsmanship of your people. The roof was steeply pitched and thatched with nipa palm leaves, while the walls were intricately woven from bamboo slats.

Tuktirey gasped in amazement, her eyes wide with childish wonder as she marveled at the hut's elevated design. "It's so tall!" she exclaimed, clearly impressed by the unique structure.

You hummed, understanding their awe and sensing the underlying hesitation in some of them.

"You will grow to like it," you reassured with a small smile. "It may be different from what you're used to, but it will keep you safe and warm. Our people have lived in harmony with Eywa and these lands for generations."

Tuktirey beamed up at you. "I can't wait to explore and learn more about your ways," she cheers, enthusiasm evident.

“I am sure you will learn well, little one,” you hum, running a hand through her braided hair.

With ease, you then moved towards the stairs, climbing up with a sense of familiarity as you began to haul their belongings to their new home. The family followed behind you, still feeling a tad bit out of place.

After ensuring they were comfortable, you began to excuse yourself, knowing you needed to give them some privacy. As you walked past Neteyam, catching his gaze, you gently rest your hand upon his chest. After murmuring a quick goodbye, you withdrew your hand and swiftly left the hut. Neteyam’s mind ran haywire, the spot where your hand had been burned with a sudden fire, leaving a lingering sensation on his skin that he couldn't shake off.

Eywa. It had only been a day and already you had an effect on him.

With your departure, the family gathered together, finding a spot to discuss the events that had transpired earlier. Neytiri paced back and forth in the open hut, footsteps loud against the wooden flooring, her mind racing with a myriad of thoughts and emotions.

"Alright," Jake sighed, running a rugged hand down his face, breaking through the tension. "We have to unpack what just happened earlier."

Neytiri nodded, her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the situation. Her eyes turned to Neteyam, concern evident in her voice as she asked, "Ma'itan, are you sure of this?"

"Oh, he sure is," Lo'ak answered for his brother, sending a grin his way. "I mean—Did you hear him back there?"

"I will accept this proposal. Only if she will have me," he mocked, mimicking Neteyam's accent in a deep, gravely tone. Kiri couldn't help but hide her face with her hand, trying to stifle her laughter.

"Skxawng," Neteyam snarled playfully and gave Lo'ak a light smack in response, which only made his younger siblings laugh even more.

"Enough, you two," Neytiri's voice rang out, cutting through the air. She shook her head in exasperation, her beaded locks swaying and rattling with her movements. Turning her attention back to her eldest, her tone dropped a timbre as she murmured, "Neteyam, this is a big decision. Are you truly sure about this? You wish to mate with that woman?"

Neteyam's gaze shifted from his brother to his mother, lips drawing into a contemplative frown as the weight of it all settled heavily on his shoulders. The significance of such a union wasn't lost on him. The mating bond was not merely a union of bodies; it was the fusion of two souls, a sacred connection dictated by Eywa. He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to express his feelings.

"I am sure," he replied, his voice steady, despite the turmoil inside him. Neytiri studied his face for a moment, catching the hesitation laced in his expression.

"You do not have to do something your heart is against," his mother whispered, reaching forward, both of her hands finding his tense shoulders, rubbing deep circles into his muscle. Neteyam felt the warmth and reassurance in his mother's touch, and for a moment, he leaned into it, finding comfort in her presence.

"That’s the thing. My heart isn’t against it. I just… I felt something when I saw her." He then hesitated, struggling to unknot his mind and put his feelings into words. "Like-Like a heartbeat."

Kiri's eyes sparkled with wonder, a look of recognition flashing behind her eyes. Her tail swished with delight as she leaned forward eagerly, the shawl slipping off her shoulder in the haste of her movement. "You must have felt Eywa's connection with her. Was it like a calling? Could you feel a mighty heartbeat?"

Neteyam froze, his gaze turning to his younger sister.

"Yes. Exactly that, Kiri," he replied, his voice filled with a hint of disbelief. "It was like… she was calling out to me in some way, as if our souls were somehow intertwined."

Kiri's excitement grew, and she couldn't contain her joy. “Eywa has blessed you with a gift, brother. Rarely do mates feel such a deep soul connection on the first time they meet."

"Soul connection? That’s love at first sight, huh?" Jake interjected, his eyes glinting as he glanced at Neytiri with a knowing smile. "Sound familiar?"

Neytiri's stern façade softened as she smiled back, unable to hide her amusement. "Yes, it does," she admitted with a fondness in her voice. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of understanding and warmth as she looked at her eldest son. "Neteyam, ma’itan, if you truly feel this connection, then it may be a sign from Eywa herself. The steps you take next will be entirely up to you."

"It's just like those stories we've heard, bro. Soulmates and destined love,” Lo’ak chimed in. “You and her, together, guided by Eywa's hand," he smirked, clasping his hands together and making kissy faces. Neteyam huffed, shaking his head.

"Yeah. It might be like that," he admitted with a touch of bashfulness.

"But let's not get carried away with the dramatics,” Neteyam sighs, snapping himself back to reality. “I still want to get to know her first. I want to take it slow.”

“Slow, huh? Is that what you call asking her to mate with you on the spot?" Lo’ak laughed.

“Lo’ak!” Neytiri hissed, glaring at him disapprovingly.

"I did not ask her to mate with me on the spot!" Neteyam snaps through gritted teeth, his voice rising slightly in embarrassment.

Lo'ak's laughter boomed through the air, thoroughly relishing the sight of his older brother's flustered expression. It was a rare occasion for Neteyam to be caught off guard by his teasing, always having a smartass rebut at the tip of his tongue.

"Yeah? Well, it sure looked like it to me," he snickered, his tail swishing back and forth in interest. Neytiri intervened, smacking him upside on the head. Lo’ak winced in response, and nursed the spot where his mother had hit him.

"Ow, ow, I get it," he groaned, lying flat on the floor. "I'll stop."

"Alright. ‘Nough of that. Come on," Jake said, with a chuckle, huddling everyone close. Once they had formed a circle, he began to address them, his tone taking on a more serious note, "Listen, I really need you kids to be on your best behavior. And I mean it."

Jake shifts his gaze to his eldest son, “Neteyam becoming a candidate for future Olo'eyktan already stirred things up enough. And I don’t even need to tell you just how messy that’s going to be.”

Neteyam heaved out a tense sigh, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. “Sorry, sir.”

“We’re gonna get through this,” Jake continued, dismissing Neteyam’s apology, his voice carrying a tone of reassurance. “Together.”

Neytiri moved closer to her husband, gently placing her head over Jake's shoulder. “What does your father always say?” Neytiri murmured, her voice soft and soothing.

“Sullys stick together…”

“Little more feeling this time!"

“Sullys stick together!”

As the night falls and the stars twinkle in the dark sky, they finally retire to their new sleeping arrangements. Neteyam lays on his makeshift bed, a woven mat made out of palm and leaves, his mind abuzz with thoughts. He gazes out of the hut's opening, where he can catch a glimpse of you in the moonlight, going about your duties as Tsahìk, checking up on a few of the sick and injured in their huts.

Your silhouette against the moonlit backdrop mesmerizes him, and he finds himself drawn to your presence like a moth to a flame. As you notice his gaze, you offer him a reassuring nod before continuing your duties. His heart swells with warmth at the acknowledgment.

With the comfort of your presence lingering in his mind, Neteyam turns onto his back, feeling a sense of peace settle over him. The gentle rustle of palm leaves outside and the distant sounds of the forest lull him into a state of relaxation. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into a deep and restful sleep.

The next morning, the village awakens early. The sky is painted in hues of pink and orange as the sun begins to rise over the mountains. Knocking gently at the side of their hut, you had called for them before the sun could even fully emerge, offering to show them more of the village and its surrounding wonders.

You lead them through the mountains, showing Kiri, Lo'ak, Tuk, and Neteyam the ways of life in this breathtaking terrain. The trees stand tall and proud, similar to those in the forest they once called home, but here they bear a different kind of energy, surrounded by majestic mountains which hold ancient tales of the ancestors before them. The group walks amidst the trees, their senses heightened by the subtle sounds of wildlife and the fresh scent of earth.

As you lead them further, you come across vast rice fields, a breathtaking sight of lush green beauty stretching as far as the eye can see. The fields seem to come alive with the morning sunlight. The stalks of rice sway gently in the breeze, creating a mesmerizing dance, captivating the forest Na’vi.

Amidst the exploration, Neteyam's keen eyes spot a group of mountain climbers in the distance, scaling a rocky hill.

"What are they doing?" he questions, his curiosity piqued.

"They're practicing for the coming-of-age ceremony," you say, your gaze following the climbers. Neteyam's curiosity turns into intrigue, and he listens intently as you begin to explain.

"It's an ascent to the clouded peak," you share, pointing to a towering mountain in the distance, its summit shrouded in mist. "At dawn, the candidates gather at the base. It is the tallest mountain in the region and they must set out on a journey to reach the summit."

Lo’ak whistles, grimacing while he sizes up the daunting landscape before him. "We have to climb that?" he asks incredulously.

“Only if you want to. Your Omatikayan ikinimaya should be enough for you to be recognized in the clan,” you assure him with a pat on his back.

Neteyam stays silent for the next few minutes, his faraway gaze directed towards the rocky mountain. Suddenly, he startles everyone by speaking up, the words slipping from his mouth causing your eyes to rip wide open.

"I want to partake in it," he says, his voice steady and resolute. The sudden declaration shakes everyone, and his siblings turn their attention fully to him, waiting to hear his reasoning.

You too gaze up at him in disbelief. "Are you certain?" you ask, wanting to ensure that he fully comprehends the challenges that lie ahead. “This is no simple feat—”

"I am strong," Neteyam interrupts, sounding a little harsher than he had intended, but it was important to him that you knew of his abilities. "I will be able to train for it well."

Your milky eyes drop to his battle-hardened body, sweeping over his broad shoulders and the ridges of his defined muscles, glistening softly in the sun’s glow. The scars etched on his skin tell tales of past battles and trials, a testament to his experience. Neteyam holds his ground, finding himself flexing subconsciously under your gaze.

"I know you are strong," you retort.

"Yes—"

"But the warriors of the forest are different from those of the mountains," you cut him off with a pointed stare. "It is not just about physical strength; you will have to learn how they train, their techniques, and their ways of life," you begin to move towards him, a challenging look in your eyes. "It is difficult to fill a cup that is already full."

Neteyam's jaw clenches, his gaze unwavering. "Then I will empty my cup. I will adapt," he asserts with passion. "I will prove myself not just to your people but to myself as well. If I am to be chief, I have to embrace your ways."

"Pretty sure you just want to impress her, bro," Lo’ak quips. Neteyam scowls at his remark and, in a swift motion, drives his elbow straight into his younger brother's side. At the impact, Lo’ak immediately folds, nursing his side as his face contorts in pain. “Fuck!”

Ignoring Lo’ak, Neteyam turns back to you, his expression steadfast and unwavering. In that moment, he feels an overwhelming longing to prove himself to you, to earn your admiration and love based on his own merits, not just because of any preconceived notions or expectations.

His determination shines like a beacon, and his sincerity tugs at your heartstrings. It's as if he's baring his soul before you, showing you the depths of his desire to be someone you can truly respect and admire.

With a hum, you settle back, your tail flickering behind you in intrigue. If the rumors carried by the wind from clan to clan about him were to be believed, then you should have known he would want to partake in the ceremony.

Such a bold spirit, evident in those golden eyes of his every time he spoke. The mountains around you seemed to echo with approval, as if Eywa herself was acknowledging his resolve.

"If you are that eager, then I will teach you," you say, the decision firm in your heart. It feels as if a weight is lifted off his shoulders at your acceptance of his offer. Neteyam hums, trying to maintain a stoic expression but the telltale flicks of his ears and tail betray his anticipation and eagerness.

"Do not be mistaken, though. I will not baby you," you add with a daring lilt in your voice. You begin to walk away, the swing of your hips matching the sway of your tail. "Let us hope you can keep up, mighty warrior."

That seemed to only fuel the fire within him further.

Neteyam’s chest rumbles in a deep laugh, a fanged grin stretching across his cheeks. "Yes, ma’am.”

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

see you in the next episode where the reader works her future husband's ass to the ground xoxo

TAGLIST: @rainbowsocks @milktealvrr @strawberri-blonde

2K notes · View notes

outofconcheol · 3 months ago

Text

The Sun Also Rises (LMH x F!Reader)

pairing: dancer!Minho x ballerina!reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: smut, fluff, some angst, strangers to lovers, travel au, 18+

summary: sometimes, one night is all it takes to change everything. and that's where Minho meets you.

warnings: pov switches, feelings of burnout and poor mental health discussed, alcohol, swearing, alcohol, kind of a language barrier (Minho can understand but is bad at speaking English), lots of tension, they're literally idiots I can't, Hyunjin being the voice of reason, Kento Yamazaki also makes a cameo (twinnn where have you been)

word count: 8k

a/n: consider this my early bday gift to me (and Minho), since both of our bdays are coming up in October. this is based on the film Before Sunrise. I'm very happy with how this fic turned out, it feels very me, so i hope you enjoy! thank you to Beezy @hobeemin for the lovely banner!

smut warnings under the cut!

smut warnings: sexual tension abound, lots of kissing (too much for two people who just met), grinding, beach sex (be cautious when attempting irl), nipple play, fingering (f!receiving), pull-out method (again be cautious and wrap it before you tap it), cumshot

The night breeze rustles through the trees, and even though it's late, the city teems with life. Whispers can be heard around every corner, the clinking of wine glasses muddled with the sound of laughter. Minho’s stomach rumbles, the warm, spicy scent of paella wafting from somewhere nearby, and he remembers he hasn’t eaten since this morning.

For a brief moment, he misses the food back in Korea – the deep, earthy flavour of a steaming pot of doenjang jjigae from his eomma’s kitchen. He should really call his parents – they’d probably want to know how their son ended up lost and halfway across the world, stumbling through Gracìa on an empty stomach.

To be fair, Minho didn’t even know himself. If he was Hyunjin, he could have said that he was attracted to the abstract, flowing architecture of Gaudì, and he wanted to study it. Maybe if he was Jeongin, he’d point to the numerous shops and boutiques that lined the streets of Barcelona, a fashion lover’s paradise.

But he was Lee Minho – a failed dance school drop-out, kicked out of his own crew because one day, the music had just stopped. And so did he, frozen in the middle of the routine, before he made a break for it and ran. The weak link in the chain. A note slightly out of tune.

The discordance of it all didn’t escape him – being here in such an enchanting city, when inside it felt like he’d stumbled and stumbled until he wasn’t even sure if he’d ever be able to dance again.

And he only had himself to blame.

The streets continue to wind, Minho’s sluggish feet under their spell, going wherever they lead. He remains a prisoner to his thoughts, the sights melding into a blur around him, until suddenly, he hears it. Around the corner.

Music.

And not just any kind – real music. The jovial sound of a live band, so different from the synthetic beats he was used to when it came to choreographing. His feet have a mind of their own, entranced and leading him straight to the source of the sound.

The scene he stumbles into is beyond what he could have imagined for this time of night – under a canopy of twinkling lights, were dancers. Dancers everywhere, twirling and prancing like they were out of a storybook, perfectly in tune with the music.

Minho ducks behind a tree, his foot tapping in sync to the beat, and watches them dance, their toes skipping from right to left as they move back in forth in a circle. It’s beyond captivating, and he longs to join them.

He wonders if they recognize him as one of them, or if he seems like just another plain tourist, happily enjoying the feeling of getting lost in a foreign city.

The circle stalls, the music changing into a slower, more enthralling lilt, to signal the entry of someone new. Minho’s eyebrow quirks when the sea of people parts, the moon’s spotlight now on a solitary figure.

His breath catches in his throat as he spots you – nimble movements a stark contrast to the rustic giddiness of the common crowd. He knows you must be classically trained – movements precise and ethereal, your meticulous form a stark contrast to the fluidity that surrounds you. He’s spellbound with the way you move – a vision of grace, so different from the swift, powerful movements he was used to executing, watching how the music takes hold of you, like you’re a marionette on strings, letting it lead you wherever you need to go.

Time ceases to exist the longer he watches, taken with the elegant lines of your body, a smile pulling at his lips. He’s so lost in his mind that he doesn’t notice when the music stops, until he feels the rustle of a figure next to him.

Minho turns in surprise, and tumbles backwards into the tree.

It’s you. The dancer.

Your doe eyes look up at him in concern, and it’s only then that Minho feels the sharp twang of pain from colliding with the sturdy trunk, rubbing gingerly at his shoulder.

“Are you always this clumsy?” Your lips curve in a lovely grin, and Minho feels his ears grow hot.

“I’m sorry, I’m new here, I didn’t…” he manages to choke out, too drawn in by the way your eyes sparkle with amusement and mischief.

“Sooo, should I call you New Here, or…” you trail off, and Minho pauses, a few silent breaths passing between you before he finally gets it. His name. You were asking for his name.

“Minho.”

“Ah. Minho. I’m ____.”

“You dance well,” Minho manages to blurt out.

The words felt heavy on his tongue, like it’d been ages since he’d talked to someone unfamiliar, too caught up in his comfortable ways. His schedule had been simple. Eat, sleep, dance, repeat. And of course go home to feed the cats. But being here felt like challenging everything he’d known.

“You noticed?” You raise an eyebrow in question, and Minho can tell that you’re wondering whether he’s being genuine or saying it just to say it. You were probably used to it – fleeting tourists who flirted for a brief moment before disappearing into the night, too captivated by your beauty to act reasonably.

Maybe he was a fool then too.

“I dance as well. Not here though. Back home. It’s different,” he steps closer, heart warming when you don’t back away, honoured that he’s won your trust. Dance was a language he could always speak, no matter where he was in the world.

“Different isn’t always bad,” you reply, tilting your head curiously. “What do you dance?”

“Hip-hop,” he rambles, feeling his shyness dissipate when you tune in to the conversation. “It’s not like you, I mean you were–, wow, but I like to tell stories. When I dance.”

He feels himself grow warm at his stilted words, silently cursing the fact that he hadn’t taken Chan up on those English lessons when he’d met up with him for coffee last time. But he never imagined he’d be here.

Your smile only grows as you nod your head along with his words, understanding exactly what he meant.

“So, Minho, what brings you here? To Barcelona.”

Minho bristles, unsure how to answer the question. There were so many reasons, and you were a complete stranger. Did he dare reveal the truth?

“Here, I can be lost, I think,” Minho whispers, hoping you’ll know he means in more than ways than one. “Seoul is different. I think too much. The noise hurts.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I moved here six years ago, and sometimes it feels like I’m living inside a painting. It’s both magical and lonely sometimes.”

A flicker of relief washes over him. You understood him. Minho had been searching for so long for someone who understood – his friends could comfort him, but they didn’t really get it. The paralysis he felt.

“You’re kind. Kind and good at dancing,” he grins shyly, bunny teeth poking through his lips.

“You’re good with words,” you tease back. “You should have been a writer instead.”

“Too late for that now,” Minho sighs, his entire figure slumping, and he watches you freeze. He wants to tell you it’s not your fault he feels this way, that you didn’t do anything, but the words remain clogged in his throat.

“Well it’s barely 10pm. I wouldn’t say it’s that late,” you say, voice filled with warmth, and Minho slowly comes back to himself, giving you a chuckle.

“Can I, you, we, go somewhere? Together?”

Minho watches you pause for a moment, scared that what he’d offered caused you to hesitate. But something about you made him want to keep talking to you, even if it was only for tonight.

“Sure, I’d love to.” He watches your eyes scrunch in enthusiasm. “I can show you some of my favourite places around the city.”

You beckon to him with a hand, gesturing to the shadowy streets. Minho gulped – this was the biggest risk he’d taken since being here, almost a risk as big as leaving Korea. But with the way you’d captured him from the very first moment he’d seen you tonight, he wondered if it might just be one that paid off.

The night air hums with a new kind of energy as Minho follows you through the streets – whereas before, it all seemed a blur, now the city had truly come alive in his eyes. He peered through the windows of every building you passed, watching happy patrons laugh with each other, the heady buzz of alcohol in their veins.

Minho’s stomach only grumbles louder at the thought of booze, a pang of hunger hitting him. Embarrassed, he braces a hand around his stomach, hoping you haven’t caught on —

But you’re more perceptive than he gives you credit for, already turning around to face him.

“Okay, I definitely know where we need to go first,” you flick his arm, and Minho yelps at the surprising amount of force in the tiny jab. “You can’t dance on an empty stomach.”

Minho wants to tell you that he’d never planned on dancing at all, wasn’t even sure if he could anymore, but you’re forging ahead, on a mission.

A couple of blocks later, and Minho is hit with a tantalizing array of scents – the zing of freshly ground spices, the florality of fresh fruits, and the richness of cooked meats.

“Welcome to one of my favourite places in Barcelona,” you grin, gesturing to the wide variety of stalls laid out in front of you both. “Please take your pick.”

Minho knows exactly what he wants, heading straight for a stall serving paella. He’d passed too many damn places with the stuff already, he wasn’t going to miss out on it this time.

You following along, practically skipping with him, eyes alight with excitement.

Minho falters when the kind old gentleman running the stall greets him with an ¡hola!.

“I, uh, uno, por favor,” he stutters, ears burning with embarrassment.

You step in, gracefully saving Minho from his shame, quickly tittering off a huge order to the stall owner, and Minho feels himself relax.

“He said it’ll take a little bit for the food,” you tell him. “Do you want to explore for a bit?”

Bobbing his head yes, Minho wishes he could so badly take your hand as you weave through the market. But he wasn’t sure if you’d find that overstepping. Whatever he felt, all he knew was that the night seemed endless in the best way, full of possibilities.

The loud voices of the vendors and the clanging of different pots meld together like s symphony in his head, and Minho feels his cold limbs fill up with warmth. Maybe, just maybe, he’d come out of this trip being able to dance again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho sees something that makes him stop in his tracks. He taps you on the shoulder, and your face falls with concern, but when you turn to see what he’s pointing at, your eyes light up again.

“Hola,” Minho approaches the flower stall more confidently this time. The fresh scent of many different blooms makes him think of his mother’s garden in Korea, full of mugunghwas. He sees the brilliant hue of a bouquet of red carnations, and silently puts up a finger, his eyes darting to you.

The lady running the stall understands him immediately, her eyes gleaming with excitement. She grabs one from the bunch, taking special care to trim the stem. Minho rummages around in his pocket for some spare change, handing the lady more than she probably charged him for, but his heart thuds as he turns around, holding the flower out.

“For you,” he says shyly. “You’re a good guide.”

He watches your lips part in a surprised oh!, and your entire face changes colour when he holds out the flower, suddenly becoming just as shy.

“Oh Minho, you shouldn’t have… thank you.”

You take the flower from him, thumbing at the soft petals and inhaling the sweet scent. You’d received hundreds of flowers in your lifetime, huge bouquets filled with every single kind you could think of, but somehow Minho’s humble gift of a single stem makes you feel the most special. Like he actually sees you.

The two of you remain there for a few moments, unable to follow the exchange with words, until you catch the lady from the stall eyeing you both curiously.

“I think… I think maybe we should go eat,” you finally manage to breathe out, breaking the haze of the exchange. You weren’t sure why it had been so charged, a still moment amidst the hectic market, but it felt like something you’d want to hold on to.

"___?” Minho looks at you, his voice soft. “I’m glad I came here. With you.”

You met his gaze, heart beating just a little faster.

"Me too."

Belly full, Minho follows you again through the city. Anyone looking at the two of you would think he was a little lost cat, following you around. But really, it was the opposite. Something about him made you want to stay with him. In your six years in the city, you hadn’t made very many friends. You chalked it up the the demanding nature of your job, saying you were always tired after dance practice and your feet were sore from wearing pointe shoes 85% of the time.

But you knew that was mostly an excuse. Right here, right now, it felt nice being with someone. Sharing things with someone. It only made you think of what would happen when the night would end, and Minho would leave, your loneliness welcoming you into the abyss once more.

Turning the corner, you spot it. The cozy bar was tucked away on a quiet street, its silence punctuated by the soft clinking of glasses.

Pushing the wooden door ajar, you lead Minho into the small, quaint space, filled with flickering candles and the scent of citrus and spices. The bartender sees you come in, waving a hand in greeting, and his grin only widens more when he sees Minho trail in behind you.

“Hello Kento,” you wave back, and Minho pauses again, studying the man across the bar.

“おはようございます (ohayu gozaimasu),” Minho’s low voice rumbles among the quiet din of the bar, and your jaw drops open in surprise. Minho does nothing but wink, moving to a quiet corner to pull out a chair for you.

Kento comes by to take your order, tempting you both with some of the fine-label vermouth he keeps under the bar, and you watch Minho quietly converse with him for a few moments, exchanging hushed words in Japanese.

His voice is pretty, you think. In another life maybe he could have been a singer.

“You’re full of surprises,” you tease him, watching him fidget with his napkin.

“Tokyo is close by to Seoul,” he shrugs like it’s nothing. “And I like to watch animes.”

“Where did you come from Minho? Why haven’t we met before?” You give him a wide grin.

Minho becomes quiet, his handsome face marred by what seems to be a dark cloud.

“Leaving Korea was not my plan,” he manages to grunt. “I have things there. My cats. An apartment. Dancing.”

“So what made you do it?” The words slip out, and instantly you regret them, watching pain twinge on his face. You’d hit an unexpected nerve.

“I’m looking for something,” he admits. “I don’t know what it is. My friend Hyunjin told me about Barcelona.”

“Well I think we were always meant to meet then. Hyunjin sent you to me so I can help you,” you reach over, grabbing his hand within yours. Under the dim light you study it – muscled and with prominent veins. He had a dancer’s body for certain. “Us lonely dancers only have each other to rely on huh?”

“Dancing made me happy. I, uh, what’s the word, like clothes, they–” he stumbles through his thoughts, but you don’t need him to voice them.

“Fit. It makes you feel like you belong.”

“Not anymore.”

“Why?” you blurt out, instantly regretting it when he recoils. “I’m sorry Minho, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no it’s okay.”

Kento swings by then, with two glasses of vermouth, rich, and slightly sweet with a hint of bitterness. Watching Minho knock back the alcohol, you see his body loosen up, instantly feeling the tension from the previous conversation melt away.

“Have you ever had a bad dance?” Minho asks, brown eyes glimmering with interest.

“Oh, many times,” you respond with a light laugh. “One time, when I just moved here, I slipped during a performance of Swan Lake in front of a huge crowd. I locked myself in my apartment for a week.”

Minho chuckles, but then leans in, like he’s genuinely concerned. “How did you recover?”

You know he’s probably talking about the smarting ankle you must have had, but you think he means more.

“I walked in the next week and continued dancing like nothing happened, But it took time to get over. The pressure to be perfect can be overwhelming sometimes.”

Minho nodded, understanding the weight of expectations when it came to doing what you both loved.

“I want to let go,” he says, gaze softening. “But it’s hard.”

“I believe in you, Minho. You’ll find the music again.”

“For you, I’ll try,” he teases softly, but you can hear the hint of determination in his voice.

Your eyes met, and for a moment, the air between you crackled. You realize this entire time, you hadn’t let go of Minho’s hand. And he hadn’t made you either. Pulling him up with you, Minho yelps in surprise, barely having a second to wave goodbye to Kento before you’re dragging him through the door, back out into the cold night.

“I think I know something that may help.”

Buzzing from the alcohol, you drag Minho deeper into the neighbourhood, the glow of the streetlights casting a warm golden hue over the cobblestones.

Heat radiates from where his palm meets yours, a soft breeze helping to calm the racing of your heart. Eventually, you hear it – the echo of a faint tune reverberating from the nearby buildings, and you know you’re almost there. A group of street musicians come into view, their lively jig fading away to a slower, more sensual melody.

“You’ve been talking this entire time about being bad at dancing, but I haven’t seen you actually do it,” You giggle, eyes gleaming with mischief. You take a few steps towards the middle of the square, beckoning Minho with a playful grin. “Come on.”

You watch Minho stall, and your heart races, thinking maybe you messed up. Maybe it was too soon for him, maybe he was scared and didn’t want to try again.

“Here? In front of everyone?” he replied, chewing nervously at his lip.

“Why not?” you challenge. “Forget everyone else. It’s just you and me. Two people who love to dance.”

You squeeze Minho’s hand in yours, squealing in shock when he pulls you close to him, arm wrapping around your waist. Leaning into his chest, you inhale his warm, woody scent, feeling yourself shiver.

“Okay,” he sighs. “But don’t think badly of me.”

“I could never,” you whisper into his neck.

Minho chuckles at that, stepping back to dramatically bow, before sweeping you into his arms once more. You move into the open space of the plaza, surrendering to the rhythm as the notes of the music envelope you both. Pressing lightly into Minho, your hand comes to rest in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“Tell me more about you,” you breathe against his lips. “I want to know.”

“My cats, they’re called Soonie, Doongie and Dori, they live with me in my apartment,” he smiles, pride taking over his expression when he thinks of them. “You?”

You twirl free from him, dress flaring for a moment,, then spin back, hand finding his once more.

“My mother was a ballet dancer. She hurt herself when I was young and could never dance again. It’s why I chose to follow her,” you admit, finally letting yourself break free from the walls you’d built.

You let your arms float gracefully above your head, marveling at the way you and Minho moved together. His movements were fluid and free, a sharp contrast to your precision, bodies weaving together like the finest tapestry. The air between you crackled, the pull between you like two halves of a magnet.

“You’re beautiful,” Minho says, his gaze intense as it meets your eyes, then travels, to your lips, down your neck, even further. You feel a throb between your legs, sparks erupting across your skin everywhere he touched.

The heat between you was palpable, an electric current that seemed to pulse with every beat of the music. The world no longer felt as big or scary anymore, narrowed down to the two of you, everything else fading into the background.

Suddenly, the scene around you spins, and you’re looking up at the stars, Minho’s face hovering above yours. You lean in, lips ghost against his jaw.

“Am I distracting you, Minho?” His breath caught at your query, and he sighs, drinking in the subtle scent of your skin.

You gasp when he spins you around, back meeting his front. Shivers run up your spine when he leans in, chuckling in your ear.

“Yes, but I like it,” he groans, low voice ringing in your ears, and everything around you fades as you begin to move together. Hips swaying side to side, Minho’s palms settle below your waist, so close to where you need him, and you whine softly. Even though you’re turned away, you can feel his smirk in your ear, and it all feels like it’s too much. Yet you don’t want it to stop.

The haze lifts with one particular thrust of his hips into you. A small moan leaves your mouth, and everything clears, and your heart begins to race. Shakily, your eyes meet Minho’s, surprised to find them blown out in deep pools of lust.

Minho’s shaking fingers cup the line of your jaw, his lips pressing against yours. You comd your fingers through his hair, sighing against him, finally giving in. He kisses you first with the utmost gentleness, pulling back to search your eyes for anything wrong.

Despite the chill in the night air, you’ve never felt warmer.

When you nod no, Minho leans in again, his previous gentleness giving way to hunger, the tip of his tongue gliding past your lower lip, sighing at your taste. You feel like you’ll keel over if he’s not holding you, all the blood in your body rushing away from your head.

When he finally pulls away, breathless and wide-eyed, you feel your words clogged in the back of your throat.

“I-,” you struggle, seeking brief respite from the emotions coursing through you, but not wanting the moment to end.

“I didn’t expect this night to turn out like this,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper, filled with awe.

“I’m glad it did,” Minho replied.

Looking around, you realize the music had long stopped, the band dispersing, no sign that they were even there to witness you and Minho’s dance.

“Do you have to go?” Minho asks, and his voice sounds impossibly small, like he’s afraid to know the answer.

You pause. So much waited for you ahead – performances, errands, the struggles of daily life in a foreign city. But you decided that right now, you had more than enough time to leave that behind.

Shaking your head, you nod no, air swirling with the thrill of the unexpected. And you were ready to embrace whatever came next.

Minho feels the breeze ruffle his hair, and lets his eyes close, shoulders sighing in relief. The lapping of the waves against the shore becomes even louder, the sound of traffic and other people fading away. The sand squishes in between his toes, and he lies back on his jacket, looking straight up at the stars. For the first time since he’d left Seoul, Minho felt completely at peace. Whereas uncertainty scared him before, now he completely welcomed the unknown. After all, it was what had lead him to you.

Minho feels his body heat when he thinks of you two dancing in the square, your face looking up at his, the feeling of your soft lips. It’d been so long since he was last with someone – dance always took over his life, leaving little time for love. But he thinks that maybe he’d been going about it all wrong.

He feels a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see you lying right next to him on top of your coat. He can feel the warmth radiating from you, your hair tousled by the sea breeze and flying in the wind.

He really wants to kiss you again.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, letting the rhythmic crash of waves fill in for the unspoken words in between you.

“Hey,” you interrupt the quiet with a whisper, like you’re afraid to shatter the serenity of this moment.

“Hey,” Minho says back, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair out of your eyes. His fingers linger a little too long on your cheekbone before he drops it.

You stare at him, swirling patterns in the sand between you.

“I get it, you know. How you feel. I feel it every day when I dance. Ballet is beautiful, but it’s also... constricting,” you sigh. “Sometimes I just want to be free – free to dance, to live, to love.”

Minho nods, feeling a lump in his throat.

“I also want that. But I’m scared. What if I’m free and I’m still not happy?”

There’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a rawness in his voice.

“I think happiness finds you when you least expect it,” you say gently, your voice like a gentle pat on the back.

Minho had never expected you at all. But he was glad you were here anyway.

“Can I kiss you?” He manages to choke out, heart racing as he takes in the way the moonlight casts shadows against the curve of your jaw and the softness of your lips. The urge to touch you again felt almost unbearable.

The space between you vanishes, and Minho sees you smile, leaning in closer, and his heart thuds in his chest. He reaches out again, pulling you towards him.

Your lips meet softly, shy and tentative compared to the way he kissed you in the square. It’s as gentle as the lulling of the waves, and Minho feels the world fade away, only able to register the cold sand underneath him, and you.

As you broke apart, breathless, Minho sees you search his face.

“What’s on your mind, Minho?”

Minho knows he’s always been pretty poor with words. Chan was the lyrical one in the friend group. Where Minho thrived, and always had, was action. So he decides to show you.

. . .

Minho leans in again, capturing your lips with a fierce urgency, releasing a euphoric sigh into your mouth. Not wanting to push more than you’re comfortable, he wants for you to respond, fingers carding into his hair, pulling slightly at the strands, warmth blossoming in his chest.

You wonders if he knows you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse point right there below your fingertips, and you reach for his hand.

“I want you,” Minho finally manages to say. The words are strained, like he’s been holding them back for too long.

“I thought it was just me this entire time,” your own voice cracks.” I thought you were just being nice.”

Because the truth was, you’d wanted him the very first moment you saw him. He may have thought little of himself, but he was a vision in your eyes. A masterpiece to be admired, a person to be cherished.

Minho pulls you into him, body meshing with yours, until you can no longer tell where he ends and you begin. You gasp when you feel his hardness underneath his jeans.

“I am not just nice,” he smiles against your lips. His hands cradle your face, before reaching his arms behind you, fingers ghosting down the the curve of your spine.

Kicking your shoes off, you feel his fingers run up and under your skirt, skimming against your bare legs and he your breath hitch, chest rising and falling in the pale light of the moon.

Lips falling to your neck, he inhales your sweet jasmine scent, teeth grazing lightly against the soft skin. You whine into his mouth, hands fisting at the edge of his shirt, struggling to pull it over his head. He slides over you, using one hand to pin both arms behind you, reaching over with the other to slide your your dress down to your stomach, finally peeling it off, and you lie back, eyes alight with desire as you take him in.

The clink of his belt rings in your ears as both your clothes finally finish falling away, and desire pools between your legs. Sliding up against your warm coat, you spread your legs for him, a low hum escaping his parted lips at your messy arousal gleaming on your thighs in the low light. Trailing his eyes back up to your lips, he inches towards you, his breath tickling your bare skin as he leaves kisses on your jaw, your collarbone, in between your breasts. The veins in his arms bulge as his hands come up to cup both your breasts, rubbing your nipples between his fingers until they stiffen, and you let out a soft moan.

The teasing doesn’t stop, his lips enclosing over the hardened buds, messily sucking on them. While it felt amazing, you knew the sun would rise soon, and the time you had with each other was limited. You trap his hand in yours, guiding it to your throbbing clit. He nudges your legs, coaxing you to spread them further, before plunging a finger inside your wet heat, sliding it in and out. Your breath comes out in sharp gasps, your pleas for more being answered swiftly as he slides a second one in, laying his head on your stomach as more and more of your arousal coats his fingers. You mewl, unable to contain your volume as you swallow them deeper, loving the rough drag against your slick walls. His thumb grazes your clit, rubbing it in slow, delicate circles before speeding up, rubbing faster, and his grunts of determination are what push you over the edge as you come.

Breath leaving you in heavy pants, your lips find his desperately, and he teases you with his tongue, his hard cock rubbing up against your wet entrance. You gasp when he pushes in, and he pauses, wondering if it’s too much, but you nod, letting him know it’s okay. He thrusts shallowly, before pushing in all the way, watching you squirm underneath him while rutting your hips.

“Fuck,” he sighs, pushing his cock in deeper, bucking his hips against yours as your nails dig into his back. “You feel so good.”

“Oh my god, Minho, I can’t–, it’s too much,” you groan, rocking against him in an attempt to quell the burning in between your thighs..

“That’s it,” he grunts, trapping your clit in between his fingers, rubbing tight circles until you snap, seeking his lips once again, your orgasm flooding your entire body like a wave. Minho speeds up his thrusts to join you, groaning when he feels himself explode, pulling out and jerking himself off, white ropes of cum splashing against his toned stomach and onto your stomach before slumping against you.

You can feel his his chest heave with the weight of his breaths, your sticky bodies curled around each other. You begin to shiver from the breeze, and Minho cradles your sticky body in his arms, brushing the damp strands of your hair from your face before pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“가지마, 나랑 같이 있어 (gajima, narang gatchi isseo)” he whispers against your cheek. You don’t know what the words mean, but you hold them close anyway.

When the first light of dawn washes over the beach, orange and pink and purple poking out from between the clouds, you both know it’s time. It’s hushed – an eerie silence falling in between you and Minho as you scramble to throw your layers back on, the sticky feeling between your thighs a reminder that it hadn’t all just been a dream.

From the corner of your eye, you see Minho hum absentmindedly to himself, running his fingers through his hair to tame the messy strands, and your heart lurches.

The silence remains as you bid the sea farewell, the familiar streets of the city you called home greeting you once more. Only this time, you felt like a stranger, unsure of where your relationship stood. You supposed the same could be said for the man next to you.

It takes a few short moments before you’re seated at a café, stirring your coffee pensively. The rich, bitter aroma mixes with the salt from the sea that sticks to your clothes, and you feel nauseous. Across from you, Minho was gazing out at the horizon, his expression pensive.

You knew it was only supposed to be temporary. One of those single brief moments where two strangers met each other, eventually passing like ships in the night, both of them holding onto the memory forever. So why did it hurt so much?

“Are you ready to go back to work?” Minho asked, his voice warm and gentle, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile. “I’ve been rehearsing for weeks. But…”

You hesitate, heart feeling heavy.

“I know,” Minho finishes your thought. “It feels different this time.”

“I love ballet, I really do,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “But dancing isn’t my whole life. I think I’m just like you Minho. I’ve been searching for something real, something that goes beyond the stage.”

You watch Minho’s face twist, like he wants to say something, and you already know he would have asked you if you’d found it. Because he’d been searching for the same thing. It felt so cruel to have it ripped from your grasp the moment the sun began to rise.

You shared a moment of silence, the weight of everything hanging between you. You took a sip of your coffee, but instead of calming you, the warm liquid only makes your heart race.

“What are you going to do?” You asked Minho, watching his face jump to meet your gaze. “After tonight?”

“Go back to Seoul,” Minho struggles to keep his voice steady. “Maybe take a break from dance, to try something new.”

“Do it,” you encouraged, voice wobbling. “You owe it to yourself to explore what brings you joy. Don’t let fear hold you back.”

The café soon begins to fill with the clink of dishes, the laughter of patrons, the aroma of freshly baked pastries. It felt surreal, almost like a scene from a movie.

Minho reached across the table, his hand covering yours. “Thank you ___. For everything. I wish I knew how to say more.”

You squeezed his hand gently, eyes glistening. “You don’t have to say anything. Just promise you won’t forget this.”

You won’t forget me.

While you and Minho labour through finishing your breakfast, the clock behind you continues ticking, each passing second a reminder that time was running out.

By the time you leave, the sun has fully risen, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets. Walking side by side, you travel deeper into the city, the streets blurring into each other until you come upon a familiar one. The one that leads to your apartment. It was over.

“What did it mean?” you ask him, voice tinged with sadness. “What you said on the beach?”

Minho’s smooth voice had lingered in the back of your mind all morning, and you wished you knew Korean, that you could say something back to him. Like he’d tried for you.

Minho looked at you, a hint of a smile on his lips, though his eyes were clouded with emotion.

“I can’t tell.”

Both of you knew it was because it might change everything.

You falter, wondering if you should say something, make a promise to keep in touch, to meet again. But it seems so useless, knowing Minho would probably never come back, and you’d never scrap together the time or money to fly to his side of the world.

You settle for throwing your arms around him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. You bury your head into his neck, committing his familiar scent to memory, wishing it could last forever.

When you pull away, you’re already backing down the street, Minho’s somber expression looking after you.

“I guess this is it,” you said, voice trembling slightly.

Minho nodded, a bittersweet smile on his lips.

“Take care of yourself, ___.”

The knot in your stomach only grows tighter when you see him step away, tears pricking your eyes. With one last lingering look, he turned and walked away, the sunlight catching in his hair.

As he turned the corner, you whispered a silent wish to the rising sun, that no matter what happened, that Minho would be happy. And that if he was, maybe you could be too.

Adjusting your pointe shoes, the soft strains of music fill the air. You stand on your tip toes, gazing at your reflection in the mirror. What looks back at you looks the same as it always has – perfect form, straight posture, the picture of elegance. But only you know there’s something different now, a wild longing in your heart.

It had been months since that one night with Minho, but he’d never left your mind. Somehow, even though he was oceans away, his ghost trailed after you everywhere you went. When you spun, you could almost feel his hands around your waist, guiding you in a duet. When you came home to your apartment, you wished he was there, the two of you laughing over a cup of coffee. Every time you smelled the ocean breeze, you remembered his lips meeting yours, bodies tangled together in the sand.

He was everywhere and nowhere to be found, all at once.

When practice ends, you chat with your fellow dancers, wishing them a swift goodbye before running out the door.

When the longing built to its worst, you always knew where to go, the warmth of Kento’s bar waiting for you at the end of another rough day. Before, he would tease you, asking where your “special friend who spoke good Japanese” was, but now he only slides a matcha in your direction, his eyes sad while he chuckles about how you needed to cut back on the vermouth.

In a daze, you scroll through your phone, heart dropping when you realized there were no photos of Minho in your phone. The date remained a figment of your memory, like he’d never existed at all. And you had nothing to look back on.

Tears prick your eyes when you realize how stupid you’d been. So caught up in the moment that you hadn’t even thought of asking for his number, or any contact information. There were a million people named “Minho” from Seoul to wade through every time you opened social media to check.

You wondered if Minho thought of you as often as you thought of him. What was he doing now? Was he happy?

Sighing heavily, you decide you’ll probably never know the answer.

Until your phone buzzes.

. . .

Minho sighs deeply, his muscles aching from another grueling day in the studio. He feels Soonie brush against his feet, his oldest friend curling up into a ball at his feet, and he reaches down to scratch between his ears. Looking out over the balcony, the twinkling city lights of Seoul gleam back at him, but his thoughts are full of another place. And another person.

No matter how much he immersed himself in his routine—classes, rehearsals, and performances—something felt off. His friends would joke about his trip, saying he’d come back a changed man, like a monk who’d found enlightenment, but his serious expression always shut them down.

He hears footsteps on the balcony behind him, and Hyunjin comes to sit next to him, holding out a steaming cup of noodles in his hands.

“Eat hyung,” he scolds Minho. “You have to be exhausted from practice today.”

Minho accepts the cup, picking up a few with his chopsticks, but decides he can’t stomach them, staring absently at the cup.

“Hyung, I don’t mean to pry, but,” Hyunjin sounds unsure, like he’s poking a sleeping dragon. “What happened in Barcelona?”

Minho shoots up at Hyunjin’s perceptive question, knowing his pabo face was terrible at hiding things. Especially from his best friend.

Whereas Minho struggled to find the words with you, they all came flooding out in front of Hyunjin, recalling everything from the moment he saw you to how you continued to linger in his mind even now. How he couldn’t shake you no matter how hard he tried.

Hyunjin listens along, nodding his head in understanding, and finally leans back, brushing a hand over Soonie’s fur.

“Hyung, I know you’re stupid, but like, have you ever thought about just reaching out? Why are you torturing yourself like this?”

“Hyunjin-ah,” Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t understand, it’s–”

“Complicated? What is so complicated about it? You like her. It sounds like she likes you. Why waste time on the what-ifs?”

Hyunjin pats him on the back, saying that if the weekend rolls around and Minho doesn’t have an update for him, he’ll threaten to air-fry him.

Minho sighs, taking a deep breath. He pulls out his phone and opens Instagram, thumb hovering over your username. He’d found you right after he’d left of course, easily putting your name and Barcelona together. But he’d never been able to take the final leap to reach out, to build on whatever had started that night.

But now, he decides he’s done wasting time.

When Minho steps off the plane, the air in Barcelona is thick with the smell of orange blossoms and the distant strumming of Spanish guitar. It had only taken a few messages back and forth for you two to fall into the same easy rhythm. Hyunjin teased him for constantly checking his phone for notifications from you, but deep down, he knew that his friends wanted him to chase whatever made him happy.

It hadn’t taken much longer for him to decide to decide to book a flight, seeing an ad for the ballet troupe’s latest performance on your Instagram story. Now, as he watches the streets pass by in the cab, he feels like he might be nauseous, wondering if he’d made the right choice.

But then he thinks back to how one night hand changed everything, and decides that you’re a chance worth taking.

When he arrives at the performance hall, Minho ducks by the crowd, slipping into the plush velvet seat. Around him, the audience buzzes with excitement, but Minho pays them no mind, his eyes trained on the stage, dark for now.

When the lights go down and the curtains draw back, Minho has to hold in his breath. It was exactly like the first time.

You, in your silver and white costume, gliding across the stage like a wisp of smoke, letting the music lead you wherever you needed to go. Your performance cries with unspoken passion and longing and Minho wonders if all this time, you’ve felt the same way, unable to let him go like he had with you.

Minho doesn’t know if minutes or hours pass before the music finally stops, but he pushes his way through the audience, moving against the crowd to find the backstage exit. To find you.

. . .

“I’m sorry sir, you can’t come back here, this is only for performers…”

The security guard’s voice booms at the door to the dressing room, and Sakura, your fellow dancer, nudges you, rolling her eyes. A laugh bubbles in your throat, wondering what crazy person had made their way backstage, but then you hear it.

A voice that stops you in your tracks. One you thought you’d never hear again.

“Please, I just need to –, please,” it begs, and you’re up out of your chair before you can even stop yourself.

Pushing past the guard, your eyes widen in disbelief when you see Minho outside. He looks different now, hair longer, and maybe the colour had changed, but the real difference is in his eyes. No longer empty, they light up when they see you.

“Minho?” You whisper, unable to believe that it’s actually real. That he’s actually here.

“Surprise,” he grins, taking a step towards you.

The security guard eyes you both suspiciously, Minho in his long trench and crisp pressed slacks, and you in your sweats, the remnants of your shimmery makeup still lingering on your face, before he slips away.

“What are you doing here?”

“가지마, 나랑 같이 있어 (gajima, narang gatchi isseo). It means that I want you to stay together with me,” he admitted, voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions churning inside you both.

Tears of happiness shimmered in your eyes as you moved closer, closing the distance between you two.

“I thought you were just being nice,” you joke, but it comes out a sob.

Minho took your hands in his, and you feel the warmth radiate from his skin.

“I am not just nice,” he smiles, reaching over to thumb away a stray tear rolling down your cheek. His lips fill the spot where the tear had once been.

“Come with me,” he whispers against your temple. “I have to show you something.”

. . .

Hand in hand, the cobblestone streets of Barcelona greet you both once more, only this time, everything had changed.

Minho comes to a pause right then, feeling the weight that he’d been shouldering for months finally lift from his shoulder now that he had you in his arms again.

“Do you remember this place?” he asked.

You looked around, a smile spreading across your face as recognition dawned. “This is where we danced that night.”

“Will you dance with me again?,” he poses, his chest filled with fear and trepidation, but also hope.

You take a step back, sinking into a deep bow in front of him. Minho grins, catchind your hand to spin you back towards him. The world around you faded as you began to move together, time stopping for the both of you.

As he slowed, breathless and beaming, he feels you burrow into the crook of his neck., whispering against his skin.

“Am I distracting you Minho?”

Minho tilts his chin up to meet your gaze, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Yes, but I like it,” he breathes, closing the gap to crash his lips against yours. “I like you.”

“I like you too, Minho.”

The sun would rise again tomorrow. But this time, you’d be by his side.

a/n pt. 2: this reminds me of Collision!Minho a bit, they're like two sides of the same coin haha. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

275 notes · View notes

brucewaynehater101 · 4 months ago

Note

Hi again!!!! Older brother JJ annon here

So i absolutley LOVE your take on this and ive got stuffs to add >:D

So the Joker finds the alternate universe Damian so JJ just- kills him right?? And then Damians bats come to get him and all that but WJAT IF instead of them going back to their dimension JJ sees these other people he vaguley recognizes and decides "fuck it. Im keeping them ALL."

So he does. And it doesnt matter that most of these guys are older than him, he treats them almost exactly like he does with Damian. (Except for bruce. Junior doesnt know what to do with bruce) JJ doesnt give two shits

And like- all the bats are weirded out because what????? Who is this mini joker??? And then they find out its a version of TIM. So they just...kidnap him back. Its bonus points because they dint have a Tim (anymore [i decided that because angst and yes. {id imagine their tim died from the widdower on Brucequest or smth along those lines but the evidence he collected still got sent back? Who knows. Deff not me}])

So its like a win-win for everyone involved!!! Tim JJ gets the bats back (even if he doent really recognize them) and the bats get a Tim back!!

(Thank you for listening to my insanity ted talk.)

Here's a link to the OG post!

Oh? ~ I like the way you think, Anon. Let's crank up the angst, shall we? As much pain as possible :) :D

TW: Major character death, dead body description, toxic obsessions

We'll refer to one Tim as Alt!Tim and the other as JJ!Tim (or JJ) for simplicity sake.

Alt!Tim was never caught by Dick when Ra's kicked him out of a window. Dick was right there, mere centimeters away, but Tim slipped right through his fingers.

Dick was forced to watch as another one of his family members fell to his death.

It's not the sound of bones impacting cement that haunts him so, nor the sight of his baby brother hitting the ground from over 80 stories tall.

No. It's the look of contentment, the small reassuring smile, the instant forgiveness, and the relief that poured from Tim's body when he noticed Dick was trying but would fail to catch him.

Tim dying at this time, when he still hasn't repaired any of his relationships with his family, absolutely obliterates the remaining Bats. They either feel guilt for how they treated him, for not being there for him, or for what he sacrificed for them.

[Whether or not Ra's scraped his body off of the ground and lugs his corpse to a Pit only to brainwash and hide him from the Bats is a separate storyline. In this case, Tim, who finally manages to escape, realizes that his Bats (and Tim is mentally not well. He's kind of obsessive post-Pit) are gone. Alt!Tim goes to track them down only to find them chumming it up with another version of him :) ]

JJ is also obsessive with the Bats. These newcomers are all his younger siblings (minus Bruce), and he will not let them go. The Bats, who miss Tim/feel guilty and desperately want him back, are also super obsessed with Tim. It kinds of works out for them.

#tim drake #thank you for the ask!!!!#dc au #joker jr

153 notes · View notes

tearueful · 1 year ago

Text

Play With Fire ( Homelander x Reader)

18+ for language, female (plus size♥) reader | You walk into an elevator with Homelander...💋 [AO3 Link] Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, AO3 Link

You can only stare at Ashley’s cold dismissal. Not Ashley Barrett, of course. You’re not high up enough to get personally fired by the CEO. Her assistant is the one doing it, also Ashley.

There were too many fucking Ashleys in this office.

Your head is buzzing and you can’t exactly focus on the words that spill out of her mouth. She has such a pleasant smile plastered on her lips. A fake, corporate smile as she tells you that as of today? You no longer work at Vought International. A job you had scraped and clawed for. Survived an unpaid internship in fucking New York City for, moonlighting as a waitress in a diner where patrons had sticky hands even for one such as you.

You stare at her, having no idea what words her placid smile makes. Something about turning your badge in at the front desk on your way out. That they’ve packed everything up at your desk already and it will show up to your house in two to four business days. An easier transition, she says. How kind.

Neatly packaging your existence away and shipping it off in the post as if it didn’t fucking matter. You blink and you’re already stalking out of the office. The dismissal had been clear. They had saved it for when you normally would be packing up for the day. Less drama. Always better to fire someone on a Friday afternoon. Not many witnesses. At least you can slink out with some scraps of your dignity. Before you realize it, you’re fast walking through the hallway to the elevator lobby. All your mind can focus on is getting in that elevator and escaping this fucked up place. That is your one goal as your insides churn with bitter anger and your brain buzzes.

Your rage is impotent, with no outlet. What could you even do? Nothing against Vought. Not with their airtight security. You knew how Vought paid everyone and anyone off to make undesirables vanish. How they mopped up the ‘accidents’ of their precious supe products. How your firing was another one of those casualties, dismissed at a whim of the Seven. You knew specifically who. That star-spangled blonde bastard. One typo led to one tantrum from the supe and you had to suffer for it.

Rage pushes your feet to move a little quicker as you spot the open elevator doors. Someone must have just exited, you see the retreating forms of a handful of people down the opposite end of the hall. Perfect, except those doors are closing and you’re too impatient to wait in the lobby a moment longer.

At the sight of the closing elevator doors, your feet pick up their pace. You can’t stay in this building a moment long, not in this hallway with the chance of spotting anyone you know who may recognize the set of your face as something amiss.. Some of them know you well enough to know that would mean something’s wrong, or they knew the bad news before you. That gives you the motivation to snap a hand out to stop those closing doors, praying it’s empty so you can take a breath alone. You need it.You deserve it. It’s the least the universe can do for you at this moment. The universe is not kind today.

The doors stop at the presence of your hand while you slip through the opening. Your regret is almost instantaneous as you step into the re-opening doors because there stood Homelander.

Fucking Homelander in his stupid suit, looking all the world like Uncle Sam shat out the perfect Boyscout. Except, you know far better. There was a monster in that human suit.

He looks ever the caged predator within the confines of the enclosed metal space, wholly uninterested in you. There’s only the briefest of glances your way before his attention is back on the elevator’s LED number display. Oh, but you hate him. Stuffed up supe, high on his own importance.

You’d seen him about the office, from a distance. A wolf among doting sheep, bleating for his attention. How did anyone dare to get close when he flashed those canines? You should flee, but the elevator doors click behind you with a finality. No, fuck it. Fuck him. You don’t care. All you care about is getting out of this shit hole and this elevator ride will be your last here. One way or another. The white hot rage is back to roiling in your gut and you feel as if you’d choke on it.

Homelander’s cold blue gaze flickers over you once more as you stew, taking you all in within an instant. Your badge and your name. Another useless Vought employee, a wriggling worm at his feet. The Hero Management Department by the logo on your badge, but he’s never noticed you. No wonder. You’re too short. Someone who could get lost in a crowd. His lips turn up in a cruel sneer. Fat, too. A pudgy, little grub. At least you’re dressed well. You need to be if you work here. Almost demure in that dress that must have cost half your pathetic paycheck. He wants to be disgusted by you, but you meet his eyes. People rarely did that. There’s fire burning in those wide eyes. A defiance he’s not used to seeing often. Especially not from something as breakable as you. It gives Homelander pause. He’s puzzled. That sort of volatile hatred was usually reserved for dear William, but you? It was almost comical seeing such a delicate thing like you sparking with it. You looked like a little firecracker about to go off and Homelander wonders what sorts of sparks you’d show.

Your expression was utterly, almost eerily calm yet he could feel the rage rolling off of you, it was a palpable taste on his tongue. An almost bitter tang that made Homelander reflexively lick his lips. That gets your attention. Previously, you’d let your eyes dart around the elevator in your unrest. Now your eyes fixate on the flick of Homelander’s tongue while the wheels within your brain begin to whirl. What is the stupidest thing you could do on your last day at Vought? Something reckless and impulsive. Suicidal even.

He watches you with interest now that you’re daring to meet his gaze, scrutinizing this little mortal confined in the elevator with him with anger steaming off your body. Normally, Vought employees fawned over him while reeking of fear. They cowered and all but tried to tongue his taint in their need to appease him and soothe Homelander’s volatile moods. Yet here you were, looking as much like a caged animal within the confines of the elevator as he felt most of the time.

Homelander senses the shift in you, from anger to something else. He can’t pinpoint it, not yet. Not with how the adrenaline pumps through your veins as you fix your eyes on his face, a heady perfume if there ever was one. It’s a little like prey backed into a corner, finally deciding fight over flight. Homelander doesn’t fear you or any possible outburst you could throw his way. How could he? He’s a god and you’re an ant. Still, he’s curious as to what you’ll do. Homelander can see the tension in your body, how your muscles coil before a pounce.

You weren’t quick, by any means. Homelander could have deflected you with his pinky finger, but the determination in your eyes kept him still. What were you even planning to do to him, of all people? Seeing you unleashing your anger on him would amuse the supe. Give him a valid reason to crush your fragile skull in his fist with a satisfying wet crunch. Yet, you surprised him. All that anger and vitriol boiling over shifted into something else entirely, but it still burns. It burns so much that you need to let it out. Which you do, by pressing your lips against Homelander’s. It’s pure impulse and oh so reckless. He’s killed people for lesser slights but you don’t care. Not in that moment. You want this, maybe even need it. Need to vent out all your frustration on the man who caused all this in the first place.

So you dig your nails into the leather fabric of Homelander’s suit, having to get up on your toes to press your lips against his own.

They’re surprisingly soft, Homelander’s lips. You hadn’t expected it. A contrast to the lack of give against his body because leaning into Homelander is like leaning into a brick wall. Unmovable. The only give is from his lips and you suspect that’s because you took the supe by surprise.

The audacity of this little bug!

Homelander’s eyes are wide, shocked even at your brazen act. Staring down at this impertinent little human daring to touch him.There’s a desperation in your act, in how your face is still twisted up in rage and confusion but softening as you stubbornly keep your lips moving against his own.

Still so curious.

He lets you kiss him, even goes as far to settle into the kiss himself. He can’t help it. Softness was a rare thing for him to feel and you really are oh so soft against him. Pliable and willing now that you’ve settled into properly kissing him. You’re not bad at this either, knowing exactly what sort of coaxing pressure to give him while teasing Homelander into giving back more.

So he does.

Homelander hooks you in the steel grip of one hand, fingers digging into your waist and he finds you yielding. Soft and giving as your lips. He should have expected that given your size, but he finds that he likes it. He can dig his fingers in a little deeper with no fear of snapping ribs with the slightest of pressure.

Homelander is kissing you back. Fucking Homelander! You half expected to get thrown across the elevator shaft for your action, but he was almost holding you gently. Almost. This close you can feel the restrained power of him that all but hums through the supe’s body. It should frighten you, but it’s thrilling having a monster yield so readily to you of all people.

You need something to ground yourself because this can't be real! You grab for Homelander's hair, sliding your fingers through it. Idly, you muse at the softness. It wasn't gelled and hard to the touch as you expected. Leave-in conditioner, that must be it. The thought makes you smile into the kiss, tightening your hold on Homelander's hair with a playful tug to coax his mouth closer.

You don’t expect the needy moan Homelander releases against your lips at the gentle tug. Would have never expected such a sound from a man like him. You greedily swallow it up, using it to your advantage to slide your tongue over his lips. They part under the pressure and then you’re kissing Homelander deeper. This is far from an innocent, impulsive act now. He’s meeting your fire, consumed by the flames as much as you are. More so because now Homelander seems intent on devouring you as he fits his lips to yours, bruising them while his tongue slides slick over your own within your mouth. He growls. Homelander fucking growls into the kiss and you feel that tremor down to your toes, arousal a white hot flash through your system. Thus it really can’t be helped when you mold your curves into the hard lines of his body, fingernails scraping at Homelander’s scalp while you try to taste every corner of his mouth. His free hand even comes up to take an ample handful of your ass as he pulls you flush against him properly, and is that- Holy fuck.

The chime of the elevator hitting the ground floor snaps you both out of the moment. You jerk apart and even in his surprise, Homelander’s grip is loose enough for you to step away safely. You stare up at him a beat, taking in Homelander’s flushed features and how he pants.

You did that. You did that to the most powerful supe of the Seven, possibly the most powerful supe in the world. Smug satisfaction settles on your shoulders for a moment.

You can see the rage building in his eyes, disgust twisting up Homelander’s features and there’s even the glaring threat of red sparking in his gaze. Holy shit. Your heart squeezes as the smugness shifts to the instinct to survive. It’s time to flee or die.

Homelander sneers at you and you know he’s about to say something scathing to put you in your place before he obliterates you. Instead of cowering, you flash him a thousand watt smile. The sort you’ve employed on dates with hapless men to get them giving dopey grins right back to you. It works well enough.

He blinks, the red glare vanishing from his eyes. People in this tower never smile at Homelander like that. Another surprise. You exit stage left before he recovers, almost running into someone on your way out of the elevator. It’s Ashley. CEO Ashley this time, with tablet in hand.

Her gaze flicks up from the screen as she gives a little start before suspicion tinges her features. “Weren’t you fired?” She whispers the words under her breath, brushing past you before stiffening up at the sight of the supe still within the elevator. “Homelander! There you are!” She chirps out with faux cheerfulness and a dead smile. “I’ve got fantastic news on your latest numbers!” That gives you enough time to slip away, with Ashley crowding up to Homelander eagerly to stroke his ego so he’s kept calm for another day and no one dies. You certainly didn’t die. Personally, you think the supe’s mind will be occupied by other things today. You turn your badge in at security’s front desk with a self satisfied smirk.

For his part, Homelander silently steps out of the elevator with eyes fixed on your retreating frame. He doesn’t register Ashley’s yammering as she tries to tell him the good news about a ten point boost. No, Homelander’s mind is too busy contemplating what he will do to you. Little bugs like you can’t get away with taunting gods.

A wide, shark-like grin spreads Homelander's lips now that he has revenge on his mind. He snaps his attention to Ashley, voice sharp as Homelander lifts a finger in her face for silence “Ashley. That woman. Give me her name, now.”

#Homelander x Reader #The Boys #fanfic #Homelander #homelander fanfiction #the boys fanfic #drabble #gods help me I wrote a thing #Ash writes

477 notes · View notes

neosero · 5 months ago

Note

Can I please request a part two to [01:15], were the reader ignores them afterward the fights/never death experience and when the characters try to talk to them the reader just ignores them and walks away and the characters feels a little guilty, I'm invested in what will happen next. Probably a lot of angst but maybe some fluff at the end

[ 12:30am ]

and yet, you still resist

collection | gods, the all powerful - #genshin

↳ [ 01:15pm ] and sometimes you have to remind yourself they're gods |

↳ pt. ii [ fontaine version ] |

↳ [ 12:30am ] and yet, you still resist |

wc | 5.3k total

noteworthy warnings | gn!reader; dark themes; kinda starts at a random moment of time sorry lol, stalking ( venti ); implied-kidnapping, forced-intamacy ( zhongli & neuvillette ); reader gets makeup put on them but still nothing specific to gender, also i do not know a thing about makeup lol ( neuvillette )

a/n | SORRY THIS TOOK FIVE MONTHS this one is for you anon! kinda forgot about the fluff but still i hope you like the follow up!! this is an extentsion of the linked fics above. though it isn't required it would be best to read that for a clear picture on the character dynamics

( extended author’s note at the end!!! )

THE ANEMO ARCHON Lord Barbatos | wc. 2k+

"So patchy, what's your story?"

The firewood tumbles in on itself within the pit. Ember sparks fly high, dancing between you and the other soldiers that crowd around the flame. It does little to combat the chilling air of Dragonspine, but it does provide enough of a haven for your group to forgo the mission to sit in idle company.

Chatter is loud amongst the knights and you would think this some caravan camping out over a reconnaissance party. You have a thought to hush the group as to not alert your targets, but with three days of just constant snow and no other signs of life you hold your tongue for their sanity.

“Hey! I asked you a question.”

The cold has been a lot better against your bandages than you had first thought. The old wounds from the incident haven’t completely healed, but the breeze feels like a gentle cold wrap around the warm ache of your body. Albeit not the best place for it, you feel more relaxed than you have for a while.

“Do you have a problem with me or something?!”

The once boisterous ensemble goes silent as all eyes turn to the quarrel. A soldier you don’t bother even trying to recognize has suddenly stepped up to your face. It's obvious he is new to the ranks; his armour is still freshly polished and not a dent in sight. You can catch the edgings of a family crest on the hilt of the sword he reaches for at his side.

A spoiled child of wealth. He'll probably last two more days before he turns back.

"Ignore him. Recruits are always ill-mannered to their seniors their first time out.” A man — Druig, the captain of your team — grabs the boy by the neck of his armour, dragging him back to his stool before he causes anymore of a scene. This brings back the laughter of the knights and the boy sits arms crossed with cheeks tinted pink.

"Though you could humor him." Druig boasts again, loud and obviously falling victim to the jug of wine in his hands. He offers you some carelessly, the liquid spilling over the rim and staining the pure snow red. You raise a hand in rejection and he happily takes another swig for himself. "Hell, all the lads could use a fine tale!"

Another cheer into the night. Druig has been determined to get you to open up since you took the commission. Although you can see the logic behind it — as your employer he deserves to know some part background — it never occurred to you as something that should be this importance. But with three days of begging and now several pairs of eyes awaiting the tale, there is really no escaping the memory.

You sigh deeply, already regretting the decision. You squat to the fire.

"It was the wind. Strongest I had ever seen."

The image is so clear in your head; the ache is still so painful in your bones that it's difficult to forget.

That fear is so easy to remember.

"An Eye of the Storm. The Eye of the Storm. An elemental lifeform so powerful it could be at level with an Archon. It raised the ground. It shook the trees bare. I didn't stand a chance."

Your voice falters as the face of Lord Barbatos flashes within the flames. His crazed smile reopens closed wounds and suddenly your skin feels itchy all over again.

The existence of Gods in the mortal realm hangs a heavy shadow over Teyvat. Stormterror's Rampage, the presumed death of the Geo Archon, the being that is Inazuma's Shogun; they are what mere humans cannot equal or challenge in any possible regard. And yet we still choose to worship the unknown.

"The Archons must have blessed you to survive that."

It's laughable really; how they can have so much faith in a being who spends most of their time drunk in a tavern while the rest of the world begs for their fortune.

"We live in a world where people can control the elements like magic and beasts can grow taller than trees- taller than mountains. My life is no blessing from a God and it never will be." You spit with a fire.

The impious statement shocks the soldiers still. With the Archon being held in such a religious light in Mondstadt, your behavior naturally rouses anger. The emotion slowly seeps through most of the men who no doubt have been within the Knights for sometime and upheld the Archon's image. It's obvious you've stained what little welcome you had within the group.

There is no reaction when you stand or when you begin to turn off into the cold of Dragonspine you wave over your shoulder, "I'll get more wood for the fire."

You walk past angry men unapologetically. The boy from earlier spits at your feet as you march by but it doesn't deter you in the slightest. Their beliefs aren't yours to taint in this moment and with direct orders from the Acting Grand Master you refrain from overstepping.

You travel far enough through the snow that the flames from the camp cannot be seen through the blizzard fog. With enough space to hear your own thoughts again, you can finally be at peace with the mountain. The snowflakes fall around you in clusters. Pinecones tumble from rustling trees with silent thuds into the layered snow. Small critters scurry around foraging for their next meals.

You breathe into your hands for warmth. While you are out you might forage yourself. There won't be much firewood to find in this area. The blizzard has dampened much of the fallen twigs and searching for dry wood is like looking for a needle within a haystack. Still you kneel to the floor to keep yourself busy and keep a clear head.

A boar's grunt catches your attention. Just over a shrub you can catch sight of the native beast's shaking fur. It's back is turned to you and it seems to be trying to scare something hidden in the bush ahead. Of course you cannot see anything noteworthy in the bush, yet you do not doubt the animal's senses.

Without warning it barrel's head first at the plant. You expected a few things: a rabbit, a weasel, a few clustered crystalflies, another boar even. With having taken a commission that was far from civilization — far from him — anything else should have been what came out of that bush. Instead it was a man.

He falls to the ground with a yelp, the weight of the boar's charge having kicked up snow in its wake. Your first instinct should have been to question the strange man's presence in such a place like this, but your apprentice training kicks in before you can think it through. You approach him to help.

He is covered in snow from head to toe, and when you bring him up most of it falls. You are about to tell him off, the whole knightly script just at the edge of your tongue as you rub off more snow. It was odd the way he stood beside you at an angle like he was trying to hide something. Just as you move to speak you do catch the edge of what he is hiding. You can’t forgot its shape even if you wanted to.

It was a lyre. Your fingers still at his sides. Slowly you look to the man’s face and those bright green eyes meet your gaze head on.

This was no man but a God. The Anemo Archon: Lord Barbatos.

You jump back hastily, nearly tripping over your own feet to get away. Venti brushes the remaining snow off his body with no urgency and stands upright like this was some casual meet. "Long time no see."

He takes a step forward and on reflex you draw your sword. He holds up his hands in surrender but you won't take any chance... not this time. Your whole body visibly shakes, your hands break out in cold sweats and breaths are labored. Why is he here? What possibly could have brought him to the one place you had been sure he wouldn't be?

"You look good." He speaks after a short silence and you scuff to the trees. "What the fuck are you doing here!"

It isn't a question, you demand an answer. You grip the sword with two hands to steady yourself.

"You haven't been home for a while so I got worried. I never got the chance to apologize to you and it feels like you're avoiding me." He pouts like some concerned friend. Your eyes constantly flicker from his own ones to the lyre at his side. How far could you get if you make a run for it? "And the guild said you were taking more out field commissions so I..."

"You what?" Venti doesn't answer quick enough, instead taking a cautious step forward which makes you move to widen the distance. "I've been... following your scent through the wind."

You feel gross all over, like you need to scrub the skin off your bones in order to erase whatever scent he is talking about. He's been tracking you... hunting you... stalking you by smell.

"How long?"

"I know how weird this may sound but-"

"How long have you been here!"

His hands drop to his sides and he casts his gaze to the distance, a habit you hate spikes up old memories. "Two days." He admits regrettably.

Oh god. He's been watching you from the start, maybe even before you reached the mountain.

"But I was just coming to apologize. I was waiting for the right time and you looked so happy that I jus-"

Your throat has run dry and the freezing temperatures aren't helping the situation at hand. Your voice cuts in sharp with what little courage you have left, "Listen — and I'll only say this once."

"I want nothing to do with you ever again. Okay! Go sniff out that Honorary Knight or something just... stay away from me."

His face contorts from one of deep sorrow to one of pain. Just like that day. It takes a few beats, a few moments of false hope that you broke him enough to make a run for it. He laughs to himself dimly and you feel your strength waning. Your hope is crushed with his next words.

"I think you should let the wind carry you a bit longer, unless you wish to fall into the storm once again."

The lyre shifts a deep crimson faster than you can blink and that weighted fear returns tenfold. The blizzard grows in ferocity. Various rocks, wood and helpless animals are picked up with the wind and flung out in various directions. You can barely keep your own footing now and he hasn't even begun his song.

His hands raise, ready to start his torture. All you can think of is the end. Preparing yourself for those wretched noises. But all you hear is... silence.

"What the hell happened to you?" You nearly jump out of your skin. Druig comes from behind a tree, puzzled.

You turn to where Barbatos stood only moments ago but only see a tuft of falling snow gliding in the air. Your eyes shift frantically throughout the open space from the tops of trees to the distant expanse of the now tame snowy night. There is no blood on the snow, no signs of a storm, not even the outline of footprints.

Nothing.

"I saw... it was... uhm... " Your heavy breathing cuts your sentence short and you know you must look crazy to the captain. He was here. He was right here and yet. You're still shaken, the thump of your heartbeat not only in your muscles but also your fingers and your head. What just happened?

Druig stands waiting for some sort of answer and you blurt your first thought. "It was a boar."

"Well, it must have been some boar, huh?" He doesn't question your lie and you bet it on the wine. You nod to him trying your best to look as calm as possible. "Anyway, we'll be going deeper into the mountain. I'd... understand if you didn't want to continue."

"No! I'll stay, I have to see this through." You admit to get your mind on track. The man laughs heartily with a smack to your shoulder. The pain is searing but it grounds you to the moment. Druig leads you back to camp. He does most of the talking, while you try to calm yourself down unsuccessfully. Barbatos had followed you here, has been following you and probably still is. You're all too aware of every little rustle in the wind, every possible shake and stir in the air. This obsession will be your undoing.

The faint strum of a lyre follows your every step. Whether it's the tune of a bard's promise or an Archon's wraith sends a chill over your entire body.

THE GEO ARCHON Rex Lapis | wc. 1.2k+

For three thousand years you’ve been at the side of the Geo Archon Rex Lapis following the events of the Archon War.

For the first thousand years you thought you could fight him. After having dragged you back from the rubble of your home, he chained you to the foot of his throne. You thrashed, clawed, screamed and bled to get free. Any food offered you tossed, whenever he’d try to touch you you’d bear your teeth like an animal, and every single day you pulled at that chain. But days turned to month and month to years and years drained you until you couldn't fight anymore.

He breaks the chains when you got too weak run from his touch. Morax fed you by hand, held your chin to make you chew, he kept you close at all times and when you pushed he’d pull back harder. He nursed you till your strength returned and even when you got strong enough to run he never let you get far. He’d make the earth swallow you whole and spit you right back at his side where he made you think you belong.

For the next thousand years you had thought you could beg. Time brought upon something you never saw coming for the Geo Archon: change. When you met some four thousand years ago, he was ruthless. He massacred thousands and leveled the earth whenever he saw it fit, but he was different then. He had begun to changed.

His touch is gentle, his tone less demanding and his stare was more human. With as long as he had lived and seeing as so many of his treasured friends die, the reality of being the strongest — of being immortal — has finally set in. You had thought this change would help free you but your pleas were always met with this same look of sadness. Morax would tell you every single time, almost apologetic: you cannot leave.

You didn’t believe him, you never did and still don’t. It's only on the night you decided to run that you understand his sadness. You make it to the bridge of the Harbor, the one thing that you separated you from the rest of the world. The yaksha, the only one still living, didn’t chase you. The earth did not move to block your path. Freedom is so close. You ran across the bridge under the belief it would be all over like waking from a bad dream.

You should've known better. As soon as your foot crossed the end you were forced back. The pulse of it stunned you and almost left you winded when you fell to the floor. You were sure you weren’t followed. When you stood with a lot more cautiously, nothing seems out of the ordinary until you caught sight of it in the moonlight.

It was a barrier. Morax’s contract to you. A barricade that surrounded the entire Harbor to keep the all evil out, and you in.

You ran around the whole port, and that barrier was there to meet you head on. You even tried your luck out at sea, you had swam for the distant boat but all there was to greet you was bars to your prison. When you seam back to shore soggy and exhausted, Morax was there to greet you. He looked down at you with sad eyes and all you can hear were those words.

You cannot leave. You screamed and cursed his name till your voice broke that night.

And now, three thousand years later, you're left here.

“Please leave it all to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and we’ll see to their gentle passing.”

You bow to the grieving family as they make their way to the exit. Your movements are robotic; you bend deeper than you should and smile too cheerful for having just discussed the ceremonial process of their approaching burial. Playing human hasn't come easy for you…

“You’ve improved.”

…And neither has your hatred for the archon who imprisoned you. Well archon no more.

Morax has died, now replaced by this… Zhongli. His renounce of his divine position was a long time coming, you had seen it first hand. He lives his days posing as a mortal, the god that captured you is gone but you still cannot forgive him. You will not forget what he did to you.

You ignore what he said and move past him to the Director. You offer her your goodbyes and leave the building without sparing him a glance. His gaze follows you with that sadness he's always had. It's been decades since you found out about the barrier and ever since then he’s missed the sound of your voice. He couldn’t care what you said; you could promise to kill him or even expose his truth but all he would care for is the fact that you addressed him.

You walk for a long while. You go through the plaza, by the markets and down past the docks. You stop at a shoreline just off the docks — it's the farthest place you can go from the Harbor that grants you that little sense of freedom. You go there most nights to watch the sun set. Most nights you're alone, left to bask in your own thoughts of the past and what would have been. Some nights, like tonight, Zhongli joins you just before the sun has completely gone. He doesn’t speak to you because he knows you won’t answer. He just stands right by your side until you’ve had your fill and left for home. Tonight is different though, because this time he speaks and you aren’t prepared for it.

“My dear gemstone… I’m sorry for what I’ve done.”

In the distant past you aren’t sure what those words would have done to you. You would have probably gone insane, trapped in the thought of how someone can feel sorry and still do the things they did. A part of you thinks you would have killed him. Your powers still work although not as strong as they used to be without a human’s faith. You could have made a crystal from your tears so sharp it would have ended it all for you. You wouldn’t have succeeded but you would have kept fighting. You should have kept fighting.

Now three thousand years later, with the spirit of the god who caged you long gone, you aren’t sure what to do.

Oh. Your body thinks it best to cry.

Your shoulders shake with sobs. Your tears flow down your face in rivers of silver and break off into fragile droplets of diamonds.

Zhongli brings his hand up slowly, placing it gently on your shoulder opposite to him. He is still for a long moment waiting for you to break away from him. You don’t; you’ve lost your will to fight. It’s slow and careful the way he pulls you into his chest, like you’ll shatter the moment he envelops you completely. He holds you close while your soft cries mix in with the sounds of the waves draping the sand…

… and for the first time in a long time, you don’t try to leave his side.

THE HYDRO SOVEREIGN Nuevillette | wc. 2.1k+

"That one doesn't match the theme at all."

"How would you know you haven't even seen the flyer!"

"The flyers are everywhere. I can't miss them even if I wanted to!"

The three Melusine continue to argue amongst themselves over which eyeshadow to throw onto your face next. You have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from yelling to the archons above. This gala cannot be so important that it would warrant a criminal to attend dressed to the nines instead of behind bars.

Eight years. Eight long years since you've moved to the proclaimed nation of Justice, and seven of those years have been spent as a registered criminal under the watchful gaze of the judge who enforced your sentence: Neuvillette.

Being forced to live every moment with that man has become your hell. He insists that you accompany him on his every whim. Your there for his important office meeting, his court cases, his unusual habit of water tasting by the pier and his evening routine dinners at restaurants.

It is all done with you right by his side like a lap dog…and it's humiliating.

This isn't the relationship that should be shared between law enforcement and a criminal, but it seems you are the only person in all of Fontaine to give a damn.

The public sees your relationship as they do everything else here: entertainment.

The Judge and His Criminal: A Match Made at Trial.

News articles and tabloids headline with the two of you every other week. Each one just so happens to catch you both in some sort of intimate spotlight that couldn't be any farther from the truth, but it isn't like Neuvillette fights against them. Various citizens have sent you handwritten letters questioning about your relationship, paparazzi tackle you with questions and request for personal interviews as if you're some celebrity, he even has your parents under the impression that the rumors are true.

Your hands clench at your sides with the thought, dull nails digging into the inside of your palms. God how you wish it would end.

The chatter between the Melusines comes to a halt as the double doors are opened. You had thought it was a blessing sent from above, but the clatter of heeled boots makes you go stiff.

"Monsieur Neuvillette!" The Melusine cheer, happy to see him as they scurry over to his side excitedly. You remain in your seat. They talk up to him, the bickering you had thought reached its vote returning with a vengeance. They each still insist on different colors for you to wear like it is life or death. The closed eye smile he offers in return shows he finds their little disagreement more amusing than as serious as they do themselves. He listens to every opinion nonetheless, taking in everything they all have to say with interest.

Then his eyes shift over to you.

"Don't worry. I'll take over."

You scoff, uncaring that everyone else in the room can hear you. The Melusine look to you and then back to Nuevillette who continues to smile down at them as if nothing is wrong. They nod to him one by one, then they wave to you goodbye before skipping out of the doors to leave you both alone in silence. You pick up the tea cup at your side, watching the liquid swirl around in the fine glass.

"The Melusine tell me you are not well. Might I know what troubles you?"

Neuvillette takes the seat in front of you once the room is clear and the doors shut, speaking to you with his normal neutral tone. He removes the tea from your hands just as you go to drink it, placing the cup back on the table. He continues where they have left off, grasping the brushes delicately as he brings them close to your eyes. It's soft the way he applies the eyeshadows, treating the brushes as if they aren't the finest material imported from Inazuma and would harm you if he applied too much pressure.

You don't bother to answer him, opting to look past him at the open window. Your silence doesn't bother him as much as it once did. You've long since given up your begging to be set free and now have chosen to go non-verbal in his presence after the first few years of your...parol.

He picks up a thinner pen once he believes he's done with shadow. Its an eyeliner pen.

"Don't move."

He prompts not that you have moved a muscle in this seat for the last thirty minutes, reluctantly sitting in wait for his arrival. Like an obedient dog.

One hand holds your chin tenderly, the other just barely touching the space above your eye. The Melusine had spent a great amount of time perfecting your look for this event and it would be a shame for him to ruin it.

You clearly do not share that same concern.

Just as he presses a bit harder into your skin to draw a line you jerk away. He is startled of course and draws the pen back but the damage is already done — a crooked line of black smeared from your eyebrow across your forehead. It isn't as bad as it may seem, just a quick makeup wipe away really but still Neuvillette looks dejected with the mess.

A smirk graces your lips at his expression. You might look like a fool from what you can see from the mirrors but you couldn't care less in this moment. "Shall we go."

You speak to yourself and rise in a new found spirit. You grab your coat from behind your chair and catch the sight of clouds outside the window in the corner of your eye. You expected the storm clouds, maybe even a tickle of rain - never did you expect the rumble of thunder.

Before you get the chance to pass Neuvillette, he grasps your forearm. The tenderness in his touch long since drowned, and for once you wince in his hold.

"A shame."

It's unexpected, his sudden turn. You're launched back into your seat, the force tipping over the desk beside you and pain running through your shoulders. There is a protest on your tongue, your first thought to tell him off if it wasn't for the dark glow in his eyes.

"I had thought you would grow complacent as time went on. But I've grown tired of your tantrums and this will be the last." The dragon speaks.

He is back on you in a quick second. Neuvillette's hand envelopes your mouth forcing your gaze to the side in a harsh grip. You cannot move, he crowds around you in the seat and shoves you deeper into the cushion. Your hands grip his own, trying to pry him off to no avail. He has you at his mercy yet again.

With your head turned directly into the mirrors at the vanity you watch in horror at what he does. He brings his other gloved hand to his lips, tongue darting out to wet the material with spit. He then brings the finger to your face starting to wipe away your mess.

You attempt to inch away, fighting with all your might to dodge his touch but that only causes him to push you further into the seat. The pain in your shoulders spikes again but his hand prevents your scream. Your hands thrash out determined to keep fighting as long as you can, but you can only do so much against the might of a dragon recently empowered.

Your spasmodic fighting is loud; you knock over another table spilling your tea cup, you swipe the makeup palettes onto the ground in a vocal clatter, something else falls you can't see and it shatters. You want someone to hear now, to burst through those doors and see just what a monster their highly praised Judge really is.

As the wrestling gets more aggressive, you know the people outside the office find it harder to ignore. Some turn their heads after hearing the various items hit the floor, but that is all. You want to have hope that they would hear your distress and come to your aid. Although, deep in your heart you know it won't ever happen. For what is your daily torment is their newest line of gossip.

The ones who look to the doors grow hot and red at the sudden sinful thoughts that flash through their heads. Others play at continuing their original tasks, a faint gossip starting through the masses as they openly say what they think is happening behind office doors. The last few of them actually do keep their noses deep within their files, acting as if this was a normal everyday thing as it has come to be.

When you finally burst open the double doors, they all go back to work hurriedly. Anger seethes from your being as you look throughout the office. Books are raised to cover faces, backs turn away to continue meaningless conversation, various fingers start toying with clothes to pick at lent. They don't care about you, and the quiet snickers of those few workers who don't care about being discreet stir up a sour feeling in you.

You hold back on lashing out at them, it would do nothing but make you look crazier than they already suspect. Instead you straighten your back and make haste to the doors.

As soon as you leave the building that suffocating weight is off your shoulders. The sky has cleared off with only faint remains of clouds. You take a deep breath of the fresh air, to calm yourself. Years upon years of being caged and you're finally free to think alone...wait.

You are alone.

Alone as you can be standing outside, but still alone. The gardes have not noticed you, and the streets are mostly barren thanks to the gala. You can escape. If you run now and hide off outside of the city they won't be able to find you in time. It's a chance chance to take, but you can't care now as your legs carry on their accord. Freedom is right in arms reach and won't miss the chance to take it...but nothing is ever that easy.

A man blocks your path before you can take another step. He is clad in a run of the mill tux, all black. His tie is strung out haphazardly and with the man's sleeves rolled up you can catch sight of the various bandages around both his arms and hands. A disheartened sigh leaves your lips.

Wriothesley scoffs himself, "what you aren't happy to see me?"

In truth, no. Trying to escape now would be asking for a greater punishment. No one can escape the wrath of the Duke and with his close relationship with Neuvillette it isn't worth asking for a cover up either. You put on your best smile, hands raising up his chest to fix the tie around his neck. "Just wish the day would go by faster."

His eyes never leave your own, even when your hands leave his body. The tie is perfectly in place now, though you both know he'll have taken it off by the time you get to the venue.

"You look good." He says suddenly and you pause. The compliment is genuine, the clothes you wear are personally tailored for you and fit snug yet freely enough for you to move without constraint. Wriothesley thinks the color suits you well and the details are a great addition from Liyue. You smile at him again, this one a lot more genuine and he can definitely tell with the way your face wrinkles.

You want to thank him, should have thanked him. But the sound of heels catches your attention over all else and the words crawl right back down your throat. "Shall we go." Neuvillette's hand clamps around your wrist like a handcuff, voice curt. It has been a while since the Duke has seen the man this displeased or you this upset. Wriothesley looks down at the Iudex's gloved hands. He can catch sight of teeth marks in the leather material and a bit of smudged powder along the print of his thumb.

"Is everything alright? I’d hate to get between-"

"Everything is as it should be." Neuvillette interrupts quickly, stare stone cold.

Wriothesley makes no comment against it, at least not here anyway.

All he does is nod, leading you all to the awaiting personal chariot. Neuvillette moves his arm, firmly locking your forearm on his own. You thrash a bit, although it takes one pinch to your skin to stop you from causing another scene.

To the public, you are living the life of royalty. But you know nothing has changed, you remain a prisoner chained to Nuevillette... and he isn't afraid to pull back on the leash when you show signs of bearing your teeth.

pre-note | got completely swamped with college work and now summer work is completely beating my ass ( currently neglecting it as i finish this ) so deepest apologies for the late response!!!!!

extended a/n | my first ever anon i feel so famous now! had a blast revisiting this idea and building more into their personalities, thanks so much for the ask!! i sadly had to exclude a few characters from this :/ they wouldn’t have fit this particular scene as they wouldn't tolerate behavior like this in as healthy of a way as the ones above i hope that’s okay! also ik you asked for a bit of fluff and the only one who really got that was zhongli — only because out of all the characters he is the only one i can see changing from his old way of handling the reader if that makes sense!! if you have anymore thought do not be afraid to send an ask ( promise to complete them in a more timely manner next time around T-T )

#neuvillete x reader #venti x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin imagines #[ gem’s timestamps — ⌚️ ]#also if anyone else wants to send an ask about anything the box will always be open

146 notes · View notes

jjkeremika · 11 months ago

Text

Valentine

description: AoT men and women asking you to on a valentine's date <3

pairing: Levi; Armin; Jean; Erwin; Eren & Mikasa; Historia; Zeke; Reiner x reader

Levi

Levi stood at your apartment door with flowers and concert tickets to your favorite band. He shifted his weight between his heels and toes as he nervously wondered if he should turn back before you realized he had arrived.

Two solid knocks and a light pause later, you opened the door to his stoic demeanor, his lips relaxing into a smile at the sight of you in comfy clothes. He briefly glanced down to his ratty jeans and aged leather jacket. “Hey,” he greeted after clearing his throat, regretting his appearance. He felt he should've dressed up for you.

“Levi, hey!” you returned excitedly, about to pull him in for a hug when you noticed the flowers in his hand. You didn’t comment on them. “What are you doing here? Oh! Come on in!”

You dragged him by his forearm inside, closing the door behind you. “Oh, I was just,” he said quietly, shrugging, ��around. And,” Levi lifted the flowers, shifted the weight between his feet. “I saw these and thought of you.”

“Awh, Levi, they’re beautiful!” You eagerly took the flowers from him, brought them to your nose for a long sniff. “Thank you.” You hugged him with one arm before pulling away and rushing to your kitchenette. “Let me just get a vase. Make yourself comfortable as always.”

He followed you to the kitchen, stood awkwardly in the doorway and tried to not blatantly gawk at your figure as you bent over to search the cabinets for the vase.

“I, uh, also saw that Linked Horizon are coming on the fourteenth. Did you s—?”

“Oh my god, yeah!” you exclaimed, hopping up from your position in the cabinet, the ornate glass in your palms. “I saw that!” You filled the glass with water and a spoon of sugar. “But I never bought tickets and now it’s sold out.”

Levi rubbed the papery tickets against each other in his pocket. He watched as you used shears to cut the bottoms off the stems. He pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket.

“Well, if you’re not busy that day…” You carefully dropped each stem in the water, rearranging the flowers and tossing the fallen leaves and petals. He stepped into the room, drawing your attention, and held the two tickets openly. “I’d like to go with you.”

Armin

Working at the library was honestly one of your favorite parts of the day. It was slow, mindless, relaxing, and quiet. The ambiance was kind, and any sour moods evaporated instantly once you entered those archaic arched doors.

Since it was a library, you didn’t really speak with your coworkers beyond necessity, but the blond boy who spent his time at the admin desk always caught your attention—and he was always already looking to you.

The two of you spoke in an unintelligible morse code, an unspoken language of wordless greetings and longing thoughts and lingering stares.

When you both started speaking, it was by bonding over a love of puzzles and logic traps. Armin and you shared stories of writing and interpreting ciphers and tricks, discussed possibilities of work-related games for entertainment.

On the twelfth, you started your shift with the return cart, and a large note in black ink stopped you from starting the task. For Y/N, please review the following, it read, proceeded by four rows each with four columns containing a decimal value and three numbers.

You recognized the decimal shorthand and spotted the books already on the return cart. You picked up the first one and reviewed the set of numbers, eventually determining it as indicators for the desired page number, line, and word.

Once you deciphered the message, you smiled and felt the warm flutter in your belly. You dragged the cart upstairs to the main entrance, stopped outside the administration room to see the familiar fluffy blond hair poking over the computer screen.

Wordlessly you entered and sauntered over to his desk, dropped the sheet of paper with the decoded message and your answer on his desk and left with a wink, leaving him with amazed wide eyes and an open jaw as you left the room.

Will you be my valentine?

—Yes x

Jean

Connie told him the traditional approach was stupid and uninteresting. “It’s y/n! They’re cool and fun and hilarious and awesome! You can’t do something unbelievably lame like you always do,” Connie had rambled in an eccentric voice that now haunted Jean’s thoughts.

“Fucking Connie,” Jean cursed to himself as he fixed his hair in the reflection of the window, trying to maintain his balance as the train rushed over unsteady tracks. He nervously glanced down at his watch, frantically grabbed the handlebar when the tram lurched to a stop.

Jean hopped off and rushed to the bar at which the two of you had decided to meet. He spotted you instantly, in the tight red fuzzy sweater vest and still perfectly fitting baggy jeans. He regretted his overly dressed up appearance with his matching suit and pink tie for somehow still lacking.

“Y/n,” Jean leisurely greeted with an eager grin and sparkling eyes, feeling his body warm up at the quick embrace you gave, “thank you for meeting me here.”

You gestured to the free seat next to you; he sat down. “Oh, Jean, it’s my pleasure,” you said with a smile, “thank you for asking me here.”

The conversation flowed naturally, and Jean felt himself warming up from your attention, the drink, or the room. He slid his jacket off and tugged on his necktie in a failed attempt to cool off.

You noticed the pink tint on his skin and the faint hitch in his breath. You noticed the awkward tugging on his necktie, that he was wearing a necktie at all. You noticed the smile he hid when you touched his arm with your long fingernails, when your thigh brushed against his.

As the night neared its end and he still hadn’t asked, the adrenaline rushed through his veins and he heard Connie’s cynical voice echo in his brain. He felt his stomach drop with each glance towards you, because he was convincing himself he couldn’t ask, couldn’t be worth more than nothing to you.

“I’d really like to see you again,” you hinted while you both stood on the pavement, “soon.” You felt the heat burning into your skull. The shocked expression on his face was tortuous. Maybe it was all in your head. Maybe that was too far.

Maybe it was far enough. “Y/n… would you maybe like to spend Valentine’s day with me?”

Erwin

You had visited the older instructor’s office to ask some questions on the class content, to seek some extra support on upcoming assignments.

Connie had told you Smith was the most helpful of the instructors, but you neglected to factor in the biceps the size of your head, the voice that was smooth like margarine, the eyes that stranded you alone at sea. His help was marginalized by his distracting features, by the concerned expression when he asks if you understand contrasting his brilliant smile and demeanor when you say yes.

And did it really matter if you only understood when it came from him?

His elbow bumped into yours as he leaned to the side, closer to you, to view your page. "Y/n," he started, his leg brushing against yours as he uncrossed his thighs and leaned back in the chair, the skin tingling in his touch's memory, "would it help to meet regularly?"

The question alone caught you by surprise, but paired with his heavy tone, thick with uninterpretable layers, and a curious expression with a piercing blue, watchful gaze. You barely heard him tap his foot over the blood roaring in your ears.

"We can start with an additional meeting on the..." Erwin trailed off, clicking through his online tabs to find the calendar. "The fourteenth." He punctuated his sentence with a click on the date, your eye catching the empty schedule as it appeared on the screen. He turned to you. "We can start then and take it from there."

"O-Okay," you agreed, nodding in sync with the faint throb in your pelvis as your brain reeled with the improbable. "Thank you." Your voice was quiet, and you barely heard yourself speak.

"Absolutely," he breathed out, "more than happy to help." He glanced you up and down, rested his chin between his thumb and fingers to hide his lips, his light blue eyes darkening. "I'll order us something to eat too."

Eren & Mikasa

Mikasa was scribbling your and her names in the corner of her notebook page, actively drawing the small heart around it, when Eren suddenly and loudly slid into the seat next to her, causing her to jump and draw a line through the doodle. She hid it with her palm.

Eren looked at her with a bold desperation in his eyes. “Mikasa, I’ve been thinking about asking y/n out for Valentine’s…” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked to the side sheepishly. “Do you have any ideas?”

Mikasa’s eyes widened. “O-oh,” she stuttered out, taking a half-breath to quell the unsettling feeling in her gut, “I, um.” She glanced to the palm covering the doodle. “I’ve been wondering the exact same thing actually…” She swallowed dryly. “With y/n, too…”

It’s not that she expected him to be upset, but she was surprised when his eyes lit up in a mix of excitement and relief. He perked up, straightened his spine and leaned towards Mikasa. “Let’s ask together! We can do, like, a three-person date.” He shrugged, tried to contain his eagerness. “I’m not against it. But I still have no fucking clue how to ask.”

You entered the room mid-sentence, both of their eyes focusing to you as you crossed the room to a desk. You glanced up from your phone to see both of them already looking at you, both smiling and waving immediately.

“Hey, babes,” you greeted the two of them, affectionately fixing the out-of-place strand of hair near Mikasa’s forehead. You turned to Eren and smiled wider at his eager anticipation. “I was addressing you too,” you clarified, rubbing his shoulder.

Eren leaned into your touch. “Do you have any Valentine’s plans?” Mikasa asked, playing with her pen. You spotted the heart near her hand.

You started to feel warm, flattened your lips to try to suppress the growing grin but eventually bit your bottom lip. “Not currently. Sounds like I might in a minute, though,” you responded with a wink, smiled wider at the light pink stretching across her nose.

Eren’s voice caught your attention, and you suddenly became aware of the arm he snaked around your waist under your backpack, noticed that your arm had slid along his shoulders, “Would you... want to spend it with us?” he asked nervously, before rushing out, “It doesn’t have to be a date, but, well—”

The heat settled in your stomach, and you felt your pulse in each body part. Your smile twitched at the question—at the implication.

“Yes,” you interrupted Eren’s rambling with a confident answer to a question you’ve never considered before, but now will never forget, “I’d love to spend it with you two. As a date.”

Historia

Ymir had the largest scowl on her face when Historia shyly walked over to you, a pink blush on her cheeks and a sweaty hairline. You shifted uncomfortably under Ymir’s gaze when your eyes flicked to the blonde girl standing in front of you, looking at the floor.

“Hey, y/n,” she started quietly, her cute, high-pitched voice singing in your ear, “how’s your day going?” She had a sickeningly sweet smile, one that made your stomach flip and turn with nerves. You felt your inhale cut short as she stared at you with big, rounded blue eyes.

"Good, thanks," you answered with a smile, “how’s yours?” You continued to pack your bag with your notebooks, ignoring the uncomfortable heat of Ymir’s bold glare.

“Better now,” she answered, a light rouge appearing on her cheekbones. The giddy feeling erupted in your gut and bubbled into a doey smile. “Do you have Valentine’s plans yet?”

You shook your head, tugging on the last zipper. “Nope,” you answered casually, unbothered by the notion of being single on the love holiday, “i’ll probably watch a movie at home.”

“Oh, good idea! I love movies!” Historia added, the grin taking up her face. “I..." The tips of her ears tinted pink. "I don’t have plans either." She rocked back and forth on her heels, clutched her notebook a little closer to her chest. "Would you want to watch a movie together?”

You corrected your posture and returned her soft gaze. "Yeah," you answered with an exhale, started to put your backpack on. "I'd really like that."

Zeke

Zeke haphazardly handed you the blunt, the leaflet threatening to slip from your fingertips and fall from the third story window. “Ze, careful,” you told the older man, rolling your eyes despite the smile lingering on your pursed lips, “you’re gonna’ make me drop it.”

He snorted, settling with an open mouthed smile. You watched the faint red appear around his cerulean eyes. “I can’t make you do anything.” He stretched his hand out, silently requesting the roll back.

You crossed your legs, took a long huff, then passed it over. Your fingers brushed against his, the light sensation tickling the skin for moments after. “If you hand it off wrong and I drop it, that’s your fault,” you explained simplistically, shrugging to emphasize the easiness of it all.

The smoke curled around his beard, followed the lines of the glasses resting on top of his head. He flicked the wrap, spent ash falling to the windowsill. “But I didn’t make you drop it,” Zeke retorted, blowing some residual smoke into your face. He chuckled as you closed your eyes and swatted the contaminant away.

“But you played a direct role!” You reached over and stole the blunt from him before he brought it between his lips; the blond man laughed as he let you take it, watched intently as you brought it to your own. “Wouldn’t have happened without you,” you mumbled with a long exhale, the picturesque smoke rolling off your tongue.

Zeke leaned against the wall, let his wrist rest against his knee, and tilted his head. His smile softened the longer he stared at you directing smoke and ash out the window. “I also play a direct role in asking if you want to have dinner with me on the fourteenth, but I can’t make you say yes.”

You looked out the window, suppressing the blushing grin by biting your lip. You affectionately rolled your eyes at his redirection. Not the same thing—like at all. “It’s different when you know I will,” you retorted, taking a hit and holding it until it burned, still avoiding eye contact.

“So… you will?” He eyed you carefully, handed the rest of the blunt to you and dropped his glasses onto his nose. “Say yes, I mean?” Zeke nudged your foot with his.

The roll slipped from your fingers as you focused on hiding your red cheeks and toothy grin behind your palm. “Well, obviously, yeah,” you answered sheepishly. You spotted the wrap on the wooden floor. “And see! You made me drop it!”

Reiner

You patted into the kitchen to find Reiner in front of the stove, steam rising from the pans as he shifted between items. You admired his bare back, the smooth, silky-looking skin intimately caressing tight, bulky muscles interrupted only by the thin linen apron straps.

The sudden noise of the espresso machine caused you to jump and squeal, which brought Reiner's attention to you. He hurried over, gave you a quick kiss to the cheek. "You weren't supposed to wake up yet," he murmured between more kisses, eventually pressing his lips to yours for a lingering lock.

"I can smell everything from the next room," you responded, lightly tapping his firm chest and kissing his lips again. He pulled away to attend to the aromatic contents on the stove. You sat on a bar stool. “Smells delicious, by the way.”

You saw the way his thin lips morphed into a pleased smile. “Should taste so, too,” he hummed his agreement, turned his back towards you for five more minutes. You indulged in the sight, feeling your own pupils dilate to take in more of his broad shoulders and tailored back.

Then he was making a lot of ruckus, rapidly opening drawers to find utensils and rushing to and from the fridge for toppings and ingredients. He was tossing food onto one plate and carefully aligning it on another.

You slipped off the stool to peak over, smiled at his concentrated brows and peaking tongue as he drizzled chocolate onto the dish.

You were right behind him when he turned around with the dish ostentatiously in his hands, his kind blue eyes sparkling with pride and excitement and anticipation.

You audibly gasped and brought your hands to your open smile. “Reiner! Wow!” you said astonished, hearing and feeling your stomach rumble with hunger at the sight of the heart-shaped pancakes with a chocolate lace drizzle, at the bacon and eggs and toast arranged on the side.

He waited for you to read the hidden message, the note written in jam on the toast. You giggled, took the plate from him to put on the counter, and embraced him. “I’d love to be your valentine,” you said with a long kiss.

366 notes · View notes

illusivelle · 10 months ago

Text

shake the frost / 2

pairing: william 'ironhead' miller x female reader rating: t (for now) length: 3,044 words content: established relationship with the triple frontier boys, cursing, bruises/cuts, tending to wounds (my jam) summary: you don't expect to find will waiting for you so late at night, and especially not for these reasons. a/n: just a sucker for one person taking care of another while they're hurt. really just feeding into my own agenda here. and also a sucker for some idiots who think their pining is unrequited. read part one link to ao3 here!

Next time.

Two words that had been ringing in Will’s ears, bouncing around his head. Words he’d been repeating to himself because he wasn’t sure you meant it, wasn’t sure what spurred it. Wasn’t sure why it awakened something in him that had been dormant for so long. Two words that felt like a promise of more – more time, more you.

It wasn’t as if it was something novel considering the way he’d looked at you, and caught you looking at him, too. All those fleeting glances you’d both share when he thought the other guys weren’t looking, tiny smiles and faint touches in passing. But this was something different, wasn’t it? A step in a direction he wasn’t certain either of you would make a move toward, or maybe he’d been overthinking the entire thing and it was just something polite you’d offered.

Either way, Will Miller couldn’t seem to get his mind off – nor wrap it around – the idea of ‘next time.’

If only said next time wasn’t under these circumstances, knocking on your front door in the state he was in, hoping that you were actually home.

You’d just pulled into your parking spot, locking your car door three times as you walked up to your apartment. The silhouette that’s slumped over your door is enough to have all the hairs rising at the back of your neck, one hand digging into your purse to clutch for something you could potentially use as a weapon. Shit, if only you’d listened to Frankie all those years ago, you might’ve been better prepared for moments like this. The only thing you could feel as you rummage in your bag is the dull handle of a switchblade, the one thing you did accept from Frankie if only to appease him and make him feel better about your safety.

And now you were kicking yourself in the fucking ass for not listening.

Tentative steps bring you closer to your door, your fingers grasping the knife tightly as wary eyes assess every inch you can see. In the darkness, you can only make out the fact that the person is a) much, much larger than you and b) hunched over like they might be sleeping. At your door, though? It doesn’t tell you much, save for the fact that you had to be very fucking careful about what might happen next. One more step brings you only a few feet away but the rustling of your clothes is enough to have the other’s head snapping up, and you whip out the knife from where it’d been hiding. “You should–”

“It’s me.”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. Even in your haziest dreams, you could pick out that deep timbre and husky rasp that belonged to the one man that had no business occupying so much of your thoughts, especially as of late. “Will?” His name is a hushed whisper as you toss the switchblade back into your bag and quickly close the distance between you two. You’re crouching down as he’s pushing himself up, clumsily meeting halfway, your hands rising to settle on his shoulders. Not that he needed you to steady him, but you needed something to steady yourself, the sight of Will Miller sitting at your door something you’d never in a million years think would happen. “What’re you– is everything okay?” Immediately, your thoughts fly to all sorts of scenarios, a wary and assessing gaze raking over him as your palms work in a similar fashion, running up and down his arms like you might find a broken bone or a gaping wound.

It’s only when your eyes finally land on his face that you notice, in the small sliver of moonlight peeking through a break in the sky, how dark red has matted along his hairline and paired nicely with the cut slicing his brow. Icy blue eyes dance as they search yours and Will remains quiet while you continue your inspection, finding more surface wounds on his lip and jaw, one that clenches when you linger too long. “Come in,” are the only two words you can think to say, reaching past him to shove your key in and unlock your door.

Maybe it’s your imagination, or maybe there really is only just a few inches between you and Will, his heat seeping through your clothes and prickling your skin. You swear you can feel his ragged and warm breath fanning out across your nape, a subtle roll of your neck like that might alleviate some of the tension thickening in the air when you push open the door to let both of you in. “Thank you,” his hoarse voice cuts in before he immediately tacks on an apology, “I’m sorry. I can go if you–”

“No.” You interrupt him before he can spiral. “Stay.”

His reaction is physical. His shoulders sag like that one simple word washed away all of his worries, the divot between his brows smoothing as he takes one step further into your place and then another. You’ve already dropped your bags and shrugged off your sweater, shuffling to the bathroom to grab your first aid kit and wet a towel with warm water. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Calling out to him, half expecting Will to remain planted where he stood because if there’s one thing about the stoic blonde man standing in your home, he always knew boundaries.

But when you close the medicine cabinet and turn on a heel, you nearly smack into a solid wall of carved muscle, one palm flying up to meet his firm chest to keep yourself upright. “Oh– Will–” blurting out his name while colour steals across your cheeks, “um, you can just have a seat there, then.” He takes orders so well, almost as well as he gives them. The only reason you know what that might sound like is because you’ve heard him bark them out to his brother Benny, even to Frankie and Santi. There’s no way it was anywhere near how he sounded when he’s on the field and you’re not delusional enough to think so, but it’s always been enough to strike a match in your gut. To spark that flame that burned for William Miller.

That same fire is ignited the second you lock your gaze with his pool of blues, tipping your head to the side with a cocked brow. Imploring him with your expression alone, hoping that he’d take the bait or feel comfortable enough to say something – anything – as you slowly and gently bring the edge of the warm towel up to wipe away the dried blood on his temple. “Benny got into somethin’ stupid after his fight tonight,” Will grumbled, those bright arctic irides breaking away from yours for a beat, “they didn’t like how he mouthed off too much in the ring. I told him one day it’d come to bite him in the ass, but you know Benny.” He huffs out a breath, one that tickles the sliver of skin peeking from your shirt, a lick of your lips to hide the way you noticed and zeroed in on the sensation so quickly.

“Mmhm. In one ear–” “Out the other,” he finishes with a dry chuckle.

Will barely flinches as you start to clean out his wounds, pressing damp alcohol-soaked pads to open cuts. It’s a testament to all that he’s endured out in the field, things far worse than you can ever imagine. Things far worse than what you’ve seen with your own two eyes at the hospital. You remember Frankie talking about a gunshot wound on their last ‘mission’ that Will simply patched up with a few pads of gauze, and even remembering the way Frankie told the story has your brows pinching together with distaste. “Is it bad?” Will murmurs, bringing your eyes down to his again.

“No, it’s not bad.” Were you really that easy to read, or maybe this close Will can just see right through you? “Are you feeling okay? Need a painkiller or something?”

“Probably just some water but I can wait.”

A hint of a smile teases the edges of your lips, wanting to lighten the sullen mood that’s fallen between you two. “I’ll make it quick, then.”

And you do, as much as you could. All of the open wounds were small enough that Will didn’t need any stitches; a few slips of the skin glue enough to close them, followed by pressing the thin adhesive strip bandages on top to make sure everything held. You lean in close when you get to the cut along his cheek, not wanting to mess up something that could’ve otherwise turned into a scar. Not that you thought Will would mind or didn’t have plenty of those, but you’d always been cautious about the face for any of your patients and he was no different. So focused on your work, steady fingers brushing back the small bandage, you don’t notice just how close your mouths are until you start to speak, the bristles of his beard tickling the edges of your pout. “Good as new,” you chime and without thinking, continue to say, “handsome as ever.”

If the ground could open you up and swallow you whole, you’d thank all your lucky stars and maybe even become religious. Had you really just said that? Heart hammering a bruise behind your ribs, you dare to steal a glance at Will’s face, hoping and praying and wishing you’d find something akin to indifference written over it. An indicator that he didn’t hear what you just said or maybe that he’d spare you and ignore it. Instead, you find a slick shine on his lower lip, a flirt of his tongue before he pulls it in while those thick, blonde lashes bat against his cheek. It’s silent for a few seconds, the weight of your words hanging over you like a blanket, and as soon as you open your mouth to say something, Will’s hand finds a home on your hip.

“It’s okay.” His tone stuns you, softer than you’ve ever heard it, swallowing thickly as you give him a shallow nod. “I didn’t mean to come here so late. Thank you for helping me. I was going to drive myself to the emergency, but Benny thought it’d be better to come see you directly. He all but followed me to make sure I actually didn’t go anywhere else.” All the while his thumb starts an absent sweeping motion, snagging on the hem of your shirt and sending goosebumps spreading fast on your skin.

“I’m glad you did, Will. You’d have been sitting in the waiting room for hours, you know.” Your fingers trail down until they brush over his knuckles, the same ones still holding you steady. “A heads up would’ve been nice, though, I guess.”

You’re not sure where this drop of courage is coming from. Maybe it’s the fact that Will took the lead here, the fact that his palm seems to press in more firmly where it lay. But as you search his eyes for a response, you can see the very second the moment splits into two. The moment where reality rears its ugly head and presents the staggering truth: too much. This is too much, too soon. There’s a faint quiver to Will’s lower lip, a muscle feathering in his jaw, and a few blinks is all it takes for those arctic blues to gloss over with something colder. Something you’ve seen in his eyes before, usually at the start of the night when he’s still had all his guards up and the others were around keeping a watchful and protective stance around you. Or when you’d overhear him and the guys talking about their pasts, especially their old friend. Or even the times you listened to Will’s speeches, recounting the eventful situation he found himself in at the grocery store when he all but lost his grip and sense.

“It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.” His hands drop as low as his voice, the words leaking of shame.

You won’t pretend to ever know what happened between Will and his ex, or even Will on the last mission, but it doesn’t take a genius to recognize the wheels turning behind those wary eyes. His entire face twists like he’s trying to hide the visceral need to run, and the warning signs flood the forefront of your mind as Frankie’s booming voice echoes between your ears: it’s a bad idea, he’s not ready, he’ll hurt you, you’ll hurt each other.

“It’s okay, Will.” Barely above a whisper, you say the three words you hope will settle in his bones the same time you step back to put a small gap between your aching bodies. His aching undoubtedly from the fight he’d put up for Benny and yours for different reasons entirely, emphasized by the fact that every fibre of your being is reaching out to return to his orbit.

His hands clasp together in front of him, another sharp breath slipping past those lips before he rises to his full height. It takes you too long to point out that his knuckles still have dried blood on them, but it’s clear he has no intent on staying any longer than necessary. Hiding the hurt from your face was easy enough but the way it stings the corner of your eyes is something that’s more challenging to tamp down. Twisting your body away from him and ducking your chin into your chest, you try to stride out of the bathroom, but his words have you faltering right at the threshold. “Do I owe you something for this?”

“What?” Brows bunching together into a frown, you peer at him over your shoulder. “No, Will. You don’t owe me anything.”

Is it relief you see as tension uncoils from his body? Like maybe the fact that he didn’t owe you anything meant he didn’t have to talk about this night, relive it, or see you again? Your mind is racing a mile a minute, your steps faster as you make it to your living room and leave him following behind. “Hey,” Will’s voice is strained and again, it has your resolve wavering, leaning against the back of the couch as you slowly turn to face him, “thank you. I’m not sure what else to say. I know seeing a man sitting at your door late at night probably wasn’t the most welcoming thing, and out of the blue, too. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” You don’t mean to snap, the words falling out with a bite, but it’s too late to take them back. The only thing you can do is cast your eyes up at Will with a hint of regret flashing across your face. Because you did want him to stop saying sorry, to stop feeling bad for leaning on you when he needed help. Because you’re hit with the realization that refusing and turning him away at the door was never even an option. “It’s okay. Really, Will. I mean it. I’m happy to help you.” You admit softly, sucking in a breath to keep the momentum going, pivoting at the last second to turn the conversation into something less daunting as you murmur, “though I guess I thought the next time would’ve been under different circumstances.”

This seems to do the trick, lifting the veil of tension even for a brief moment, allowing you to catch a ghost of a smile when the lines on Will’s cheek deepen. “Mmhm, yeah. Would’ve been nicer if it were, I imagine.”

Fidgeting with your fingers yet unable to keep your attention away from him for too long, your eyes dance between your own hands and his. “Do you want me to take care of that, or…?” A little matted blood only needed a good wash, but you’d take the opportunity to tend to him if he allowed it.

Blue eyes dart down to meet where you’re looking, a quiet hum sounding in your apartment that feels like a ticking time bomb minutes before the inevitable crash. It comes far too quickly, and far too quietly, hitting you harder than you’re prepared for. “No, it’s okay. I should go.”

Whatever bubble you’d convinced yourself you were in pops, the moment once again splitting into pieces. This time, more than two, dropping around you helplessly and all you can do is agree with him as it slips like water between your fingers. “Okay.” After all, you'd have no right to ask him to stay. He’d already done that, and now Will’s decided it’s his time to leave. Palms slicking with sweat, you find yourself nervous. Find yourself wondering, not for the first time since you’ve known Will, why you were so nervous around him. It’s just Will, you remind yourself, something that’s becoming more of a mantra these days. “You drove here? You’ll be alright?”

“I’ll be alright.”

But would you be alright? It’s hard to tell because the longer Will lingers in front of you, the longer your mind strays. Is he second guessing himself? Is this all in your head? Is he going to shrug his jacket off and change his mind? Through the corner of your eye and in the dim light of your living room, you see the way his fingers twitch as it slowly rises. Inches before they can touch any part of you, it fades, your heart sinking into your stomach.

Only for it to crawl back up to lodge in your throat when the scent of Will threatens to overwhelm you as he steps in to press a kiss to the crown of your head, another muffled “next time, then,” before he’s skirting past you, opening your door, and leaving.

Leaving you with even more conflicted thoughts about Will Miller, ones that replay over and over again the entire night. Ones that blend into a flurry of emotions as you clean up and ready yourself for bed, ones that have you picking up your phone in the dark to type out a hurried text

'You should’ve stayed. Next time?'

#will miller x reader #william ironhead miller #william miller x reader #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #charlie hunnam fic #charlie hunnam fanfiction #charlie hunnam #william miller #will miller #will miller x you #william miller x you #triple frontier

270 notes · View notes

angels-fantasy · 6 months ago

Text

Top Secret Fiction Ch. 6

The Confrontation

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Description: After meeting the one and only pro hero Dynamight on a dating app, you two begin to see each other. Because of the dangers that come with his hero work, you both promise to be completely honest with each other from the beginning; though you can't help but keep one big secret from him.

You write fan fiction, mostly about him.

Chapter Details: deku makes an appearance here heheh. bakugou lowkey might like fanfics? but only if they're about him. scary confrontation 😟 reader is a bit sad and confused :(

Word Count: 1.4k

previous chapter

As soon as Bakugou got home, he opened his computer and looked up 'Bakugou x Reader'. What came up was a ton of links to different websites, one of the top ones being HeroFiction.Com.

Clicking on it, he scrolled through the sight and found many other original stories about different pro heroes.

While doing this, he learned that this was called fan fiction, which he'd heard about before, but he never paid attention to it because he didn't care.

Keeping the website open, he leaned back and wondered, were you writing fan fiction about him? You must've been, based on your notes. Did you write for other pro heroes, or just him?

A small part of him hoped you only wrote for him.

He sighed and rubbed his hands down his face, trying to think about what the hell he was going to do about this. Clearly, this was something you didn't want to tell him, meaning you kept it a secret.

And he hates secrets, but for some reason, this didn't feel too bad. He was almost... flattered, in a way. He was also curious and he just wanted to know more. But how would he even bring this up to you?

Deciding he'd need help with understanding this website, he called someone he trusted.

"Hey Deku. You know what fan fiction is, right?"

Blushing, Izuku replied with "Why are you asking me that Kacchan?!"

"Because I know you used to write that shit back in high school!" He explained, "Just tell me what you know about this site called 'HeroFiction.com.'"

A lightbulb went off in Izuku's head, "Oh yeah I recognize that name! It's basically a website for pro hero fanfiction. I've seen a few good ones actually-"

"Yeah okay, thanks." Katsuki said, cutting off his friend.

It was time for him to do more of his own research, specifically on this website.

...

When you woke up the next morning, you found yourself in your bed wondering how you got there.

Did I fall asleep? You wondered.

You cringed at the thought of Bakugou seeing you asleep and hoped you didn't do anything embarrassing.

Rubbing your eyes, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and saw a text from Bakugou letting you know he had left after putting you in your bed.

You smiled at his thoughtfulness and texted him back a thank you, and an apology for falling asleep while he was over.

After tossing your phone down onto the bed next to you, you stretched and blinked away any leftover sleep.

As you were stretching your legs you felt your foot hit something softly. Wondering what it was, you sat up and looked at the foot of your bed, eyes widening when you realized it was your notebook.

But this wasn't just any notebook- this one had all of your notes for fics you were planning on writing.

You thought about how Bakugou brought you into your bedroom, and your heart sank to your stomach when you realized he probably saw your notebook.

"Noooo!" You cried and placed your hands over your eyes. "Kill me now..."

You prayed to any higher power out there that he didn't read anything.

...

Your prayers clearly didn't reach anyone because a few hours after waking up, you got a text from Bakugou that said, "Can we talk? ASAP."

Biting your nail nervously, you texted back "Sure" and asked when and where he'd want to meet up.

Quickly texting back, he told you he'd meet you at a cafe near your neighborhood in a few hours.

A little while later as you got ready to meet up with him you felt like you were going to cough up your stomach and die from your nerves.

You didn't want to accept it, but deep down you knew he figured out your secret. It was already terrifying trying to keep what you did in your free time a secret, but now that the person you wrote about knew, was even more terrifying!

It seemed as though your frantic thoughts made time go by even faster than usual, and it was now time for you to leave so you could make it to the cafe on time.

Taking a deep breath and patting your face, you stepped out of your apartment and began to head to the cafe.

...

As Bakugou sat at the cafe in the outdoor dining area, he tapped his foot anxiously as he awaited your arrival.

After his phone call with Deku and doing his own research (which just consisted of reading other fan fictions he came across), he came to the conclusion that he would accept this hobby of yours, if you were honest about it when he confronted you.

Since he had browsed the website a bit, he came across some stories that were actually decent (but also others that were very, very questionable and he really hoped you didn't write anything like that. ESPECIALLY not a story with him and that damn Deku).

He'd never admit it, but it boosted his ego a bit to know that you wrote about him, and he definitely wanted to read some of your stuff. He wanted to know if it was as good as some of the other ones he has read.

Suddenly, he saw your figure walking towards him and he was snapped out of his thoughts. He sat up straighter and placed his elbows against the table, leaning forward.

You sat down across from him silently with a shy look on your face. "So..." You said softly, "You wanted to talk?"

He cleared his throat, "Yeah. I'll just get to the point..." He said, before hesitating to say, "That night I was at your place, I saw your notebook-"

You grimaced, knowing exactly what he was talking about, and placed your hands over your face in embarrassment. "I'm sorry." You said.

Letting out a deep breath, you uncovered your face and continued to speak while looking down at your lap. "I knew this would come up eventually, I just didn't think it'd be so soon..."

Bakugou scoffed, "So when were you gonna tell me? Never?"

You frowned at his tone, "No! It's just not an easy topic to talk about Bakugou. It's embarrassing and I wasn't just going to say 'Hey Bakugou, did you know I've been writing fan fiction about you for three years?'"

He blinked. He could understand where you were coming from. In fact, he'd probably be more weirded out if you had told him that easily. But, even though you were honest now, it still doesn't shake his uneasiness about you keeping a secret from him.

Sure, it wasn't a huge, life threatening secret, but it was still something you kept from him. He liked honesty, especially in a relationship and it's something he valued heavily. A part of him felt like he should've known about this sooner, since it was about him for gods sake!

He sighed. "Before you go assuming things, I'm not mad at ya, okay?" He said, "I just... I think I need time to think about this alright? A few days at most."

You furrowed your eyebrows subconsciously, making your eyes look big and puppy like. Well damn, how was he supposed to stay away from you when you gave him that look?

"Okay." You spoke sadly, "I understand. I shouldn't have kept that from you, so again, I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "'S fine."

You rubbed your sweaty palms on your legs and stood up. "I'll give you time now, alright? Just, call or text me whenever you're ready." You said and gave him a small wave before walking back in the direction you came from.

As you made your way back, you thought about your talk with Bakugou.

If you wanted to keep seeing him, maybe you would have to stop writing. You were starting to really like Bakugou, and you didn't want a silly hobby to get in the way of a potentially serious relationship with him.

You felt your eyes tear up. It was hard to think about giving up writing. You had made friends through your writing, your own little community online. It was great! But realistically, could you keep this up forever?

That same night, you posted on your page.

Hi everyone. I've decided to take a break from writing for a while. I'm not sure how long it will be, but I will still leave everything here for you to read.

Thank you, xo.

authors note

HIII omg im so sorry i haven't updated this fic in a while 🥹 this chapter was actually really fun to write and omg writing readers thoughts at the end lowkey made me sad!! how do you feel about it? pls lmk!!

love ya!

tag list: @doumadono @54fangirl @andysdrafts @dagger-dragger @lovra974 @l4rsun1vrrse @emmab3mma @littlkittenfan @tatiquichi @cloudxluv @seonne @shonen-brainrot @the2ndl @gold24fish @cxp1d @rv19 @gina329

(those in pink couldn't be tagged)

#@angels-fantasy #fanfiction #writers on tumblr #fanfic #anime #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha bakugou #topsecretfiction

169 notes · View notes

irukasito · 1 month ago

Text

Following the idea that Kakashi gave up parts of himself while in ANBU, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone talk about how and when he and Iruka came into each other’s lives. I mean, you start off thinking that Naruto is the only link between them, but once you get to Shippuden it’s revealed that they took a mission together before Naruto was a student to either of them. And this turns their dynamic on its head, because suddenly they exist outside of the co-parent dynamic they get put into and become more three dimensional as characters because of how they influenced each other.

We don’t know much about the mission itself, except that Iruka was hurt because Heart Too Big™️ and that Kakashi tried to take responsibility as captain when questioned by the Sandaime (which probably poked at his own trauma around letting comrades get hurt but thats beside the point). While I do wish we could have gotten an episode or two about that mission, we know all we need to know from what we’re given, specifically that the versions of Kakashi and Iruka that went on that mission were unevolved versions of themselves (compared to how they’re portrayed in the present) and that the versions of them that came out of that mission were changed, or would be changed.

Iruka, for example, realizes and passionately proclaims that he now understands his role as a shinobi is not in the field, but in the village as an instructor passing on the will of fire to the next generation. This clarity changes and sets him on a path toward teaching Naruto later on. Kakashi is changed by virtue of witnessing Iruka’s commitment to not just the will of fire/the village but to future generations.

The Naruto timeline is a mess, but I do think that the Kakashi watching Iruka and the Sandaime talk is the version of Kakashi that was recently discharged from service as an ANBU (the ages line up well enough). This Kakashi is still jaded and disconnected from his purpose as a shinobi/person after years of working as a weapon for the village in its shadows. You get the idea from the Kakashi ANBU arc that, for all that time, he ran missions like a machine and lost sight of what it was all for.

(This is also when it becomes clear that they’re foils for one another. The version of Kakashi on that roof was still functioning in the same ways he used to in ANBU, exceptionally skilled and emotionally distant, just under a different title/command,and Iruka, in comparison, was just a chuunin, too emotional and immensely dedicated to the village and its people/will of fire.)

The scene on the roof is a wake up for Kakashi in terms of reminding him why he does missions, what he’s protecting, etc— it’s sort of a redux of Obito’s speech about comrades and Asuma’s king allegory, which is why I think he (as its alluded) attaches himself, trusts, and seeks out Iruka so often throughout the series and bonus materials (at least in a way he doesn’t for anyone else, that we can see). Iruka, and his dedication/essence/drive, is something he recognizes as invaluable and worth preserving because Kakashi understands that’s what preserves the village, ultimately. Not war, not missions, not killing, but protecting the people in it and a vision for the future. (Sidenote: this is also why Iruka is there in the early seasons when missions get handed out.)

I’m rambling, but to reiterate, hearing Iruka talk about the will of fire and the future pulled Kakashi back into his body after so many years of being in fight or flight, his humanity pushed aside. In fact, the passion Iruka showed made enough of an impression on Kakashi that he remembered it and noted its absence years later when they were on the bench (“there’s no spark in your eyes”/ “your eyes had a spark back then”). I don’t doubt he committed the moment to memory, sharingan be damned.

I say this alot, as a proud Iruka supremacist, but Iruka is the will of fire. The Sandaime recognized this in him and nurtured it. Kakashi recognized this too and helped/protected him throughout the story by listening to him (the bench), assuring/comforting him (regarding Naruto in the earlier seasons), encouraging him (the vice principals exam), and saving his life even if it meant putting his own in danger (the 3 kunoichi from Takigakure, Pain).

And if Iruka is the will of fire, then Iruka is the personification of Kakashi’s purpose and a major facet of his humanity. And while the jokes are funny, their relationship goes far beyond just being co-workers or co-parents to Naruto. Iruka helped turn Kakashi from a blade to a shield-- something that gets underscored in Kakashi Retsuden when he shows Kakashi the non-lethal way to restrain enemies, as Konoha implemented different measures under him-- and Kakashi helped him stay on the path he was meant to be on. Not to mention they grow so much closer as time goes on, taking care and confiding in one another in different ways. It’s a really beautiful relationship, whether you see it as romantic or not.

#but yes it is romantic and yes they are in love. TO ME.#i'd take the time to cite stuff but this is word vomit so i won't :3 #kkir #kakairu #iruka #kakashi

113 notes · View notes

thatone-brightstar · 2 years ago

Text

The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Bear meet Fox

Words: 5.2k

Summary: Out of everyone in the vast city of Chicago, Carmen was glad it was you who stumbled into his rundown restaurant.

a/n: I'm too in love with this man to not write about him, so I'm contributing to our shared obsession with my silly little ficcc.

Also reader is Latina in this and yes it's partially self indulgence.

You couldn't believe you were about to do it.

Not due to excitement but mostly dread, and a bit of self loathing, that the lowest point in your life had brought you here of all places in the city. Might as well call it point Nemo because there was no way you could get any further away.

Pulling your phone from the back pocket of your jeans, you kept your eyes still on the rundown building across the deserted street, afraid it would dissipate and take with it your only chance of employment in a 200 mile radius. The phone screen lit up with the last message from your brother a few days ago and you wanted to punch him square in the face at the way he worded his stupid attempt at “helping” you find a job.

‘So you stop moping around the house cuz its getting pathetic’

Read the text under a picture of a ‘HELP WANTED’ sign, poorly taped to the inside of a surprisingly clean window, stark contrast to the grimy brick that surrounded it. A second text had also been left on read, with a maps link to the location where you stood, balancing on your feet out of nerves. You contemplated your options, as if you had any; turn around, head home and lay in bed until you withered and died of misery. God, your brother was right, you were getting pathetic.

You took a very deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then blew it out into the cold surroundings. ‘You can do it. It’s just another interview, you've done those before. More in the past month than your whole life sure, but who cares? This is the good one.’ You tried psyching yourself up. It could always be worse, you remembered, though lately it seemed more true everyday.

You forced your feet to move from their petrified state and walked towards the building, made sure that the sign was the same one your brother sent, then stood with an outstretched hand about to pull the door open when a voice coming from the left side of the building called your attention.

“Yo, sweetheart! We open at noon!” A man wearing gray joggers and an over washed shirt stood with his head peeking against the corner of the building. If it weren’t for the apron tied around his waist, you’d assume he’s some stranger sticking his nose in other people’s business, but with the bags under his eyes and the cigarette hanging from his mouth, you recognized the trademark of a tired restaurant worker.

“I’m here for the help wanted ad?” You said more like a question, raising a manila folder and shaking it so he could see that you weren’t there for sandwiches, or whatever it was they sold.

“Why?” He asked skeptically, scanning you from head to toe and taking a drag from his cigarette without using his hands. Show off.

You couldn’t come up with an answer on the spot, out of nervousness and intimidation, so you chose to shrug. You could have said you needed the job or literally anything else, but that answer seemed to be enough for him. The guy took another drag then gestured with his head for you to follow him around the corner. With a doubtful turn to the glass door, you moved to the left and followed the man into the parking spot between buildings where, you hoped, another entrance to the restaurant would be waiting for you.

You moved slowly over the gravel, making your way deeper into the empty space. A breath you didn’t know you were holding left your lips at the sight of a long metal door opened ajar, with the man finishing his cig keeping it from closing. He made a circular impatient motion with his hand while staring at you and that was enough for you to quicken your pace towards him.

“Hurry up babe, we ain’t got all day” He said with a loud voice despite being less than three feet away. “C’mon, I’ll see if I can find my asshole cousin. He’s the one who put that stupid sign up anyway.”

You fully entered the building and were immediately welcomed by the familiar scent of roasted meats and sauteed vegetables, the buzz of old vent pipes and the scraping of metal pans against the burners slightly numbed the anxiety growing in your stomach. This was familiar, this you knew. Down to the Bachata beat playing somewhere inside from an overworked radio and the blinding white lights reflecting off the even whiter tiled walls.

The man seemed to have disappeared somewhere past the kitchen, leaving you stranded in the middle of the Steward station with nothing but a half assed ‘wait here’. You clutched your folder containing your resumé near your chest and tried to make yourself as small as it was possible in the already tiny space, so as to not interfere with anyone who were to pass by in a hurry. It felt like minutes had passed and the guy had not returned. You tried to keep yourself entertained by counting the stained steel pots hanging from the hooks above the sinks, then moved to count the beat up escoffier containers that rested on the rack in front of you. When that was done, you checked your surroundings in search of someone else to help you, as the asshole had been gone for some time and it didn’t seem like he’d be back soon.

About to give up hope and ready to push the exit door, you hear a loud ‘Corner!’ headed your way and turned just in time to see a mountain of pots and pans being carried to the sinks by a faceless body. His head was turned to the other side, probably doing his best to keep an eye on the path ahead. You tried to say something but the words were stuck in your throat, so instead you stepped back out of his way and waited until he dropped the cookware. The faceless person dropped everything inside with a loud bang, then rested his arms against the metal edge, sighed and let his head hang low. From your position, scooted by the door in silence, you waited expectantly for him to turn around so you could say something; maybe explaining why you’re there would be a good way to start. But it took him some time to move. All you saw is the flexing of strained muscle on his arms as he gripped the sink like a lifeline. The movement of his tensed back as he breathed under the thin white shirt he wore brought a warmth to your cheeks and you knew you’re starting to be creepy so you forced yourself to talk.

“Hi-” Is all you get to say before he jumped back startled, wide blue eyes with a wild expression and a hand clutching over his blue apron where his heart was.

“Jesus fuck! Don’t fuckin’ do that!” He shouted at you with a hand raking through his hair.

“Sorry!” You yelled back. Your heartbeat pounded in your throat and ears and the warmth from a few seconds ago had turned scorching hot over all your skin.

He leaned forward and rested his hands over his knees trying to calm his pulse, then chuckled lightly and regained his composure. “No no you’re good, I-uh I didn’t mean to yell like that but you scared the shit outta me.”

He passed his hand over his face then left it over his mouth, contemplating you for a solid minute. He looked over at you unsure of what to say as you stood holding your folder to your chest and balancing on your feet.

“Right… so'' He leaned against the sink. “Who are you?”

“Yeah sorry, I saw you were asking for help up front and wanted to see if it was still available.” You said pointing to where you assumed was front of house. In the small space, you couldn’t really make out the layout of the place. “Some asshole guy let me in but then left me here.”

“Fuckin’ Richie” He says under his breath. “Yeah, yeah it still is. You got any papers on you?”

You hand him the folder you had been clutching to your chest. He looked at you one last time then opened it to find your wrinkled resume inside. While he analyzed the information you peeked another look at him. Ashy blond hair framed a strong jaw and nose. He had a broad back and strong arms, likely from all the physical effort it took to work in a kitchen, and even though he took up some space, it seemed like he tried to shrink into himself. The pale skin on his arms was littered with designs that you couldn’t make out from the distance, but you could see the hyper pigmentation of a few scars.

“Oven?” You ask, pointing to a small angry red mark across his forearm.

“What? Oh fuuuck.” He said as he turned his arm. “That’s the first time I see it, honestly.”

You laughed lightly under your breath, before he turned to you with a small smile.

“C’mon.” He guided you out the Steward section and you assumed he’d take you to whoever was in charge of the place.

Your nerves had settled due to the familiar ambiance, as he conducted you through the different sections where a few cooks turned curiously, then settled by the expo that stood tall facing the small window opening into the dining area.

“Mind if we check it here? The office is a shit hole right now.” He looked down at you with expectant eyes.

You swallowed dryly, you weren’t expecting him to be the one in charge. Does that mean you were checking out your future boss? Fuck. You nodded, afraid to trust your own voice. He nodded back then looked at the worn out paper.

“You have a pretty cool resume.” He started. “You’ve been all over the place. Hostess, service, line cook. Private chef for two years, where was that?”

“Uhm, some rich folks up in Lincoln Park. Just dinner and meal prep.” You said as nonchalant as possible.

“Well listen, I don’t think I can pay you as well as they did.” He joked. “We’re not that big of a place and in all honesty, business’ a little tight right now.”

And there it was, the last rejection you were expecting. You looked down at your hands and did your best to calm the bile climbing up your throat.

“But we could really use the help, so maybe I can offer you to help out up front and once we’re back on our feet, you can move back here. The pay’s not the best and the hours are crazy long but it’s just in the meantime.” He stayed quiet waiting for an answer.

Your head snapped up to look at him after the first half, still surprised it wasn’t a rejection. You didn’t notice you had been quietly staring until he raised his brows expectantly.

“Wait, so that means I’m hired?” You questioned, still cautious.

“Yeah, you think you can start today?”

“Yes, yes thank you so much!” You cleared your throat to hide the too obvious excitement. “Yeah, I’ll just need a place to drop off my things.”

“Great, well we gave Sydney our last empty locker, but you can keep your bag in the office. It’s pretty safe.” He pointed to a closet sized door to the left and asked you to follow him while he explained that family was served before opening and that he’d introduce everyone then.

After dropping your bag inside the dimly lit room, that was indeed a shit hole, he guided you back to the kitchen, then through a white door that pushed into the front of house. You saw the asshole leaning against the long counter separated from the tables, telling a very engaging story to a shorter man in a backwards cap who appeared to just want to finish fixing a broken tap. When the door slammed behind you, they both turned towards you and the chef, who you had yet to know the name of. The taller of the two’s eyes grew in realization and his hand flew to his mouth in a fist to try and hide his laugh.

“Shiiit, my bad doll. I swear I went lookin’ for ‘em but fuckin’ Fak here couldn’t keep his pipe shut and started talking!” He said, using the back of his other hand to slap at the chest of the other man who turned offended to him.

“I didn’t say shit! You came running to me talkin’ about the pretty girl you had in the bac-”

“Both of you shut the fuck up and listen” The man behind you interrupted impatient, he placed his hand lightly on your lower back and pushed you further into the room. The placement of his hand did nothing to subside the growing shade of pink in your cheeks from the comment. “This is… shit sorry, I never asked your name.” He turned to you, hand still on your back.

A quiet ‘it’s okay’ left your lips and you introduced yourself to the group of men. The chef repeated your name to himself as a way of memorizing it, then spoke back to the group.

“Richie, she’ll be helping you up front.”

“Fuck you, I’m not babysitting!” He turns to you. “No offense sweetheart, but this,” He said signaling the bar, “is a one man symphony, okay? I can’t have you screwing with my system.”

You did your best not to roll your eyes at him, because of course you expected him to be defensive about it. Enough experience in the service industry had shown you that older people tended to be quite resistant towards change, especially if the change came in the form of barely 5’3 and female. Sure you were young, you had barely graduated culinary school two years ago during the pandemic, but you had been working since your third year so you were more than familiar with the business.

“Well you have a shitty system.” Said Fak under his breath as he finished unscrewing something.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Richie said, offended.

“I’m just saying man, you could use the help. I saw you jump at a customer the other day cause he was asking for ketchup.”

“Cause only idiots ask for ketchup with a sandwich!” He threw his hands in the air and turned his back to Fak.

“He was ten!” He shouted back.

“Look, I don’t have time to argue! Richie, you imbecile, take the help cause you need it and stop jumping on people before you catch a case, all right?!” He turned to you, rubbed your back with his hand still there and smiled slightly. “You’ll do great.” He says finally before turning to Richie and pointing up at him while walking back. “Don’t fuckin’ scare her off.”

And he was gone out the door. Richie made a gesture with both his hands pushing from under his chin to where the chef had disappeared then turned to you. He stayed silent, one hand on the bar and another on his hips as he stared at you in intimidation. You held his gaze, not cowarring now that you knew he wasn’t going to murder you. An ‘Aha!’ from Fak brought him back and he slapped his hand on the bar.

“Alright c'mon. I’m gonna need you to organize back here while I sweep around the tables. We open at 12 so we got enough time. Got it? ” He finished.

You salute with your right hand, rolled up your sleeves and walked behind the bar to start working on the task. “Yes, chef.” You mumbled out of habit.

“Nah, don’t fuckin’ start with that ‘chef’ thing with me, I’m already up to my balls with Carmy sayin’ it all the time.” He replied exasperated.

“Fine. Yes, asshole. Whatever.” You respond, rolling your eyes and starting to take things out from the fridge at the bottom of the counter.

You heard a snicker from Fak a few feet away, followed by a smacking sound and an ‘Ow! Fuck you!’ before Richie’s sneakers squeaked away into the other room. What you didn’t see was the small smirk on his face as he started walking away. You had balls, he’d give you that.

You powered through the absolute rat’s nest the bottom of the counter was. An empty jar of pickles, two moldy sausages and a single slab of cheese without the wrapper were only a couple of things you found while trying to clean the mess. You took anything useless and dumped it into a black trash bag Fak was nice enough to get you, before showing you where they kept all the cleaning supplies so you weren’t in the dark. It took you two trips to the supply shelf, a sponge, a rag and half a bottle of dish soap to ultimately get rid of the stale grease that gave the impression to have been there since the opening of the place. Once you were satisfied with the way you organized the station, you moved to scrub the top of all the counters and even give a little swipe with the rag on all the stools.

You had baby hairs sticking to your forehead and cheeks by the time you were done, even your jacket had been discarded and thrown under the now clean bar, but a satisfied smile rested on your face despite all that. God, you really missed working. You finally took some time to admire all the framed pictures littering the surrounding walls. Most were of sports players you weren’t familiar with; one, because you really weren’t a fan of any sport, and two, because the pictures looked so old that most of the specific features had been erased from too much exposure to the sun. There were also football jerseys hanging by a corner near the unlit menu and a big ‘Beef Deli’ sign on the wall behind you. You saw a couple cooks moving around behind the window under the sign and a little knot formed in your stomach at the thought of having to introduce yourself in a while.

You checked your wristwatch on your left hand while you wiped the sweat from your forehead with your right, hoping you still had some time to kill. But before you could look down, a voice by the door called your name. You looked up to see the chef, Carmy you had learned his name was, looking at you with a small smile.

“Front of house looks good, chef.” He complemented, clear blue eyes scanning the counters as he leaned against the door, hands playing with a spoon.

You took a deep breath and smiled back, holding onto your wrists behind your back, “Thanks, chef. I-uhm hope you don’t mind that I took some Fabuloso to wipe down the counter by the window. It smelled like shit.” You finish, pointing at the purple liquid in the spray bottle beside you.

“Yeah, no that’s fine.” He answers, a small laugh stuck in his throat. “But that was actually Tina’s so don’t let her see you used it.”

Your mouth opened slightly as your eyes grew, and you were afraid to ask how bad it would be if she found out. He straightened up with a smirk and tapped his spoon twice on the metal counter before signaling for you to follow him with his head.

“C’mon, family’s up.”

You turned on your heel to follow him into the other room, but jogged back, jumped over the counter high enough to slap the spray bottle with sufficient force for it to fall and roll under the counter. You did not know Tina, but you were sure as hell you also didn’t want to get your shit rocked on your first day on the job.

You tried tidying up your hair back into a less messy ponytail and combed all the stray baby hairs before entering the adjacent room where the other workers were getting ready for family. Some faces stared from their seats, questioning the presence of the stranger invading their space. A few you had met on the rush while taking the garbage bags out or crossing the kitchen to the supply shelf. Marcus, the pastry chef, waved with a simple smile and pointed to an empty space beside him. The simple action brought a wave of relief over your shoulders as you advanced towards him, hands interlocked in nerves. You mumbled a ‘Thanks.’ and served yourself a glass of water from the pitcher in front of you.

Once everyone was sitting with a container of food in front, the chef introduced you to the table and let everyone know you’d be helping out up front with the service and that if they had any questions, they could ask you directly. The first one to jump at the opportunity was an older man with dark skin, asking you in a thick accent if you were related to Tina. There was a burst of laughter around the table, but he seemed to be serious about his question.

“Ebra, not all latinos are related you racist fucker.” Responded a small woman sitting beside him with a slap to his arm. Okay, so that’s Tina, you thought. “That’s like me saying you and Marcus are related cause you’re both black.” She finished pointing at the tall man sitting beside you.

“We are related.” Ebra responded with a teasing smile, staring at Marcus and you immediately knew where this was going. “I am his grandfather- his mom called me daddy last night!”

Another roar of laughter shattered along the table and you had to stick a spoonful of rice in your mouth to hide your smile. You heard a ‘C’mon man, that’s not right.’ from Marcus as he shook his head, but the creeping grin let you know that it was all in fun. The conversation flowed between comments on the food and stories they all recounted, glad to have a fresh pair of ears to hear them.

One of Richie’s was from a few weeks ago, when they had set up a video game tournament at the restaurant to make some extra cash and the nerds in line had gone so bat shit crazy, that one punched Carmy on the jaw and he had to go out and ‘beat their asses into shape’. You slowly swallowed the bite you had taken and stared at Richie sitting at the end by Carmy.

“Was he dressed like a giant carrot… By any chance?” You ask mortified.

“No shit! You know the fucker?!” He yelled, slamming his hands on the table. Everyone turned to you like you were holding a new piece to a worthy puzzle.

You covered your face with your hands then crossed them in front of your chin. “Yeah… I think that fucker’s my 19 year old brother.” You affirmed scrunching your face in disgust. Fuckin’ Joshua.

The table went wild with jokes about how Carmy had almost gotten knocked out by a teen and through the hysterics you could still make out Richie’s voice saying “Oh my god, sweetheart. Thank you, really. You just made my WEEK!” All you could do was pick around your container as heat crept up your neck.

You peered up through your lashes at Carmen sitting with a mortifying look and mouthed a heartfelt ‘Sorry’ for what felt like the tenth time that day. He was leaning back with his arms crossed, smiled with an ‘it’s okay’ and let everyone take a jab with their jokes. You looked back down to your food and did your best to drown out the teasing noises from everyone, but were unaware of how the chef raised his brows and swallowed dryly with his gaze still on you.

After minutes of teasing, everyone picked up their empty dishes and separated into their areas. You stayed in the dining room wiping down the tables that were left to clean before opening service and a couple of ideas came to mind on how you could decorate them to reduce the depressing feeling. At least for now, napkins and holders would do, the rest would have to wait. You power walked to the front where you remembered seeing a packet that looked to be from napkins, but once you reached inside all you found were a bunch of wrinkled brown pieces of paper.

“Richie!” You yelled from your crouched position.

“Yo!” He yelled back, head popping above you over the counter.

“I can’t seem to find any napkins.” You spoke while still searching hopefully in the space.

“You’re holdin’ em.” He stated, matter-of-factly.

You stand fully and shake the supposed napkins in front of you. “Richie, these are stained and say Starbucks on em!”

His grin grew wide on his face as he walked back with extended arms. “Welcome to The Beef, kid!” He laughed, then leaned down to unlock the glass door where you could already see some people forming a line.

You quickly dropped the napkins, grabbed the blue half apron you had been given and tied it around your waist as fast as possible. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A fuckin’ heads up would’ve been nice, you thought as you plastered on a soft smile for the clients.

“Alright, fuckos! We’re open!” He shouted into the restaurant and wiggled his brows towards you. “Goodluck.”

Fuck.

*****

He was worried for you for the first fifteen minutes after opening. Afraid you’d see the mess you had stumbled upon or that his idiot cousin would say something that would have you grabbing your bag and leaving without as much as a goodbye. He wouldn’t blame you, hell, he would’ve even done the same if his name wasn’t in the lease now instead of his brother’s.

He stopped worrying however, when he saw the way you managed yourself around the floor and customers. Empty plates were picked up with ease and replaced with warm ones that spent less than five minutes on the counter, the orders were taken within minutes and served with a kind smile. He was even surprised when you walked away from the other side of the expo with three plated sandwiches balancing in one hand and a forth plate in the other.

“Can you manage, chef?” He even asked when he saw you trying to find the perfect space between your fingers that could balance the plate, your lip caught in concentration.

You looked at him with your head still bowed and a breathy smile. “Yeah, thanks.” Then turned your back to deliver the dishes.

It wasn’t his intention for his gaze to linger longer than it did as your hips swayed naturally with every step, or when despite the hectic sound of the kitchen he could still hear you laugh politely at a joke from one of their regulars. But it was only until Syd elbowed him in the side that he noticed he was being a bit creepy. Jesus, it’s like your 14 again, he thought.

“You’re worried Richie’s gonna scare her off but you’re the one giving me the creeps with all the staring.” She said after reading the printed ticket for another order.

“Heard, chef.” Was all he said, cleared his throat and went back to work, doing his best not to look up every time you walked to receive a new order.

It was only when the lunch rush died down and he was in desperate need of a cigarette, that he saw you sitting down with your head resting against the cold bricks of the adjacent building and eyes closed peacefully. He didn’t want to bother you, but he also didn’t want to waste the opportunity of telling you how well you had done in the first half of the day. Besides, the heavy door behind him slammed closed and startled you slightly, so there was no going back now.

“Hey.” You smiled softly, stretching your arms above your head and your legs straight forward, then relaxed altogether.

“You smoke?” Carmy asked, offering you a cig as he sat on the empty crate a few feet away from you, elbows resting on his knees.

You shook your head no, but thanked him anyway. “I quit a few months ago.” You said just as he flicked his lighter on and the tip grew bright orange.

“Shit, sorry. If it bothers you I can turn it off.” He offered. He wanted to say ‘I can go somewhere else’ but he didn’t want to give you the idea that he didn’t wanna be there.

You shook your head no again still smiling and pulled one of your legs to your chest, turning to him. “So…” You asked curious. “How’d I do for my first half?”

Carmy chuckled lightly as he exhaled smoke into the air. He turned to you from his crouched position and for the fifth time that day, he took a good look at your face. Jesus fuck, how could someone as beautiful as you end up in his dump of all places? Despite your overworked expression and a few small bags beneath your eyes, he was sure he had never seen anyone’s face glow with such brightness as yours did now. His eyes danced around your face, taking in every single freckle he could before he tore them away after what to him felt like an eternity of staring- no- admiring your features.

“You did way better than I expected. Truly, chef. Thank you.” He whispered and, despite the noisy Chicago surroundings, you heard every word.

Your smile beamed brighter for what felt like the first time in months and the fist that had been constricting your heart for a while now seemed to give you some much needed space to breathe.

Carmy finished his cigarette in comfortable silence, now laying back against the cold brick wall that helped ease the rising temperature in his body, while you played with the aquamarine ring on your pointer finger that reminded you too much of the chef’s specific shade of blue eyes.

“What’s Carmy short for?” You asked all of a sudden, pulling him out of his internal thoughts.

It took him a couple of seconds to process the question, then smiled down to the gravel under his feet. “Uhm- it’s short for Carmen. It’s a family name. " He responded.

“Oh.” Was all you said, nodding your head. “It's nice. I have a cousin named Carmen.” You continue with a smile on your lips.

“Yeah?” He asked, turning down towards you, only to see you stand up and clean off the dust from the back of your black jeans and readjust the apron around your waist.

You stood with your hands on your hips and stared down at him for another second before smiling and making your way to the tall door. “Yeah, but she’s a girl.” You reply without turning back and push your way into the restaurant, leaving the chef with a snickering grin and a lightheaded feeling he wished wasn’t just from the nicotine.

Chapter 2.

1K notes · View notes

writingtraumaforever · 2 months ago

Text

Courtship: Chapter 2

Notes: Here we go! Chapter 2! And ohhh boy, this is gonna be fun.

Summary: Shadow has been researching the courting rituals of the hedgehog. Sonic unknowingly initiates said rituals.

Chapter Select: Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Link to my AO3!

Start:

They’ve been meeting up for months now.

Since the night Shadow and Sonic planned to meet at the Green Hills sign, they haven’t stopped scheduling rendezvouses. At the end of each of their races, the person deemed the winner— which is often argued over for far too long— chooses the next meeting spot and time.

Sonic picks the police department rooftop once, Shadow picks the rooftop of the ‘Bean Hill Zone’–previously known as Mean Bean, Sonic picks the back alley of the arcade, Shadow picks the mountaintop right past the town limits. Every spot had to be out of sight and discreet, Shadow having obvious anxiety over being seen or recognized. It kind of hurt Sonic’s heart seeing Shadow feel so… hated.

Typically, their races would end with them arguing the winner and then picking their next spot before leaving. But they recently began to grow into more of a hangout afterwards. Shadow would stick around rather than rushing off or disappearing. He never seemed thrilled about being around Sonic, but he didn’t seem disgusted by the fact, either. So Sonic sees it as progress.

Honestly, Shadow isn’t half bad when he’s not trying to destroy the planet.

He’s kind of quiet. Very quiet, actually. But when he does talk, he has a lot of interesting things to say. Like stuff about the stars and constellations and patterns in the solar system and how they varied from others. He always seemed attentive when Sonic spoke about earth, too. He’d listen when Sonic would go on and on about his favorite locations around the world, about how chili dogs are man’s greatest creation, and how the Olympics had turned him down three times now to being a competitor–which he thought was discriminatory.

He was also kind of funny! Which shocked Sonic, honestly. He didn’t really laugh. Ever. But he’d drop the most deadpan, dry humor jokes that always threw Sonic off and had him cackling which usually resulted in Shadow giving a tiny smirk and hum of humor, seeming proud of his joke. He got better with time, too. Seeming to pick up on pop culture references Sonic would teach him and use those to his advantage.

One time he told Sonic to check ebay for a life, and Sonic didn’t know what to do with that.

Speaking of pop culture, Sonic let Shadow borrow his old MP3 player! It was loaded with all sorts of good beats and genres. Shadow didn’t seem to like it at first, finding the headphones overwhelming in his ears. But Sonic told him he could play them through the speaker instead, and ever since, Sonic catches him humming tunes he recognizes now and then..

Once he swears he heard him humming ‘Shake It Off’ by Taylor Swift, but he’ll never dare to ask or judge.

They take walks when they hangout, mostly. Slowing down to just trot through the woods or hike along the mountains and end somewhere that seems like a good enough view to chill. They don’t do this on purpose. It just sort of flows that way.

And while Shadow’s personality is a bit difficult to navigate at times.. Sonic enjoys his company. A lot. Maybe a little too much.

For a long while, he kept this a secret from his family under the guise that he was simply going out for a run. But when he stayed out a little too late one night and didn’t get home until 3 AM, Maddie and Tom were absolutely rampant with worry and demanded he be truthful with them. So he told them. Maddie seemed a bit shocked but open. Tom?? Tom seemed.. reluctant is a weak word for it..

‘I forbid you from seeing him anymore!’

‘Forbid me?? Like a disney villain??’

‘What he means is that we expect you to be more honest with us about who you’re hanging out with, but we trust your judgment.’

‘No. No, I mean forbid. It’s forbidden. It’s a rule. I just made it. Forbid.’

‘Thomas..’

‘Ow! Stop pinching my arm!’

‘This is so unfair! You haven’t even given him a chance, yet!’

‘I don’t need to give him a chance! Last I saw that little psycho, he had me pinned to the floor with a gun to my head declaring it justice!’

‘He was confused! He had been brainwashed into believing that revenge is what his sister wanted as her dying wish!’

‘Oh that poor baby..’

‘Baby!? Maddie– did you not hear what I just said???’

‘I know, Tom. I was there. And while it was traumatizing, I think Sonic is right. He deserves a chance. Knuckles had been manipulated and nearly annihilated Sonic when we first met him, too. And look at him now.’

‘..Okay, fine. A chance is one thing, but why does does that chance have to be one we give??’

‘Because he doesn’t have anyone else!... He’s lonely. And he doesn’t say it, but I think he’s scared a lot. He lost his family.. I think he just needs a friend. You can’t take me away from him.. I’m all he has.’

‘....Okay. Okay, I’m crazy for this, but okay. You can.. keep seeing Shadow.’

‘Ugh. Stop saying it like that. You make it sound like we’re dating–’

‘But I want to meet him, first. Man-to-hedgehog. He has to earn my trust and approval. Prove he’s changed.’

‘...Sure! Yeah, he’ll totally be down for that!’

“I am totally not down for that.”

“Whaaaat?? Come on, Shads–”

“Don’t call me that.” “--You gotta meet my folks, or they’ll like- forever be up my case.”

“I fail to see how that’s my problem.” “It’s your problem because that’ll make us hanging out wayyy more difficult. And you can act like that doesn’t bother you all you want, but I so know it does.”

Sonic is waltzing along the railing of a bridge in the woods, Shadow walking alongside him close enough to grab him if Sonic falls–not that Shadow cares.

He doesn’t.

Wobbling in his steps, Sonic continues when Shadow’s only response is a grunt, “What’ll it hurt?? It’s just my parents, they’re not gonna bite.”

“I don’t fear them..,” Shadow scoffs, arms crossed tight as he glares at Sonic, “I simply don’t need their approval.”

“Don’t think of it as approval. Think of it as.. Just getting to know new people! Mom definitely just wants to talk to you. Dad may have.. other intentions, but he’s harmless. Promise.”

“Anyone deemed the Lord of Donuts has to be harmless.” “Exactly! So what do ya say??”

Shadow doesn’t answer, just stops when Sonic hops down to land in front of him with that stupid grin. Shadow huffs a bit, looking off to the side rather than at Sonic. He can see how much this means to him in those big, bright emerald eyes, and it’s tiresome.

He’s never questioned why Sonic cares for these people when they aren’t his real family. He’s never questioned why Sonic stays with them despite not needing to to survive..

He knows for a fact he’d still be with Maria if given the chance..

No, this isn’t a matter of why Sonic cares so much about his family’s opinion. He’s been intrigued and honestly a bit refreshed seeing another hedgehog with a human family..

No, it’s why Sonic cares about their opinion of him that gets Shadow bothered.

Why does he need to be involved??

Though, he has his suspicions..

He’s been reading up on the courting rituals of hedgehogs. He was raised with humans, so he isn’t quite familiar with this part of his DNA’s customs. But from what the earth books have told him, and while Sonic isn’t the same as an earth hedgehog, it’s all he’s got to go off of.

And hedgehog’s pursue their potential mate. Challenge them. Chase them. Then they circle them to feel out their mate.. See if there’s a chance for matching with them..

All things Sonic seems to have done with Shadow.

Then there’s snorting. Where the pursuer will snort at their mate and see if they’ll snort back. Sonic often snorts when he’s joking with Shadow.. And Shadow has joked back in return..

And as far as human customs go when pursuing a mate… meeting one’s parents is definitely part of it. It’s often thought of as a more serious step, in fact.

Shadow has had his suspicions all along of what Sonic’s intentions were in searching him out and very persistently sticking around. This just confirms it.

And Shadow… Shadow has been enabling such courting rituals. He’s been participating. He’s agreed to numerous meetings with this hedgehog. He’s enjoyed their conversations and time together, and he’s not looking for them to end. He’s, in all aspects of the word, reciprocated Sonic’s advances.

So to turn Sonic down now?? It would be cruel, wouldn’t it?? And Shadow isn’t even sure he wants to turn Sonic down. He isn’t ready for any sort of relationship, absolutely not. He still has a lot of trauma he needs to work through, but having Sonic as a companion through it.. doesn’t sound horrible. He’d prefer it, actually. He thinks.

He can’t lose Sonic. He does know that.

And if meeting Sonic’s family formerly will allow them to continue this courting dance they’ve been partaking in to see where it goes, then so be it.

“Very well.”

Sonic blinks, “Wait- what?”

“I accept your invitation to meet your family.”

Sonic immediately grins, his tail wagging practically as fast as the hedgehog runs, “You mean it?” “Why would I say something I didn’t mean??” “Oh, thank you, Shadow!” Sonic jumps up and down excitedly, and Shadow can’t help but smile a tiny smile at the sight of his excitement, “You won’t regret it.” “We’ll see..”

And so Sonic went home to let his family know they’d be having a guest for dinner the upcoming Friday. Maddie seemed nervous-excited, immediately going on about how she’s going to cook up this fantastic dinner for him. Tom seems a on guard about this, but he’s also agreed to go into it with an open mind.

It’s his brothers Sonic really has to worry about.

“So.. why is Shadow coming over again??” Tails asks, spinning around in his chair with a tiny gadget and screwdriver in hand. Sonic has no idea what he’s working on, and he’s learned not to ask since he won’t understand ha;f the explanation anyway.

“Because he needs friends. And we can be those friends,” Sonic assures with a thumbs up.

“But.. he tried to destroy the world,” Tails argues with a knit in his brow, tilting his head at Sonic.

“And he broke my hand! My glorious hand..,” Knuckles adds, holding his fist up dramatically.

Sonic sighs at this, rolling his eyes, “Yes, I know. And he’s sorry for those things.”

“I have not heard an apology from him,” the echidna huffs, arms crossed disapprovingly.

“That’s because you haven’t seen him since it happened,” Sonic replies, looking between this two misfit brothers, “Look. I know we all have history with him–” “Bad history.” “He scares me.” “Anyway, I also know we all can relate to him, huh??” Tails and Knuckles exchange unsure glances before Sonic is quickly moving to Tails, “Tails, buddy, you’ve felt out of place and alone in the world before! You know how awful it is.. How it can be hard to navigate the right direction without someone to guide you..” “That’s.. true..,” Tails agrees before giggling when Sonic ruffles the fur on his head.

Sonic then dashes to Knuckles, throwing an arm around him and shaking him roughly, “And you, Knucklehead–”

Knuckles punches Sonic in the chest, making Sonic stumble back with a chuckle.

“I am nothing like that fiend–” “Know what it’s like to have something horrible rip you from your family and be manipulated into hurting others as a way to seek justice for them..”

Knuckles goes silent at that, opening his mouth only to close it again with a thoughtful hum.

“...I suppose that’s true,” Knuckles nods, seeming won over by Sonic’s point.

“Exactly! You too have fallen victim to a Robotnik before– we all have in some way. Everyone makes mistakes, right?? We just gotta recognize those mistakes and grow from them.. So what makes Shadow any different??”

Knuckles and Tails are both quiet a long moment, looking at Sonic, then down, then each other..

Both slowly smile, Knuckles speaking as he looks back to Sonic,

“Very well. We shall allow our rival one trial. But if he fails, I will not hesitate to destroy him before he has a chance to destroy our tribe again..” “Fair enough,” Sonic nods with a grin, looking to Tails who nods in agreement.

“I trust you, Sonic. If you say Shadow has changed, then he’s changed,” the kit beams confidently, full loyalty in his big brother. Though, his smile grows a bit nervous, “But just.. Maybe he can prove he’s changed from a distance?” “Sure thing, buddy! I’ll be between you two at all times if it’ll make you feel better.” “Much, thanks,” Tails breathes in relief.

Sonic grins at this, “Good. Glad we’ve all come to an agreement then. Wachowski bros gotta stick together, right??” “Yeah! Team Heroes!” Tails grins, putting his fist out only for Sonic to fist bump him with a, “Red, Blue and Yellow!?” to which Knuckles then joins the group fist bump with a unanimous, “Hello!”

They all laugh amongst each other for a moment.. Only for Sonic get dead serious once they get quiet again and add,

“Okay. Now we gotta talk about you guys not embarrassing me.”

73 notes · View notes