#good evening. mayhaps this fluff could clear your skin | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

keijifairy · 4 years ago

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accidentally hitting your face with a volleyball 〃

♡ miya atsumu, miya osamu, sakusa kiyoomi

genre. fluff

-`,✎ ❝ hi! i saw your "accidentally hitting your face with a volleyball" hcs and i was wondering if you could do it for miya twins and sakusa too? have a nice day ♡ ❞ @wansseul

author's note. this took a hot min 😔 but thank you for waiting 💞 miya twins and omi ?? yes please 😽

+ this was a bit different than the first one but i hope u still like it !! 💗

༘ miya atsumu

━ you've met miya atsumu before, and you like to think it was some sort of cute meet you read about, but looking back into it, bumping into him in a hallway at nationals when you only wanted to refill some water bottles was kinda embarrassing, and the sweat dripping down your temple and your hair a hot mess was definitely not cute at all.

━ so you don't think about how he handed you the water bottles with your fingers making contact as he flashes you a stupidly boyish smirk, saying something along the cliche lines of "be careful next time. wouldn't want ya falling for someone else." and his eyes lingering on you a bit longer than you could handle as if you're in some fanfiction.

━ you only bowed your head hastily, trying to hide the flush on your cheeks as you thank him for what seemed to be the millionth time and run away. because you're not going to see him again, right?

━ but then you remember! that handsome man with an awfully familiar black jersey that you made a fool of yourself in front of…is from..inarizaki..and karasuno is competing with them...aaaand he's just standing across the court...

━ you try to erase any memory of your little encounter with him not even fifteen minutes ago, as you busy yourself with your team and hopefully, he doesn't spot you. little did you know though, he didn't miss you cheering for his opponents (well, duh) on the corner of his eye. (how could he miss you? you were a bit obvious with how you sneakily catch glimpes of him, and mayhaps, that inflated his ego a bit).

━ hear him out! he was only trying to impress you, okay? but that didn't really work out as luck didn't seem to be by his (and your) side today as the ball he slams onto the other side of the net doesn't land on the court, but instead on your face.

━ there was an attempt. a for effort!!

�� "nice going, dumbass." osamu deadpans from behind him, some trying to stifle their cackle at their teammate's poor attempt while the rest wince when they hear you groaning in pain.

━ the karasuno boys immediately start rushing towards you, but when they see miya atsumu strolling towards them, they halt in their tracks. (don't be fooled, he's close to melting into a puddle in shame under all that suave exterior).

━ he holds his hand out with concern masked by the same stupidly boyish smirk that's been taking up your mind as you purse your lips and reluctantly take his hand — and you suddenly feel like passing out any minute (the ball in your face may not be the reason).

━ "this must be what fate feels like."

━ you warily chuckle, letting go of his hand as you clutch your forehead. "if a ball getting slammed into your face is what you call fate, then i guess...yeah."

━ honestly, you're just thankful the cameras aren't rolling. there might be some people recording this ridiculous scene, but you think you're way past the humiliation.

━ "sorry about that." he silently winces as he not so subtly stares at the patch of red on your skin. "let's take ya to a nurse."

━ "it's fine," your shoulders lifted in a shrug, "and no thank you. i don't think my boys would...like that—" you look over your shoulder with a giggle and atsumu follows, only to see karasuno (not so subtly) glaring daggers at him— "and it seems like your game is starting soon anyway."

━ he only chuckles, turning his focus back to you and you feel like shrinking under his gaze. "let's see who you'll be calling your boy later then."

━ you sputter out a laugh in disbelief, as he shoots you a wave with his other hand resting on his hip. "cheer for me, yeah? i'll help ya get that treated once we're done."

━ "this is embarrassing." osamu murmurs to himself in the background with a roll of his eyes.

༘ miya osamu

━ you were only wandering around inarizaki after your own after school club had ended while waiting for your friends, but as you pass by the open doors of the school gymnasium and hear voices that seem to be fighting, you sneakily poke your head in.

━ "why do you look like that???"

━ "we're twins, dumb fuck."

━ you raise your eyebrow, stifling the chuckle from your throat in amusement. are they the miya twins the girls are obsessively squealing over in their daily hallway gossip? they seem...entertaining. huh, you probably should've paid more attention to your classmates.

━ too busy with their bickering, the twins and the other boys don't seem to notice a random student hanging by the doorway. you should've made your presence known, because it is the volleyball club and that means balls would be flying around the gym.

━ osamu throws a ball in atsumu's direction, but the latter quickly moves out of the way. "hey!"

━ and there comes the ball flying towards you.

━ "who's the dumbass now?"

━ "still you."

━ osamu ignores how his twin flips him off as soon as he turns his back on him. he quietly approaches you, reaching out his hand. "sorry, that was meant for that idiot—" he juts his chin at atsumu's direction— "over there."

━ "it wasn't me who hit them!"

━ you blink, mindlessly clasping your hand with his as he lifts you up. warm. you think to yourself, feeling heat creep up your neck. but he lets go as you get up, and you weirdly come to miss the feeling of his hand with yours.

━ perhaps the ball might have hit your head a bit too hard but you suddenly wonder, did you always have an attractive boy like miya osamu at your school?

━ "you have really pretty eyes," you mumble, the words slipping out of your mouth before you could even process what's happening and certainly loud and clear enough for him to hear. a twinkle of amusement flashes in his eyes and you see a small quirk in his lips. "i must've hit ya harder than i thought."

━ your eyes slowly widen, finally snapping out of whatever love at first sight moment you just experienced. it dart anywhere, anywhere but that growing smirk in his lips that mimick his twin's (but atsumu looks like he's about to have a laughing fit any second).

━ "i...i mean..." stop talking "im to-totally fine! a-okay!!" a-okay???? "don't wor...worry it's uh not that bad… um i think i uh have to g-go n..now…"

━ osamu tilts his head, and you feel like your heart is about to burst out of your chest because you didn't think he would be this cute !?? UM ?? those girls weren't exaggerating ???

━ "your eyes are really pretty too."

━ he simply nods his head like he didn't just make your heart race with one simple sentence, turning his back away from you but you don't miss the small smile tugging up his lips.

━ he walks back to the court, with atsumu saying something to him that's surely about what just happened but you don't care, you think.

━ miya osamu just accidentally hit you with a ball and called your eyes pretty.

━ you purse your lips, trying to suppress a squeal as you slowly walk away and exit the gym.

━ "that was some shitty romcom scene that i almost barfed. i was hoping for more action." atsumu's laughter boomed around the walls, and osamu shut him up with a ball in his face.

༘ sakusa kiyoomi

━ "omi, can you teach me how to spike like you?"

━ "no."

━ you gasp dramatically, clutching your shirt where your heart is supposed to be for extra effect, but kiyoomi doesn't even spare you another glance. "tch, rude."

━ shouyou runs up to you, a ball in his hands and a smile reaching up to his eyes. "i'll teach you, y/n!"

━ you childishly stick your tongue out towards kiyoomi, who does nothing but continue to ignore you as he fixes his stance in the court. huffing, you turn back to shouyou and mimic his smile. "heh, thanks!"

━ you are the beloved manager of the msby black jackals, and it's kinda like babysitting grown men plus not so secretly crushing on the gorgeous sakusa kiyoomi, but it's a job that you've grown accustomed to and actually enjoy. they're taking a well deserved break, but kiyoomi is still practicing his spikes while shoyou try teaching you how to do them. honestly, were you even listening to him? not really.

━ you're only nodding wordlessly as your eyes shamelessly focus on how kiyoomi rears his hand back as the ball seems to be falling in the air, slow motion style (and that makes it cooler, you know?). you swear your eyes are sparkling as he flicks his wrist and effortlessly hits the ball.

━ you don't know when you've moved close to where he's spiking, but he only notices you still dazed just as the ball slams into your face.

━ "WAAAH, [Y/N]!!!" the impact of the ball had you dropping to the floor, and you feel your eyes immediately tear up. the boys run towards you, with koutarou placing your head on his lap as he cradles your face in his hands like you're a small child. "where does it hurt???"

━ you wince as he squishes your cheeks on his palms. "my face, duh."

━ "rule one, don't aim for the opponent's face." you look up to see kiyoomi towering over you, and you don't know if you're hallucinating but you swear, his eyes soften.

━ "oh," you jut your bottom lip, sitting properly with koutarou supporting your back, "so that was part of a lesson?"

━ "no." he heaves a sigh. "i'm sorry."

━ you bite your lip to hide the smile threatening to show as you suddenly feel weirdly giddy after getting hit by a ball. nonetheless, you wipe the tears in your eyes with the back of your palms as you bounce back to your feet (well, wobbled, but the boys supported you <3), and you really couldn't hide the smile at this point. "it's okay, omi."

━ his brows knitted in a frown. "...are you okay?"

━ "aw, you do care~"

━ he blinks. once. twice. (the boys don't really do a good job in stifling their laughter). sakusa kiyoomi does care actually, but that's not something he's just going to say right in your face, you know?

━ you playfully roll your eyes, flashing him a thumbs up. "it actually doesn't hurt like i thought it would!" even as you rub your forehead to try and soothe the pain, the smile doesn't leave your face and kiyoomi feels his heart hammering in his chest like some lovesick fool (and that, he definitely isn't!) "well, it does hurt, but i feel energized more than anything!"

━ you're pretty weird, he thinks, but it's quite endearing in a way and it's something that he adores about you. so for now, he swallows the words he's been dying to say, picking up the ball as he looks straight into your eyes. "come on, i'll show you the proper way to spike."

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ardentmuse · 5 years ago

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Rogue Choices - Prologue (Kingsman x Reader)

Kingsman - Harry Hart x reader, Eggsy Unwin x Reader, Merlin (Hamish) x Reader (you decide!)

Summary: As a new agent, Arthur gives you your last big assignment before you are approved to run missions on your own, only this time you get to pick your partner. And who says you can’t mix business and pleasure.

Wordcount: 5.8k (and this is just the intro!)

Warnings: fluff, sexual tension, talk of violence

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

(Note: I started this a long time ago but had to pause because Twine was doing weird things. It’s meant as a fully interactive piece, but I think we can make it work here on tumblr and AO3 with different chapter links. So I’m putting it out into the world to see if you all like it!)

PROLOGUE

Two strong raps on the door grant you a gentle, “Come in.”

As you turn the handle and enter, the smell of old books and polished wood fills your nostrils. Arthur’s office is a proper executive space. Shelves are lined with old tombs that must have been passed down for generations. The rich, plush Persian rug is worm upon the edges from years of use, but still draws the eye with its vibrant reds and subtle blues. Two large and striking leather wingbacks rest before a sturdy walnut desk, at which sits a patient Arthur, who doesn’t even bother to lift his gaze from the files before him as he hears you enter.

“Agent Kay, please take a seat.”

You do as you are bid, leaning back into the worn leather to take in the countenance of you boss. He seems tired, the grey hair of his eyebrows coming together as he squints at the documents before him. But even with the slight bags under his eyes, he is still the image of a proper gentleman. His collar is expertly pressed and his turtle shell glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose, just as you imagine Churchill’s might have.

After a few moments, he shuffles the papers aside and levels his eyes with yours.

“It seems you received the memo that I needed to see you?”

You laugh, “Your assistant nearly tackled me as I left lunch.”

“Eager kid, that one. He’ll make a good agent someday, too,” he muses, and then with a wry smile adds, “Much like you.”

“I’m already an agent, Arthur.”

“But mayhaps a good one given time,” he says, his eyebrows rising ever so slightly in challenge.

You haven’t been a secret agent long, having earned the title only a few months prior. The selection process to join the Kingsman was grueling to say the least, but you had been Arthur’s hand picked candidate. Only upon your recruitment did you understand just how much Arthur, a second father to you in so many ways, had primed you from your youth for this very role you doesn’t even know existed.

But nothing, not even Arthur, could have prepared you for the stress of being a Kingsman agent out in the field. Taking down the world’s most harrowing criminals, dismantling sex trafficking rings and stopping terrorist attacks takes a toll on the mind and body. Death is constantly right beside you, a single word or a single misstep enough to reveal your identity and get you killed. The work of Kingsman is highly classified, incredibly dangerous, and outside the bounds of traditional justice. You are a ghost, a guardian angel just outside the realm of men, leaving only vague notions of what could have been: a newspaper headline, a five o’clock story on Radio 4, a traffic jam or a flight delay. Ignorance is bliss as they say, but you now know the dark underbelly, the secret of which is the source of bliss for so many.

You sigh and hold your hand against your thigh to stop yourself from fidgeting. The shoulders on your suit, the well-fitted tweed of our Kingsman uniform, seem to tighten as Arthur continues to stare at you, waiting for your protest.

“What are you getting at?”

Arthur laughs as he pivots in his chair and presses on the spine of a book behind his desk. Instantly, the two shelves pull forward and slide to the sides, revealing an entire wall of flat screens and holograms projecting outward. You can’t make out all the details but the lower corner contains a building schematic and the top right shows the animated, scowling face of whom you can only assume is your organization’s latest target.

“Andrej Jankovic. Former Russian operative now based in Cyprus, leading what we’ve learned is the largest money laundering ring in the world. We’ve been tracking him for months, but,” he stops talking to focus on the movement of his fingers, swiping away spreadsheets to pull up live surveillance footage of the target, “As you can see, he covers his tracks very well.”

You watch on the screen as the man sips coffee in a small café. Four different cell phones lay out before him, concealed under the newspaper through which he flips lazily as he takes in the sea just outside the window. He is younger than you expect for such high crimes, with not a wrinkle in sight upon his face. His dark hair is long and flung haphazardly to one side but his facial hair in contrast is shaven with precision, just outlining his harsh jawline. He is striking in that brooding sort of way, long Roman nose and chiseled muscles. You might consider him handsome in a different life where your mind isn’t trained to notice the harshness of his brow or how quickly his eyes narrow with disdain each time someone new enters his vision.

“He is certainly… something,”

“Killed three people just yesterday for using checks,” Arthur throws your way as if that is something to marvel.

You swallow, still not comfortable with just how common death is in your new line of work.

“He’s ruthless and calculating, incredibly thorough and uncommonly intelligent. We’re never going to catch him with paper trails alone. There won’t be any. And simply taking him out leaves the whole rest of the corrupt network up and running. We need names.” Arthur swivels in his chair so he is facing you once again, resting his elbows upon the wood of his desk with a thud. “And I think you can get them.”

“Wait, really? You’re trusting me with this?”

You feel your jaw go slack. Biggest money launderer in the world, and Arthur thinks you can handle it? These past few months have felt like a probationary period, working alongside other agents, cleaning up their messes and assisting in communications and research. Your field time has been limited to sitting in corners of crowded rooms, observing more senior agents doing the hard work.

Arthur raps his fingers against the stack of papers before him.

“I think he’ll take kindly to you. If our intelligence is correct, he’ll be most susceptible to your…”

“Charm?” you insert.

“At least more than that of any other agent,” Arthur confirms. “Now don’t misunderstand me. It is not my intention to send you out alone. You will need a partner. Consider this your last test before I set you loose, Kay.”

Arthur picks up papers before him, writes quickly on a post-it that he places on the top of the stack, and then thrusts his arms forward to you.

“You have until tomorrow night to select a partner and review this research material. The jet leaves Friday.”

He doesn’t have to dismiss you with words. The way he pivots his body back to the screens behind him is signal enough that your questions will only be addressed after you thoroughly review the case.

And so you stand and make your way back into the labyrinth of the Kingsman manor to begin to wrap your mind around your new mission.

Just as the door closes behind you, a voice calls almost directly into your ear.

“Our mighty leading givin’ you a hard time, there, newbie?”

With a shocked puff of breath, you pivot on your heels to see the broad chest and shoulders of Eggsy just inches from your face. He is reclining casually against the doorframe, his arms crossing over his chest matching the cross of his ankles, all casual and cool. The cheeky grin upon his face, showing you those pristinely white teeth, lets you know your startled response is exactly what he was hoping to see.

“You’re never as alone as you think you are, my love,” he purrs with a rub of his palm into your shoulder, stilling the jump of your body at his appearance. “Rule number one of this spy gig.”

His deft hands make calculated movement against your collarbone, each brush bringing just the tip of his fingers against your pulse point, as though trying to discreetly test how much his proximity is impacting you. Your body goes stiff at the sensation, not in fear or discomfort, but in confusion. Eggsy smiles that disarming smile of his. He leans forward, his mouth finding a place beside your ear.

“You know, I think I still have quite a bit to teach you.”

The feel of his breath combined with the gentle graze of his nails against your throat make your breath hitch, goosebumps running down your chest. You hate how clear your responses are to these sorts of flirtations and so you divert your gaze to the place where the tips of his oxfords are pressed against your shoes.

At your lack of response, Eggsy drums his fingers across your shoulder, tickling you. You laugh and pull back slightly, enough to actually take in his features: his jaw, sharp and square and his skin kissed with just a tint of sun, his blue eyes glowing with humor behind his glasses. And with that last realization, you sigh. He is right. You are never as alone as you think, especially at Kingsman, with those silly glasses recording almost every interaction for Merlin or whomever to review at their convenience.

“You know, it seems everyone thinks I still have much to learn.”

Eggsy gives you a quick slap on the back, pulling his body fully from yours.

“That’s what big boss man is on you about?” he says as he begins walking down the hall, leading you out of the offices spaces and back towards the communal agent quarters. “Ill-timed joke, then. My bad, love.”

As you turn the corner into the grand stairway, you notice the chasm between your bodies. Eggsy is two steps in front and his feet light, tossing a look back towards you as he continues his talking, as if he wasn’t just holding his body only inches for your own, running his calloused fingers across the sensitive flesh of your neck and raising your blood pressure, not just giving you dazzling smiles and teasing your earlobes with his hushed breaths. That is Eggsy, flirtation and friendship, on and off, hot and cold, and always just enough honesty in his eyes in those moments to make you question which is the act.

After a long walk through parlors and the kitchens, laughing about your dogs and the antics that came out of the latest team meeting, you find yourself standing in front of the control room with the majority of your tension about your mission lost somewhere in the depths of your brain.

“Now this is where I leave you,” Eggsy says.

You turn with a huff to your friend.

“Why didn’t you tell me Merlin sent you to find me?”

The corner of Eggsy’s mouth turned upward in that too-seductive half-smile he had perfected somewhere between you first meeting him and right now,

“You’re much more fun when you aren’t stressing about work.” His eyes scanned from your body, slow and intentional, until his gaze came to rest on your lips, now just slightly parted from his clearly heated evaluation. He smiled at your response. “Much more fun.”

You shake your head at him, always the tease.

“You really believe I would have had you laughing after Arthur had you down if your mind had also been churning on what Mr. Stoic McSeriousface wanted with you?”

You pout. Eggsy knows of your friendship with Merlin, the tech head for your organization. You know he is just trying to get a stir out of you.

But before you can answer, Eggsy moves forward. You step back and find the door pressing against your back.

“You’re going to be the death of me with that pout, you know.”

After a silent beat between you, the air growing thicker as you stare each other down, Eggsy leans forward, raising his hand the way he sometimes does to brush stray hairs from your face. But instead, his hand moves beyond your shoulder, making contact with the wood of the door. He knocks hard and heavy.

“Enjoy being bored to death, peaches,” he whispers to you before slinking down the hall.

Eggsy turns the corner just as Merlin opens the door to his workspace. You take note of his expression as he looks down the hall. It really is stoic, but when his face sets upon you, it immediately changes into something soft and inviting, encouraging even.

“Kay, glad you’re here.” He opens the door a little wider and then continues, “Come in.”

“Good afternoon, Merlin,” you say as you move into the tech space, Merlin following closely behind.

You throw yourself down on the vintage Eames lounge chair that sits in the corner of the room, placing your stack of papers on the floor as you allow yourself the joy of reclining deeply into the headrest.

Merlin pats the footrest as he passes by, inviting you to relax. He moves towards his desk, computer, and all the hundreds of gadgets that are organized upon the shelves beside.

“So, what do you have for me?” you ask as you follow through on Merlin’s request to fully recline yourself. “Details on Jankovic?”

“Yes, and no,” he says, not meeting your eyes. He takes a seat and begins typing away.

The rhythmic ping of keys give you a moment to truly observe the man before you. Merlin is a striking, almost imposing, figure in appearance. He is tall and lithe, in complete control of each moment, in a way that conveyed a refined elegance to some and a rigid intent to others. His face is a masculine stone, like a sculpture of a Roman general, piercing in its seriousness. But he brings life to the features that you love: soft hazel eyes, busy dexterous hands, and a smooth Scottish accent that makes even the sweetest words from his mouth sound husky.

After a moment, he continues on, “Jankovic has a well-trained team and multi-layered cyber systems. His security, virtual and physical, is nearly impenetrable. I do believe I have found a few exploitable flaws, almost all of which require work on the ground to hijack. If we don’t go that route, I have managed to mirror the controls for the security system at the hotel he owns in Limassol, so I will be able to be of assistance once you land.”

You stand and move beside his desk. He has months of logs, meticulously organized and color-coded and tabulated, certain sections highlighted in red, denoting times of lower security or routine system upgrades. His work, just like him, is precise and detailed.

You lean down over his shoulder to take in the schematic of the hotel, several floors of suites and an entire rooftop entertaining space. Your mind conjures images of the ocean and soft sand beaches that are visible just below, the salt air and the setting sun filling your slowly numbing senses as you sip on your second cocktail and a stunningly handsome man runs his hands down your spine to the soft of your back.

But the strong scent of cedarwood and bergamot that you know to be Merlin bring you back to the present. Or maybe it aids in the fantasy. When he reaches over to rest his hand on your back, pushing you forward slightly to watch the tiny dots he is pointing at with his other hand, you know where your mind got those ideas in the first place.

“I’ve discovered some patterns here that I think we can exploit, unless of course you decide making your presence known to the target is a better option.”

His fingers never leave your back as he speaks.

“Stealth or charisma,” you muse, “Just like a video game.”

“If so, your video games are quite limited,” he laughs. His fingers slide across your back as he rolls his chair to the other side of the room. You feel the absence most acutely.

“I’d hope there’d at least be some intelligence or combat in these skill trees of yours.”

His fingers run over the lock in the shelving. You hear a click and then the draw opens to reveal a pristine case containing three weapons you have yet to see, each encased in foam and glass like priceless works of art.

“Perhaps some lock-picking?” he turns and offered you a smile.

“I’ve definitely maxed out my luck, at least,” you say with a tilt to the draw of weapons, each more beautiful than the next.

“And enchantment, if I may be so bold,” his words are to the drawer of weapons and not your face, but your mind fills in his devastating lip bite and the thought has you melting and feeling the shyness creep over you.

The silence hangs between you two as Merlin flicks the lock on each case.

Finally with a deep breath, he says, “My latest prototypes. You’ll need all the protection you can get on this one, Kay, so take your pick.”

“Can’t I take all of them?”

Merlin turns and shots you a look so deadly, you feel the air leave your lungs.

“And risk you losing all my hard work? Never.”

His eyes are piercing yours, wearing you down, but you try your best to hold your ground.

“I’m quite trustworthy, Hamish,” you say with a gentle bit of your lip.

“First names, now? You jest, my dear,” he says with a narrowing of his eyes that let you know he likes the words more than he wants to admit. “Now pick.”

You feel the weight of the weapon in your hand, bouncing it a little to get comfortable.

“This one. I like this one,” you say finally.

Merlin shuts the drawers and turns to you. “And it likes you, too, Kay. Very fitting.”

You can’t help but smile at his praise. Eggsy is wrong, you know. Merlin isn’t so much serious as he is careful about his work. You enjoy the lightness he shares with you, even if it is intercut with professional talk.

“Thank you, Merlin,” you say as you holster the weapon and grab your papers.

“You’re welcome.” Merlin’s head already back in his computer and typing away.

As you reach for the door, he calls you once more.

“And Kay?”

You turn to offer him your full attention and are struck by how serious he looks, the hard lines of his face all completely turned to you and his chin dipped in a soft reverence that you hope is reserved for you alone. His voice takes on that husky quality as he breathes out the next words.

“I know you’re a little overwhelmed right now, but you are among us for a reason. You’re a capable agent, Kay. Please don’t forget that.”

For a man who often shrugs off sentimentality, he manages to find just the right words to build you up and make you smile. You feel a tiny wave of pleasure course through you, easing a bit of the weight from your shoulders.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. With a curt nod, the sweetness of the moment lost, he returns his eyes to the screens beside him.

You sit in the study, the fire roaring beside you, as you pour through each meticulous document that Arthur gave you. Just skimming these papers alone is going to take you all the way to your flight and then some, and that doesn’t include the time you need to devise a plan, select a partner, and prep for execution. But none of those other things can happen until you wrap your mind fully around your mission. And if that means sitting here well into the morning, transcribing and memorizing and organizing, then that is what you are going to do.

You hear the clink of porcelain upon the table beside you. A mug of tea is now perched among your discarded notes, the steam cloud in the lamplight.

“Thought a pick-me-up might be in order,” Harry, your mentor and fellow agent, says above you as he moves to the other side of the room, carrying his own mug and his own papers, though his take the form of the news, several morning editions stacked together, a few in languages in which you weren’t aware Harry had proficiency.

With the flick of his wrists, Harry opens the top paper, but unlike his usual routine of reading through the headlines and major political scandals, Harry turns towards the back, folds the paper in half, and pulls out a pen from his jacket pocket.

You take a long sip of the tea he provided you, and are pleased to discover it isn’t his usual nighttime blend but a proper English brew, one that will provide you enough caffeine to get your through this work. If Harry is anything, it certainly is thoughtful.

You work in silence for fifteen minutes or so, Harry’s long legs elegantly crossed as he relaxes himself against the couch. He drums the end of the pen upon the tuffs of the Chesterfield. You can’t help but think about how, in the past six months, you had already fallen into a pleasant routine with these men you called your colleagues. Lunch with Eggsy, briefings and shooting practice with Merlin, and long nights, just like tonight, sitting beside Harry and working in companionable silence. With Harry, words are rarely needed. He is a man whose company creates an aura of calm that penetrates even the most intense of moments. The few missions on which you have accompanied him were smooth, efficient endeavors; they left you feeling confident and poised even by comparison to arguably the most poised man you have ever met.

“Attractive, eight letters, third letter is most likely a ‘g’,” Harry asks into the air.

You lift your head from a giant list of innocuously named shell corporations to consider his question.

Engaging? Magnetic?

“Hmmm,” he muses, scribbling upon the paper, “Thank you, darling.”

You only get a few more minutes of silence before he is piping up again.

“Unstable, six letters, last letter ‘y’.”

Wobbly? Flimsy? Shifty?

“Perfect,” Harry whispers over his swift pen strokes. The roar of the fire by now was dying down, the pleasant crackle of embers scenting the room in hickory and smoke. You find yourself fighting the exhaustion that is coming over your body at the sheer comfort of your company and the ambiance the room provides.

Not thirty seconds pass by before Harry is calling your way once more.

“To proceed, four let-“

“Harry, are you trying to distract me from my work or is this crossword collaborative?”

Harry folds the paper shut and places it firm upon his lap. His eyes shift upward slowly, from your feet to your eyes, pausing upon the stack of papers spread out around you on all sides before he finds his way to your face. Harry’s lips curl into a soft smile, one that is made all the more precious by the way the fire’s reflection upon his face. He rubs at the bridge of his nose as he debates his words.

“I wouldn’t call it distracting as much as helping,” he finally decides, picking up the paper as he takes soft steps towards you.

Soft, that is the best word to describe Harry. Gentleness and patience and softness are what you associated with him most. Sure, you have seen his skills, watched him turn into a ruthless hit-man as the situation called for it, powerful and strong and confident. But the instant the bodies laid still before you, Harry’s steps grew light again. As he reached out his hand in serenity, kindly lifting you to your feet, brushing debris from your hair and asking in a whisper if you are safe.

“I’m not so sure how not doing my work is going to help me do my work,” you say as Harry pulls the footstool out beside you to sit. His back is perfectly straight despite the lack of support and you wonder if you body would ever be trained with the same precision as the seasoned agents you so admire.

“You’re thinking too much,” he says. He sits the newspaper down on top of your papers, covering up all your notes and drawing your focus to the absence of notes on his actual page. Nothing exists in the boxes, only in the margins and you notice how peculiar it appears.

“See, darling, this is you right now, taking each individual note and trying to assess it alone. If I went bullet by bullet through this crossword puzzle trying to figure out what it meant by every single word clue or question mark, I would have half the puzzle wrong.”

Harry is leaning over the newspaper now, his head awfully close to your own. The fluff of his brown curls are brushing lightly against your forehead. Despite the tickling, you don’t pull away.

Harry’s voice is low, requiring you to lean in. He wants this proximity. For what purpose, you don’t let you mind assume.

“Some clues like this one,” he says, pointing to 20-across ‘Author Silverstein,’ “Are easy to solve without context.” His hand moves to write the first bit within the puzzle: ‘shel.’

“But others,” he moves his pen to point at 4-down, ‘To proceed,’ and the three words he has written beside it: sail, toil, and till. Somehow his brain did the puzzling work of realizing long ago that the ‘l’ in ‘shel’ was the necessary fourth letter. “ Others require much more context.”

“And even still, some may seem to require context,” he says, pointing to the clue, ‘display of glee,’ which had nothing scribbled beside, “But actually require none at all, just experience and foresight.” And with that note, he moves quickly to the tiny space to which the clue corresponds and without checking anything else, writes ‘jig’ in large, bold, capital letters.

“Now how do you—“ you went to protest, but Harry interrupted you.

“Because it’s always jig. I know it could be ‘hah’ or ‘lol’ but it isn’t. It is always jig. There aren’t many other ways to get ‘j’s into the puzzle. Do a few crosswords and you don’t even have to finish reading the clue. That and emu. And Nave. V’s are tricky buggers, too.”

You sigh, “But I don’t have the experience to see the ‘j’ and the ‘v’ in our spy work yet. I just see the Silversteins and the capitals of France and the 2017 Best Picture winner.”

Harry’s hand reaches out to rub against your knuckles, comforting and supportive, “But, darling, you do. Every puzzle has a theme. Every target has his preferences. Find what is distinctive, what is rare. Trust your gut to see what doesn’t fit, what needs to be there because it can’t exist any other way. “

Harry lifts up the newspaper, revealing your workspace once again. He links his fingers with yours as he allows his free hand to run along the stack of papers before you.

“Scan,” he says, slow and emphatically. He lifts the stack like a book and flicks, one page each second with a satisfying click and swipe.

The first few pages go by with a blur. By the tenth, you are pulling out only a handful of words, though those words seem to make a story anyway: Ancoria, Konstantinos, $9,999, Ltd.

“Stop!” you say upon the sixtieth page or so. Harry’s hand grips yours a little tighter, sending a warm jolt down your spine. You see him smile out of the corner of your eyes at your apparent discovery.

“What do you see?” he asks, his shoulder brushing yours as he leans in. The rough wool of his jacket brushing against your bare arm is a pleasant contrast to the smooth skin of his palm that still pressed firmly into your own.

You use your free hand to point to the third transaction line.

“All the previous shell companies had Greece mythology names. Scylla, Nyx, Calliope. But this one is Roman: Decima. At least I think it is,” you bit your lip a little realizing this may be a stupid thing to call out, “But even if it isn’t, it doesn’t seem right. This also seems to be the only shell company for which we have names of the board of directors.”

Harry takes his pen and circles Decima with three big spins. He underlines each of the names listed on the board below and pulls the paper out of the stack and up to the top.

He draws his hands away from yours to close the pen and collect your stack together once more. He plops the newly assembled stack before you and makes to leave you. But as he stands with one knee against the footrest upon which he had been sitting, he hovers his body over you, his proximity doing little to help with the already intense heat of your skin from the fire. He leans forward and grazes his lips gently upon your forehead. As he pulls away, his hand finds your chin and he meets your gaze.

“That’s my girl,” he says with a smile before turning and walking swiftly out of the room, his newspaper abandoned to your pile.

With a renewed vigor, you dive deep into the papers, determined to see the odd inconsistencies that might provide context for the more common practices. As you continue to sip on your tea, you notice the cup had refilled and rewarmed itself. You never heard Harry enter the room at all.

The following morning, you wake with the sun. Little sleep had happened in the past day but you feel refreshed regardless. The long hours you had put in the night before resulted in quite a bit of relevant information and three distinct methods for tackling Jankovic, each with its merits and its challenges. But you are feeling confident for your meeting with Arthur, at least you were last night. This morning, you need to eat your breakfast and review your notes before providing your supervisor with your planned course of action.

You lift yourself from the plush comfort of your bed, the biggest benefit of spending the night at the manor, and walk towards your desk, which now is a much more organized collection of research: three distinct piles with three hand-written mission plans upon each.

You pull the blanket along with you, cocooning yourself as you sit at the desk and review your plans.

The first is a traditional approach: the honey-pot. In Andrej’s personal history, he has displayed a clear preference for your physical features. And even more, he has had no steady partners, just a series of lovers, all of whom were affiliated with other men simultaneously. In your time at Kingsman, it had already become clear that the type of people you took down got enjoyment out of breaking more than just the law.

Eggsy is the perfect partner for this plan. His flirtatious personality and social skills mean he can easily convince a group of people that you are a couple. With the gala at the hotel on Saturday, all it would take is a little skin and some well-placed winks on your end for Andrej to want to tempt you away from your handsome partner. And while you entertain Andrej’s attentions, Eggsy would be open to sneak into the depths of Andrej’s personal estate and gather what information was needed to take him down. Sure, this plan puts you right in the belly of the beast and therefore in the most direct line of danger, but it also gives you the best chance to adapt to new information and go with the flow.

The second plan is significantly less risky but requires more planning. A covert invasion of his security detail and hijacking of his automated banking systems would provide you all the information you needed to tear down the entire network. With Merlin’s mirror, you could cut down power to the hotel, sneak into the basement offices undetected, and bug and download what you needed. With Merlin, this plan could be flawless, with you using your combat background to take down the guards and his tech skills ensuring a full system overhaul without a trace. You would still need to get into the hotel, and the gala would work as a good cover, but unlike the honeypot, your goal would be to blend in as much as possible. It may not be the most glamourous plan, but it would certainly be the most efficient, and not to mention the most intimate, sneaking through darkened corridors and keeping as close as possible to avoid detection.

And finally the third plan would require approaching Jankovic directly, posing as British investors seeking to hide funds overseas, hoping to utilize Jankovic’s existing network to hide quite a bit of money quickly. And you’d be willing to pay for the services. You need credentials, as Andrej is a skeptical man, but he is also not the type of man who can pass up a quick cash opportunity. You could approach him at the gala, enquire about his services, and find out much from the horse’s mouth, supplementing what he tells you with the information would be able to mirror from his phones once you had him in the room with you. And in this, Harry could truly sign. A master of the art of blending in among the oddest of crowds, Harry could easily pose as the financial head of your organization, partners in crime in the truest sense. You wouldn’t have to steal anything in this plan. Andrej would give it freely, though it would require near perfect coordination between you and Harry.

As you add notes to the margins of your stacks, you look over at the post-it Arthur left on your files yesterday: Regroup noon, tomorrow. If you don’t leave now, you will be late. You throw on yesterday’s suit, scoop up what papers you need and rush to Arthur’s office.

The door is open when you arrive and Arthur is seated upon one of his couches, cutting into a perfectly roasted chicken breast as he beckons you forward.

“Discover anything useful?” he says after a swallow. He lifts his cloth napkin to his lips and waves out the door behind you. Pushing past you, his assistant cruises inside and grabs his plate with a nod before leaving.

Arthur waves a hand to the seat in front of him. You take your sit and go to speak, but before you can say a word, Arthur lifts a finger.

“Before you run me through the details, whom should I request be joining us for this briefing?”

“Um…”

And that’s a wrap for the prologue! Please let me know in the comments which route you’d like to me to work on first. :)

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt, @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug, @igotmadskills, @hazelandcoconuts, @yallgotkik, @amberkay284, @the-new-galahad, @13ofjuly, @daft-not-punk

Kingsman tags: @allonsymexgirl, @eiensteiner, @thecaptainsgingersnap, @madamcadaver. @doct0rstrange, @ratwrites, @kaeleabres, @nellietara, @ediblemurderer, @allofthekingsmen

Harry Hart tags: @un-education, @lexicon04, @bananzaa, @consultingdoctorwholock, @sparrowharkness, @newconnorwhodis

Merlin tags: @consultingdoctorwholock, @sparrowharkness

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out-of-jams · 5 years ago

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Hi! I just started following bc I read airplane mode (which, holy. freekinn. crows. so good 🥺🥰) so here’s a random drabble request(?) (idea?? Idk I’ve never done this before???) to hopefully help you warm up: Getting home after a really day to your favorite person (idk if they’re an s/o or a best friend or something else) having made you dinner and a movie completely unprompted—but something mayhaps goes wrong?

Hi! I’m glad you like APM!🥰🥰 Also, thank you for the request! :) I’m glad to be your first haha. Writing this literally made me so soft. And I accidentally made it a lot longer than I’d intended. Oops? I hope you like it!!

Pairing: ?/Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings/Genre: Roomate!au. Soft, soft fluff. A little angst if you literally squint. Small use of bad language.

Listening To As I Write: Serendipity by BTS

You weren’t a philosopher. Hell, the closest you’d ever gotten to the subject was once, when Namjoon had forced you to watch one of his many weird movies. (Not that you’d been able to completely understand it anyway).

But Murphy’s Law was totally kicking your ass.

Because everything that could have possibly gone wrong all day, well, did. And now you were tired and soaking wet from the stupid rain that’d decided to split the sky in half. It’d been sudden. So-much-so that you hadn’t even gotten the chance to take shelter before it completely drenched you, all the way down to your cotton socks.

So to say that you just wanted to get home, take a shower, and bury yourself beneath your freshly washed sheets would have been an understatement. And as you punched the code into the keypad outside your front door and it opened with a chime of a bell, you couldn’t help but uncaringly toe off your shoes and wet socks. You knew that you’d come to regret it later, when your roommate launched them across the room in a hissy fit at them not being put away properly. But you didn’t really care, couldn’t bring yourself to put in the extra effort to move them to the right ten more inches.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion that clouded your brain and prevented you from completely registering your surroundings. Or maybe it was the rain water sticking your eyelashes together and obscuring your vision. Whatever it was, you were completely unprepared for the scene that greeted you as you rounded the wall separating the entrance from the rest of the apartment. And came to a complete halt.

Because your roommate was standing in the middle of the kitchen slicing up what looked to be a homemade pizza. His back was to you, the black and white striped sweater he wore sticking out amongst the brown painted cabinets. And his soft looking blond hair was a styled mess that you knew he most likely spent twenty minutes that morning getting it to look that way.

He was humming quietly beneath his breath, the sound carrying all the way to where you stood. He’d always been a great singer for as long as you’d known him. Which was a long time–three years to be exact. You’d first met through Namjoon, who’d introduced the two of you after realizing that you were both searching for a roommate. Of course, you’d been a little bit skeptical at first; you’d never lived with a man after all. Especially not a complete stranger.

But Park Jimin was nothing short of an absolute sweetheart.

“What’re you doing home?” You asked, watching as he jumped in surprise at the sound of your voice. How had he not heard you come in?

Jimin whipped around with the pizza cutter still in his hand and warm brown eyes blown wide. “You scared me!”

You didn’t even get the chance to formulate a response before his plush lips turned down at the corners. And you could see the concern flash across his face clear as day. “Why are you soaked?”

“If you haven’t noticed,” You pouted and hooked a thumb over your shoulder towards the balcony door, though it was shielded by white curtains. “It’s pouring outside.”

And you knew that you were probably dripping a puddle into the carpet beneath your bare feet, but you couldn’t muster up the energy to be bothered. Jimin, if possible, frowned deeper and set the pizza cutter onto the counter before approaching you.

“You should go take a warm shower.” His hands were on your shoulders now as he gently guided you towards the hallway between the living room and open-concept kitchen. “The pizza should be cooled off by then.”

It was easy not to put up a fight, especially when his warmth seeped through your wet clothes and onto your chilled skin. “Why are you making pizza? I thought you had work today.”

“You texted me that you were having a bad day, remember?” Even though you couldn’t see his face, you could quite clearly hear the smile in his adolescent-esque voice. “I finished up early so I could be here when you got home. Now go shower so we can eat.”

If there was any person in the whole universe who had the ability to completely turn your bad days on their axis, it would be none other than Park Jimin. Especially when he gave your shoulders a comforting squeeze before retreating back down the hall. You turned just in time to see the back of his blond head before he disappeared around the corner.

. . . .

You already felt a lot better as you stepped out of the bathroom, steam following in your wake. It may have been from the hot shower that’d eased your tense muscles, but your money was on the aroma of melted cheese and tomato sauce. And on the man who’d made them.

Them being the keyword.

“How many did you make?” The amused awe couldn’t be kept from your voice, nor your face.

When Jimin looked up from the pan he stood over, you rubbed the sleeves of your oversized hoodie across your eyes playfully. Who it belonged to, you had no idea. Though it most likely had originated from his closet since you had a penchant for stealing his clothes. It wasn’t your fault that the man was more stylish than you were.

“A few.” He shrugged. “Just in case.”

“In case what? The zombie apocalypse?”

Jimin softly swatted your hand out of the way when you reached for one of the slices. Out of the four–four!–full sized pizzas that sat on the kitchen counter in all of their gooey, cheesy goodness. It was your favorite comfort food and you were extremely lucky that it also happened to be one of the only dishes Jimin knew how to make.

His sweet laughter filled the room and unconsciously pulled a smile across your own lips. “Just in case, though I think we’ll end up eating them all during the marathon. You don’t have work tomorrow, right?”

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Marathon? What marathon?”

Jimin just gave you a cheeky smile, flashing his cute crooked front tooth, and handed you a plate filled with fresh slices of pizza. And he didn’t answer your question, not at first. Just gestured for you to follow him to the living room where he had blankets, pillows, and drinks lined up on the coffee table.

“The Harry Potter marathon.”

His answer reached your ears from over his shoulder as he settled down on the couch. You weren’t too far behind, plopping down on the opposite end. Though it was pointless, since you’d just end up gravitating towards one another later as he cuddled up next to you.

“You know I love you, right?” The look you sent him was nothing short of grateful. “Like, you’re the best roommate ever.”

Jimin simply settled for sending you a playful wink before clicking on the television. And with the taste of pizza coating your tongue, there was nothing that could possibly ruin your day.

Until the electricity shut off with a loud boom of thunder. Right as the opening credits rolled.

“No.” You threw your head back with a groan, dropping your slice back onto the plate. Of course.

Jimin pouted in the sudden darkness of the living room. And you could just barely make out his head turning towards you as he patted the couch cushions for something. His face lit up in the soft blue light of his cell phone.

“Come here.” He slid his plate of pizza onto the coffee table and gestured for you to lay down in the small space next to him. “I can just rent the movies off Amazon and we can watch it on my phone.”

Well, you weren’t about to turn down that offer. Not when Jimin was the best cuddler you’d ever met.

Which was exactly how you’d found yourself tucked into his side with one of his arms thrown around you and his phone propped up in the other. And as the opening credits played on the small screen, you wouldn’t trade that day for anything.

#bts #bts fic #jimin #namjoon #jimin fluff #r drabbles #drabble requests

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sunkisse-s-blog1 · 6 years ago

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how skz comfort honey pt II

summary: maknae line found a gloomy honey.

pairing: honey and maknae line.

genre: fluff/angst.

eras: “I am NOT”, “I am WHO”, “I am WHO”, “pre Clé 1: Miroh” and “Clé 1: Miroh”, respectively.

notes: hey sweethearts, I am so sorry for keeping you guys waiting. but FINALLY!!! so, differently from part 1, I am putting the scenarios in chronological time. I might have disappointed by those “comforts”, but Honey is not someone who cries easily… so I tried to match both her personality with the personalities from the boys in my au (also their relationship). bye

Jeongin and Honey were at school, break time just started and the younger left to buy them sandwiches. Reminding himself that Hwamin only liked tuna or cheese sandwich, and it could never have any sort of greenery. She ended staying in their class, finishing her homework so she could help I.N later. What Hwamin didn’t expect, though, is to someone break the bubble she was involved, a sheepish touch on her shoulder. Usually, no one stayed in class during the break, which was the was the reason the maknaes from Stray Kids always made their very own picnic there. The one who called her was a petite girl, a few inches smaller than Hwamin. She was wearing the school’s long sleeves uniform, but Honey could see the long fingernails pricking her pale skin “Get out of Stray Kids” she demanded with a hoarse voice, accusatory. “You are fat and a whore, how could you think you can approach boys like that?” “W-What?” the pen propped stiffly in her hand dropped, as the gush of words came out from the other girl. “What’s the point of being pretty? We already have Hyunjin, you can’t even dance properly. Also, Jeongin was mine before you appeared” she hissed, moving towards Honey with a frightful look. Hwamin likes to think everyone has their own beauty. Deep inside, even the worst villains you could think might have a charm, something good. But, bright people also have their obscurity. Hwamin never spoke up to anyone unless she was joking around and the very rare times she got mad, she would lock herself in her room, until all those bad intentions were gone. However, a fury boiled in her with the saying of the tiny girl. “I’m sorry. But, firstly… Hyunjin isn’t a beautiful face. He is an immensely talented and kindhearted person. There’s no such thing as a beautiful face in our group, we are all truly capable of everything” she boomed, standing on her feet “Besides, Jeongin isn’t an object and no one owns him. Watch yourself before talking about people you don’t know, even more, if they are my friends… Furthermore-” a thunderous sound came from the class’ door, scaring both girls. “Hwamin” Jeongin wailed, running to Honey and taking her by her arm “Come here” he ran out of the class, the girl following him with struggle, trying to match their steps. They reached the school’s backyard, deepening, even more, their route, as they found a place outside the crowd of students “What was that, Nini? I was in a very one-sided argument, which I was surely winning” babbled the tawny-haired girl, stuffing her chest proudly. However, before she could proceed with her rant about how Jeongin should let her continue the little argument with the one she claimed a petty little girl, she felt a stiff but undoubtedly affectionate hug involving her "Jeonginie? What are you doing?“ her hands travelled to the boy’s back, dearly. “I w-was there the whole time, yet… I couldn’t protect you because I was so scared she might hurt you” he sobbed, snuggling his face against Hwamin “Just like before, I’m was too coward to p-protect you” Rubbing his back tenderly, Hwamin cupped the taller’s face in her hands, squeezing his cheeks “You are not a coward” she shushed him before he could ramble “You are the bravest kid I know, also you have the sweetest heart ever and could never hurt someone’s feelings, that’s why you remain quiet. Moreover, I’m able to protect myself and my boys at the same, I am a hero, aren’t I?” he nodded, glossy eyes and glistening streams of tears. Hwamin wiped off with the back of her sleeve, smooching his forehead gingerly. “I will grow to protect you someday, Minmin” “Mayhaps you will very soon, peanuts” she wrapped strands of his hair around her finger “Can we eat our sandwiches now? I’m starving” “Oh, I dropped them!”

Seungmin was uncomfortable. Counting with the fan standing in front of him, Hwamin was ignored three times in a row. Usually, it didn’t happen in fansigns. But ever since rumours started to appear about her, those unpleasant incidents became quite often. “Pardon me…” Seungmin tried to search for words, the fan looking at him with curiosity “I was wondering why are you skipping Honey?” “Oh” the girl answered nonchalantly, blushing red at his attention to her “I don’t like bullies” something boiled in Seungmin, his ears getting red from the sudden anger “I think…” he tried to maintain his composure “Bullies are the one who spread rumours about those they don’t know. And it’s even worse when you believe them” “Honey is a precious piece of our team. And I would appreciate very much if you start to spread true stories within our fanbase” he continued caustic, the girl now turning into a stuttering mess before leaving, flustered and all.

Later that day, Seungmin found Honey beaming, running around and humming. She used to be always like that, but the rumours got her to become quiet. Seeing her enjoying herself, clicked something in his mind "What about this repulsive behavior?“ he chuckled. "Nothing, it’s just something I found…” Seungmin ruffled her hair, leading the latter to giggles playfully “Don’t let rumours hurt you” “I did not!” “Yeah, yeah…”

Honey was swinging her legs in the air while she played on her phone, but a playful voice took her attention “Honie” she felt an extra weight on her improvised bed (lots of blankets placed on the floor of the waiting room) A filthy rumour started to spread on the internet, claiming that Honey bully the boys, mostly due to her pranks and jokes within the group. She usually talked down with them in variety shows, which was totally approved by the boys, they thought it was so entertaining. But, their new fans usually couldn’t get it as a joke, leading to rumours being spread. They were recommended to ignore, however, the boys could never really let that be. Jisung approached Hwamin gingerly, knowing how much the girl hated others worrying about her. “Hannie” she chirped, clinging onto him instantly “Where are the others?” “They went to the convenience store” he took the girl’s hand with his, caressing it with his thumb “But I told them you want a cheese stick” “Oh, you know me so well, Hanie” she beamed, teasingly. Jisung and Hwamin are known as a comedic duo, two dorks always joking and messing around. But, there are hours when they would just stare at each other, as their own special talk. “You look like a silly donkey” she jeered, joking. “And you are a dwarf rabbit” “That’s not even a thing, besides… You are not that much taller” “I still taller than you” “Congratulations at being the tallest dwarf” she rolled her eyes, punching Jisung slightly. “Yah!” His hands went to the side of her tummy, tickling the girl and pinning her carefully. Honey gasped, trying to get off from his torture “I’m w-warning you, Han Jisung” she stuttered, giggling. “I’m older, you can’t talk to me like that!” Jisung reminded her, although he was laughing just as much as the girl “I like when you are laughing as you mean to” “Uh?” “You are the kindest person I have ever met, Honie” the older squeezed her cheeks until she groaned of annoyance. Although she had a grin adorning her face.

“Hyunjin, can you stay behind Honey? They are saying that some creepy are taking pictures laying on the floor, and Hwamin is wearing a skirt today. Also, I have to take care of Jeonginnie, he isn’t feeling well” Chan whispered to Hyunjin at once, as the others rushed out of the car. Hyunjin nodded, taking his suitcase from their manager as he waited for Honey to get out. Honey had a patterned skirt embracing her figure, the scalding weather leading her to wear more of her little pieces of cloth, as Hyunjin liked to call it. “Hey” she glimpsed at him, sticking out her tongue playfully almost than instantly “Brat” Hyunjin flicked her forehead, waiting for the boys to line up, managers keeping their sides along with bodyguards. There was a huge crowd, both their fans and freaks, the latter just waiting to shoot every step of them. “I have never ever seen so many people in an airport” Honey quavered, trying to look unbothered. She hated those mini events because, although she could interact with their lovely fans, sometimes things went wrong. She never feared ghosts or spooky things, what genuinely makes her panic is pretty much every man with a camera, they all looked like stalkers to her. “Be careful” Hyunjin warned, almost reaching Honey’s hand. But he knew she would probably punch him right on his nose. However, the girl never heard him, and she really wanted to show something to Jisung, who was walking quite far from her "Don’t wanna” she sang in her mischievous tone, running playfully away from him. Then, everything happened like a shot. Flashes caught Honey unwarned and muffled screamings that got clear to her after a while.

“You are looking like a pig” “Jerk your hips, Honey” “Piggy thighs”

Honey felt an abrupt grip on her arm and before she could slap the soul out of the moron who dared to touch her, she recognized Hyunjin’s voice “I told to stay with me” he seemed pissed off in so many ways that Honey almost apologized “I’ll buy you ice cream if you hold my hand in a not disgusting way" Honey intertwined their pinky fingers, glossy eyes from the sudden overwhelming feeling, not even noticing the taller's face boiling crimson, being both flustered and pissed. He hated when those freaks ended letting Hwamin gloomy.

"Dummy” “Shortie”.

Nesting herself in a pile of silk blankets, Hwamin could feel as her lips started to bruise, biting them roughly so she could hold her will to burst in tears. It’s had been an awful day. She couldn’t keep herself from reading all the mean comments towards her, even though they became quite unusual nowadays. Perhaps, for hiding her bad feelings deep inside, everything now seemed like a trigger.

The boys were all gone. Honey recorded her lines before everyone so she could have her own little moment. Promising she would never cry in front of any member, Minho being her only exception.

“Honey?” a soothing voice called her, leading the girl to quickly wipe her tears away. But she still had tousled hair and puffy eyes. Causing Hwamin to hide her face, rubbing herself against the blankets, as she heard a cracking sound “Are you here?” he popped through the door, looking for the switch “Look what I found” his voice was almost a chirping sound, he seemed so bubbly that the girl snuggles herself even more in her duvets.

“I’m not here” came from a muffled sound. “Yes, you are” he sat on the edge of her bed “What happened?” Then, he heard sobs and his world crashed down. Hwamin was quivering slightly, as he could see by his poor lighted sight “H-Hwamin?” Felix turned the girl around promptly, just to find her puffy eyes filled with plump tears “Tell me what happened!” he could feel his heart pounding against his rib cages violently and he embraced the girl with his arm, stiffly placing her on his lap. “Why are they so mean?” the older didn’t have to hear further, squeezing her even further. “I got you, I’m here, you are safe with me” he whispered, placing a soft smoochie on the top of her head.

#10th member of stray kids #stray kids 10th member #stray kids imagines #stray kids #skz imagines #kpop additions

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kingkpop · 7 years ago

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Tattoos

Taeil x reader

Gender: Male x Female Genre: fluff. Warning: Mild violence, not all that spectacular. Word count: 1k

A/N: A request from a special someone, hope you like it bby! Sorry it isn’t really what you wanted, but I wanted to make it all fluffy and shit.

Be it the first or the hundredth tattoo, the feeling of excitement and anxiousness will always be part of the journey. But this time it is so much more, this time a new feeling had been added to the mix. It clenched at the heart and felt heavy on the shoulders, but in a strange way, it felt comfortable as if it should be there. Fingers interlocked and the biggest smiles on their faces the couple sat across each other. One calmly seated in the black ink bed while the other was almost bouncing off the torn down red leather stool. Who would’ve thought it would come this far?

Bodies interlaced with one another, fingers gently grazing over the ink clattered arm that was lodged between the mattress and the crook of her neck. It was a sea of colors strategically placed on his arm, each holding a story some which she had been a witness of and some before her time. “Y/N? Are you alright? You’re being awfully quiet. Did something happen?”

Y/N let out a breathy chuckle, it never ceased to amaze her how someone like Taeil could be this soft. Normally he wouldn’t even take a second glance at someone who was in need of help, he would instantly turn his head around not wanting to get his shoulders heavy with unnecessary burden. Usually, the other person would get the hint, but there will always be the few who don’t get it, those poor fools. They would keep on begging for Taeil to help them out it would usually be them playing a victim roll and trying to take advantage of the boy due to his child-like face. They would ignore the warning Taeil gave them, thinking that “I will beat you up.” or “I’ll smash your face in.” are mere empty threats coming from a boy who looked so timid underneath all those baggy and oversized clothing. Oh, how their prejudice was way off. Underneath those oversized shirts hid a well-toned body clad with tattoos, a clear sign Taeil was not that innocent boy they thought he was. But they don’t know that they are too busy with begging that they don’t even see the first punch coming nor the second one, the shock is too much for them. They had it coming, they should’ve stopped when Taeil kindly told him so.

“I’m fine, just looking.” Y/N hummed out, her fingers going back and forth over one of her favorite tattoos Taeil had gotten. It was a series of peach colored flowers in a circle, ones that closely resembled hers. It wasn’t a couple tattoo, it didn’t even match all that well, but the memory behind it made it feel like it was one.

“Are you fucking kidding me? How dare you fuck up my girlfriend’s tattoo?” Taeil spouted out, his fists shaking with anger as he tried to remain as much composure he could muster up but with a man so stubborn it was hard. Oh, how he wished to punch that pink flower on his cheek. Y/N got her first tattoo a month ago, one of Taeil’s friends hit them up with a tattoo artist who was supposed to be the best around, he even managed to get the man to tattoo Y/N for half the price which was still a lot, especially for the mayhap she got. Tattoos tend to bruise a little, after all, you are breaking through layers of skin with a needle at a fast speed, but just like regular bruises, they heal eventually. But not this one. Apparently to the artist that had been proclaimed “the best in the around” managed to go in deeper than needed and ending up giving Y/N a permanent bruising. Unfortunately, Y/N wasn’t the only one, but all the claims that have been made had been brushed to the side and never looked back upon, but not this time. Taeil wouldn’t let that man go unharmed, he trusted that the man would take care of his girlfriend and give her the best first tattoo experience around, but no he couldn't even grant her that. Now a month later Taeil was fuming with rage and was very close to punching the lights out of the man. “Listen, dude, I did nothing. It’s not my fault your girlfriend is so fragile.” Y/N and Taeil had been standing for over half an hour trying to get either a refund or a free tattoo, but there was no progress made. The man highly believed that it wasn’t he who was wrong but Y/N. Taeil stayed silent, his glasses could practically steam up from the anger. If he could only punch the man if he could only give him a good reason to punch him. As if God heard Taeil’s silent prayers the man did the unthinkable. Looking over at Y/N, who was standing safely behind Taeil, the man had a nasty smirk on his face. “Tell you what, how about you let me borrow your girlfriend for the night. Show her what a real man is, give her maybe some strength- if you know what I mean and I’ll think about it.” Both Y/N and Taeil looked surprised at the man’s proposition, he was insane, he actually was insane. “Whadda ya think baby girl?” The man winked towards Y/N which was a bad move. Within the blink of an eye Taeil had launched himself across the counter and sent the man flying back. Taeil hit the man right on the pink flower, something he had been wanting to do ever since the man started to speak. The whole shop became silent. Grunting in pain the man cupped his nose, staring at the boy who was still looming over the counter with a fist ready to launch at him again. “What the- You little piece of shit!” The man tried, the man really tried but in the end, he had to be sent to the hospital with multiple fractures in his body, hell the flower on his face wasn’t even recognizable anymore. Wasn’t it for his connections Taeil would’ve been serving jail time, but instead he was being sent off with a warning and an order to apologies for the inconvenience he brought upon the shop. However the other artists were thankful that Taeil had beaten up the man, he was the shop’s owner, their boss and a huge asshole that loved to put his workers through hell, but not anymore. In order to show their gratitude, they offered to cover up the blue bruising around Y/N’s tattoo for free as well as give Taeil a free tattoo.

That’s how the two ended up with the theme of pink flowers on their skin.

“Y/N?” She answered with a hum, her fingers laying still on the flowers. “What would you say if I wanted a new tattoo?” “I’d say good luck finding a place to get inked.” Taeil let out a chuckle, his other hand ghosting over Y/N’s body “what if I said I wanted a tattoo of us right here. Our initials.” Taeil stopped a bit above Y/N’s heart. Clasping Taeil’s hand with both her hands Y/N turned to look at her boyfriend, hair all messed up, a lazy smile spreading across his face and eyes full of adoration. “I’d say to put on some clothes and let’s get going.” Taeil’s smile only widened. He leaned forward, his lips pressed against Y/N’s “I’d love that.” he mumbled against her lips. So now the two found themselves back at the shop Taeil had beaten up the owner months ago. The workers were so happy to see the two that they once again offered a free tattoo which no one in the right mind would decline. “Ready?” The artist asked. Taeil calmly nodded, placing his free hand behind his head. It might’ve looked cool but Y/N knew it was because he was just as nervous as she was. In the eight years of them being together the closest thing they had of being a couple was that tattoo and now Taeil added the second thing to the list that was only to grow from there on out.

(gifs by phoxxebe wocjiho ) Me @ you heuheuheu

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