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jokin-around · 5 years ago

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1am trek to Rite-aide in a Batman kigurumi for a bottle of cold syrup and some ice cream

Fic under the cut🎉🎉 ⬇⬇⬇

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826074

from beneath a pile of blankets a color drained clown groaned miserably, the sound somewhat muffled by the assortment pretty plastic bobbles filling up the half deflated kitty pool they laid in haphazardly.

The clown in question was Gotham's very own mage of mischief. and much as pain played into his game he absolutely HATED being sick.

Funny thing was, Jay didn’t ever get sick. Period.

With the slew of mystery chemicals constantly floating around in his blood he’d always thought he’d be immune to something as innocuous as a cold. yet here he was stewing in misery, surrounded by a sea of used tissues.To say this was the first time he'd spent the wee hours of the night feeling like garbage would be a lie, but it was definitely the first time he’d felt so unprepared for an ailment.

All that considered, He wouldn’t mind the discomfort if he wasn't so hopelessly bored and… not to mention… alone.

Harley, who was probably busy gardening at the moment, hadn’t answered his calls and none of the other rogues would bother coming to his aid if he asked… they didn't like him very much. He didn’t know why and hardly cared but right now he honestly wished he was better at making friends. Of course, Bud, his lovely hyena who was snoring audibly in the other corner of the room, kept him company on long lonely days, but a dog’s unconditional love could only go so far.

He’d been in his room for hours at this point but as the bat shaped clock on his wall struck 1:00 Jay finally decided he’d had enough.

Throwing the blankets aside, sending foam balls bouncing around the room in the process, Jay sat up, hair a mess, rings around his tired eyes, and stood. Trying his best to ignore the how the world spun like a fun top.

He didn’t need Harley or ANY of those other stupid bozo’s. He could fend for himself just fine and he wasn't about to let some stupid head cold keep him down. Without any further thought Jay grabbed his coat, put on shoes, and headed out the door with a pop-gun in his pocket, looking an absolute mess. Grateful for Gotham's shady midnight darkness --------------------------------

It didn’t take long for the clown to reach his destination, Nite-aid pharmaceuticals was right down the street, just close enough to glide the whole way on a pair of unsteady heelys.

When he entered the store the place was mostly empty except for a few unfortunate stragglers. Night owls looking for late-night smokes and liquor as busted fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered above them... A few patrons turned to glance at him warily, not recognizing the clown out of makeup but suspicious nonetheless. Their failure to turn-tail at first sight would be a mistake they'd soon regret as the unkempt clown lifted his pop-gun in the air and lazily pulled it's trigger.

Now a normal play pistol would’ve gone off with an amusingly harmless pop, but Jay liked to personalize his toys. When the cork shot out the sound pierced through the nights silence like a firecracker, a waft of confetti and billowing green smoke flying up with it in an explosion of noxious, candy scented, color.

The fumes quickly spread through the small store, hot boxing it with chemicals that sent all who breathed it into a frenzied fit. The few unlucky customers present dropped anything they held and nearly toppled over each other as they ran screaming with laughter into the night.

At the back though, a store clerk, who seemed to be bared behind his counter, gagged and giggled as he writhed on the floor with his arms clenched around his sids, too disoriented by now to jump to freedom or even unlatch the door leading out.

As Joker came closer the man backed up, amused yet scared half to death of what would happen as the clown peered over the counter and examined him silently.

A few beats passed before Joker let out a small sigh and mentally made a note to tweak his smilex a tad as he wordlessly opened the gate and let the poor, gasping, employee run free, watching him trip over his own feet a few times as he did. His patented giggle concoction seemed a little too potent this time around, he’d have to fix it sometime….

Soon the joint was empty and joker was alone once more. The whole store now nuisance free and it’s contents perfectly ripe for the taking.

Humming a tune to himself Jay sashayed over to the medicinal isle and eyed over his options. All the keysmashed names and multicolored boxes seemed to meld together the longer he stared. he had no idea which one would be his miracle cure and the way his head swirled made it hard to concentrate on all the teeny-tiny words in front of his heavy feeling eyes. Instead of thinking Jay took a bag and filled it with whatever looked right. If he overdosed on Benadryl and Tylenol instead of Nyquil, so be it.

Before heading out Jay decided to take anything else he thought he might need to feel better including a pint of mint-chocolate chip ice-cream from the fridges in back, a page of funnies and a bargain bin DVD copy of Roger Rabbit .

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

As Jay walked out he heard a low rumble coming from a few blocks away, before he was able to recognize the telltale roar of the Batmobile, the powerful car had already charged its way down the street swerving to a sudden screeching halt in front of the small drug store as blinding headlights pointed directly at Jay, temporarily disorienting the already discombobulated clown and exposing his unfortunate appearance.

As Jay clumsily shielded his eyes a dark figure exited the tech loaded vehicle and slowly floated closer. Soon a tall shadow loomed over him, blocking the stunning beams of light. Jay slowly peered up to meet a pair of cold blue slits.

"Batman..…?" said Jay, sounding somewhat surprised despite knowing better

“Shoulda known you’d be here…. you're not gonna arrest me are you?" He asked pitifully

The Bat seemed to examine him for a moment, blue lenses eyeing him up and down. Jay was suddenly very aware of how he must have looked, he hadn't combed his hair, or shaved, or bathed, he was 99% percent sure he'd grabbed a mix-matched pair of heelys on the way out and he was currently wearing a jacket over a onesie despite the fact he was cooking like a hotdog in a microwave, evident by the beads of cold sweat trailing down his face….

His bare, scar riddled, face….

He began to turn red with embarrassment as he averted his weary gaze from the other man's calculated scrutiny, shoulders tensing

"Look are you gonna do your thing or can I take my stolen goods and go?" He asked impatiently, exhaustion in his voice

"My Bat-monitor says you have a 104 degree fever" the Bat states. No inflection.

"right, Which is why I need to get home like, now- " a large hand placed itself on his shoulder as he crouched to collect his stuff from the ground

"What you NEED is medical attention" Batman insisted, gently firming his grip. Jay, stood up, shaking his head in protest despite feeling more and more lightheaded with every passing second

"n-no I-I'm fine, i'll be fine! I just need t- "

Before he could protest further, handcuffs were promptly clasped around his limp wrists with a snug click, Jay looked at his shiny new bracelets and gave Bruce a sharp glare.

"bastard." he grumbled

"You'll thank me later." Bats stated cooly as he took the clown by the scruff of his hood and escorted him to the Batmobile. Jay struggled slightly at first, ragdolling as the Bat pulled him along, the fight in him quickly dissipated though as his energy slowly faded and he realized how shortsighted he'd been to not expect a situation like this. Of course the Bat would be here. you could hardly J-walk in this city without his big dumb ears hearing about it somehow.

But despite the inconvenience he wasn't mad… just… unprepared

he and the Bat had a special little relationship and after the day he'd had, that flowing black cape could be considered a sight for sore eyes. But this particular situation was a little different from their usual routine. Up there on the rooftops they were perfectly matched equals. Jay fast and unpredictable, Bats strong and disciplined. right now, as Jay was silently chauffeured to an impressive looking street demon, the scales were tipped, and instead of being fast he was weak and slow and practically nodding off by the time Bats gently placed his body in it’s passenger seat.

The rumble of the monsters powerful engine shook Jay from his daze and his unfocused eyes were greeted by a colorful array of buttons and knobs that decorated the car's interior.

"Ooohh" he awed quietly

"Don't. Touch. ANYTHING." The Bat warned sternly.

"Fuuuh-INE" he complained. "You don't mind if i eat in here tho right?" He asked as he fished into his bag and took out his pint of ice cream.

Batman shot him a look of disapproval.

"Ah, Don't worry- " Jay assured as he struggled to get the tub open "I won't get any on your p-precious lea-ther interio- " a bout of violent coughs interrupted his snarky remark…

The Bat sighed

"here, let me" he took the tub and quickly ripped it open, before placing it back in Jays lap

"OH HO HO thanks, Armstrong." He teased

"Whatever… Just pipe down and take this." Bruce reached into his glorified fanny pack and pulled out a small green pill.

Jay eyed it curiously.

"S' not some funky sedative is it?" He asks cautiously

Bruce shook his head….

"It's a… chemical agent I made special for you… I uh… mix it with my sedatives to counteract your resistance to them… it won't put you to sleep but It should have the same effect on those meds i’m paying for" he explained, nodding at the cherry flavored syrup Jay swiped.

With a bit of hesitation Jay picked up the small capsule and eyed it further. It was rather large and filled with a bright green gel.

"....well that's pretty... thoughtful of you I guess. "

Bruce looked away briefly, he'd created the compound last time Jay was out cold on his operating table using a sample of his blood. He'd put it to other uses since, but it had ultimately saved the clown's life last time around… that said he should've known Jay might find his over-preparedness odd

After a few beats of silence, Jay bit the bullet, washing it down with a scoop of ice cream. Help from the Bat, no matter how uncalled for, was usually help he could trust, besides he thought it was funny how often the Bat modded his tech just for his sake. Was it obsessive? Romantic? he couldn’t tell, but he was definitely flattered…

With a small contented smile on his face, Bruce turned back to the wheel and revved his engine "Alright clown... buckle up"

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

It didn't take long for the two to arrive at the Batcave. The ride there quick and uneventful. Bruce didn’t have to bother with a blindfold or knockout gas to cover his tracks, Jay had passed out about halfway there and even then, it wouldn't have mattered much. He was sure Jay already knew it’s location despite being in the dark about...other things.

Exiting the car and stalking to the other side with his cape flowing behind him. Bruce opened the door to the passenger seat and watched as the winged doors lifted to reveal a sleeping figure cradling a half melted pint of ice cream.

“Is this the 'guest' you mentioned earlier sir?” Alfred inquired as he came to greet his kevlar clad son.

“It is.” He answered softly as he slowly lifted the pint from the clowns arms and handed It to the older man

"You somehow failed to mention the guest in question was your colorful new nemesis” the servant jested, raising a brow

"Uh… Forgot to I guess" Bruce shrugged, knowing full well he’d swept a detail or two under the rug to avoid another scolding from his free-spoken butler.

There was a pause of silence as they both watched the peaceful perriot rest

“...If only he was this quiet all the time, Gotham would be a much less hectic place… “ said Alfred after a moment.

“Perhaps” said Bruce. eye’s never breaking away as his chest rose and fell

Alfred, of course, had more to say but decided to keep it to himself as not to sour the moment he was having.

“Well this is going in the fridge... a pot of hot soup should be ready shortly. Just enough for the both of you”

“Thanks al”

Alfred nodded then went on his way as Bruce turned his attention back to Jay.

Although he was used to seeing the jolly jester in a more upkept state, he had to admit he was… striking... even like this…

When that perpetually cheery smile of his finally relaxed, it was replaced by soft supple lips and butter knife sharp cheekbones that framed his face in a way rarely seen outside of hollywood.

Gingerly, Bruce reached beneath his guest and lifted him from his seat.

It always surprised him how light he was, not that Jay was very big to begin with but… the way he threw a punch, took hits like they were nothing… it made it easy to forget he was only about 5'4"... perhaps even smaller minus the mane of hair that currently draped over his tired face

With the rest of the man’s features veiled, Bruce’s eyes were drawn to the two deep scars which curled from the corners of his mouth like a jagged grin. They were long healed but Bruce had a feeling the wounds cut deeper than eyes could see...

As Bruce thumbed away a few stray locks of green to get a better look, Jay began to stir. Hurriedly Bruce stepped over to the med bay section of the cave and laid his guest down before his eyes began to flutter open

"W-where?" He asked groggily as his vision focused

"Batcave."

“Again?” He muttered while sitting up “This gonna be a regular thing?”

“Were you expecting a hospital?” Bruce asked.

Jay rubbed his face

“guess not….” Hospitals we’re never really an option for people like them he supposed. Too many nosy doctors and prodding hands… bad memories...

“Here” a small cup of cherry liquid appeared in front of him, held by a black glove. He took it slowly.

“Can't have the whole bottle??”

“Why would you want to?”

Jay shrugged and took the shot

“I dunno…”

Bruce let that comment slide and stepped closer to check his temperature again.

"How are you feeling?"

" terrible" Jay replied miserably. Bruce looked at his monitor, the clown was stable at about 105°. It wasn't common for a cold to come with a fever but Jay was... an uncommon person.

" think a cool shower might help?"

The clown smiled "...mm… maybe…. You aren't offering to join me are you?"

Bruce scoffed "Not with you like this I'm not…"

Jay rose an eyebrow.

"er… not that I would if you…. Weren't…" Bruce's cheeks went pink for a moment. Though he'd looked away he could tell Jay was smiling even wider. Probably holding in a laugh too.

"Uhm...alright uh… washroom's that way, use what you want, shampoo, conditioner, whatever, I can always buy more"

Jay hopped down from the table and stretched with a moan

"I'm sure you can, rich boy."

"Huh?" Bruce tensed, taken aback by the term usually used to describe his alter ego.

"being best buds with Bruce Wayne must have some pretty sweet perks"

Bruce sighed, allowing himself to breath again as Jay made his way to the shower "right.."

_____________

It didn't take long for Jay to return, He made quick work of cleaning up and was soaped, rinsed and dried within a few minutes. His greasy mop now a fluffy, blow dried, up-do And his mind fog free.

The bouncy mane of curls caught Bruce's attention as the clown re-entered the main room, freshly scrubbed, lemon scented and humming a tune.

"You look a little better…. " Bruce complimented

"Just a little?" Said Jay, faking disappointment.

"Uh… w...well" Bruce stammered.

"Just teasing u dummy." He said with a smile as he took a seat on the bannister next to the Bat-computer.

"Right… well.... I see you're back to your normal self" said Bruce, returning to his work

"Mostly." Jay smiled

"Good… that's good." There was some silence taken up by Bruce's fingers tapping the Bat-computer's interface

"Hey." Jay interrupted

"Yeah?" Said Bruce

"Aren't you scared of catching my cold-cooties or something?" The clown inquired

"No." Bruce answered bluntly.

"Why not?"

"bats don't get colds"

Jay rose an eyebrow.

"Oh really?"

"It's true."

"Mhm…"

Suddenly the sound of a throat clearing interrupted their banter.

"are you two quite done, or will supper have to wait?"

The odd couple turned to face Alfred who was holding a silver platter somewhat impatiently.

"er...Now is fine Alfred"

The butler nodded and gracefully waltzed between them to set the plate down. Removing it's dome to reveal a piping hot stew, stuffed with chicken and veggies, with fresh baked biscuits on the side. It’s aroma was even more enticing than it’s appearance

"Wow this is nothing like that Campbell's stuff" said Jay, eyes wide.

"I should hope not.” Alfred huffed. “ I didn't go to culinary school to cook from a can"

“Thank’s Al, it looks great”

"Of course sir… Oh, and, sir?"

"Yeah, Al?"

"You invited this man into your home… least you could do is give him a proper seat"

Jay was still sitting on the banister, swinging his legs happily.

“oh…. Right” he pressed a button and a second chair raised from the floor “i’m… usually the only person down here, sorry.”

“What about that kid?”

“Robin? Never sits still, likes the banister “

“Huh, Go figure….” Jay plopped down in his seat and spun around a few times before grabbing his bowl and testing the soup… to put it lightly, the taste was beyond heavenly.

“Oh my god….”

“Glad to see it suits your taste mr.Jay, young Bruce would fuss about having to eat it every time he was under the weather….”

Bruce a blushed a tint

Jay smiled

“I guess bat’s DO get the sniffles”

“Wasn't a bat back then, doesn’t count”

“Yes it does.”

“No it doesn't”

“Yes it- “

“Children!”

They froze… Alfred gave them a stern look. Free of malice but intimidating nonetheless.

“Do try to behave yourselves, I have enough trouble with robin as is and he’s much better mattered than the both of you”

“Yes, Alfred”

“Sorry, Alfred…” they apologized

The butler one last look,turned on his heels and left the room in silence.

“Man you’re butler’s mean…” Jay whispered

“Don't worry, it’s just an act…. I think…” As they both returned to their gourmet supper Jay suddenly recalled the DVD he'd brought with him.

"Oh HEY! Can we watch a movie???"

"Movie?"

"Yeah!" Jay scrambled over his bag and ran back with the box in his hand.

"Roger Rabbit! It's a classic!"

"Never seen it."

"Really? well we'll have to fix that… it's a detective story! you'll like it!…"

Bruce slowly took the case, studying its colorful cover…

"Suppose… I'll... take your word for it."

Reluctantly, Bruce popped a hatch on the Bat-computer and let the movie play on one of it's many monitors. Jay sitting back with a satisfied smile as Bruce sunk deeper into his work...

Or at least, tried to.

Jay's amused chuckles here and there made it hard to concentrate but the sound wasn't… unpleasant. Every now and then the clown would tap his shoulder and tell him to pay attention to a favorite scene or line if his… eyes flitting between him and the screen, searching for a reaction, however small or unreadable … smiling whenever Bruce's lips curled even a millimeter or two.

As the night continued, Bruce recalled the large home theater he had upstairs in the mansion

50 seats and rarely more than one taken at a time...

He imagined himself up there now with his arm around the other man's shoulders, sharing snacks and a large blanket, huddled close…

Perhaps he could’ve come up with some elaborate lie about "Bruno" allowing visitors in his humble abode, but as much warmth as the thought gave him, it was greatly overpowered by his own paranoia…

He wasn’t quite ready to break that barrier no matter how much he wanted too...

So maybe not today…

But maybe later….

Someday.

After a few passing moments Bruce realized Jay’s little interruptions had stopped and turned to find the man fully asleep on the chair beside him. With a light sigh, Bruce carefully removed his cape and draped it over the man just as he’d done before a year or so ago, Quietly calling for Alfred to prepare the Batcave’s guest bed.

With all the cordial tenderness in the world, Bruce lifted his nemesis and carried him downstairs. for now, somewhere in between all the imaginary lines they’d drawn in the sand, just this close was close enough.

#batman #lego batman #batjokes #jokeboi au #fanfic #my art

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dvp95 · 5 years ago

Text

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 7

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e (eventually)

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 5,009 for this chapter (30,147 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

quick question are you home

I am! Not for long tho. What's up?

Dan swears under his breath and hits the call button on his mobile, looking out the window so he doesn't have to feel the Uber driver's judgemental eyes on him.

"Hey!" Phil answers, bright and happy and god Dan is glad he's doing this.

"Hi," says Dan. He can't help the warmth in his own voice, the barely-suppressed enthusiasm at simply hearing Phil for the second time today. "Sorry I went radio silent for like an hour. I was actually on a plane."

There's a sound like a cupboard door closing, followed by the telltale pouring of either cereal or dog food. With Phil, it really could go either way.

"On a plane?" Phil asks. "Thought you were staying another night."

"I was supposed to," says Dan. His heart is pounding. He is only ten minutes from Phil's front door, if Phil wants him.

"Are you doing a bunk?" Phil laughs, the sound of it warming Dan from his ears to his toes. "Where did you go? Surely saying my name on the radio wasn't so awful that you had to flee the country?"

"It was," says Dan, barking a laugh of his own. "But, no, I'm... back in London. I'm practically round the corner, actually, if you wanna... grab dinner? Or something?"

What feels like an entire minute of silence follows Dan's awkward suggestion, but it's probably more like five seconds. It's enough time for his palms to start sweating, in any case. He's about to laugh and say 'gotcha!' and act like this was all a grand joke before going to a hotel to cry, when Phil responds.

"Oh, Dan," he says, apologetic, and Dan wonders how much he'd have to tip his Uber driver to plunge them both into the Thames.

"Sorry, it's stupid," says Dan. "I wasn't even -"

Phil interrupts him. "It's not stupid, don't be an idiot, I want to see you."

"Oh."

"Yeah," says Phil, "but I have dinner plans with my family. Mum and dad are flying out of Heathrow tomorrow for holiday and wanted to see us before they leave."

"Oh," Dan says again. He doesn't really see why that's an issue. Sure, they won't be able to Talk with a capital T or anything, but he still wants to see Phil so badly that it's going to give him a stomach ache. "Well, I can - I mean, if that's not too weird for you or whatever, I'd - if you want -"

"Are you going to finish one of those sentences?"

"Fuck off." Dan takes a deep, steadying breath. "What I'm saying is that I wouldn't mind meeting your family. Or I could just hang out with Thor until you get back, or whatever."

Another beat of silence, this one longer. Finally, Phil says, "You want to meet my family?", in such a skeptical tone of voice that Dan is offended despite not, in fact, being certain about it at all.

"Well, shit, I don't have to," says Dan, miffed. "You met mine, though."

"I met your coworkers, Dan."

"Yeah, and they're practically my family."

"This is literally my family," says Phil. He exhales, sounding for all the world like he's pinching his nose between his finger and thumb like an overdramatic librarian. "Dan, are you going to be a fucking brat if I say no?"

"Not if you don't really want me there," Dan mumbles. He's a little taken aback by how okay he is with Phil calling him a fucking brat. It hits him right on an edge of shame that could tumble way too easily into arousal if he were to let it.

Phil sighs again. "No, that's not it. I want you there. You wanna drop your stuff off at my place?"

"Yeah," Dan says sheepishly. "I'm almost there, just coming from the airport."

When Dan pulls up to the kerb outside the familiar row of narrow buildings, he sees Phil waiting for him with this resigned, amused sort of smile and his hands in his pockets. He's wearing a plaid shirt and a denim jacket with ripped jeans, looking for all the world like he's stepped out of a 90s grunge band.

He comes over to help Dan with his bags, laughing a bit. "You really came right here, huh? Hi."

"Told you I did," says Dan. On impulse, he wraps an arm around Phil's shoulders in a half-hug. He can smell Phil's cologne so strongly where his nose presses against Phil's neck, and it makes his head spin a bit. "Hi yourself."

It takes all of Dan's self control not to just kiss Phil here on the pavement in front of god and everyone, drag him downstairs by the lapels and make him forget everything that isn't Dan's name. It's very, very tempting, but Dan knows how much Phil loves his parents, how little they get to see each other, so. He pulls away from the hug without doing anything stupid and meets Phil's eyes with a little smile.

"Jaime and Patrick still in Dublin?" Phil asks, leading the way into his home and down the stairs.

The fact that his back is to Dan helps the ease of answering. "Yeah. I came back early because," he says, then pauses. "I missed London."

Phil grins over his shoulder as he gets the flat's door open. "London missed you."

Dan smiles back, wide and open. He's got no reason to hold back now. They don't have time to talk before they leave - Dan doesn't think he'll be able to go anywhere once he's allowed to put his hands on Phil - but that doesn't mean Dan can't already be obvious about why he's here.

The apartment is dimly lit tonight, all the candles blown out in anticipation of Phil leaving for a couple of hours and only a string of fairy lights and one lamp turned on.

Dan's luggage gets dropped unceremoniously in the entry, because both of them are suddenly busy with a very excited dog zooming around their ankles and threatening to trip them up. Dan laughs and sinks to the floor, letting Thor jump up on him and lick his face. He ends up flat on his back, again, giggling helplessly while Thor wiggles around on his chest.

"Why do you rile him up?" Phil asks, doing a very admirable job of sounding exasperated. His soft expression tells Dan how he's really feeling.

"He's cute," says Dan. He noses at one of Thor's ears. "And soft. And I like him."

"Seems like he feels the same way about you," says Phil.

"We're best friends, aren't we, Thor?" Dan coos, sitting up enough to shift Thor's weight to his lap. It's easier to give him pats like this. "Yes we are! We are! You're the cutest dog in the world!"

"That's true," says Phil. He crouches down beside them and scratches behind Thor's ear. His eyes meet Dan's, and they both smile.

This is exactly the kind of domestic fantasy Dan has decided to embrace. He holds himself back from leaning in for a kiss, but only because he knows they have places to be. It's nice to know that if he did lean forward, Phil would let him. He likes that calm certainty.

"Are we going somewhere nice?" Dan thinks to ask. "Should I change?"

"Nowhere fancy," says Phil. He reaches out and tugs at one of Dan's hoodie strings. "But maybe a different top layer, there."

"I don't want to dig through my shit," Dan says, totally aware of how obvious he's being. Whatever, Phil was worse about stealing his sweatpants. "Have you got something I could borrow?"

Phil rolls his eyes like he sees right through Dan and tugs at the other string, just to be a dick. "Yeah, alright, borrow. Sure. So if I can't find it next week, that's a coincidence?"

"I'm not responsible for you losing shit, mate."

"Fuck off," Phil says warmly. He stands up, wincing as his knees make a funny crick of a noise. "I'll be right back, but then we're leaving, okay? I don't want to be late. Get your puppy cuddles in now."

Dan grins down at Thor and gives him softer pats with both hands, trying to calm him down a bit. His fluffy fur is so soft and his ears are perked up so happily that Dan might actually start crying. He loves dogs, generally, and he loves this dog, specifically.

Kind of like how he likes London, generally, and this apartment, specifically. How he's into guys, generally. Phil, specifically.

Thor does calm down fairly easily once Dan stops matching his high energy. He rests his chin on Dan's thigh, half on Dan's lap and half on the floor, and just hangs out there until Phil comes back from the bedroom area of his flat. He's holding another denim jacket, something Dan doesn't even own but apparently Phil has several of.

"It's just from Topman," Phil says, grinning down at Dan and Thor. "But it's the only black jacket I've got that isn't, like, a blazer. Would you prefer a blazer?"

Dan snorts. "Absolutely not."

It hurts him a bit to dislodge Thor and stand up, but Thor happily trots back to his bed and starts gnawing on one of his toys. Phil grins wider and hands over the jacket, which isn't even black. It's a dark grey, distressed, and the collar is fuzzy. Dan is going to steal this for sure.

Dan tugs his hoodie off over his head and tosses it at Phil. He laughs at the affronted look on Phil's face.

"I'm not your butler," Phil says. He hangs the hoodie up next to Thor's leash, anyway. Dan likes the look of it there. "Are you ready? I'll get a car."

The jacket fits Dan well enough. When he glances at himself in the mirror by the door, he decides that he likes the way it looks on him, too. It doesn't smell like Phil, just some generic detergent, but Dan still likes it anyway. Besides, his Yeezy t-shirt still has the faint scent of Phil clinging desperately to it. Dan wonders what it would be like to live in a world where all his clothes smelled like Phil in some capacity.

"Yeah," he says, still looking at the easy way he fits in this jacket, this flat. "I'm ready."

"Did you warn your family that I'm coming?" Dan asks, coming to a sudden stop before they reach the door of the restaurant and taking Phil's wrist so he stops, too. If he's going to be a surprise tagalong, he ought to know.

Phil blinks, then smiles. "I texted them, yeah."

"And they're, like," says Dan, chewing on his lower lip, "okay with it?"

A quick, reassuring squeeze of Dan's hand before Phil pulls his own hand back. Dan imagines that he is all too aware that they're out on the pavement on a rather busy street. He likes to think that Phil would hold his hand properly if they were somewhere more private and comfortable.

"They're okay with it," Phil assures him. "You'll probably hate how okay with it they are once they start interrogating you."

"They're gonna interrogate me?"

"Probably, I don't really know." Phil stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks away from Dan, into the window of the restaurant. "I've never brought someone to meet them before."

Dan's heart skips a beat. Phil is so carefully not looking at him, his profile lit by the evening sun and streetlights, and Dan can't remember him ever needing to break eye contact to say something. Phil has been the calm, confident one since they met.

Maybe this means something to Phil that Dan hadn't considered. He swallows hard. "Hey. If this is - weird, or whatever, I don't need to be here."

"It's not weird to me," says Phil. "I'm happy to bring you, I just really didn't expect it from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dan asks.

Inviting himself to a family dinner just so he could spend more time with Phil was a bit cheeky of him, sure, but Dan doesn't know what the issue is, if Phil doesn't think it's weird.

Phil laughs softly, his eyes flickering back to Dan just for a moment. "You just keep... surprising me. You want me to tag you on Instagram, you want me to hang out with your friends, you want to meet my family. It's just not what I expected, I guess, since I know you're not, like, out."

"I - what?" Dan bleats, his blood rushing to his ears and making it harder to hear the surrounding din of London.

"It's fine," says Phil, misinterpreting the question. "I don't mind taking things slow, but we've been on, like, three and a half dates and you haven't kissed me, but you wanted to come tonight. You can see where I got surprised."

As soon as the initial shock settles, it hits Dan all at once: Phil thinks they've been dating this entire time. He thinks Dan wants to meet his parents as someone who he's been casually seeing, not as a friend who's been gathering the courage to push himself into something less platonic.

Dan has to bite back some hysterical laughter. Phil probably thinks he's the most frigid guy in the fucking world.

He's glad that Phil isn't looking at him, doesn't have to see the shellshocked confusion and inappropriate amusement that he knows is being broadcast across his face.

"Three and a half?" Dan repeats. His voice sounds far too high to his own ears.

"I don't really count drinking with your coworkers as a date," Phil laughs. He turns back to Dan, and Dan uses every ounce of his training to bring his expression back to something less telling. "No need to look so worried. My family's nice."

Dan is sure they are. He considers fleeing for half a second before he remembers that he wants to be with Phil.

He doesn't think this is a conversation that needs to happen on the pavement while people are waiting for them inside, so. He'll let Phil take the lead on the conversation and summon all the acting chops he has to make Phil's parents like him. Then, when they're alone again, Dan will be honest about the misunderstanding.

On the bright side, he can absolutely pitch this concept to a Netflix producer as an oblivious lesbian romantic comedy. He's just annoyed at himself for making him live it.

This is ridiculous. He is in a ridiculous situation right now. Before he follows Phil inside, he texts Jaime a quick, ok so im in a romcom after all and in a shocking twist of events im also very very stupid.

WHAT DID YOU DO

Dan doesn't reply, because he has to get into role now as someone who totally knew that the coffee and the Chinese food and the hungover vegging out were Dates.

Phil's parents do seem nice, which is something of a relief. His mum is a tiny whirlwind of cheer, giving Phil a hug and a few kisses to his pink face before she turns to Dan and exclaims, "You must be Daniel!"

She hugs him, too. It's an odd sensation for Dan, but he awkwardly pats her on the back. "Yeah, uh, hi. Sorry for crashing your party."

"Nonsense," she says, with such feeling that Dan actually believes her.

"Dan, these are my parents," Phil says unnecessarily, sliding into the booth across from a quiet man with Phil's smile. "Kath and Nigel."

"Nice to meet you, Dan," Nigel says, taking the name cue from Phil. He shakes Dan's hand when he sits down next to Phil. It makes Dan a little emotional, seeing these people genuinely pleased to meet him, even though he's a man.

"Daniel, sir," Dan corrects him politely. He gives Phil a sidelong look. "Only this one calls me Dan."

Phil just shrugs, looking a little smug.

"Your brother should be here soon," Kath says, looking over the drink menu. "Any idea if he's bringing Cornelia? I have a scarf to give back to her."

"You could always just give it to Martyn," Phil suggests. They both laugh.

"Yeah, alright, love, if I want it to get lost on the way."

Dan bites his lip and looks at his own menu. Phil is so comfortable with his parents in a way that he doesn't know if he could ever be with his own. Even if he were to let them into his life and they were to accept him for it, he thinks it might be too late for them to really bond.

Now's not the time for this crisis on top of the one he's already having, though. He tunes back into the conversation, which is still on the whereabouts of Phil's brother.

Nigel notices him looking up from the table and gives him a smile that's all Phil, reassuring and a little sheepish. "So, Daniel, tell us about yourself. Phil hasn't told us anything but your name."

"Must be ashamed of us," Kath sniffles, overdramatic, and Dan decides he likes her.

"I'm just not that interesting," Dan laughs.

A little scoff comes from beside Dan. "Shut up," says Phil. "Dad, Dan is one of the stars of that Netflix show Heatwave. He's just being modest."

"Oh, yes," says Nigel, a spark of recognition going off. "It's been in our list for a while, hasn't it, dear?"

"It has," Kath agrees. She beams at Dan in a way that radiates pride, and he almost can't look at her. It's too sincere, too open. He wants to hide away from it. "That's lovely, Daniel, you must work very hard."

Luckily, Dan is saved from having to think of something appropriate to say instead of just crying on her shoulder by the arrival of a lanky man.

"Budge up," he tells Dan. He's got the same air of familiarity that Kath had, that Phil had back when they met. It occurs to Dan that he's been chalking that up to Phil's media training, and the real answer may just be that this is the way he was raised to act. He already feels more comfortable here than he has at a table of his own family members for many, many years.

Dan scoots over, closer to Phil. Their thighs press together through their tight jeans, and Dan wonders if Phil can feel the heat radiating off him in waves. He kind of expects Phil to shuffle along the bench, too, but he stays where he is.

"Manners," Kath scolds as he folds himself into the booth beside Dan.

"Oh, right," says Martyn. He grins and offers a hand for Dan to shake. He has a loose grip, like he doesn't care to make a specific impression. Dan likes that, so used to too-firm handshakes and weird manly pats on the back from the people he interacts with at work. "Alright, mate?"

"Alright," says Dan. "I'm Daniel. You must be Martyn, unless you're Cornelia and another tall man is joining us."

"Don't think we can fit another around this table," Martyn says easily. "Nah, Corn's at home. She's feeling a bit ill, sends her love." The last part is directed to Kath and Nigel, who nod in eerie synchronicity.

"I'll have to give her scarf back on our way back," says Kath.

Their waitress arrives then, and Dan finds it entertaining to watch as three Lesters subtly compete to make her laugh while she takes everybody's drink order. He catches Nigel's eye and they exchange a small grin. Dan has never considered himself particularly quiet - he's more like the local class clown, no matter how old he gets - but he's content to sit back and let Phil and Martyn argue around him while Kath asks the waitress about her day.

She looks almost prepared for it when she turns to Dan, so he dimples up at her and says, "I like your nail polish."

"Thank you," she says, still smiling but looking more and more like she wishes she'd given this table to someone else. Dan takes pity on her, doesn't try to drag out the joke longer like he normally would.

"Wish I could pull off that colour," he adds, his heart pounding even though Phil's family probably won't judge him for it. "And, uh, I'll have a mojito, if that's okay?"

"If that's okay?" Phil murmurs into Dan's ear, making him shiver.

"Shut up," Dan whispers back, stepping on Phil's foot under the table. Phil kicks him back lightly.

"Absolutely vile," Martyn says in the sort of easy tone that comes from chirping people you love. He doesn't sound at all like he means it. Dan's shoulders tense anyway. Phil's grin flickers, like he notices.

"Shut up, Mar," Phil suggests, mildly enough that his parents can't reprimand him for it if they were the type to.

Martyn shrugs and starts talking to his mum about something that Dan can't follow, so he doesn't try to. Now that nobody is paying attention to them, Dan drops his hand to Phil's knee and squeezes. It's a thank you and a reassurance that he's fine, all in one.

With a small smile curling at the corners of his lips, Phil puts a hand over Dan's and leaves it there. His palm has got a very slight chill to it, like Phil is somehow cold despite being pressed against Dan in the corner of a booth.

They're practically holding hands. Dan turns his own hand over and links their fingers together in a fit of desire to say that he is holding Phil's hand. Dan is holding a man's hand under a table in public, with that man's family chatting around them, and his heart is fucking pounding like he's trying to run a marathon. He hopes his palm isn't sweaty.

If it is, Phil shows no inclinations of pulling his hand back anyway.

As the evening goes on, Dan finds himself relaxing more and more. The Lesters are warm and funny people to be around, talking over each other comfortably and doing their best to include Dan in jokes. The food is good, too, which is always a core part of Dan's happiness.

But the fact that Phil hasn't let go of his hand this whole time is really what's making Dan feel at peace. Their dominant hands are free to eat with, so they just... don't pull away.

Dan has a silly thought, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he always wants to eat on Phil's left. The mental image of them trying to be pressed this close together on their dominant sides, elbows knocking while they try to eat, is enough to make Dan swallow a giggle.

Phil's family don't ask him too many questions, but Dan finds himself offering the information anyway. He finds that he wants to impress them, make them think that maybe he's good enough for their son.

"I went to uni in Manchester," he says when Nigel says he misses the city sometimes. "I - didn't finish, I moved to Chicago."

"That's quite a long way to move," says Kath. "Whatever drew you there, love?"

For a moment, Dan thinks about lying. Surely Phil's parents would like him more if he was responsible, followed a job or even a relationship to America, but Phil is looking at him so curiously that he has to tell them the truth.

"I wanted to pursue acting in America," says Dan. "And a friend in Chicago said I could stay in their spare room. Then they rented out the spare room before I got there and neglected to tell me, and I ended up couchsurfing for a bit until I could afford to go to L.A., which sucked."

"That's impressive, actually," Martyn says around a mouthful of pasta.

"Manners," Kath scolds again, reaching across the table to swat lightly at Martyn's wrist. She gives Dan a warm smile. "He's right, Daniel, that was very brave of you."

It hadn't felt brave or impressive while it was happening. Dan's early twenties had felt like he was constantly on the edge of a cliff and he was just trying to dig his nails in and pull himself up. The long bouts of depression didn't make it any easier, since Dan would end up isolating himself, not showing up to work, or doing stupid shit just to feel something.

Things didn't change for him in an instant. He didn't find overnight fame or anything like that. After years of staying on that cliff with small parts and long nights, he got lucky with a Netflix gig three years ago.

Still, he supposes it sounds impressive to people who don't know the full story, and it's certainly something to be proud of in any case. Broke on a stranger's sofa in a foreign country to doing a worldwide press tour in less than a decade isn't something Dan takes for granted.

Dan shrugs instead of voicing his internal thoughts, smiling a little. "I miss Manchester too, sometimes, and I was only there for a year. I can't imagine how y'all feel."

"We do miss it occasionally," Nigel says. "But we like where we are now, don't we, dear?"

"Oh, it's perfect for us," says Kath, beaming at him with such obvious affection that it makes Dan's heart clench. He can't remember his mum ever looking at his dad like that. "And so beautiful, too! You should see it in the winter, Daniel."

"The Isle of Man, right?" Dan asks for clarification, and he smiles when the table agrees in a chaotic overlap of each other.

"Mum's right, it's really pretty in the winter," says Phil. "I never want to leave after Christmas."

Martyn snorts. "Sure, it's the Manx views, not the mince pies."

"It can be both!"

"What do you do for Christmas, love?" Kath asks, and Dan startles a bit at the question. He's quiet for a beat too long, maybe, because Phil squeezes his hand and responds for him.

"Mum," he says, almost sounding embarrassed, "it's been two weeks, stop trying to invite him to holidays."

"Just thought I'd ask, Philip," says Kath. She's just as cheerful as she was at the beginning of the night, and Dan thinks her smile actually grows when he starts blushing. "It's not like you've ever introduced us to a boy before, we thought it must be rather serious."

Honestly, Dan would love it to be serious. But it hasn't even been the two weeks Phil thinks it's been. They aren't on the same page at all right now. Dan feels confident they'll get there, but he doesn't want Phil to feel put on the spot now.

He rubs his thumb over the back of Phil's hand in a comforting gesture and grins sheepishly. "Ah, that's my bad, Kath. I'm only in town til Sunday and didn't want to miss a minute, to be honest."

"Where d'you live?" Martyn asks, beautifully giving Dan an out from the Christmas topic.

"Atlanta," Phil answers for him. Dan wonders if Phil has always sounded so wistful when he says the name of Dan's city. The city that doesn't feel like home.

Martyn whistles low, through his teeth, and sympathetically says, "That sucks." It's that, more than anything, that makes Dan physically feel the ache of the Atlantic that's going to be between them. He leans a bit closer into Phil, like that'll help fill the gap that isn't there yet.

It does suck. Dan has finally figured out what he wants and who he wants it with, but his job is four thousand miles away.

Still, he knows what he wants. He knows that Phil, clearly, wants it too. That's a first step.

Dan is feeling warm and loose from the cocktails he'd had with dinner and the easy acceptance of Phil's family. He sways into Phil's personal space on the pavement while Phil waves down a taxi and murmurs, "We gotta talk when we get to your place."

"Okay," Phil says, slow. His brow is furrowed in confusion or anxiety or some combination of the two, and Dan longs to reach out and smooth the lines with his thumb.

He does remember where they are, though, and keeps his hands firmly in the pockets of his borrowed jacket.

The ride back to Phil's isn't very long, but it is quiet. Phil looks out his window the whole time, and Dan looks at Phil. He's so beautiful, it makes Dan's head spin that he could ever want the same thing as Dan.

Phil's family seemed to think Dan would be sticking around, in any case. Kath and Martyn both gave him hugs goodbye after they finished with Phil, and Nigel had squeezed his shoulder tightly in lieu of one. Dan can't believe how welcoming they were to the first man their son had ever brought home.

This certainty of how he feels, how he wants his life to go, is making Dan a bit stupid with bravery. He pulls out his phone and sends some very impulsive texts.

To Jaime, he says, nothing major im just stupid! we'll talk abt it when ur here. To his agent, he says, if HW is ending can we look for work that's in the uk? we should hear back from the producers soon. To his mum, he says, There's something I need to tell you and I don't know if you'll still want me to come over on Saturday. It's a long story, but. Basically I'm gay.

Dan's heart is in his throat. He turns off his phone before anyone can respond, refocusing on Phil's profile.

#phanfic #phanfiction #phan #dnp fic #can't breathe when you touch my sleeve #words words words

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really-sleep-deprived-nerd · 6 years ago

Text

Sanders Sides Percy Jackson AU!

SO! @moon-scribs and I have been working on this one for a while and we hope you like it!

BASICS:

Logan is a child of Athena

Roman is a child of Apollo (The very extra son of a very extra god)

Remy is a child of Hypnos (Hypnos is the god of sleep)

Virge is a child of Aphrodite and Patton is a child of Hades (Bare with us for a second, we´ll tell WHY we did this below the cut)

Emile is a child of Epiope (The goddess of the soothing of pain)

Deceit Damian is a child of Hermes (Hermes is, among other things, the god of deception)

Thomas is a child of Iris (Y´know, the goddess of the Rainbow)

More about this under the cut! (Warning: Its ridiculously LONG)

Child-of-Aphrodite! Virgil

When deciding upon which god he should be the child of, we mainly thought about how he was before pre-acepting anxiety, how he felt like “The odd-one out”, how he felt like he “didnt belong here”. See where we are going with this?.

Virgil is supposed to be the child of the goddess of beauty, but he honestly cant see it. He is way too pale. Way too lanky. His hair is too messy. He has eyebags that are bigger than his fist. He isnt “pretty”.

His siblings arent helping with that either: They are incredible extroverted people, they actually care about their appearance, about trivial things like make up and clothes, they are known to be extremelly social, their fucking cabin its mOTHERFUCKING BARBIE MANSION PINK AND ALL.

He doesnt fit with them, sure, he can get along with most of them just fine, but he still feels wrong.

He has charmspeak, but he doesn't knows how to use/control it and its also heavily influenced by his emotions, so when he's really stressed out it activates, mostly to keep his friends out of danger. (Its basically like his canon anxiety demon voice, it can influence them like that scene where v's like 'GET RID OF THE PHONE NOW' and Thomas just throws it without thinking )

His first days on camp were pretty rough, and he was thinking of running away, that is, until he met a very cheerful son of Hades.

Child-Of-Hades! Patton

Patton “Hellhounds are just misunderstoods puppies!” Medina

Patton “Oh that kid looks sad and lonely and uncomfortable Im going tO BEFRIEND HIM” Medina

All the hellhounds just become big puppies around him, he has a tiny army of Cat-skeletons and dog-skeletons following him everywhere that are always either playing with him or trying to get pets of him.

Since there is literally just one other kid of hades in the cabin most of the bunks are empty so one of them becomes the Cave(tm) of Patton´s bony friends (Its just a bunch skele-pets under a blanket)

Also one of the bunks is reseved for Virge, since sleeping in a pink barbie mansion surrounded by SO MANY PEOPLE made him incredible anxious. And Patton could not let his precious friend and crush suffer! He has already went through enough!

One of the funniest things to Virgil its the fact that the Hades cabin looks like where vampires would live and then BOOM SUNSHINE BOY

Patton´s Brother: ugh it's too early to-is that the sun??? I thought there were no windows here???

Virge: No, that's Patton

He is the first one to discover that, despite Virgil not believing it, Virge is actually FUCKING gorgeous. Like, one day he makes Virgil giggle and Patton feels as his heart might burst: Virgil´s hair was messy and fluffy and it kinda covered his eyes, but you could see them sparkle with amusement and he had this tiny and kinda shy smile and all that Patton could think was: “goDS ABOVE IM TOO GAY TO FUNCTION- HELP”

Despite his sushiney attitude, lets not forget that, as a child of Hades, Patton is actually fucking powerful, and will not hesitate to absolutly destroy whatever and whoever tries to hurt his fami-friends and his home

Child-Of-Apollo! Roman

You know how Percy´s sword turns into a pen? Yeah, Roman´s katana turns into a golden and silver hairbrush.

Was sent to camp since he was really young and trained in hand to hand combat until he became the best.

Has an enthralling voice and incredible acting skills and he can dance like the muses, but cant shoot straight to save his life (Pun not intended lol) and if he tried to heal a paper cut it would probably get infected .

Loves the camp dearly, but he misses his family a lot so he Iris-calls them every saturday

Child-Of-Athena! Logan

Hands down the best strategist in the whole camp.

Cant do hand-to-hand combat to save his LIFE, but he is amazing with long distance weapons. Bow and Arrow? Logan will pull a hawkeye shit where he NEVER fails. He is good at making traps, like, he studies what surrounds him and can make a scooby-doo-like trap with branches and shit he found laying there. People do not Fuck with him during capture the flag.

You know how Athena´s kids are all terrified of spiders, right? Welp. Logan has a Patton-level fear of spiders.

“Pardon my crude language, but I don't fuck with those tiny ass demons”

Child-Of-Hermes! Damian

“You, my child, are amazing, but you have the moral of a chocolate muffin”- Thomas, to him, after spending 15 minutes alone together.

Will 100% fuck shit up, not in a “IM EVIL FEAR ME” way, but more in a “Remember my father is also the god of pranksters do not fuck with me Virgil”

Has definitely not pranked Roman and Virgil and had to unceremoniously hide in a tree top so this two would not murder him in the time it took for Emile and Pat to calm them down

Child-Of-Hypnos! Remy

He is a child of hypnos, and as such, drinks unhealthy amounts of coffee so he can stay awake.

He can make everyone he wishes fall asleep instantly just by touching them and he can make it last as long as he wishes (More than 4 hs per person tires him tho)

He doesnt have an ounce of common sense in his whole body and Emile still doesnt know how he managed to stay alive for this long.

Child-Of-Epione! Emile

He is not gifted with healing like some childs of Apollo, yet he is able to sooth the pain of others. No, not only as a psychologist (He is not one yet, but he wants to be one when he grows older), but also as an overall comforting presence: He is kind, his voice is calm, he is sweet, patient and emphathic.

One hug from him will not heal all your pain, but will make it hurt less, giving you the strength to keep fighting it for a while.

Really, REALLY not good at fighting.

Cried for a whole day when he learned that the camp has no tv so he couldnt watch any cartoons while he stayed there

He was very lonely growing up as before getting to camp, so he used to watch A LOT of cartoons to keep himself occupied, to avoid feeling alone.

The human mind and emotions never ceases to amaze him.

Child-Of-Iris! Thomas

Thomas started going to camp at a very young age, so he kinda knows everyone.

Despite that fact, he got claimed on the summer after his 15th birthday.

He was walking across the camp towards the Big House to say hi to Chiron when a full on rainbow surrounded him and Iris´s logo started glowing on top of his head. He looked at the rainbow, then he looked down at his “could be gayer” t-shirt and burst out laughing.

He spends only summers on camp, and since he is a bit older than most of the campers, he became a sort of counsellor to new campers whenever he is in camp.

He helps the new ones with training, teaches them how to get around the camp, teaches them how to read in greek and greek history (To them its history, no mythology) if they dont know anything about it.

He is super supportive of every new camper! Like, if they are training and one of the newbies fucks up (Drops his weapon, falls, trips, whatever) he will instantly start going “Its okay!! No one can do this right in their first try!! It took me like a year just to stop sucking at it!! You are trying your best and thats whats important!!”

He gave one look at Virgil´s angsty demeanor, Damian´s snarky attitude, Roman´s fake confidence, Patton´s pattoness, Logan´s insighful and wise opinios, Remy´s complete lack of self preservation and Emile´s internal screaming as he tries to keep the rest of his friends fucking mentally stable and immediatly decided “Im going to adopt them”

While Thomas is an excelent “counsellor” and loves his friends, sometimes he will be watching the other 7 human disasters run around and get into shenanigans and just be like: Those kids are already so fucking weird this might as well happen

Asked to be tagged: @fandoms-till-the-end-of-the-line @thatgaydemigodnerd

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fanta-ceo · 7 years ago

Text

What Works

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: romance, hurt/comfort, college au, badboy!yoongi, friendship au, fluff

Word count: 6277

Description: “‘Does that really work on girls?’ ‘Depends on what you want from them,’ Yoongi drawls. You try not to gag.“ He only seems to admit he wants you when he’s drunk, and you’re too far in denial to even notice it’s happening.

a/n: this is based off a prompt request that’s a quote. I’ll stick it at the bottom (you’ll notice it pretty fast tho tbh). Ill be writing bts living together at college till i die. --Baekbek

He’s hungover.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says. It’s impossible to tell if Yoongi’s eyes are actually open through the dark shades, and the weird way he’s slumped to the side in his armchair could either be masking his slumber or a new creative way of sitting. Jungkook seems to believe he’s awake. You’re pretty sure he’s asleep.

You turn the page in your textbook because your roommates coming home late from a party last night doesn’t have to affect your study schedule. Even if the idea of Yoongi doing his classic bad boy routine on some girl at the party makes you feel sick.

You don’t care at all. You’re completely focused on your Physics exam tomorrow. Completely.

“Hyung,” Jungkook repeats. Somehow, while Yoongi looks like he died last night, Jungkook looks bright and peaceful after a night out. Probably because Yoongi got completely wasted and Jungkook doesn't drink much with his athletic scholarship on the line. Jungkook always takes his health too seriously. “I have a question.”

Yoongi’s bending his neck at an awkward angle. It looks really uncomfortable. Is he really sleeping? You don’t know why he’s down here instead of locked in his room, sleeping off last night. You turn a page noisily without looking up, asserting that you are not paying attention because you don’t care. Yoongi was supposed to help you last night and he ditched you for a party when he doesn’t even like going out, and that’s what really bothers you. It’s that he ditched you, definitely not what he did at that party, what he always does at parties, the reason he goes to parties in the first place—

It's just that he was supposed to help you. ...Right.

“Hyung,” Jungkook repeats. You glance up at him, but he doesn’t look bothered at all by the lack of response. He looks rather hopeful, actually. Like any second now, Yoongi will magically respond.

You pale. Damn. He’s going to keep asking until Yoongi answers. And that distraction would not be conducive to good study habits. “Yoongi,” you quip, reaching out with your foot to poke his calf with your toes. Yoongi jerks, then groans, head dropping before he lifts it begrudgingly and runs his hand through his already messy blonde hair. “Your son is asking you a question. Don’t just ignore him.”

Jungkook is everyone’s son, as far as you’re concerned. Yesterday it was Taehyung. The day before, Seokjin. Jin probably made the most sense—

Yoongi pulls down his sunglasses to squint miserably at Jungkook. “What.” He croaks. Then he pushes his sunglasses back up and he shifts back into his armchair. He looks worn and annoyed, but not much different from an old man. Part of his charm—one moment, he’s sexy and charismatic and the next, he’s a stiff and grumpy 23-going-on-70 year old.

“How do you ask a girl out?” Jungkook asks, completely innocent. You balk, giving up on pretending to study. Yoongi doesn't seem to react, but his black shades make it hard to tell. You’re not really sure there is one. Yoongi is so hungover and miserable, he would sit without flinching through an earthquake. But he moves when you kick his leg... You suppose that has something to do with his gentlemanly nature he tries to pretend doesn't exist.

You almost think he’s not going to answer. What was Jungkook thinking? And what will he do if Yoongi doesn’t answer? You wouldn’t put it past him, to completely ignore something he saw as stupid. But wouldn’t Jungkook just keep asking?

Yoongi saves you from finding out; he shifts in his seat again, making it clear he hadn’t died in the last minute. “That’s easy,” he says, neck bent at that awkward angle with his head lolled to the side. His voice sounded gravelly and dry, husky from his hangover. “You open the door and you tell her to get out. It helps to tell her she’s annoying.”

Jungkook blinks. You laugh. You stop quickly, surprised at your lack of control, and clear your throat as you force your eyes back to your textbook. You didn't look away fast enough, of course. The quirk of one side of Yoongi’s lips was definitely a smirk, and it frustrates you even more. Not like you knew why, of course. You laughed at his joke, of course he’d feel smug—so why should you feel irritated? But you burrow deeper in your chair, pulling the textbook up to shield your face.

“Is that how you’d do it?” Jungkook asks, continuing his weird game. “You’re the aggressive type, hyung. Does that really work on girls?”

“Depends on what you want from them,” Yoongi drawls. You feel like gagging, scowling into the text and bringing your textbook higher to hide your expression.

“So if you wanted a date, you’d just tell her to get out? And then follow her? That’s really a strange method, but maybe you can make it work,” Jungkook offers.

“Mm,” Yoongi hums noncommittally, probably losing interest in the conversation.

“Hyung should show me how it’s done,” Jungkook says, all innocence that you don't believe at all.

Oh you can’t handle this. You set down your textbook, frustrated that you can’t concentrate and even more frustrated that you’re amused and so fond of these boys, despite your feelings. “Jungkook,” you say. “You don’t need help picking up girls. What is this about?”

“I wanted to know Yoongi-hyung’s plan,” Jungkook says with a pure expression. “He says he likes a girl—"

What?

"—but he hasn’t made a move, so—“

“Ya!” Yoongi shouts, diving for one of Seokjin’s dense magazines and flinging it at Jungkook, but he easily bats it away with a laugh. Your fingers begin to shake, so you clasp them tightly in your lap. “Brat,” Yoongi seethes. “Why are you bothering y/n with this nonsense? Go play outside with your friends,” he grumps.

He says he likes a girl? So Yoongi, last night—

“You should have heard him last night,” Jungkook turns to you with a grin. “He was—“

—last night, he ditched you, escaped you, to tell the boys all about the girl he likes?

“Jeon Jungkook!” Yoongi hurls another magazine at him. “I covered your utilities last month and this is how you repay me, you cheeky sack of shit—“

He didn't even consider you someone he could confide in, he had to run away to a party so he could tell everyone. And he's mad Jungkook's brought it up even now. You try to swallow, but it feels impossible with how tight your throat is.

“I’m helping,” Jungkook whines with eyes that sparkle, trying to pout.

He says he likes a girl. Fuck, does it really have to hurt this bad? It had felt like there had been something there, but maybe it was only your own delusions and feelings filling the gap between you. He'd been so gentle, especially recently, and there had been times when you'd talk on this couch late at night together and it would get quiet and Yoongi would stare into your eyes and wet his lips and look like he wanted to say something and you'd thought—you'd thought—

“I told you to go play outside!” Yoongi snips.

“I thought you were joking,” Jungkook says.

“I wasn’t,” Yoongi shoots back, scowling.

There was so little connecting you two. You'd tried so hard to find reasons and excuses to be in his life, but if he liked someone, then that was all over. That meant you guys were barely friends. That meant everything would change. He'd be out with some perfect girl, with long legs and a sweet presence and confidence, and he'd kiss her but he wouldn't stop the way he had with you, and he wouldn't apologize with shitty apology coffee for two weeks. He'd probably wear that cocky little smirk and he'd whisper things in her ear and—

And maybe he'd still stop by your room to make sure you weren't studying too hard, forcing you to take a break when you were stressed and overworked and exhausted. And maybe he'd still cook breakfast on your exam days, even though you went crazy trying to hide it from him to prevent that kindness and he always figured it out anyway.

But you can't imagine that he'll stay back from parties anymore on Friday nights to watch a scary show with you, and throw pillows at you when you start getting scared, and laughing at you when you jump at the scary parts, and talking with you for hours when it's over, moving closer and closer towards each other unconsciously till things grew quiet and it felt like speaking would break the spell and Yoongi looked almost nervous... And then he'd say, voice soft yet rough that maybe you both should get some rest. And your face would feel flushed and you'd hide it because you felt embarrassed by your own reaction, and when you'd glance at Yoongi you'd find he was avoiding your eyes as well.

That wouldn't happen again. Yoongi wasn't that type of guy, to confuse a girl like you while dating someone else.

Jungkook has a way of following orders as if they were his idea in the first place. He stands and stretches languidly, grinning to himself sunnily. “I’m going to go play outside with my friends like my dad recommends,” he announces.

“Ya, who are you talking to?” Yoongi gets chatty when he's angry: one of his many charms. “Y/n is studying for her exam and you’ve been bothering her this whole time. Only I’m here to listen and I already gave my orders so obey in silence you little shit.”

Jungkook salutes him on his way out, completely unbothered, but not before he tosses you a wink.

He says he likes a girl. You smile depsite the feeling that the ground has been pulled out from beneath you. Yoongi sighs, ruffled and ill at ease like a cat resettling after the dog has left the vicinity. You want to maintain your smile because he really is cute, even though he’s trying not to be—but your heart is beating so heavily yet so dully in your chest. He says he likes a girl.

It had been painful enough, knowing what he was doing out there with any girl warm and willing, pretty enough to catch his eye. What hurt even more was that one night, you were that girl. Over eight months ago, he'd pulled you into a drunken, sloppy kiss, and there was no hesitancy, no questions, just desire and Yoongi's classic intensity and the feeling that your knees were going to buckle. Yoongi's kisses said you're mine and you felt it and you wanted that.

And just as you'd begun to kiss back, he seemed to come to his senses. His lips slowed, his hands froze, and then he'd jumped off of you like he'd been burned. He said sorry, over and over, before staggering off and disappearing the rest of the night.

You don't know what hurts more. That strangers get the kind of scraps you beg for, that you could have been one of them if it weren't for your personal relationship with him, or that even if you were close enough to make kissing wrong, you'd never be close enough to make kissing right.

It was painful enough like that. And you tried not to take that personally—Yoongi had said a few times over the past year that no way in hell was he getting a girlfriend, he liked his freedom a lot thanks, he didn't need anything else. But it felt personal. Other girls got to have him fuck them, and you got apology coffee for two weeks because he felt so guilty about accidentally kissing you.

It hurt to be something but never more and now, now Yoongi's found someone he wants to surrender his precious freedom for. Now, Yoongi actually likes someone. He spilled it all while he was drunk. And that makes what's left between you—absolutely nothing.

“Cheeky little bastard,” Yoongi mutters, and when you look up at him, he looks a little flustered. Of course, he did go to a party just to avoid a moment like this, so maybe it really was embarrassing to him. He clears his throat. “It’s not a big deal,” he says, looking off pointedly.

You realize, belatedly, that he wants a reaction. You force yourself to smile. “It’s not,” you say, eyes going to your textbook like you're hardly interested. Your vision is blurring. “Why didn’t I know about this mystery girl?” you ask from behind your textbook, trying to sound normal. You wonder if he can hear the desperation, the desolation, in your voice as clearly as you can.

Yoongi doesn't answer at first. When he does, he sounds thoughtful. “I wasn’t hiding it. I was waiting for the right time to tell people. But Kim Taehyung got me fucking wasted, and I started bragging."

Yoongi would be the type, wouldn't he? Whoever he liked would be the type to brag about. "Oh," you say weakly. Damn it I'm about to lose it. You clear your throat, praying that will be enough. "But why would you wait for the right time on something like that?"

“Impulsive confessions can be really hurtful,” Yoongi responds immediately, as if reciting from the Book of Min Yoongi, which houses many proverbs and rules that he adheres to strictly. He mainly pulls it out to lecture the young ones in the house. “A girl deserves a really thoughtful and meaningful confession when you like her as much as I do. Otherwise she might not take you seriously."

You guess hearing it from someone else counts as accidental. "So you're not just going to ask her to leave?” You ask, your weak attempt at humor. And that's when you feel a tear on your eyelashes and you know you've lost your insignificant battle. You jump to your feet and throw your textbook in your bag with desperate speed, keeping your face hidden from him.

“Of course not,” he says.

“I’m going to study in the library,” you say. You pull on your shoes so quickly you almost trip, your trembling fingers struggling to tie a knot so you give up after a second.

Yoongi doesn't answer for a moment. “Good idea,” he finally says, looking off. “There are no noisy bastards to distract you there.”

“Jungkook isn’t that bad,” you say, barely thinking as you reach for your backpack and cram your textbook in. Yoongi mutters something under his breath. "What?" you say, not looking at him.

“Nothing,” he waves a hand. “Have fun. I’ll see you later.”

“Sleep it off,” you call over your shoulder. He grumps in response.

Your brain is fuzzy and woolen from hours of ingraining foreign concepts into your mind. And still, you can feel the hurt stabbing at the back of your heart, unwilling to be forgotten. You lay your face on the cool wood of the desk and stare off. The library is closing in a little bit, so you know you have to go home and face whatever's waiting for you.

You don't understand Yoongi. You want to, but you can't. You just know you really like him, whether he's being cocky and overconfident or awkwardly shy and hardworking and kind. When you'd first moved in, he'd really scared you. He had a bad reputation from yelling at a professor in freshman year, and he wore a lot of leather. But as the days had gone by, you'd realized he wasn't anything like people said. He acted tough, but in reality he was sweet. He cared a lot. Even though his mouth was sharp, he'd do anything to help others. It melted your heart to see the way he was always nagging Jungkook and Taehyung, but even when you felt like you deserved the same tough love approach, he had nothing but gentle things to say to you...

You hate that when remembering the conversation this morning, you want to laugh at how flustered he'd been by Jungkook. Who are you talking to? Y/n is studying for her exam and you've been bothering her this whole time. He always acted like your time was so precious...

If only he didn’t have to be so cute, like sitting in the living room with sunglasses on in broad daylight when he was so hungover. Why does he have this effect on you? You drag your finger along the desk, tracing patterns lazily as you blink slowly, feeling your exhaustion press on you like a heavy blanket. You wanted to sleep, but the walk home was twenty minutes in icy wind and bitter cold. You want to stay inside a little longer and think about things that don't hurt.

Of course, everything hurts right now. You really, really don't want to face the fact that Yoongi likes a girl. Because that means you've crossed the line from just a friend to jealous and overlooked and second best. You'll have to be okay with the idea of someone else seeing Yoongi's softer sides, that someone else will get to hear Yoongi speak in that quiet, slow voice in the early hours of morning, contemplative and peaceful at a time when dreams could almost become reality.

You'll have to find a way to stop loving him. You're not sure that's possible.

Your phone begins to buzz. You blink, listening to the vibrations through the desk, before forcing yourself up with a sigh. You answer it without looking. "Hello?" you mumble, voice thick from lack of use.

"Ahhh, I knew it." Yoongi's voice on the other end makes you jump. You straighten and look around, as if he might appear behind a bookcase. "You're at the library still, right?"

"Sorry, um," you say haltingly because you really do hate talking in the library when a quiet voice carries so far, even if it's deserted before closing. "What's up?"

"I'm parked by the Harrison," he says. "That's a short walk for you, right?"

"Yeah," you say dumbly.

"Come on, I'll give you a ride," he says. "The car is hot and toasty."

You're flustered because your first instinct is to reject unnecessary kindnesses, but he's already arrived, he's already waiting. All you have to do is go outside. So instead, you melt. "Thank you so much," you practically sob with relief. "You've saved me. I didn't want to walk through the cold."

"It's no problem," Yoongi says, a note of smug satisfaction in his voice and you know you made the right choice in flattery. You stand up and begin to pack up your notes and textbooks. You're a little distracted as he continues. "You've been studying since early. Did you think to eat?" he drawls.

Your stomach clenches with hunger. You're tempted to lie, but starvation is apart of this great new study diet you've been working on... And you honestly forgot. "Sorry," you hiss quietly, wary of the guy three tables away still scribbling away in a notebook.

"Mmm," Yoongi hums knowingly. "Jin-hyung made pizza. I protected yours from the wolves."

You laugh, then clap a hand over your mouth when the poor fellow student shoots you a look. Your cheeks begin to burn. "Thank youuu," you praise him quietly. "I'll be to your truck in a little, okay? I've got to hang up."

"Okay," Yoongi says, and he hangs up first with a click. You immediately stuff your phone in your pocket and haul your backpack onto your shoulders, wincing at the weight, and begin the trek to the back of the Harrison lot. After going down two flights and through the library, you nod to the security guard who probably knows you by name at this point, and you push open the doors to outside. The cold is unbearable knowing warmth is so close, and you walk quickly, cutting through a lawn with a dusting of snow, feet crunching through the ice-coated blades. Your nose burns from the cold air, your breath coming out in fluffy puffs of white. it doesn't take long before you can see where he's waiting, but it feels like an eternity before you reach him. His old truck is running, chugging pollution into the wintry night, but at least its heater is blessedly hot and functional. Your relief makes your body feel like jelly.

You're saying thank you before you've even got the door open. "Thank you so much," you say as you try to haul yourself into the seat. "I was going to stay in there forever. You're amazing. You're heaven sent."

"It's dangerous to walk home so late at night," Yoongi says, helping you with your struggle to untangle yourself from your backpack, chuckling quietly. "I would have come for you no matter what. Don't stay out so late."

"I know," you admit, only a little whiny. "I didn't realize so much time had passed." That wasn't strictly true. You'd known. You just hadn't cared, which was about the same thing. "Really, thank you so much. I hate the walk."

"It's not a big deal," Yoongi says. "Buckle up. This thing could die anytime now."

"Okay," you say, strapping yourself in. It's not like you ever don't. He's just running on autopilot because Taehyung has a habit of forgetting and that kind of thing ticks Yoongi off.

Yoongi turns up his music as he pulls out. It's something calming, some piano piece, and you feel yourself melting into the comfortable seat. You feel warm and cozy, the gentle music lulling you into a state of total relaxation. You know he was probably listening to heavy rap and put in this CD just to calm you. And for awhile, you float. It doesn't matter, whatever has upset you today. In this moment, it feels like none of that really matters.

Yoongi's chuckle brings you back down to planet earth. "You're really tired, aren't you?" he asks. "You're like Taehyung. You don't even realize you're tired until you're almost asleep."

"Sorry," you mumble, blinking drowsily. "Today was long."

He's quiet for a moment, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Hey, I want to go out tomorrow," he says after a moment.

You don't react for a moment—until god-like inspiration strikes you. "Woah—is it the end of the world?" You tease with a broad grin."Min Yoongi? Going out on Sunday morning?"

He scoffs. "You really think that's funny?"

You snicker to yourself tiredly, falling back against your seat with a lazy smile. "Yeah."

"It's not funny at all," he retorts firmly.

"I'm a little funny," you say, pinching the air to show how little you are funny. He snorts, but he chuckles.

"Yeah, you're a little funny," he admits softly, looking out his window for a second before staring straight ahead again.

"Ha," you smile dreamily before you turn to stare out the window. You're at a stoplight, only a minute from home now. "I'm so tired. What are you going to do tomorrow?"

"I want to go out with you," he says.

"Oh," you say. "That sounds fun. What do you want to do?"

"Hm, yeah," Yoongi scoffs with a self deprecating laugh. "I'm sorry, I want to allow you to misunderstand because that's easier, but you need to know what I really mean so you can reject me properly. I'm a gentleman like that." Sounds like another rule from the Book of Min Yoongi.

You sit up, feeling more alert. "What do you mean?" you ask.

"Jungkook is an ass," Yoongi says, looking ahead deliberately. "He made me do this more quickly than I wanted, and I really don't like to be rushed."

"You don't have to rush," you assure automatically. "Is this about what he said this morning? Do you need my help with something?"

Yoongi glances at you, eyes unreadable. "You're really dense, aren't you." He states it, not a question at all.

"I think I'm pretty perceptive," you say defensively.

Yoongi laughs. The light turns green, and Yoongi begins to drive. "You're smart, but you're definitely dense."

If you're dense, you like to think it's deliberate on your part. It makes it easier not to feel hurt, unless it's so obvious not even you can ignore it. Like when someone like Jeon Jungkook slams it in your face that the guy you like doesn't feel the same. At that point, your pitiful self defenses don't amount to much. "I think that's a compliment," you joke. Badly.

He snorts, so maybe it wasn't all bad. "I'm describing you. Of course it's a compliment."

"Everything you say about me is a compliment?" You check.

"Sorry, I'm stalling," he admits. "I want to look at you when I say this. Is that okay?"

You fall back into your seat, confused. He starts a conversation that he wants to finish once you're home? "Okay, sure," you say, nonplussed. "Like I said. You don't have to rush anything."

Yoongi is quiet for a long time. "I'm starting to think I do," he says softly. You don't respond, honoring his request for more time, so you look out the window. You're beginning to feel stupidly hopeful, even while you can feel the ghost aches of hurt build inside you, waiting for the unexpected blow of his words. You've been hurt before, and you're not going to let this catch you off guard. You're not going to expect anything good, even if his laugh is warm and his eyes gentle and he looks so soft in that flannel.

He pulls up to your apartment and parks behind Jimin's car. He turns off the ignition, but you don't move, following his lead with trepidation as he stares sightlessly at his steering wheel. Without the music, atmosphere feels muted and hushed but not deafening, like the quiet of snowfall.

He hums to himself, voice unnervingly loud after the quiet. "I'm really nervous," he confesses, turning to look at you. He looks utterly solemn, and he doesn't look the Yoongi you're used to—he's neither gentle nor confident. He looks like he's about to face some tragic doom but he's squaring himself and forcing himself regardless. "I got wasted last night," Yoongi says. "And I blurted out something I barely wanted to admit to myself, let alone everyone."

"It's okay to like someone, Yoongi," you say. "Are you acting like this because you didn't tell me and I heard about it from Jungkook?"

His eyebrows raise, disappearing in his fringe. "A little," he says. "But not really. You should have been the first to know, but there's nothing I can do about it now. But I think it's different from what you're thinking. You're being really stubborn right now," he chuckles.

"Then explain," you say, looking down and hugging your waist.

"Yeah, I should get on with it before it gets too cold in here," Yoongi muses, eyes following the movement. The temperature is fast plummeting, but that's not why you're hugging yourself. But you don't explain; you just look at him, waiting.

He clears his throat. "I told myself I didn't need anyone," Yoongi mumbles. "But then I met people who actually gave a shit about me, and they wouldn't let me pretend I didn't feel the same way. I really started to care about them, after a long time of isolating myself from everyone. I was a really shitty person." You want to protest, but something about the way he's looking off convinces you to hear him out.

"And then you moved in, and I don't like meeting new people. But I started noticing how much you do for others, and how little you do for yourself, and I started to worry. And then we really talked one night, and I realized the sound of your voice is really calming. And when I tell you things, I don't feel so..." he pauses, clearing his throat. "I started making excuses to be around you, but then I started holding myself back. It felt wrong to get close to you."

He looks down, running his thumb along the bottom edge of his steering wheel. "And then I got drunk and I gave in. And I kissed you. And I'm really, really sorry about that."

You sigh immediately. "Come on, Yoongi, that was ages ago, and I wasn't even mad—”

"I feel really bad because I kissed you for the wrong reasons," Yoongi says, looking at you for the first time, and his eyes are blazing with intensity. "I did it because I wanted you, really badly. But I should have been kissing you because I had feelings for you."

Your throat feels tight. Always so close, but just out of reach. He really knows how to torture you. "I didn't care, Yoongi."

"Because I did have feelings for you, y/n. I do have feelings for you." Yoongi says, firm and distinct. "But I was fucking scared, and I felt so ashamed. I've never felt like this before, I've never dated anyone. I don't know how to be... a good guy," he says, looking away again like these words are difficult to admit. "I've tried to be a good friend, but it's hard when I have feelings like this. I want so much more. I'm constantly holding myself back. It's so... frustrating," he laughs roughly, raking his hands through his bleached hair. "It's never enough. Always so scared that I'm going to give myself away."

Your heart is in your throat, feeling so shy. Why is he saying all of this? You just want to scream that you feel the same way, but he's a hell of a lot better with words than you are. "Then what's changed?" you prompt quietly instead.

"Of course our housemates did," he says, lips twitching. "Taehyung and Jungkook wouldn't get off my back, and then everyone else piled on. And after this morning, I just felt like an asshole. It was cowardly, to hide my feelings for so long when they weren't going away. But... I know how burdensome this all can be, so I'm prepared to—"

"I feel the same," you interrupt, unable to bear him going on. "I've been in love with you for a year." Wait did I just— "I mean—not, like, love love, I've just been—um," you falter after tripping over your words, mortified at your slip of tongue, no matter how true.

Yoongi looks at you, quiet but eyes scorching with intensity. "Yeah?" he asks, voice husky. "Really?"

You nod, not trusting yourself not to blurt out anything else completely stupid if you opened your mouth again.

Yoongi's lips twitch, like he was fighting a smile, but he looked happy enough to ease a little of your embarrassment. Your face still felt so hot, especially knowing he could tell. "Okay," he says quietly, leaning towards you. "That makes me happy," he says, voice growing huskier as his eyes darken, one of his hands going to your chin to tip your head up to look at him. "Then I want to ask you out for tomorrow," he says. "Like a date. I really want to take you out."

"We don't have to go out," you say, barely coherent with him so close. You can feel his breath, and your eyes keep stopping on his lips before you force them back to his eyes, only for them to fall again. "It doesn't have to be anything fancy, just because of—”

"I want to be alone with you," he interrupts, his thumb dragging across your cheek tenderly, his eyes on your lips as he speaks. You swallow, your stomach tightening with unfamiliar desire. This is the sweetest kind of torture, your nerves building inside of you. "We'll never be alone if we stay home."

He's completely right. The joy of six roommates. You try to nod, until you realize he's holding you, and you swallow again as his other hand cups your head and slides into your hair. Your breath feels very short and fast. Don't let me hyperventilate and pass out on him. His eyes meet your eyes, and your eyes drop to his lips.

He closes the distance and presses his lips to yours, a soft brush you can barely feel, and your eyes drift shut as he brushes your lips again, lingering then firm, again. Your heart is beating so loudly you feel like he must be able to feel it, and your mind is racing with anxiety—you're so nervous, you know you're not going to handle much more like this—your hands are sitting stupidly in your lap—but with one last chaste, plush kiss, Yoongi leans back with eyes hooded with heated, controlled emotion.

"That's the way I should have kissed you the first time," he says softly.

You're not thinking very clearly, dizzy and very much lovestruck. "I was okay with the other kiss," you say honestly.

His lips twitch. "I'll kiss you like that later. But not right now. I wouldn't be able to stop." He strokes your cheek again with his thumb, so tender your heart explodes inside you, but then he leans back and his hands fall, stealing all your warmth and leaving you disoriented. "Don't get out," he says, opening his door. The chilled car fills with a gust of wind, and you shiver. "I'll get your door."

Your brow furrows, but he's slammed his door shut before you can protest.You watch him cross around the car in bewilderment, and he opens your door with a self-satisfied little smirk. "I don't like chivalry," you say firmly, trying to hide your own anxiety. "It's really unnecessary."

"Bear it a little," he says with a smirk, eyes soft. "I'm really happy right now," he says, holding out a hand. You grip it and clumsily step out, knees almost buckling. He holds you firmly without teasing you—now that's chivalry—and then reaches for your long forgotten backpack and swings it over his shoulder without comment. You feel extremely flustered.

"That's heavy," you protest weakly. "I can carry it—” You can barely support your own weight.

He scoffs. "I have pride."

You go to the gym way more than Yoongi ever does, but he shows no sign that it’s heavy at all. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, especially when he knits his fingers with yours and effectively distracts you. He shuts your door with this free hand and begins to lead you to the apartment.

"I've had to hold myself back a lot," he says conversationally. "I don't want to hold back right now. So even if it's a little embarrassing, try to be understanding."

You bite your lip. How can you fight it when hearing those words make you so happy? "You're going to spoil me," you grumble. "And when you get lazy, I'll get angry. You know that's how to really piss a girl off, right?"

"I'm not going to get lazy," Yoongi says confidently.

You silently promise yourself you won't let him feel burdened enough to slack off. You'll fight every step of this weird chivalry dance. You're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, after all.

When you enter the apartment, it's noisy and chaotic like most Saturday nights. Everyone has recovered from the night before, it seems. Seokjin is loudly fighting for a romantic comedy while Namjoon and Taehyung insisting on their own suggestions, and Jungkook and Hoseok are throwing cushions around, making Jin turn around to yell at them, and Jimin is just sitting back and laughing, a bowl of untouched popcorn waiting for the movie. No one notices you guys walk in at first—not until Namjoon turns, and then grins broadly at seeing your linked hands.

"Wow! You guys talked, right?" Namjoon asks, giving you guys the thumbs up.

Seokjin glances over his shoulder distractedly, but when he sees you both, his eyes widen comically as his jaw drops. "I knew it!" He explodes. "I told you—ya, I told you that she liked you—“

Jimin begins to clap for you guys from the couch, cheering enthusiastically, and Hoseok energetically joins in. "So sweet!" he croons shrilly. Your face begins to heat up.

"I finally told her," Yoongi says, dropping your hand to hook his arm around your waist, holding you tightly. He sounds a little too smug. "And she feels the same way."

"I'm so happy for you guys," Taehyung steps forward to wrap you both in a hug, squeezing you both before stepping back with a big grin.

"It was all me," Jungkook confides to Jimin who laughs, not taking him seriously at all, but unfortunately, his voice carries to Yoongi's ears.

"Ya, Jeon Jungkook," Yoongi calls, loud and obstinate. "You're a little asshole who got off too easy this morning. I'm going to shave your head, you stupid ass. You really stressed her out. I'm kind of pissed right now," he drawls, arm dropping from your waist.

"I just wanted advice," Jungkook protests, grinning goofily.

"Advice?" Yoongi scoffs. Then without warning, he rips his shoe off and chucks it at Jungkook. Jungkook dodges with a masculine shriek, dissolving into hysterical laughter as he grabs a pillow to throw right back.

Hoseok reacts instantly, ripping off his house slipper and throwing it at Seokjin. "Shoe fight!" Hoseok explodes with a manic grin.

"A shoe fight? Let's use pillows!" Seokjin yells, but he's laughing as well. And somehow, the news of your relationship is lost amidst a spontaneous fight of throwing anything moderately soft around the room, yells and shrieks of laughter drowning out any protests of Jimin and Namjoon.

a/n: Yoongi rlly is a badboy he was just so soft for the reader lol. One day I’ll write a good badboy yoongi.

Quote: JK: “how do you ask a girl out?” YG: “Easy. You open the door and say, ‘Get out, you are bothering me.’”

#bts #yoongi #suga #bts ff #fanfic #bts fanfic #imagine #scenario #prompt #yoongi!badboy #badboy!yoongi #angst #bts romance #bts fluff #bts college au #best friends au #how do you ask a girl out #jungkook

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hananabee · 6 years ago

Note

2) I'd be a nonclique, but occasionally hang with the Greasers and Nerds. Mostly I keep to myself and stay in my room all day playing video games or watching tv. I also like to people watch, and casually observe everyone doing their thing (Russell's headbutting a locker, Gary's scheming and dragging Pete along, Beatrice is sighing dreamily at Jimmy). I'd also tutor ppl who need it, and bc I'm apparently a great listener everyone, even ppl I don't know comes to me when they have problems to vent

Okay so this was a long one and I’m an idiot and left my laptop at work.. I think??? So I have to use my phone so bare with me. I’m sure there’s a better way to have done this.. anywho! Here was the full description!

If youre still doing Bully matchups, can I get one? I’m a bi INTP Scorpio Ravenclaw and have a huge but sweet service dog. I’m curvy, v pale, and wear glasses. I love learning about everything from amusement park history to criminology! Im very chill and am a bit distant to strangers but once I know you I open up. My mom’s a former teacher/librarian and I like Ms. Phillips & Galloway. I also like Gary despite my better judgment and LOVE Russell to pieces. I love Fallout and Law & Order too! I’d be a nonclique, but occasionally hang with the Greasers and Nerds. Mostly I keep to myself and stay in my room all day playing video games or watching tv. I also like to people watch, and casually observe everyone doing their thing (Russell’s headbutting a locker, Gary’s scheming and dragging Pete along, Beatrice is sighing dreamily at Jimmy). I’d also tutor ppl who need it, and bc I’m apparently a great listener everyone, even ppl I don’t know comes to me when they have problems to vent I honestly don’t know what relationship would be good for me. I’ve only ever been in 3 my whole life and they were all short. I wouldn’t want anyone clingy, tho. I usually don’t like PDA (I flinch when MY MOM hugs me sometimes, its not a trust thing; I’m just rarely in the mood for affection. If Gary ever asked me out I’d be skeptical that it was genuine but I’d go along just to see what he was up to. I have anxiety, and I usually assume a guy/girl asking me out is pranking me or smth

This may be an off the wall here, but I could totally see you and Edgar being one of the most adorable things ever. If you’ve read my Edgar headcanons then you already know his love for dogs and I totally think that he’d be that boyfriend who politely (or rudely bc why the fuck not) tell people your service baby is working and should be left alone. He’d love your thirst for knowledge too, like, yes tell him more about Coney Island pls. Oh, you’re reading about Charles Manson?? Spooky, tell me more. Being with you makes him feel less stupid, even though he isn’t stupid but I mean. I definitely see the two of you fighting over who gets to play the game as well. Edgar was talk you into making a joint character on New Vegas and would distract you so you would die just so he could play. He’s a sneaky lil snake let me tell you. He really loves how you’ll go from not saying anything and watching tv to dropping everything to let Clint cry on your shoulder sometimes. He’s the momabear of the townies and having an extra set of ears takes a lot off of his shoulders. He just genuinely loves you and loves being around you. It’s the most functional disfunctional relationship in Bulworth and it’s perfect. 💚

#anonymous #ask me your ship #bully #edgar munsen #self ship edition #i actually really like this

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chibicrow · 7 years ago

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VRAINS Positivity Post

anyway to combat all the negativity I’ve seen w/ VRAINS until now b/c I’ve been bothered by it more than I should, I’m just gonna list what I love about it so I can remind myself why this show’s worth watching despite what people say

b/c yes VRAINS is problematic in a lot of areas but I’m tired of letting the YGO fandom and people who act separate from the fandom but shit on series and hate watch a series suck the fun out of watching my favorite franchise.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO.

Cotton Candy Son actually sleeps and it’s adorable

“YAMAMOTO-SENPAI!!” “DON’T USE MY REAL NAME.”

Ignis being a little shit 24/7

Cotton Candy Son and other characters roasting Ignis for being a little shit

Ignis: *says anything* Yusaku/Playmaker: :|

“PLAYMAKER-SAMA.”

Kusanagi “Hot Dog Man + Yusaku Protection Squad Founder” Shoichi

“we’re a hot dog truck but we also sell coffee” seems legit

[kusanagi-san voice] “YOOOSAKU D:”

Revolver-sama literally acting like an old man who hates technology + it’s amusing af

how many gun monsters can revolver-sama summon in one duel

AKIRA ZAIZEN CARES FOR AOI SO MUCH AND IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL AND *UGLY SOBS*

Ema “Ghost Girl” Bessho

(also her thighs tho holy shit)

Yusaku and Naoki’s interactions. I live for them.

Just. Aoi Zaizen. My daughter. I love her.

AND BLUE ANGEL. MY IDOL QUEEN.

also Akira Zaizen’s a cool dude.

“INTO THE VRAINS.”

SORE. WA. DOU. KANA.

KONO SAKI NO. KIBOUUUUU MEZA/SHITEEEE/ KAZE NI NOTTE IKOUUUUUUU

NEVER. GIVE UP. NEVER. AKIRAMENAISA. NEVER. GIVE UP. NEVERRRRR.

actually the entirety of both the OP + ED b/c gems + I actually love both equally at this point

“if he growls loud enough, does he get a stronger monster in the data storm?” - me whenever playmaker uses storm access

“was that an arc v reference?”

“was that a zexal reference?”

“oh a 5D’s reference finally - wait what the fuck.”

#stillwaitingforthevrainsanswertocrow-sama2k17

(unless that’s onizuka go or revolver-sama but)

playmaker: “I’m an emissary of revenge! *looks gorgeous af*”

revolver-sama having similar mannerisms to playmaker like yes thank you.

#yeah that should do it #for now #might add on later #natsumi talks vrains #wow this list is so long already and it's only been 15 episodes #nice

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wristic · 7 years ago

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To Forsake All Love (Part 2)

Pairing: Sigurd X Reader (tho this one has a lot of teasing from all the boys cause in a perfect fantasy you marry one ya marry’em all heh’ya kn’h’ow what h’am say’h’in)

Word Count: 4600

Warnings: Bishop Edmure turns out to be as dickish as he seemed (also abusive)

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3- -Part 4- -Part 5-

@the-irish-princess @amazinggraceling @littlesnorlaxx

You squeezed at your temples, bombarded with papers and papers from dukes, barons and viscounts. Apparently people called your father a usurper for his disposal of Osberht, his former brother and King of Northumbria. Apparently that meant your claim was even less solid. It seemed no one wanted to reflect that a man could lose his mind even after years of good services and perhaps change was necessary.

Though you supposed your father was no better at times. His rage against any oppressors had him in the ways of a tyrant, something he once feared would become of his brother. You remembered little of your uncle, but you remembered the paranoid look in his eye, the way he’d forget things suddenly or fall into fits of bizarre frustration.

It had been well over a week since you offered your hand and hadn't heard a single word. It only stressed you further to have it pop up in your head, you letting your weary skull drop onto the desk with a loud thud.

Ingweald barged in and you were quick to snap up and look the part of a lady. Back straight, hands folded, and headache hammering away. “They're here.”

You resisted rolling your eyes because how were you suppose to know at this point who would show up at the castle. The past week alone the court was filled to the brim everyday with a list of complaints. “Who is?”

“The Northmen.”

Like a bucket of ice water dropping, the news jumped your attention and spiked your headache. Standing, you straightened your pale blue dress, waist belted in a silver chain of jeweled spades. It may have been soon but you figured if you were to look forward to a marriage, no matter who, you needed to stop the appearance of your mourning period. Especially given they were the reason for it.

Every step to the main hall was another that burned at your nerves. When you came to the door you had to stop, hand on your belly to ease the onslaught of sickness that threatened to take you. Letting out a slow steadying breath,

Ingweald swung the door open and into the Great Hall where you were met by your mother; Godwine trying to usher her back to her room. She was like a frightened mouse in front of the empty King's chair. As scared to tears as she was, Ealswith made herself the wall between you and the Northman filling the hall.

You were quick but tall as you walked up to your pale tear stricken mother. “You should be resting-”

“It's alright to run!” Her voice was a hushed and shaking as she whispered. “God will guide us to safety, there's no shame for women in running!” The fright in her voice broke your heart knowing it was your doing.

Gently gripping your mother's wrists you backed her up from the chair. “Mother have faith in me-”

“I lost my husband, I won't lose you too!” she wept.

“You won't lose me.” You handed Queen Ealswith off to Godwine and Ingweald by the door, whispering. “Please, if you can't accept this as my will then accept it as Gods. Go to the sanctuary and pray he does not abandon us just yet.” You nodded to Godwine who was gentle in leading the sobbing and broken Queen out of the room.

Brushing a stray hair out of your face, you re-gathered yourself and turned to the awaiting guests. Standing in front of the Kings chair but not daring to sit in it, you examined the rather large group of warriors, thankfully not in their armor. The five from the lifted platform stood in a row from tallest to shortest ending with the darkest one relaxed at a table. Instead of being sympathetic or touched by the display of love from your mother, they were amused, except the one glowering at you from his seat.

“Has my proposal been accepted?” The court was quiet. Even your own subjects that had since scuttled in at the sides to see the historical moment, even if that moment ended in their slaughter, were painfully silent.

The one you handed the ring to, who you originally proposed to and found yourself relaxed in his company stepped forward, flashing a prideful smirk at his brothers before he ascended the stone steps to meet you. He presented a ring of his own, a thick solid gold band.

“I, Sigurd Ragnarsson, have accepted your proposal of marriage.” You nodded and took it, jumping when the Northmen erupted into a cheer that blasted the halls before your own people could murmur in worriment. The mirth shook your own anxiety till it tickled you and you unintentionally laughed as well, though it wouldn't be a terrible offence if it was on purpose.

You gripped his hands leaning in close so he could hear. “I can’t possibly do enough to thank you for this. I know an arranged marriage isn’t much to be desired but I’ll be a good-”

Sigurd slipped a hand from yours and cradled your face, pulling your lips into his. You gasped, your body instinctively leaning back but he didn't seem to mind, wrapping an arm around your waist and embracing you flush against him.

You had never been kissed before. The terror your father would have brought down on you were he to find out always chilled you out of any romantic situation. Though you had imagined what it might be like, you always assumed it would be in the way you'd only ever seen, chaste and brief, cold. Instead you felt like glowing, safe even. It made you wonder why your parents never embraced like this, so tightly and for so long you couldn't breath and started to feel dizzy. When Sigurd broke away you immediately covered your face to hide the big toothy smile that bloomed from it.

He turned and shouted something in his own language, riling up the men again as he kept you in his arm. You felt a kiss on your forehead before he moved behind you and sat in your father's chair like it had been his this whole time, and called for a round of drinks. Gulping, you shot a glimpse to your countrymen. None were smiling, most looked downright murderous while others fearful. Pushing down the swelling guilt you motioned for some of the stewards to prepare a feast for the guests. The Northmen however were bringing their own barrels and foods, taking up the seats in the halls. Quietly you slipped away as his brothers stepped up to congratulate Sigurd.

You didn't get far to the kitchen when Bishop Edmure rushed up, “I have known you since your birth-” you slowed, feeling that headache make its comeback. “You have always been a vestal, modest young lady. You’ve always known your place and did your duties without complaint.” He came upon you, red faced and fuming. “So it eludes me where you would come up with such a heinous idea, not even consulting the court I might add, and expect no one to refuse these invaders. I have no choice but to think you simple for even agreeing to such terms. Or is it more sinful desires like your sister you seek?”

It took everything in you to not snap at him for a grotesque lack of faith and such dire accusation. “If you want to run, by all means, no one in this country is my prisoner. I however am not afraid. You can't change my decision anymore then you can change the tides.” You made to leave but a sudden intense grip fell on your arm dragging you back to the Bishop. You held back your hiss, his fingers digging into the tender flesh in his rage.

“These are heathens, rapists, and cannibals-”

“Bishop. Let go of me.”

Edmure gave a hard yank, enough you worried the coming bruise would spread to your shoulder. “Your mother had a duty to this realm, something you have usurped from her and twisted to your own perverse desires.” You went to argue but he shouted over you, his teeth grinding in his fury and for a moment you saw the ghost of your father. “Protecting the realm does not involve tossing us to the invaders like scraps for the dogs!”

You didn't say anything, your head dipped in submission. Bishop Edmure threw your sore arm and left you alone in the echoing hall. Only when you were truly alone did you release a shuttering breath, letting your eyes water enough for you to rub them away.

After preparing for some on-the-spot festivities with the cooks for the rest of the evening, you retreated to the old office of your father's, finding sanctuary in the silence and warm sun through the tall windows. The documents were already drawn up, all that needed to happen now was the wedding and consummation. Looking at the papers yet to be imprinted with a royal seal, you shivered.

You wished Judith could be here to tell you what to expect and what to do. You supposed you could ask your mother but remembering asking before, that was a pathetically fruitless endeavor. Lord, now it would only throw your mother into hysterics. You pressed your fingers to your lips. Oddly enough while the kiss was surprising it was also soothing. Or maybe it was the weeks of guesswork, disquiet and fear. To physically feel he wanted to undertake this sort of task, and with enthusiasm was refreshing.

The door creaked open far too soon and Ingweald nodded, a bit uneasy. “Someone is here to speak with you.”

“Why do you always have to…” be so damn cryptic. You sighed, motioning your approval.

One of the brothers to Sigurd walked in. He had a gentleness to him, his eyes inviting and arms behind his back in docility, despite him towering over people. Rounding the center he looked back at Ingweald signaling he wanted to speak alone. You nodded to your guard, excusing him. Wordlessly he made a plea to not leave you alone but you reassured. “It’s fine. You may go.”

Once the door closed the brother became a little more relaxed, letting his hands swing down, stepping up to your desk with a teasing smirk. “Princess, my name is Ubbe. I am a brother to Sigurd.” you nodded, standing and refusing the gut reaction to tell him he was close enough. Stopping at your desk he looked around at the mess before meeting you again, a smirk failing to hide. ”Why are you hiding?”

You directed down at the table. “Is that what you think this is?” he chuckled and you were quick to explain. “Normally, it would be up to my father and Sigurd’s to arrange this wedding and officiate the documents. Clearly that's not going to happen now, and… clearly my mother is not up to the task, so those duties have fallen to me.” An understanding took Ubbe and the cocky demeanor quickly fell. He was a bit awkward then, finding the eagle feather quill a good distraction for his hands.

“We’ve heard whispers. A lot of the Saxons seem to think King Aelle died in battle.”

You thought hard, worried if your tongue wasn't clever enough it would sour the arrangement. There was too little known if Ubbe would have a sway on Sigurd. “It was assumed. I couldn't bring myself to admit to my mother what truly happened. I feared for her health. It seemed… unnecessary to go into detail at court.”

Ubbe seemed more shocked then angry like you expected. “You couldn't admit?”

“Yes. Someone of the house had to retrieve him and few were willing to leave the castle.”

“So you saw…” he motioned to his back insinuating the mutilation.

You had to unhinge your jaw to admit, the strung up image of your father with the skin of his back stretched open flashing. “Yes.”

Taking a step around, he moved all the closer, the feather still twiddling between his fingers. “And you are still going to marry Sigurd? He was there you know. He watched and celebrated like the rest of us. That does not anger you?”

Celebrated didn't sit well. The sheer amount of torture they put your father through, watched and celebrated. It took you a moment to remember your father probably wasn't exactly compassionate in his long awaited revenge against Ragnar, but he didn't hack the man open and hang him up like a grotesque trophy. Lifting your chin you threw off the discomfort he was creating with the ever inching proximity. In that moment you envied him having the quill. “What I feel is irrelevant in the scope of protecting my country.”

Only a foot's distance from you it was hard to look him in the eye. Ubbe was quite a bit taller, broader, and though you hated how your father couldn’t warn you, many of the Northmen were actually rather handsome. Playing with your eagle feather quill he pointed, the brush of it creating a small wind at your quickly heating neck. “But what do you feel, is what I am asking.”

Up close his smirk was rather charming, a playful but devious light in his bright eyes. Swaying lightly in the warm sun, telling yourself to look a little stronger and not step away, you tried to find a right answer. “If I’m being honest, I don't know what I feel. Every move I’ve made since his death has been solely to return balance. But thinking back on it now I suppose I do feel a little bit of resentment for the butchery of my father.”

He scoffed at first, no doubt at the bite toward the end of your words, but then he fell serious when he looked back at you. “What we did to him we consider sacred. He died the highest death we could offer.”

“I’m sure he thought so when you had your hands buried in his chest.” he only broke into a smile again. It seemed to come by him easy. “But…” you shifted feeling unsure about admitting further. This was all some sort of test you could just feel it. You had to gain his favor. “My father… was not the kindest man. I suppose I should stop denying that while I sat next to his body, a part of me felt relief. Like a large splinter had been removed from my foot. It's been freeing.” You sighed, looking at the mess of responsibility before you. “In some ways at least.”

There was a pregnant silence as he mauled over the words. Setting down the quill Ubbe met your gaze. “Thank you for being honest with me. I know how your people are scared of us, and you,” You went to argue but he shook his head. “You do not hide as well as you think.” He teased. “I only want to tell you, Sigurd will respect you. He will never harm you.”

You were taken back by the admission, but recomposed yourself, kicking inside because you should have hid better. You gave a slight bow. “Thank you.”

He smiled almost embarrassed for you for bowing, dropping the quill and taking your hand. Ubbe started leading you away from the desk. “Good. You can get back to this,” he gave a vague wave to your mess of papers. “later. We are in no hurry to leave. You should get to know him better.”

Your gaze was glued to his hand as he was more concerned with watching where he was going. It was so strange having men freely touch you. Under your Father's reign the younger feared for their hands being removed while the older kept to themselves out of pride. In his death it was like a clasp had been unlock. Thinking back to Edmure, you weren't sure if all of it would be good. Then you thought of Sigurd and your soon to be wedding night. If Ubbe felt your hand clench, he didn't acknowledge it.

Back in the main hall, you didn't see a single one of your people. It was filled with Northmen and women, comfortable after their long journey and setting up for a long night. It reminded you of the visit to the Wessex Capitol. Most didn't acknowledge you and Ubbe, who led you with a motivating hand on your back. Sigurd had taken to standing near a table with his company, smiling and laughing with a drink in his hand.

Ubbe called to him a few times and was only able to hear when they were close. Raising his eyes Sigurd was jubilant to see you, “Ah! My Queen!” You felt awkward but smiled, Sigurd throwing you off by wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing your burning cheek. He drug you to the table and directed you to sit down with him. Another of his brothers, the darker one sitting a few people down seemed to tease in their language. Sigurd waved it off offering you his drink. “Here, to relax you.”

You took it, giving him a queer look. Did you really seem that tense? You supposed you were but didn't think it showed so much. Taking a sip, it was an odd mix of flavors. Sweet and then nutty, bitter in a much different way than wine and filled your stomach warmly. Taking another more fuller sip you looked around the table at all the strange people while they talked in their strange language. The men seemed to be more interested in braids and tattoo’s then the women. It reminded you of how birds were at times, the male's far more exotic in appearance. Though that wasn't to say the woman weren't beautiful in their more humble dress. Seeing their hair down and wild along their shoulders added such a natural allure.

Amidst your observations Sigurd’s hand fell and gripped your thigh and you flinched hard enough the dark haired brother laughed, apparently having been watching you and he teased again. Sigurd didn't seem fine with it this time, chipping back bitterly. The two glared at each other and you could sense an intense rift only Ubbe tried to soothe. Whatever he said made both their faces fall into amusement, a certain wickedness in the darker one as he took a last glimpse of you. Sigurd turned to you then, you hiding behind your cup. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“I-its not…” shifting stiffly, you leaned into him, something he was quick to return and embrace you a little tighter. “I’m just not used to people touching me that's all.”

He tilted his head, looking off, the words didn't seem to sit well. “Not used to people touching you?” He looked back and you had a hard time not looking into his slit eye, as entirely fascinating as it was. “Have you never been in love before?”

You chuckled taking another drink. “It's hard to fall in love when your father has an eye like a mad dog wherever you go.” You didn't catch the way he glanced to Ubbe with an uneasy look shared between them.

It was fun to see all the Northmen become more and more surprised by the amount of fruits and vegetables being brought in to accompany their bowls of meat. You enjoying having to explain you weren’t lying about it being a fertile land, eating a vine of fat grapes yourself. The afternoon carried on into the night, the drink Sigurd kept refilling doing its job of relaxing you and making you laugh even when you didn't know what they were talking about. Through the night you found yourself more and more in Sigurd’s lap, until a lull hit and you were falling asleep on his shoulder despite the party being exceptionally rowdy around you.

You could barely feel your face but you did feel hands playing with the pins of you hair, undoing them and twirling the long strands as they splayed along your shoulders. Attention seemed to get brought to you, the voices to the band of brothers all facing your direction. There was some laughing, some teasing, seeping into a flirtatiousness as they seemed to speak about you. The one you got to know as Ivar suddenly got defensive, spouting the word ‘Christian’ like it was a slur while the rest kept trying to lure him into something. The hair was pulled back over your shoulder to expose your neck. The cool air felt nice when Hvitserk drew close, his voice goading and low. Something hot and slick suddenly swiped behind your ear startling you awake. Touching where a dampness was left you were barely able to gauge your surroundings while the boys laughed.

“Why don't uh, why don't we get you to bed.” Sigurd patted, chuckling into his last drink before helping you out of the table.

Standing you swayed a little waiting for Sigurd to gather himself, Hvitserk waving at you. “Goodnight Princess. It was nice to meet you!” He was laughing still at a joke you seemed to miss, rubbing away at the tingling sensation behind your ear that tugged at your spine.

Though your head spun you were still able to lead Sigurd to the stairs, up to the tower of your room. At one point you slipped and he had to catch you, you falling into a giggle fit while the world spun to catch up. “How are you so stable Sigurd?”

He scoffed. “Because I know how to pace myself.”

“Sorry, father never let me drink on my own before.” you bashfully admitted through your giggling. “It didn't taste like it could get me drunk.”

“It is nothing, it is cute.” he smiled down at your shy face. After a moment he added trepidly, “... your father did not let you do a lot of things did he?”

“No, it wasn't modest for a lady.” you let your head fall against his shoulder again as you climbed the steps.

Once in your room you let go of him and flopped onto your bed. The ceiling wouldn't stop spinning, your body tingling delightfully. A weight shifted on either side of you but it didn't bother you into opening your eyes. As soft as a feather lips brushed yours, settling in the most gentle manner. A little startled your hands lazily tried to jump, but as the soothing glow from the kiss in the Great Hall returned, they fell on the strong forearms holding him up.

When Sigurd broke away, finger stroked some strands from your face and kissed you again, just as sweet as before. “You are… very beautiful.” He sighed.

You got so embarrassed, covering your face to hide your smile. “Oh goodness! Stop saying that!”

He chuckled at your behavior. “Why? My brothers are so jealous,” there was such a pride in his voice. “even Ivar as much as he won't admit it.” He settled on top of you, his legs still off the bed. “You can not tell me no one has ever called you beautiful before.”

“My mother maybe.” you chuckled rubbing your heated face.

He laughed at that. “No one else?!” Pushing your hands out of the way he replaced them by running his fingers along your hot cheek and down to your neck. “I would risk the loss of a few hands just to tell you how beautiful you are everyday.”

You were both smiling as he kissed you again. This time when he broke Sigurd didn't stray far. Every kiss had your lips feeling more and more lazy, your body wanting to squirm with some foreign thrill blooming under your skin.

A hot slickness came back, filling your mouth, you giving a frightful gasp that fell into a high moan as it stirred a heat throughout you. It excited him, hands now running down your chest, your back aching for more as they passed by your stomach and something lower ached to be touched the same. Your hands suddenly wanted to have every sensation pass them, sliding for his heat, his bare skin, tugging at his clothes.

As his tongue explored you an intense heat and tightness brewed low in your belly, your hips squirming for attention. Of what kind you didn't quite know. Sigurd found the pinch of your waist, using incredible strength to lift and adjust you beneath him, making you give a small whine as the heat between your legs already missed him. His mouth only broke away to breathe a small moment, you yourself finding you didn't want to stop as the spinning in your head numbed all thought.

However, feeling the touch of air hit your legs and tugging up your dress you came to a realization. Bolting right up, you slid back from Sigurd with wide terrified eyes. “We can't do that! It would be immoral!”

After blinking a few times to catch up, he flicked the edge of your dress now in front of him but you patted it down. “Immoral? We are going to be married in a few days. If that.”

“Well yes but I need to be pure-”

“Pure.” Sigurd scoffed. “You say that like making love is dirty.”

“It is if it's for fun!” You were holding your knees tight against your chest, your body furious you pulled away and all the parts in need burning and throbbing in protest to your words.

Sigurd looked more and more disturbed by that proclamation. “You do not honestly believe that do you?”

Dipping your head, your eyes were too afraid to look at his disappointment. It didn’t help in that moment you weren't entirely sure. “Of course I do. That, is for making children. It's sinful to do out of lust.”

His face fell into a scornful sort of humor. “I’m going to be honest. If this is your 'Christian way’, it sounds terrible.”

“What sounds terrible?”

“You never have sex outside of making children? No even just to love each other? That sounds like such a cold bed.”

You held yourself a little closer in defense. “That's how my parents did it. My father was particularly proud of that.” You thought back to how you even acknowledged there was no heat in your parents relationship, wondering how they didn't give to the dizziness that came with the warmth of affection. It was a dangerous fire to feed. And now that you were coming to the realization your fear was more for Sigurd, like your father was still looming over you, threatening the boys with but a look. An inquisition started between what you wanted and what your duties wanted as a Christian woman. Judith certainly didn't care about all that. Judith also knew a lot more about sex than you did.

Sigurd came up to kiss you again but you were feeling far too bashful now, so he kissed your forehead instead. A finger tilted up your chin to look at him. “I did not mean to scare you. Okay?” Seeing the sincerity in his eyes caused the frantic protectiveness of your maidenhead to quell and you smiled and nodded. “I’ll… dump some cold water on myself and see you tomorrow.” You didn't quite understand the first part but nodded again all the same.

He chanced another kiss on your lips but you were still in fear of being devoured by the hungry beast of lust thrashing in your belly, the apex between your legs throbbing for so much more than a kiss. His hand fell from your turned away face, the bed shifted with his weight lifted.

“I did like it.” You mumbled, but the room was too quiet, he heard. Looking back you brushed your legs through your dress and smiled gently. Sigurd returned it but a brazen light hit his eyes.

“You will be Queen soon. A Queen should take the things she likes.” With that he left, the door closing with a thud but what echoed were Judith's words.

It feels like I could set the whole world on fire, and I’d laugh while I burned with it.

#sigurd ragnarsson #sigurd snake in the eye #sigurd x reader #sigurd imagine #vikings imagine #To Forsake All Love #my stuff #These boys will be the death of me #is it weird to ship your own oc like way hard with a certain character?#I just feel like both his honesty and gentleness as a lover is so perfect for her

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ohmytheon · 8 years ago

Note

Yo please write that Riza catcall fic cause I really want to read about Ed (and Al! Cause you know even tho he doesn't get angry a lot, that would totally set him off) beating up some misogynistic asshole.

Your wish is my command. I also got permission from @tea-withjamandbread to use their headcanon. I wrote it while at the doctor’s office and about lost my mind when I thought I’d lost the file upon connecting to the internet, but lo and behold, I found it. Not my best work, but something sweet. Hawkeye protects those boys, but you know how protective they would be of her as well.

For once, there were no bad guys to hunt down or leads on the Philosopher’s Stone to chase or…anything really. Ed couldn’t remember the last time he was so bored, but there was absolutely nothing to do. Even when he’d slunk to Eastern HQ, bugging Mustang hadn’t even been that fun. He had been enjoying the downtime too much to let anything Ed said or did get to him.

All the smug bastard had done was wave a hand at the window behind him and say, “It’s a beautiful day outside, Fullmetal. You should enjoy it.” Well, Ed didn’t want to enjoy the day if it was the closest thing to an order that Mustang had managed to give him today.

Instead, he sulked with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, and his head hanging low as he and Alphonse walked around East City. Al had thought this would be a good time to load up on their supplies, which didn’t amount to much since they only had to account for Ed, but it was the only thing either one of them could think to do.

Besides, at least Al was enjoying the day, despite the fact that he couldn’t feel the warmth of the sun or take in the smells of the food stands in the market. He liked the craft stands, even if they were stuff that Ed could make half asleep with his alchemy. Ed wasn’t going to deprive Al of any happiness that he could find these days, but it didn’t mean that he was going to be happy about it. Then again, he was happiest when he was in a fight using alchemy or hunting a promising lead for the Philosopher’s Stone, so a peaceful day like this did very little for him.

What would really be nice was if he could find someone that was causing trouble, but no, apparently everyone had it in their minds to be good and cheerful today.

“Oh, look, Brother, there’s Lieutenant Hawkeye!” Al pointed out.

Sure enough, when Ed looked up, he spotted the Lieutenant through the stands also walking in the market. He quickly swiveled his head around to find the dreaded Colonel, seeing as how the man usually showed up wherever Hawkeye was, but it appeared as if the man wasn’t in sight. On second glance, Ed noticed that she wasn’t in her military uniform; instead she was wearing a modest skirt and blouse. Which meant she was off duty. And Mustang wouldn’t be around.

“She’s grocery shopping,” Al added.

Hawkeye had a basket filled with fruits and vegetables slung over one arm while she held the end of a leash in her other hand. That must’ve been her puppy, Black Hayate. Her hair was down instead of in its customary clip that she always wore, which made him realize that it had been years since he’d seen her with her hair down, not since she’d been growing it out and it was too short to put up. There was even a slight smile on her face as she spoke with one of the food vendors.

Ed squinted. She looked so…normal. So un-Hawkeye-like. Was she even carrying a gun? He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t seen her carrying, just in case. If he hadn’t known her, he would’ve thought she was just any other civilian, a woman shopping for her family maybe. But he’d seen what she was like on the field and it was kind of terrifying. Seeing her doing something as simple as grocery shopping was disconcerting.

“We shouldn’t bother her on her day off,” Ed grumbled, fully prepared to walk the other way to avoid her. Not that he had anything against her or anything – no, he liked Hawkeye, just not her boss – but he didn’t want to look like some kid that was just whittling the day away doing nothing.

And then he heard it – the whistling.

At first, Ed ignored the sound. He didn’t care about who was whistling or what they were whistling for. It was probably just to get the attention of a dog or kid. The noise blended into the background with the rest of the crowd. But then he heard it again and it really was annoying. He looked around again until he spotted a group of guys leaning against a wall. They were older than him, probably around Hawkeye’s age if he had to guess. When he followed their gaze, he was startled to find that the focus of their attention was actually Hawkeye herself.

Were those guys…were they whistling at her?

Hawkeye either didn’t notice them or didn’t care. There was no way she hadn’t heard the whistles. She kept her back to them as she paid for her things and then began to walk out of the market. Ed stayed in his spot, watching her step onto the sidewalk, until he noticed the change in the guys’ attitudes. They nudged one another almost playfully and began to follow her.

Oh, hell no.

“Brother?” Al queried when Ed started to stomp in that direction. He heard his little brother let out a metallic sigh and then follow him as he pushed his way through the crowd.

When he rounded the corner, he couldn’t believe his eyes. There was Hawkeye, walking with her groceries and puppy, seemingly oblivious to the jeers from the men behind her. It was like she didn’t even notice them. But how could she not? They were impossible to ignore. Every word they called at her grated on his nerves and somehow they managed to get worse. Ed’s mouth dropped when he heard one of them call her… Did that asshole just call her “sugar tits”? Ed saw red.

“Oy, you!” Ed shouted. “Leave her alone!”

The guys stopped and rounded on him, all of them wearing the same shit-eating grins that Ed was fully prepared to wipe right off. A few of them nudged each other again and began to laugh. Hawkeye finally stopped as well, turning around to face the scene and wearing a surprised look on her face, like the whole thing was news to her.

“Aw, look at this kid!” one guy chuckled.

“Did we upset you, little boy?” another asked, very obviously not caring if they did.

The first guy waved a hand to Hawkeye. “Oh, is this your mommy? She’s some pretty hot stuff.”

Ed scowled and pointed a finger at them. “That’s Lieutenant to you idiots.”

At this realization, the guys howled with more laughter, like it was some sort of joke. Ed didn’t think it was funny at all. He was fairly certain that Hawkeye could blow the kneecaps off of all these guys if she was so inclined, but she still wore an expression that was half surprised and half passive.

“I like a woman in uniform!” a third guy chimed in. “They’re so fiesty.”

That was it. He couldn’t take it anymore. Ed swelled up with unspent rage. These fools picked the wrong day to catcall a woman because he was looking for a reason to fight. “You’ve got two options: apologize for your behavior and leave or I kick your asses.”

“Oh ho! Looks like we’ve got a vigilante on our hands.”

“I’m so afraid! What are you going to do? Cry? Stomp on our feet?”

A wicked grin slid onto Ed’s face, the kind of grin that made Al sigh again and edge away warily. He knew very well what happened whenever Ed got that look about him. It was a look that promised danger and should’ve had all the guys on alert, if they hadn’t been too busy being jackoffs. Well that was fine by him. The less they thought of him, the more fun it would be when he trounced them. Besides, he had to get back at them for calling him short. There was no hope left for them. Even Hawkeye wore an air of pity.

Clapping his hands together, he pressed one hand against his automail arm and used his alchemy to turn the top of it into a large, sharp blade. The laughter immediately died as they gawked at the new development.

“Option number two then,” Ed said in a darkly pleased tone. “Good. I was bored.”

By the time he was finished with them, all five guys were running away screaming. One was openly crying. Ed chased after them half-heartedly, knowing that he couldn’t do any real damage to them. After all, they weren’t alchemists, only civilians who thought they were entitled to treat a lady with disrespect. That was just something he could not abide, especially if the lady in question was Lieutenant Hawkeye. When he trotted back to Hawkeye and Al, he smiled happily and waved.

“Sorry about that, Lieutenant,” Ed sighed. “They won’t bother you anymore.”

Hawkeye smiled at him, looking amused, but she inclined her head. “Thank you, Edward, but you really didn’t have to do that.”

“But did you hear what they were saying to you?” Al exclaimed, positively aghast. “They were incredibly rude!”

“There’s no way we could tolerate anyone talking to you like that,” Ed added.

No guy should talk to a lady like that, but especially not Hawkeye. One because she could do some serious damage to them and two because he and Al would do some serious damage. He thought for a moment. Three because Mustang probably would’ve blown a gasket if he had been around to hear any of what had been said to her. That man was oddly protective and maybe even a little possessive of his adjutant.

“Do you have any other errands to run, Lieutenant?” Al asked.

“Just the bank and then home.”

Ed nodded his head. “We’ll go with you, just to make sure those guys don’t come back around.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your day off,” Hawkeye told them. At her feet, Black Hayate yipped cheerfully, as if he was excited about the prospect of more people to pet him.

“It’s okay,” Ed said dismissively. “We weren’t doing anything anyways. Right, Al?”

“Nothing we can’t do later,” Al agreed. “We’d just rather make sure that you’re safe.”

Hawkeye smiled at them, perhaps a little indulgent, but then nodded her head. A pleased feeling worked its way through Ed’s chest. He’d about lost his mind when he’d heard those guys catcalling and whistling at Hawkeye. So rude! The nerve of some guys really pissed him off. He knew that Hawkeye could take care of herself, but sometimes it was nice for a person to know that they had someone backing them up. She had defended him before, after all. It only made sense to return the favor.

Besides, no one called Hawkeye “sugar tits” and got away with it.

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