#it's all implied though nothing terribly spicy

[seijorhi]

Meet the Parents

Not including the original anon (who was asking about Ushijima & Tendou) no less than four of you asked for a meet the parents scenario for each of the soulmate AU’s so...

TW implied dub/non-con

(Atsumu & Osamu’s will be posted tomorrow whoops 👉👈)

Outrunning Fate - Ushijima & Tendou

It begins with a phone call. Ushijima’s in your kitchen, fixing up the leftovers from the night before and Tendou has you trapped on the couch, long, gangly arms wrapped tight around your waist as he presses sloppy, open mouth kisses to your neck. He doesn’t stop when the phone rings - though you don’t miss the way his eyes narrow or the huff of disapproval that escapes him. He doesn’t like it when your attention wanders.

“Oh, hi dad.” You try to shove Tendou off of you without much success, glaring at him when he laughs and presses closer. “Um, now’s not a good time, can I call you back later?”

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Ushijima broaches the subject the next day. “We should meet your parents.”

You almost choke on your own spit. 

“Why?”

It’s Tendou who answers, his grin just a little too wide. “We gotta meet the in-laws at some point!”

A shiver ripples down your spine at the suggestion. They absolutely do not.

“Um, we��re actually not all that close.” A lie. “There’s not really much point. They live a few hours away.” Twenty minutes, actually. “And besides, t-they don’t approve of me having...” you trail off, glancing pointedly at the twins marks on your skin. 

Olive eyes bore into yours for a long, tense moment before they soften just a fraction, and he shrugs. “Okay.”

He tilts your face up into a kiss, and you allow yourself to breathe the tiniest sigh of relief. 

You don’t want them anywhere near your family, especially not when you’re planning to run. 

But it’s hard. Your parents are already worried about you pulling away. You haven’t told them about an of this, you don’t want them involved, but they’re nothing if not persistent. So you promise that you’ll come visit - carefully choosing a day that you know both Tendou and Ushijima will be busy. Skipping a few classes is the least of your troubles. 

You should have learned by now that nothing is that easy where your soulmates are concerned. 

“Babe?” 

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, waiting for them both to leave when Tendou emerges from the bathroom - your bathroom - shirt unbuttoned, holding out two ties in his hands. 

“Which one do you think’ll go better with my suit - the blue or the red one? I wanna make a good first impression with your dad.” 

And just like that, your hopes of being able to sneak away comes crumbling down around you. 

There’s no use fighting it, not now. 

It’s Ushijima who notices that your hands are shaking as he helps you out of the car he’s parked out front of your parents’ house. He pauses, eyebrows knitting together, his broad thumb brushing against the back of your hand in slow, reassuring strokes. “Tendou will behave, there is no need to worry.”

There’s a subtle quirking of his lips, and you think he might be trying to make a joke, but you can’t focus on that when you feel like you’re going to be sick. The man in question appears at your other side, hooking an arm around your shoulder and dragging you in for a kiss.

“Best behaviour, pinky promise!” he winks, as if he hadn’t spent the better part of the ride over musing about fucking you in you childhood bedroom. 

You would honestly rather shove a needles into your eyes than go though with this, but the front door of your old house is already opening, your mother rushing down the driveway. What else can you do but smile and play along as she throws her arms around you in a tight hug?

They are merciless in front of your parents, or at least Tendou is. From introducing himself to your mother as one of your ‘soon to be husbands’ to whispering all of his perverted little fantasies into your ear whenever their backs are turned. You physically have to clamp down on his wrist when he tries to slide his hand up your skirt while you sit down at the table for lunch. Even then, it takes a low growl from your other soulmate before he truly relents. 

And while your parents gush over Ushijima (a professional volleyball player!) he holds your hand in his, squeezing just a little too tight whenever your smile slips. Neither of them have mentioned the fact that you’d lied to them, and judging from the slow burning heat in Ushijima’s eyes when he glances your way, you can only assume that that punishment is still to come.

You hate having them there. It’s your home, something good and wholesome and safe that their very presence corrupts. You hate listening to your mother coo over how good the three of you look together, the respectful nod your father gives when the conversation inevitably shifts to sports. You hate listening to them tell the story of how you met, warping it to make it sound cute - consensual - but the nail in the coffin is your parents chuckling when Ushijima brings up how stubborn you were initially. 

You quickly excuse yourself to the bathroom, muffling your sobs in one of the big fluffy towels. 

You hate them, you think as you stare into the mirror, wiping the silvery tear tracks from your face, trying to erase all signs of your impromptu breakdown. 

You hate them for making you play along, but you can’t hide in the bathroom forever.

“Oh, sweetheart,” your mother murmurs, cupping your face in her hands as she catches you on your way out. You must be a better actor than you thought, because of instead of the panicked frown you expect as she studies your face, she just smiles warmly at you. “I’m so happy for you. All that worrying, trying to squash it all down and pretend that they didn’t exist... and you finally found them. Honey, you’ve done well for yourself. I can see how much they adore you!”

She glances over to your soulmates chatting with your father, and you follow her gaze, heart sinking. “Yeah,” you manage to reply, offering her a weak smile in return. 

If only she knew.

Like Nobody Else - Oikawa & Iwaizumi

What was the point in setting boundaries you knew would be broken?

After staying behind to watch them practice that first day, you swore that you wouldn’t go back. It didn’t matter that the volleyball club all knew, it didn’t matter that that meant that soon enough the whole school would know - you wouldn’t go back there with them. They could drag you off to go sit with them and their friends at lunch times, ambush you on your way to classes, but you wouldn’t let them fuck you in the locker rooms before hand, and you weren’t going to sit in those stands and pretend that you cared while they ran through endless training drills.

Yet when you shouldered your bag after the final bell the very next day, you only manage to make it a few steps down the hallway before strong hands are yanking it away from you.

“Wrong way, cutie,” Oikawa beams innocently, while Iwaizumi merely lifts a brow when you open your mouth to object. He’s holding your bag, and you have a sneaking suspicion that he won’t give it back until you agree to follow them. 

“Oh my god, he’s carrying her bag for her, they’re literally so sweet!” you hear one girl gush to her friend as the three of you breeze past, and Oikawa reaches across to intertwine his larger hand with yours. 

“Aren’t we just?” he asks you with a charming grin. 

Iwaizumi scoffs, “You’re not carrying jack shit, asshole.”

“Rude, Iwa!”

You don’t say a word. What’s the point?

It doesn’t come as a surprise when they make you stay back with them, long after the rest of the team has gone left. They’re not as rough this time, but your legs still feel like jelly by the time they’re both finished with you. Oikawa still wipes away your tears while Iwa helps you to your feet, pressing a gentle kiss against the crown of your head that makes everything worse.

They walk you home, both taking turns to kiss you goodbye on your doorstep, and you can only thank your lucky stars that your parents are both out so you don’t have to try and explain.

It becomes a routine during the week - on the days that they train you stay back with them and they dutifully escort you home, and on Monday’s when they don’t have practice, you’re either dragged with Oikawa to Lil tykes or forced to join Iwaizumi with whatever he planned on doing. Usually studying, though sometimes he’ll drag Makki and Mattsun (and on occasion, Mad Dog) out to train with him regardless. 

Your weeks belong to them, you’ve resigned yourself to that - but your weekends are yours. 

Or so you’d let yourself believe.

You ignore the text messages that flood your phone one Saturday morning, only for a persistent knocking at your front door to shatter the calm of your weekend only a few hours later. Your better instincts would tell you to ignore it, because you know (or have a good enough idea at least) exactly who’s behind it, but the fear that trickles down your spine urges you forward anyway. They tell you they love you, but you know better than to believe that that means they won’t ever hurt you - that they haven’t already hurt you.

“Hey, cutie. Mind if we come in?”

You don’t know why Oikawa bothers asking, because you barely have time to open your mouth to answer before he’s ducking under your outstretched arm and waltzing inside, Iwaizumi right on his heels.

“You weren’t answering your phone, so we figured we’d come and check up on our pretty girl, right Iwa? We were worried.” 

The latter grunts in acknowledgement, studying at you with narrowed eyes - an expression that makes your stomach flip uncomfortably.

“O-oh, my um, my parents aren’t home...”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and your heart skips a beat as your soulmates share a look, the grin on Oikawa’s face widening. “We’ll be on our best behaviour, we promise.”

But somehow ending up squished between them on the couch in your living room, watching some movie you’re barely paying attention to wasn’t quite what you expected. Sure, Oikawa’s mouthing greedily at your neck, and you haven’t missed the way Iwa’s hand has been slowly creeping up your shirt for the past ten minutes, but considering what you know they’re capable of - you’ll take it.

Yet you can’t force yourself to relax, not with the heat of their bodies pressed so close. You shift in your seat, your hand accidentally grazing against something hard and as you freeze in panic, Iwa stiffens, his breath catching with an audible hiss.

But it’s Oikawa, eyes hooded and wanting, who tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, “Baaaaby-”

You don’t get to hear the rest of that sentence, because at that moment your front door swings open once more, only this time it’s your parents.

There’s a quiet ‘fuck’ growled in your ear as the three of you scramble to right yourselves, your heart beating a mile a minute, feeling very much like a kid caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

Never mind that you didn’t want this - never asked for it.

It’s your mother, mid-way through a conversation with your dad, who steps into the living room first, stilling at the sight that awaits her. Your eyes are wide, hands are clenched into fists in your lap as she stares at you for a painfully long moment, “Sweetheart,” she begins slowly, her voice sounding a little strained, “why are there two strange boys in the house?”

And for one single, shining second, you wonder whether it would be worth the trouble you’d land yourself in if you told her that they’d come over with the intention of hooking up with you - it wasn’t exactly a lie. Oh, your parents would be fuming, but at least you’d be safe in the knowledge that they’d never, ever let either of your soulmates anywhere near the house again. Maybe they might even insist on you changing schools altogether! But before you can actually entertain the thought, Iwa’s reaching across to subtly grab your hand, squeezing it tightly with a warning look. Don’t you dare.

Oikawa, as always, chooses that moment to step in and take control. “Ah, please forgive the rude intrusion, Mrs L/N. I’m Oikawa Tooru, and this is Iwaizumi Hajime, I’m assuming your lovely daughter has mentioned us?”

If you weren’t distinctly aware you’d pay dearly for it later, you might have snorted at that. Your mother frowns, folding her arms across her chest and quirking an eyebrow, but it’s your father, glaring outright at the two interlopers, who replies. “She has not.”

A shiver ripples down your spine at the chilling look Oikawa shoots you out of the corner of his eye. “Huh, I guess our little cutie’s still a bit shy. Well, never mind that. We’re her soulmates, and...”

It doesn’t even matter what the rest of his sentence is. Your parents hear the words ‘soulmates’, look at the two handsome, charming young men either side of you and all but melt. Suddenly it’s warm smiles and welcoming hugs. Your parents are delighted, and all it’s all too easy for both Iwa and Oikawa to slip into the roles they’re expected to play.

They spend almost an hour chatting with the two, and it hurts more than you care to admit when you look up into your mother’s beaming face and she gives you a wink. This is all she’s ever wanted for you - two handsome, strong boys to take care of her little girl. You can’t break her heart with the truth, you can only sit there quietly as they gush over you, pretend that it doesn’t make your skin crawl when Oikawa looks at you with those soft, adoring eyes and tells your dad that from the moment you spoke to him, they both knew they loved you.

‘Why won’t you two just leave me the hell alone?!’

Eventually your parents leave the three of you alone, letting you go back to your movie, and only then can you let that facade slip.

“Well that went better than expected,” Iwaizumi states, dragging you back down to settle on the couch with him, Oikawa plopping down on your other side and pulling you close.

He hums in agreement, a glint of something mischievous dancing in his eyes as he traces a single finger up your side. “Of course it went well. What’s not to love?”

[theoreticslut]

「 you make things better  」

benedict bridgerton x fem reader

summary: a day of inconveniences leads you to your husband’s arms for some much needed cuddles. 

requested: yes - as part of my inspiration party

word count: 1.6k

warnings: mild stress & stubbornness, pet names (my dear/dearest, my love, darling), brief allusion to spicy times, slightly implied/alluded pregnancy, fluff

a/n: so, first bridgerton fic ever! woo hoo! don’t know how much interaction this piece will get, but i really like it so it’s worth it. also, thank you to the few people who voted on which fandom i should post tonight. i didn’t listen, but i really appreciate you guys helping me out! I’m thinking of posting another piece tomorrow anyway, so maybe i’ll use your guys vote then - aka if you’d like to help decide the next fic here.

To say today hasn’t been the greatest would be an understatement. You wanted nothing more than to lie in bed and try to forget the day you’ve had.

It’s not even that anything terrible happened, but it has just been a cumulative set of little grievances. 

First, you had gone to get yourself another dress, but nothing was fitting or laying quite right on your body. Apparently over the last few months you’ve put on some weight which has made you feel a bit defeated.

Then, you went to have tea and sandwiches with some friends, but ended up spilling  tea on yourself, staining the front of your dress as you did so. Not to mention the fact you stumbled getting out of your carriage earlier that morning which dirtied the hem and your shoes.

On top of all of that, though, you also just didn’t feel great. You were tired and a bit nauseous, sporting a moderate headache as well.

Walking into your home, you were more than ready to give up for the day, asking your lady’s maid to draw a bath for you. Nodding, she - a sweet woman in her early 30s - left to draw you a hot bath.

You weren’t surprised to see that your husband was nowhere to be found. He typically spent his time in the study painting and going over bills. Honestly, you didn’t mind an evening away from him. You really just wanted to relax and forget the day.

~.~

It’s hard to say how long you’ve been in the bath. It’s certainly been long enough for the water to chill to room temperature, but you didn’t yet feel any better.

Hearing a soft knock on the door, you call out for the person to come in, expecting it to be Elise, your maid. However, it’s Benedict that comes into your line of sight.

“Benedict…how are you, my dearest?”

“I should be asking you. Elise said you were feeling unwell?” Your husband’s soothing voice questions.

“It’s nothing. I’m only a little tired.” You try to reassure, meeting his eyes as he kneels down beside the bath.

“You look more than only a little tired, my love. Have you had a bad day?”

“Not particularly. A few things didn’t quite go as intended, but I wouldn’t call my day bad.”

Wanting to get off the topic, you sit up in the tub, pointing over to your robes.

“Would you hand me those, Benedict. Please?”

“Should you not dry yourself with a towel before dressing?”

“Then will you hand me a towel? I can’t reach anything from here, dear.”

Letting a soft smile quirk his lips, he stands up and grabs a towel. Thinking he would simply hand it to you, you go to reach for it when he shakes his head and pulls it back out of reach.

“Get out, love. I will dry you off.”

“That is unnecessary, Benedict. I am fully capable of-“

“I am aware, but I would like to care for my wife should she let me.” He teases, quirking a brow at you in a challenge.

He’s always known you are a bit independent and unwilling to let anyone help you. It’s part of why he fell for you. If you think he’s going to let you take care of yourself right now, though, then you’re sorely mistaken. 

Although you’re refusing to be honest about your day, he knows it hasn’t been good simply by your demeanor. He wants to make it better, even if that means irritating you by not letting you do things on your own.

“You should consider yourself lucky that I love you.” You huff, pulling yourself up from the tub and carefully stepping out.

As soon as you’re on the bath mat, Benedict is wrapping the towel around you, attempting to dry off your torso before moving onto your arms and legs. Being the ever so charming man he is, he places soft kisses to both of your inner thighs before standing back up.

“I consider myself lucky every moment, y/n. You are the best thing to have happened to me.” He smiles, pecking your lips before turning to grab your robes, helping you into those as well.

As soon as you’re situated in your robes, Benedict leads you towards your shared bedroom, hoping to lay with you for a while.

You watch as he sits on the bed, taking off his shoes and undoing a few buttons of his shirt, making sure to undo the cuffs to be as comfortable as possible.

“I say, will you cuddle with me, my love? It feels like it’s been forever since we have done so without it being time for bed.”

Smiling lightly, you find yourself walking over to him, slotting yourself in between his legs as he sits at the edge of the mattress. As soon as you are in reach, though, he’s pulling you onto the sheets with him, drawing a surprised giggle from you as he pulls you close.

“Benedict!”

“Yes, darling?”

“You are an amazement, I must say. Pulling a lady such as myself into bed.”

“Mm, don’t be so coy now, darling. Must I remind you that you are my wife and we’ve done things far more inappropriate than simply pulling you into bed?”

“You mustn’t remind me. I am plenty aware of all the things you and I have done together.” You murmur, chewing on your lip as you recall some of those moments.

You had heard of some things expected from you as a wife from your elder sister, but you were wholly unaware of just how…pleasant…some of them could be. In fact, you can’t help but wonder if your sister even knows of such things existence. 

“Will you tell me about your day yet, darling?” Benedict questions after pressing a kiss to your head.

“There’s nothing much to tell, benedict. I went to the dress shop and had a brief lunch with some friends.”

“Darling, please stop pretending you are fine. I think I can tell when my wife has had a bad day.”

You lie with him a second more in silence before you let out a sigh and curl into his body further.

“What has happened today, darling?”

“Everything, Benedict.” You murmur, on the verge of tears from your day.

“I must get resized for a dress since I have seemed to gain weight the past few months.” 

“At lunch I spilled tea on myself, and I happen to favour the dress I wore today. I embarrassed myself by staining such a beautiful piece of clothing in front of my friends, and I am not sure they’ll forget.”

At your clear distress, you feel Benedict wrap his arms around you tighter, sweeping your hair away from your face so he can look at you.

“I am sure they will. No one remembers spilt tea for long.”

“I am not so sure. These friends are merely to stay in good graces in the ton’s eyes. They do not truly care for me as others do.”

“Darling, I would not worry yourself about these ladies’ opinions. If they feel they must spread such a story around the ton, then they are simply reflecting how little they truly have.”

“One split cup of tea does not make you any less respectable, I swear to it.” Benedict comforts, rubbing circles into your back as you lay together.

Minutes pass without either of you sharing a word, but you have a feeling he’s not done talking about your day yet.

“Is there anything else contributing to your bad day, darling?”

At your lack of response, he sighs, continuing to rub circles into your back.

“I will not leave until I know you are better.” He simply states, hoping that will get you to start talking.

“I hope you will not leave regardless.” You murmur, voice slightly muffled by him and the sheets you have buried yourself into.

“What was that, my love?”

“I hope you will not leave regardless.” You reiterate, lifting your head up so he can hear you.

“If you wish it, I will stay here with you for the entirety of the night.”

“I do wish it. You make things better, benedict.”

“I am glad, darling. I still wish to know what else is causing you distress, though.”

“I have been feeling unwell, but not like an illness.” You admit, not sure how else to explain it.

“How do you mean?”

“I am tired, Benedict. So tired, and nauseous, but not all the time. The nausea comes and goes as it pleases.”

“And I’ve never known my body to ache more than it has the last few weeks.” You admit, sighing in frustration at your lack of health.

“Why have you not informed me of such before now? We could have called for the doctor at the first signs of your uncomfortableness.”

“I did not think it was of concern until recently.”

“Darling, I would rather you tell me if something feels slightly off than for you to suffer in silence.” 

“I will call for the doctor in the morning to come examine you, alright?”

“Yes. In the morning. Please just lay here with me for now, my love.”

“Anything you wish, my darling wife. Anything you wish.” Benedict smiles, pulling you into him, his arms tightly wrapped around your frame.

Although bad days are inevitable, you’re sure that they will always be bearable as long as you have your husband. That is if you let him in on what you’re feeling.

please reblog if you enjoyed the fic! 

i currently don’t have a taglist form for bridgerton, but if there’s enough of you that seem to like my writing for the show then i might just fix that. let me know! xx

[prinxejeanne]

[[God of Night drabble, God of Night x Reader (I'm really shameless when it comes to this mf, huh). Takes place at a meeting of the gods (reader is the God of Voyeur, like they were in the stream, so I'm calling you mfs "Voyeur" instead of writing Y/N all the time)- Night asks reader to dance, even though they supposedly don't get along with eachother.]]

[[Warnings: Suggestive content (nothing outright NSFW, but some spicy flirting will be involved), wine drinking, enemies to lovers IMPLIED, and dancing written by someone who doesn't know how the fuck to dance.]]

You were sitting at the mini bar, the sound of the music grating on your ear drums as you sipped the tasteless wine from a chalice and closed your eyes.

Being the God of Voyeur was a tough task, especially considering the fact that you never had a moment to rest. Sure, you had brief moments of silence when there wasn't drama going on between your fellow immortals, but they were gods. When was there not drama going on in the Heavens?

"Ah, Voyeur! I see you're sulking by yourself, like always."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes as you turned around to greet the God of Night.

This man was the source of most of the drama. Him and his damn wife, the God of Day.

Why wouldn't they just divorce already?

"Night! I see you're still as insufferable as always," you retorted, moving to take a sip of the wine in your cup.

Before you could, though, the insufferable man took your chalice and poured the remaining contents into the soil of a potted plant nearby.

"Sorry, I didn't think it was a good idea for you to be drunk this late at night. Could be dangerous, don't you think?" he asked, his voice as smooth as butter.

The dumb, arrogant smirk playing at his lips made you want to punch him.

"What do you want, O' Great and Terrible Night?" you snapped, already done with his bullshit.

"Calm down with the sarcasm, Voyeur, I was going to ask you to dance with me! Unless you don't want to, of course."

Your eyebrows rose at this.

"You dog! Shouldn't you be dancing with your wife?" you respond nearly instantly, feigning shock at his offer.

He held out his hand to you, and smiled. "Sun won't mind. I'm sure she'll find a lesser god to dance with anyway," he said, the resentment for her barely hidden by his othwise confident demeanor.

Hesitantly, you took his hand and rose from your seat, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor.

As a new song began playing, a slow tango, you couldn't help but let out a soft gasp as Night pulled your body close to his, one hand on your waist and the other holding your hand with a surprising softness. You used your free hand to gently hold onto the junction between his neck and his shoulder, and for moment, you could've sworn that his composure dropped for a millisecond, but his calm expression told you that couldn't be true.

It must've been your imagination.

"Night, you should at least buy me dinner first!" you teased, although you were sure he'd noticed how flustered you were.

"I'm sorry, Voyeur, but is that flush on your face from the wine?" he asked mockingly as you two began to dance. "Maybe you should sit down, if you've really had that much to drink!"

You rolled your eyes as that arrogant smirk on his face widened, but you couldn't help but be impressed by how easily you two were moving to the beat.

Unfortunately you couldn't tease the cocky idiot for his poor dancing skills, because he didn't have any poor dancing skills to mock.

"Shut your stupid mouth," you muttered, causing a chuckle from the man you were dancing with.

A well-timed trill in the music caused him to pull you closer until your bodies were flush against each other, and his grip on your waist tightened.

As much as you hated to admit it, your heart was racing and your blood was pumping in all the right ways.

"Well well, Night. You really are a good dancer," you purred, your fingers trailing along the back of his neck as you moved to the music.

The man shivered and his fingertips dug into your skin slightly at this action, and you felt a tug at your heart as his eyes fixated on the wall behind you.

Was he getting flustered?

A new song began, and you started to pull away before Night held onto your hips and pulled you even closer to him than you were before.

He still wasn't looking at you in the eyes, but he moved his hands back up to your waist once he noticed the confusion in your eyes.

"...one more dance," he whispered, his voice barely audible behind the noisy atmosphere of the ballroom.

A smirk plays at your lips, and you return to the same dancing position that you were in before.

"Of course, Night," you reply, the flirtatious tone in your voice giving the god the confidence to look you in the eyes again.

He stared at you for a moment, his lips parted as you began dancing again. He leaned closer, until-

"Night. Aren't you going to dance with your wife?"

You jump slightly, startled by the intrusion, and you turn to see the God of Sun standing there.

Night's wife.

She looked... unimpressed, if anything. Not offended, not heartbroken, just inconvenienced.

"Of course, darling," Night replied, letting go of you and stepping away. "It was lovely, Voyeur."

You make eye contact with him, but keep your mouth shut. Sun was a higher god, anyway, causing a problem with her would be catastrophic.

"I'll talk to you later," you replied, giving Night a sly wink before walking away with confidence.

Dancing with a married man wasn't a good idea, after all, and you knew that.

Still... you also knew that the feeling of his grip on your waist would find it's way into your dreams for months after this.

Damn him.

[tetsoorou]

fancy business shoes

♡ pairings: timeskip!kuroo tetsurou x gn!reader

♡ warnings: sfw, fluff ?, tiny bit of hurt/relationship trauma/very bleak opinion of love mentioned, kind of implied that reader used to be going through it w an unspecified mental illness

♡ wc: 860

♡ synopsis: you used to think love was stupid, but then you met kuroo. just a short lil drabble that kind of describes how you used to think, how you met him, and how he changed your mind.

♡ a/n: ok so i was coming up empty on where to go with another wip, decided to start on a different one, intentions of writing a spicy lil fic w my boy kuroo here, and then 30 min later this happened ??? no idea what this !!

life with kuroo is easy.

it’s easy and fun and full of life and love and jokes so bad, they’re good. full of laughing until you’re crying at three in the morning on the kitchen floor, and watching the sun rise in his eyes between hushed whispers of “you’re such a dork” (“i love you”) on a weekday because you got so lost in the way he talks about the things he loves, that one hour turned into four which quickly turned into eight.

loving him comes so naturally, you swear the only reason you were put on this earth was to love him for the rest of your lives and then some.

before kuroo, you thought the idea of soulmates – of love – was stupid; something made up to give lonely people enough hope to grab onto to make it through the night. just a notion to make the unbearable weight of life feel light enough to will yourself out of bed in the morning.

you thought by not believing in love you were better than those “poor fools” who had been cruelly tricked into believing its existence. at least you weren’t deluded by some false pretense that there was someone out there made just for you, and you them, right? how arrogant must they be to believe such a thing?

it’s not that you hadn’t experienced love before – oh, no, you certainly had. but it was nothing like what all the movies and books and disgustingly-in-love old married couples told you.

it was hard. it was full of pain and sorrow and hate – what you once thought was the opposite of love quickly became synonymous with it. all those stupid tales about how love is so beautiful and all-encompassing made you produce a sound that sounded exactly like a laugh, but was far too hollow and devoid of joy to call it such.

that was what you truly believed until one particular rainy day in university – the very first day in the last year of what was supposed to be the “best four years of your life” – though, “best four years of your life” is far from what you’d use to describe it.

it had been raining nonstop that day – something you normally wouldn’t mind – save for the fact that the buses weren’t running because you unfortunately secured the worst lab section you’d ever had the displeasure of taking. not only was it three hours long and started so late that the buses were already shut down, but it was also on the opposite side of campus, and you had ten minutes between classes to make the twenty-minute walk to get there.

so by the time you showed up – late of course – you were drenched, shivering, and grumbling about the grim state of life under your breath between little gasps for air. and as if life heard your grumbling and was hell-bent on getting the last laugh; the door was locked.

before you could shout expletives into the empty corridor, a tall, gangly man with incredibly messy hair – somehow, even though it was soaking wet, it still stuck out in every direction – came noisily burling around the corner, mere centimeters away from knocking you over. his jacket was falling off his shoulder and his chest was rising and falling rapidly from sprinting up the stairs, pathetically limp notebook in one hand - probably from trying to use it to shield his head from the rain, albeit unsuccessfully.

he looked like he was having just as terrible a day as you.

“locked, huh?” he had said, and when you nodded in confirmation he actually laughed. to this day, you have no idea why or what he was laughing at. perhaps it was just one of those times where the only thing you could do was laugh; the best alternative to crying.

but nonetheless, his laugh boomed and echoed through the silent, empty hallway of the building (and also your heart) - a little loud and a tad obnoxious, but also contagious. and for the first time in a long time, you laughed too. a real laugh.

that’s when you knew, and as they say, “the rest is history.”

you’re still not sure if you believe in soulmates – the concept seems silly, though kuroo would argue and insist you’re just being pessimistic, gesturing between the two of you as if to say “of course they do. we’re proof, duh.” – but you do believe in love.

love in the form of keen eyes that always seem to be glimmering with a touch of mischief and disheveled black hair that has never learned to lie flat. love in the form of a smirk that never quite seems to completely fade and a laugh so boisterous it could stir the stillest of hearts.

love in the form of fancy business shoes, little gifts that just “reminded him of you,” and an old, but in pristine condition, number one jersey pushed to the back of your shared closet – a testament to the careful way he loves and the kindness he extends to everyone he meets.

love in the form of a man named kuroo tetsurou.

[hansoulo]

lead me to the promised land

part two of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NSFW - language, kissing, heavy petting, dom!Boba, gagging/choking, marks and bruises of the Spicy nature, hand and finger kink, allusions to canon-typical violence

Word Count: 2k

Gif Credit: (x) by @/tylowen

A/N: good day gremlins i am not very good at updating but i bring u some fun times as penance pls forgive me

༓ series masterlist ༓

7:00 PM: T-MINUS 14 HOURS UNTIL IMPERIAL CONVOY DEPARTURE

You were used to being moved around by other people, poked and prodded and lifted up so that stays could be tied or burdensome headpieces be attached to your head. Shuffled around to smile and be proper, sedated by heavy skirts and perfume. It was a fact of life.

Your dress was unlaced by the mechanical hands of an attendant, the change happening quickly and without fond regard from any party. It was early evening now and the sky peeled itself into a burnt orange. If you closed your eyes, you could almost taste citrus.

“Careful, please,” you whispered with a slight wince as the woman’s thin fingers brushed against your neck, both of your reflections cast warm in the mirror you now stood in front of. They were almost-bruises. Little ghost flower petals. Delicate and pretty, trailing behind your neck and not quite noticeable.

The woman only nodded. Servants weren’t ones to ask questions.

 ⫸ ———————————————————————————— ⫷

3:25 PM: T-MINUS 17 HOURS AND 35 MINUTES UNTIL IMPERIAL CONVOY DEPARTURE

The world seemed to tip on its axis, spinning too fast and not at all. It’d only been a minute, maybe two, but Boba’s words hung out to dry in the summer air and there was nothing else to do but wait for the actions to fulfill themselves. It shouldn’t have been as easy as it was to let him keep kissing you, but you only broke away to warn in a jolted, harsh whisper when his touch became too sharp. “Don’t leave any marks.”

“Are you commanding me?” Boba sneered, his voice slightly cruel as his gloved thumbs rubbed circles into your hip bones. You didn’t bother opening your eyes to look at him, letting his mouth skid over your jaw. Your answering yes or no wouldn’t make much of a difference. You had the feeling he would do what he liked either way. You had the feeling you’d let him.

It was strange, too fast. Too fast because really, what did you know about Boba? Were you even on first name terms? He’d never called you your name, and you’d never called him his. You’d only known of him for a few weeks. Had truly talked to him for even less than that. Maybe you should stay a capitalized Princess and he should be “Fett.” For the sake of clinicality.

Letting him lift you up and onto his lap was most definitely not clinical. “That depends,” you croaked out after a moment, finally looking at his face in your half-stupor. He’d sat you up to face him and you’d gone with, pliable and keening. Being champagne drunk felt like this; like his eyes coal-black and the way he seemed to take up everything in your mind until there was no room for reason.  You traced over the scar on his forehead with a light mouth, knees bowed to nestle closer and every muscle in your body flexing, tensed as if dripped over with sunshine. “Are you going to listen?”

The smile of a predator was the only answer he gave you.

⫸ ————————————⫷

3:30 PM: T-MINUS 17 HOURS AND 30 MINUTES UNTIL IMPERIAL CONVOY DEPARTURE

Men were vile. They had clammy hands that wandered to your thighs at banquet dinners, slimy mouths when they pressed their lips to your hand in greeting. They were all insufferable and you promised never to go near one as long as you could help it. But promises were a boring thing to keep sometimes. They were much more fun to break.

Boba spoke but it was swallowed in your interlocking mouths, hungry and escalating desperate. You were still sitting with—on?—him, too cowardly to do anything more than kiss and let yourself be felt by the strength of a man’s greed. He tasted like teeth and blood and pink flesh. That was the thing that no one had ever told you about kisses; about men like him. They tasted like broken skin. 

You were eating Boba whole. He was eating you piece by piece. 

You were just kissing. Had been just kissing for what seemed like ages but was actually only fifteen standard minutes. Fifteen standard minutes for your stays to be dragged loose, your lips to be bitten plush, and both sandals abandoned somewhere in the slow scramble. It wasn’t so much desperation as it was just a sheer curiosity goading your irrationality, but the end result was the same: a man squeezing the back of your neck, calling you lovely in the same breath he called you naive. 

“Take them off,” you almost demanded, pulling desperately at his gloves as the warm leather dragged against your fingernails. Learned manners were added in as an afterthought. “Please.”

His one-handed grip on your thigh tightened. It would bruise, likely. Raise questions, definitely. You would have to chalk it up to something else. A fall. A bad trip on a set of stairs. Anything besides what was happening now. The words rumbled against your chest and registered vaguely as a threat. “What was that?”

Huffy and impatient, you answered in a much more keening, undignified echo. “Please, pleasepleaseplease—”

Boba put his fingers in your mouth.

Boba put his fingers in your mouth.

Stuffed was the more apt word. You tried not to think about how he could only fit two of them inside without hurting you. It made you feel temperature-hot, physically burning until your cheeks and your insides twisted into smoldering ash because his fingers breached the alabaster edges of your teeth until they almost gagged you on your own tongue. Boba drew his hand back only when you sighed around it, sedated with fluttering eyes and no longer asking questions. His voice seemed to get deeper, raspier around the unplaceable accent from a place you’d never heard of and probably never would. “Good girl.”

The gloves stayed on. Why they did and why you couldn’t just get him to do what you wanted like everyone else you had no idea, but your frustration quickly ebbed into hazy, sparking pleasure. He called you good. You liked being good. 

Your hips stuttered when they caught on Boba’s trousers and suddenly you were giggling into the thick muscle of his shoulder, quiet and juvenile in your own disbelief. Everything about this was absurd and inappropriate, which formed the basis of your amusement. It was something to play with. Someone. Big and shiny in the most literal sense of the word. 

The hunter let out what could be construed as a laugh but sounded more akin to a growl and two large palms settled again on the soft rise of your hips. “Not here,” he repeated into your jaw, the words that were previously muffled so long ago now clearer. Not here. Which implied a theoretical somewhere other than here where you would possibly, hypothetically be doing more than- “We need to go.”

You should go. You should be pushing him off of you and running and screaming or something equally inflammatory because this was… because his...

“No,” you protested weakly with a slow shake of your head. Your hands curled around his pauldrons and rested there, limp and slightly shaking. “No, they- they didn’t actually need me for anything. My father just had to—oh Maker-” his cuisse plate pressed up hard between the warm softness of your thighs. “—had to send someone out to search for me—” you rutted against his leg once, twice before the arms around your waist tightened again and inhibited any further attempts at movement. You recovered from the loss of friction quickly, instead letting yourself sag into his solid chest as one set of fingertips dragged along your spine. “—’s just a poor look for him not to,” you finished flippantly, barely audible from where your face settled smushed against the creep of stubble on his cheek. “Bad press.”

“I’ve still got places to be, princess. Even if you don’t.”

“Oh I’m terribly sorry,” you tried replying sarcastically as his mouth flattened against the thin skin of your neck. His lips were soft, but they pressed against you like anything but. You tried rolling your hips again but were thwarted. “Am I in the way of a prior engagement?”

“Something like that.”

“Well then,” you flattened your palms against his chest plate and broke away from the seal of his touch. It wasn’t fair. You couldn’t breathe right and looked like you’d been dragged through a sarlacc pit, but he was just sitting there. Watching you. His eyes were hungry though. “Why let me keep you?”  The words were shot through with airy exhales as you were lifted up off the smooth stone. “I was under the impression that you hated me,” you continued into Boba’s neck with hands curled around the dark curls at its nape.

You did think that, before… this. Now you didn’t know what to believe, what his intentions were. Most likely they were the same as yours. Nothing good.

Whatever either of your motivations were, they would have to be paused now. For his mysterious, vague “engagement” and probably for the betterment of your health, because you were certain if you stayed here with him, shielded away from prying eyes and marching men, your heart would burst right out of your chest and through your ears. 

Your legs wobbled slightly when he set you standing on the ground, Boba’s helmet still laying on the fountain’s edge, and you handed it to him with a reverence that belayed the previous minute’s informality. When it was restored to his head you found yourself mourning the loss of his face. You’d been spoiled this last hour. You didn’t like not seeing it anymore.

“I don’t.” was his short reply. What a wordsmith. 

“Aren’t you still my escort?” you huffed, trying to catch your breath. Your chest rose and fell in panted inhales. Wiping haphazardly at your mouth, you leaned over the fountain’s reflection and attempted to compose yourself. The circlet usually pinned neatly to your head lay crooked and loose, glimmering its delicate metals in the daylight as you fussed with it this way and that. The pool of water currently acting as a mirror rippled too much to be of any real use. You pressed your palms to your flushed cheeks and mumbled. “My penitentiary guard, more like.”

Boba turned you around to face him with his hands on your shoulders and you imagined his eyes to still be edged in charcoal embers. The last smudge of lipstick on your chin was rubbed away by a broad thumb and you watched, curious to his intentions and surprised at his actions, when he reached up to right your crown.

“Let’s go, princess.”

You didn’t argue. You’d been sated from rebellion for the time being.

 ⫸ ————————————⫷

4:10 PM: T-MINUS 15 HOURS AND 50 MINUTES UNTIL IMPERIAL CONVOY DEPARTURE

The mercenary stood by the side entrance watching you. 

“You look a mess!” your mother admonished, harried with the exertion of the day’s events that you somehow managed not to be privy to. Apparently there was to be a dinner with the guests leaving the next morning, and apparently you specifically were asked to be present. Both would be dull pieces of information on the best of days but now, after the events that had just transpired, they were positively brain-numbing. 

The queen consort motioned for you to turn around and you complied with a slow spin as your being was examined for minor casualties. Once the woman assured herself of your being alive and unharmed, barely registering the tall figure that stood mere yards away, she allowed herself more frantic inquiries as she shuffled you down the hallway. “What were you doing out there?”

“Oh nothing,” you answered vaguely, eyes trailing as far back towards the doors as they could go without actually turning your head. There was a flash of green armor. “I just wanted to take a walk, is all.” You turned to her and smiled your best attempt at a brilliant, royal-white assurance. “Clear my head.”

[ioannemos]

3, 4, 7, 10,18

What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

i don't have a writing ritual, which is probably a contributing factor to why i never finish anything. wherever i'm writing, though, i have terrible posture. does that count?

What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

so many... big fan of anything to do with like. things that aren't quite there? intangible. phantom. psychosomatic. ghost. hollow. echo. infinite. vanish. opaque. lost. almost.

What is your deepest joy about writing?

when someone mentions a detail or makes a connection with something i've written and i go YES THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I MEANT!!! YOU GOT IT!!!

Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

i'm easily haunted by poetry... here are a few of my faves

stairs appear in a hole outside of town

here, now, gone

fifteen years of spring

the nature of living

rose petal jam

i'm haunted very differently by my own writing tbh, in the "hey remember that story and all the great ideas you had that you never ever wrote down so each day they fade a little more? yeah. still no idea how to connect the necessary dots tho" kind of way

Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

i tried to find something from a published work but instead you're gonna get a passage from my 10k+ prospect wip "victors"

In the meantime, his death has been… a hurdle. A complication. They’ll sell the aurelac and split the money and she’ll figure it out from there. She has to narrow her focus to that or everything starts to spiral. There are job boards; surely there are apprenticeship boards, or something near enough, something she can do while she really weighs her options. She shrugs, a bit frustrated. “I can’t sell the stuff without your help,” she points out. Ezra waves that off like it’s a minor hitch. “Oh, you’re right, I’ll just hop over to the nearest rare gem market. They’d never scorch an ignorant little girl.”

thoughts on it:

i was stuck on how ezra was going to respond to this for, i kid you not, two and a half years. december 2020 - june 2022. i changed two words in april but that was in an earlier section and had nothing to do with moving the story forward. what did help me move forward again? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ don't remember!

it took me a while to figure out a slang term that conveyed "take advantage of" and sounded plausible. i like "scorch" tho

aurelac is whack. they're gems the size of fists, worth tons of points. what are points? what are they used for? what in the heck is the thing they're harvested from?? they're so macguffiny. i want to make resin replicas

it's bleak but i'm gonna say it: damon's life was a hurdle for cee and it's probably for the better he's dead

the seed of my story was inspired by a description of the movie (i don't remember if it was netflix or imdb) that calls ezra an outlaw. there is absolutely nothing in the movie itself that implies anything he does is outside of the law. i'm not saying his actions were moral, just that. y'know. for all we know, they weren't illegal. there's nothing in the movie about him hiding out or running from space cops or being wanted for crimes. again, he very much does coerce, kidnap, lie, kill, etc. but it's a space western and they're on the extreme fringes of society. nobody's even gonna go there after the time limit is up (presumably). everyone who's there is either after macguffins or stumbled over macguffins while there for ~reasons~ and wants in on the money the macguffins will provide. there's no reason to label him an outlaw. there is no law, far as i can tell. so then i was like well maybe he's wanted on some other planet and kinda went from there

[wisesageramblesmoved]

On your Kururu secretly craving praise headcanon

I know this may seem sudden, but I have just finished reading the Keroro manga all the way up to the 27th volume and GOD, Chapter 182 completely validates your Kururu headcanon on how he secretely craves approval. FYI, manga!Kururu is hyper competent compared to anime!Kururu, as in you can count the number of failed inventions throughout the 27 volumes on one hand and that he's pulled the strings behind multiple events to save Pekopon and his platoon (Like there was a time where Mois was losing control over herself for subduing her instinct of destroying Pekopon, and after everyone tries everything to calm her down, they had no choice but to use an angol stone to put her in stasis until a solution is found. Nobody has one and everyone begins to feel the lack of Mois in their lives, INCLUDING Kururu because unlike in the anime, Kururu doesn't particularly dislike Mois and she rarely helps out with the tech. Kururu realizing there's no proper solution, takes it upon himself to call in an old favor and next thing they know, a massive meteorite is flying towards Pekopon, which Mois promptly relieves herself with. Nobody knows Kururu was responsible for it.) Additionally, he's rarely seen with curry and has an amazing catchphrase of "Trouble and accidents are my best friends."

Now to Ch. 182. It starts with a mysterious being with a Keronian silhoutte contacting Kururu and requesting him to make curry. After goading and taunting Kururu, Kururu gets pissed off and boldly proclaims that "What kind of a buffoon is he, to think that ore-sama is incapable of doing something? I can prepare a complete banquet, let alone a plate of curry. I will personally make you worship me after this!" and starts a massive curry making machine with millions of high-quality spices at his disposal, calculating the perfect curry that "can make all Pekoponian chefs lose their jobs".

The first batch of curry is done and Kururu takes it to the Hinatas for taste-testing. Natsumi and Fuyuki are wary and rejects tasting it despite thinking it smells out of this world, prompting Kururu to get really irritated and comment to himself "These damned kids don't even want to touch it?". Aki then comes in and tries it, states "Mm, it tastes pretty good. Kuru-chan, you're quite good at cooking!" And this PISSES Kururu even further, internally screaming, "Wh- How can this be?!"

He then takes the curry to Giroro ("What do I know of flavor! As a soldier, all I care is that I get something to eat!"), Keroro (making Gunpla, "Oh, okay, it's good. Tastes pretty good, just a bit spicy I guess."), and Dororo (rejects it thinking that it's a sick prank). Kururu then THROWS his curry into the garbage, screaming, "It's a failure!!" As he's on the way back to his lab, he's thinking "They're all bastards. They couldn't even taste how amazing something Ore-sama made? All they said was "pretty good", what's the point!!" with the background being an imagined scenario where everyone is crying tears of joy upon eating his curry and heaping him with praises.

He gets straight back to work after another set of jeers from the mysterious being, taking Pekoponian culture into consideration this time, still wanting everyone to kneel before his curry. Aki wants another serving, and this time Fuyuki tries the curry as well; both of them loved it and Aki even claims that it was better than before. But to Kururu, it was still a failure because "They weren't praising my technique, only the parts that they understood...!" (because it was a Japanese style sweet apple kind of curry). This time, Kururu's not as peeved off and after telling the mysterious being "...Go to hell. You annoying bastard... Listen up! Until I come back, you are not allowed to stop the transmission!!" and speeds off to Kyoto to meet up with a retired high-ranked Keronian called Namumu he met in a previous arc. After acting all tsun-tsun and listening to Namumu's advice, Kururu heads back and makes his last version of curry, admitting that he underestimated the art of curry-making and deciding that regardless of their reactions, he's not making another plate of curry after this (implying this is the best curry he can make).

Upon presenting the last batch of curry, it's Natsumi who tries it first after smelling a familiar scent. Turns out, the curry Kururu made this time tasted exactly like the curry the Hinata household makes. "Kukuku... "In the end, the best curry is still your own curry."... so that's it? Really, what a dull answer, ku~kukukuku." Then Aki replies with this:

"...There's still a difference. The taste is definitely the same, but this is without a doubt curry that Kuru-chan made. I've tasted your curry three times... And now I truly understand Kuru-chan's cooking. Kuru-chan has toiled away to understand the taste of our household's curry, so the curry that you made only became more delicious. Thank you for treating us. You can make more whenever you have the time, Kuru-chan!"

And his reaction? He LITERALLY FREEZES. And not only that, for the first time, he doesn't have the lines between his eyes, his mouth is open with no teeth showing, and his hand is lowered slightly away from his mouth. This guy was genuinely SHOCKED to receive such a heartfelt praise. Unironically "genuine praise"-starved.

He returns to his lab only to find the mysterious being's transmission over and he acts all tsun-tsun again about how "That bastard was nothing more than a bother." but this time, he's smiling to himself.

Another thing about it is that Kururu's first batch of curry? After he threw them in the trash, Tamama fishes the curry out and thinks he can use it to prank Momoka because his thought process was literally "Oh? Something Kururu-senpai made and he's not happy with the results? Must be something terrible!" To Tamama's surprise, the world-class chef working for Momoka RETIRED after tasting Kururu's curry, saying that he has a lot left to learn, meaning the first curry he made was already mind-blowingly amazing.

I love anime!Kururu, but manga!Kururu has an INSANE amount of depth and I'm losing my mind and sleep over this version.

Omg. ANON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!! I freaking love that infodump of Kururu's character in the manga! Even though I haven't read the manga I'm actually considering to do so now!! And good to know that a manga chapter validates my headcanon >:](

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober Day 28: Hunting Grounds

CW: Vampirism, blood, whumpee whumping the whumper, implied eventual character death, veeeeeeery vague mild gore

TIMELINE: Post-Bad Arc

Nothing matters, for the moment, except the hunger.

It stretches them thin, empties their skin of anything but the press forward, the constant walk. They ran, at first, and so did she. Now, she tires, but Ora doesn't. They walk, endlessly walk, bare feet moving over the grass without leaving a print behind. They are tired, but their nerves spark with the knowledge that soon, she will be too tired to keep going, and they will still be here.

This is how you hunt - you keep them moving until they make a mistake, until they tire out, until they can’t move any longer. Meanwhile, you wait - with arrow or spear or sharp teeth - to devour.

Ora will take from Ashley Denner the life she has already stolen from them. 

She crashes heedlessly, and they move behind her. They stopped running long before she did, settling into the hunter’s walk. Steady, the ground is swallowed by the pace they could keep up for days and days. They might have done just that - they don’t know.

The sun might have risen and set while they follow her, but the only thing they know is the hunger, the scrape of bark under their fingertips, the lives of the people who live nearby pulsing and throbbing, but they aren’t important.

None of them matter.

Nothing matters but finding her.

Ora Collins, a spectre in a tank top and shorts with green hair clumped around their face, is spotted once or twice by hikers who think they have seen a ghost, or a monster. They catch blurry photographs that are  smear of green, or brown. One or two makes the mistake of calling out.

Ora pauses and looks at them, and they regret the sound they mad.

Ora keeps moving.

Smeared with dried blood long since gone brown and flaked from their skin, with it still dried around their mouth, the sight of them sends the animals who see them running in terror. They know what Ora is, now, even as Ora is only barely aware. They know Ora is a creature of the hunt, strong and sharp-teethed. 

Ora smells like the rainy season in a dry land, they feel like a buzzing threat that slips underneath the netting to spread terrible wasting death. They hear the softest sounds, footfalls from far away. Sometimes they are a tiny thing of flickering light, sometimes they walk.

They are aware of Ryan, who made them, and know where to go to find him again. They are aware of the beat of his heart, echoing their own, as the police and first responders arrive, far too late to change anything, to find the fire, the two blood-soaked men, the dying man on the ground.

All of this awareness is in the back of Ora’s mind, a soft velvet certainty. But it’s not what matters now. 

They’re hungry. 

So, so hungry.

When they find her, she has fallen down a hill she didn’t see until it was too late, and she was stopped long enough for them to catch up to her. When they find her, they don’t speak to her. They don’t ask her to apologize or beg for forgiveness. They don’t tell her to think about Penny, dead and decaying in a shallow grave outside a ramshackle house in Tennessee. 

Penny is theirs, not hers. She tried to ruin Penny in their mind but Ora sees, now, more clearly than they have seen in a year and more. Penny is still theirs, even though Ashley’s hand killed her. Penny’s blood cries out from the ground, and Ora was not her keeper, then. But they keep her memory now.

When they fall upon Ashley, mouth open, rows of sharp teeth like a shark’s on moonlit display, hands forcing Ashley’s head back against the ground with unnatural strength, Ashley starts to laugh.

The high-pitched shattered-glass sound echoed around the valley she has been chased into, and she laughs and laughs and laughs as Ora tears her throat out, sprays her ancient blood across the ground, to soak into it and join Penny’s, to join all the blood Danny and Ryan lost in a year, to join her own brother.

Ashley’s laugh breaks on the branches of trees, rustles leaves, sends the tiny animals running or flying from them, even as it grows thick with the blood in her throat, bubbles as her lungs fill with it, and Ora’s teeth have torn her open but she’s been torn open before, and risen again.

Not this time.

Ora fills themself with the thick blood, sparks of an old magic, and still Ashley is laughing, her dirty fingernails digging into Ora’s bare shoulders, back arched, in a mockery of an embrace. Her laughter grates in Ora’s ears, pulses in their own veins. They have heard this laughter so many times, in so many places, Ashley’s delight at causing so many deaths.

Delighted, even, by causing her own.

When the laughter fades, cracks apart to nothing, Ora still isn’t done. They rip her throat to unrecognizable emptiness, bloody nothing, nearly separating her head from the rest of her. But even that isn’t enough.

Ora’s stomach is full, their mouth is smeared black-red from ear to ear, their hands are covered in the brackish old blood nearly to their wrists, and it is still not enough.

Ashley lays with her eyes wide at the sky, and she is still smiling, caught mid-laughter, frozen there in death. But it’s not a death that will last. Left here, Ashley will not decay or fade or change, and one day, sooner or later… she might wake back up and start it all again.

Ora won’t let anyone else be broken the way Ashley broke them.

So Ora lowers their eyes, stares at the place where her heart should be, and licks at their lips, feeling their teeth shift, lengthening to match what they need to do. They are death itself, stealing in on silent footsteps to the rooms where men, women, and children sleep. They are a wasting sickness, they are fever and chills, they are an explanation for those who die without warning.

They don’t know what any of that means. They just… know it.

Somewhere, they can feel the one who made them. Ryan sits in a hard chair, holding his brother’s cold hand against his own forehead, begging him to come back, to keep going, to please, God, don’t die now after we did everything to save you. The shadow of blood clings to him, Ora’s life lives in Ryan, but they have a whole new life, and the old one doesn’t matter now that Penny’s death has been returned, given back to Ashley, tenfold.

Ora lowers their head to the cold, lifeless chest of Ashley Denner, and they brace themself to feast on her heart.

Only after the heart is gone do they push themself to their feet, feel the breeze in their hair, and slowly turn to start walking east. The hospital where Ryan sits in a room next to his dying brother is to the west, but they don’t go back to him.

Not yet.

First, Ora needs to go to Tennessee, to a house there they need to burn down, a body that needs a better grave. Nothing matters until they have given Penny back her rest.

Nothing matters but their hunger.

----

@slytherynjolras, @whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @swordkallya, @astrobly, @slaintetowhump, @moose-teeth, @untilthepainstarts, @whumpiary,  @lave-whump @raigash @cupcakes-and-pain

[writingandengineering]

Hi! Happy birthday!!! I see you want some requests? 👀 could you possibly do birthday celebrations with Wolffe? Either wolffe’s or the readers, idm. 💕💕

hello! thank you so much for requesting birthday things for my birthday!! i am afraid of writing anything spicy so i implied it at the end

this reader is also nicknamed officer bc i am unoriginal!!

sorry this took longer than expected, my classes kinda hit me hard! still working on another request though!

word count: 1233

(clones can’t lie for shit)

You woke up on the right side of the bed today; it was your birthday and your boyfriend was coming back from a campaign on Felucia. Things couldn’t have lined up any better for you. You couldn’t contain your excitement as you got dressed for the day, taking extra time on your appearance and even spraying a bit of perfume before you headed out. As far as you were concerned, there wasn’t anything that could stop you from having a good birthday.

Walking into the GAR base, you headed immediately to the hangar to try to find your boyfriend and his battalion, nodding at the other officers in the halls. As you got closer to the hangar, you started to see more Wolffepack troopers, many of which greeting you with a “Hey Officer!” or some wishing you a good day. You smile as you greet them back, excitement growing as you enter the hangar.

You look around the hangar and try to spot Wolffe, but with empty results. You do however, find Boost and Sinker.

“Hey Sinker, Boost! How’re you two?” You greet the two troopers. They turn to you, but not before exchanging a look at each other. That’s peculiar.

“Officer! Hey, we’re good, no injuries. We heard it was your birthday today,” Sinker replies before Boost has the chance. Boost gives Sinker a glance and goes to open his mouth; Sinker thrusts his elbow into Boost’s side. Boost lets out a small oof from Sinker’s attack.

You tilt your head in confusion,”Uh, yeah it is. Good to hear that you guys came back uninjured. Do you know where the commander is?” The two clones’ eyes dart anywhere but you, looking nervous.  “Do you two have something to tell me?”

This time, Boost answers, a little too quickly, “No sir! Nothing! Everything is fine! The commander is in… a debrief with Master Plo?” Boost cringes at the end of his statement turn question, seeming to be unsure of himself. Sinker’s expression reads to be uneasy too; those two were definitely hiding something. Maker, clones were terrible liars.

“Boost, was that a question or an answer?”

 Sinker pulls Boost behind him, as if to hide him, his mouth drawn into a straight line. Sinker responds, “Uh, an answer, Officer. It was nice to see you but we gotta go sir! Bye!” With that, Sinker turns and drags Boost with him towards the opposite end of the hangar, whispering a furious conversation between the two.

That was a bust. You originally went into the hangar only to inquire where your boyfriend was but left without that information and more confused than when you started. With that weird interaction with Sinker and Boost, you knew someone was hiding something. It was strange, the clones only started to act weird when you asked about Wolffe; maybe there was something going on with him? Maybe he was hurt? Sinker and Boost would tell you if Wolffe was hurt, right? The thought shakes you to the core, so you decide to check the med bay anyway.

You left the hangar the way you came in and towards the med bay, maybe you could find an answer there?

_______

The med bay was also a bust; you rushed in only to be met with a few troopers who weren’t yours and a couple of medics. They looked at you like you were crazy when you asked if Commander Wolffe was in. Now that you knew that Wolffe wasn’t injured, you let out a sigh of relief. 

That left you with another question though, where the kriff was your boyfriend? Maybe Boost wasn’t kidding when he said he was in a debrief with Master Plo? You walked through the halls deep in thought, not even noticing when you entered the barracks, not even noticing the clone tailing behind you, getting closer. You did however notice that you were abruptly snatched into a familiar room in the barracks.

You thrash and turn around, “Hey! What’re you-” you pause when you see the clone. “Wolffe!” You throw yourself into his arms. He catches you against his chest, arms coming home around your waist. Wolffe’s arms pull you in tight, this is what home truly felt like, here in his arms, in his room. You burrow your head into Wolffe’s neck, breathing in, confirming that he really was here.

“Cyar’ika, it’s been too long,” Wolffe mumbles against your hair, kissing the crown of your head. He pulls back to look you in the eyes, he gives you a rare, true smile. The kind of smile that was reserved only for you. You can’t help but tear up a little looking back at him; you reach one hand up to trace along the scar running over his eye. You lean up as Wolffe leans down to you, the two of you meet in the middle in a sweet kiss, full of love and all of the longing that built up during your time apart. You pull apart, Wolffe leaning his forehead against yours before whispering against your lips, “Happy birthday, sweet girl.”

“Thanks Wolffe, I missed you so much!” You say, pulling your forehead away. “I almost forgot it was my birthday while I was looking for you. Speaking of which, Sinker and Boost were acting pretty weird when I asked about you, do you have any clue why?” Wolffe started to look uncharacteristically bashful before turning to grab something off of the small desk to the side of his room.

“I, uh, wanted to surprise you. If I knew that Boost and Sinker would be so bad at keeping a secret, I wouldn’t have told them,” he turned back to you holding a small bag. “I got you a present; I’m sorry, it’s not much. The General had to help me get it.”

You crashed your body against Wolffe again, unable to contain your affection for the man in that moment. “Anything you give me is good, don’t apologize.” You take the small bag from his hand, opening it to see a beautiful necklace. You gasp, “Wolffe, this is beautiful, thank you so much.”

“Let me put it on you.” You hand the necklace to Wolffe and turn around; you feel his large, worn hands caress your neck. Your skin erupts in goose bumps all over. He draws the necklace around your neck, slowly, relishing in the skin-to-skin contact. He closes the clasps on the necklace and kisses the back of your neck. Suddenly, the air grew thick with something a little less wholesome.

You turn around and pull him close, peppering kisses all over his face, “Thank you again, but now it’s time to celebrate!” You smirk, looking at Wolffe’s confused face. That confusion clears up and is replaced with a smug look when you drag him over to his bed in the corner, and push him down onto the bed. You lean down, tugging at Wolffe’s armor, revealing his blacks.

“Cyar’ika, I like your idea of celebration.”

And celebrate you did.

_______

Your birthday was indeed a lot of fun, Sinker and Boost can (unfortunately) attest to that; when they went to check on their commander and were met with an array of sinful noises. Extremely flustered, the two troopers looked at each and quickly made their exit, deciding that interrupting their commander and Officer was not worth their lives.

[marcholasmoth]

OSRR: 2386

okay so i just got the sweetest asks today?????? they're right below this and i'm cryin, i don't deserve you guys ;-;

okay so like,

today was pretty good. at first.

i went on an adventure to the apple store with joel and i even got to hold his hand as we walked through the mall (bc i was walking so slowly bc knee hurt but i wasn't about to question it) but apparently his allergy to lavender might not just be lavender?? he says perfume is spicy air to him??? so. allergy.

anyway, he got himself a new watch today. he really loves it. i'm glad. otherwise i'd need to kidnap it.

we got lunch from friendly's - he didn't realize there was one still around until i said something. when talking about lunch options, he said "i didn't realize there was a pizza hut around here," and i said, "yeah, it's just across the street from friendly's." his eyes got all big and he just went "WHAT" and i said "friendly's it is!" so we got chicken tendies and mini mozzarella sticks and fribbles for lunch. (idk if anyone doesn't know what a fribble is, but it's a friendly's milkshake, as opposed to a frappe, which is thicker.) (terminology is very important.) (even though a milkshake implies shaking milk, and that's just silly.)

but we went back to his house and watched tv for a while. we started watching eureka together since i wasn't terribly far in and everyone else i started watching with has already gone ahead and watched all of it without me.

the rest of this is like. not so good. so tw for depression, suicidal ideation, self-harm, and self-hatred from here on out, but also like, some good points for therapy.

--

around 7 i realized i needed to be home, so i went home. i was supposed to spend the evening playing diablo ii with andrew, but heading home meant i couldn't do that, and i felt pretty crummy about it, and i realized that my actions caused him to feel like an afterthought. which is the last thing i want him to feel like. he's one of my bestest friends, and realizing that i hurt him like i did kinda broke something in me. and it just... spiraled from there. (... honestly i almost rammed my car into a cliff face. i took my foot off the gas and hands off the wheel before i could do it though. it's been a long time since i last felt unsafe driving. yikes.) and then i realized what was happening was because of rejection-sensitive dysphoria. but just because of that, doesn't mean it wasn't accurate. that being a shitty friend isn't excusable by saying "i'm a disaster" or "i've been busy" or even "i can't keep things straight in my head" when it's really just all my fault. and there's no excuse to treat a friend like i've been treating him. and then i looked at all of my other friendships and relationships, and i saw that same pathetic disconnection in all of them, because apparently i can't make and keep fucking connections ever. because i don't get attached like normal people do. because i don't feel things like normal people do. because i don't see how my actions affect others like normal people do. and i don't get what i don't get. i'm grateful i have a therapist appointment in a little over a week. i should put a list together of things i need help with.

when i got home i was sure to send him a text and tell him how sorry i was because goddamnit if i can't be a good friend then what the fuck can i be, huh??? if i can't be a good fucking person what good things do i deserve???? none, that's fucking what. and as i drove home i started beating myself up over it. literally. when i got home, i did the same thing. it's been a long time since i last hit my head or slapped myself or punched something, never mind my own jaw. and as i was driving as i smashed my fist into the steering wheel repeatedly i said "no fucking wonder you don't have life insurance" because - surprise! - i got denied life insurance back in april or whatever when i got my new car insurance.

jesus fucking christ, even when i got home i just. couldn't handle it. my dad got me flowers for valentine's day - he always gets us stuff for valentine's day. it's always been a thing in my family - we always get things for each other. and i'm pretty sure that's why valentine's day is my favorite holiday. (i thought to myself after the cliff face passed me how awful it would be for people to process i killed myself the day before my favorite holiday, rip) but anyway, when i saw the flowers, i couldn't even continue into the room to watch tv with my parents. i just started crying again. i didn't stop crying until like 9pm. i got to give my parents their chocolates i got for them too, and i honestly didn't get to see their reactions because i took off my glasses before so i'd stop fucking crying on them. and it all just hurt so much. because i don't fucking deserve the kind things people do for me because i'm not a good fucking person. goddamn it. like, i get this is fucking stupid. "oh you're not a bad person" good people don't do what they do and not concern themselves with what others feel, especially when it's their closest friends. good people don't fucking fall apart at the slightest sign of something being wrong. good people don't fucking hurt their loved ones. so fuck if i'm a good person, because i'm fucking not. and i hate that. because if i'm not, i'm nothing. i have nothing going for me. at all. i'm really just a shit human who doesn't deserve good things. fuck.

(goddamn i'm trying, but fuck if i'm succeeding.)

but eventually, i calmed down enough to watch tv. endgame was on by then.

i didn't really eat dinner. i got my mom food from mcnaldos and i feel bad because i transferred money to my account from here to get us both dinner but then i determined i didn't deserve it so i just got her food. i determined i deserved pain so i thought about canceling my orthopedist appointment for tuesday and stopping wearing my knee brace because i deserve the pain. i inflict it on others, so i deserve it myself. found the passing thought of trying to purposefully get corona or how to best tie myself up in tarps to keep my brains from splattering everywhere. driving home... was Bad. hence this. i also half-heartedly started making a list of passwords and accounts i'd need to write down for people to notify others of my death, of how to say goodbye without causing much notice.

jesus fucking christ i have problems.

and now reflecting on it it still makes sense to me. so i apologize to everyone. i'm a disaster and i'm sorry you gotta see me like this.

there's really no need to worry - i won't act on anything. that's just not something i'm brave enough to do. i'm a fucking coward, and that's something you can count on. i cry when people's voices are raised. anyone who thinks i can take the fast train to deadville via the fuckthis express doesn't know how much of a fucking coward i am lmao

fuck this though, fuck living. i'm so bad at it.

[arofili]

For the character ask: all the children of Finarfin

How I feel about this character:

Finrod: charming slutty blond twink with a heart of gold. maybe that’s too much fanon and not enough canon but you can tear that characterization from my cold dead hands tbh. like yes this is King “I Killed A Werewolf With Nothing But My Teeth And The Power Of Love” but he’s also Prince “I Rap Battled With Sauron And Lost” and Lord “I Befriended Men and Dwarves Before It Was Cool”

Angrod: of all his siblings i think he’s the most… Angry Boy. he has a temper, but he’s also married with a kid (I subscribe to the Orodreth Angrodion version of canon). i think he’s the ‘oh my god why can’t any of you be NORMAL’ brother. BOTH his mother name and his father name are derived from the word for ‘iron’ - he’s got an iron personality, very strong-willed and stubborn. i also hc that he’s the only arafinwean who has Earwen’s silver hair.

Aegnor: a hopeless romantic. the dreamiest arafinwion (and that’s including artanis!). very particular about his hair (which is a WILD canon detail that i love sjdfhdk) but also has terrible fashion. his head’s always in the clouds, he’s a daydreamer, but he’s also incredibly loyal and a really good friend. he almost always listens to his heart over his head - and the fact that he and andreth never marry is the One Time he listened to logic over emotion, and that haunts him forever.

Galadriel: almost as much of a genius as Feanor and almost as humble about it, which is to say, not at all. she’s proud and stubborn and full of herself, especially in her youth - she’s also gorgeous and smart and right a lot of the time, which doesn’t help her ego. by the time she’s become Lady of Lothlorien she’s been through a lot and is much more humble and wise, but i think that comes not just from her experiences but also from being married to Celeborn the Wise. i think he balances her out very well tbh. (my favorite Galadriel characterization EVER is from this fic by @nerdanelparmandil, check it out!!)

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Finrod: I ship Finrod with anything that moves tbh….. I see him as super super gay, he and Amarie were mutual beards which is why she didn’t follow him to Endore. i am a Known Slut for Finrod/Turgon in particular, they’re kind of endgame for me, but also @raisingcain-onceagain​ has converted me to Finrod/Edrahil!! And while the Nargothrond Disaster Trio are in no way shape or form HEALTHY, i really really enjoy Celegorm/Curufin/Finrod content, that dynamic is delicious. i can also get down on Maedhros/Fingon/Finrod, though not really in a serious way. PLUS Finrod/Beor is very good, as is Finrod/Barahir and Finrod/Beren(/Luthien if we’re feeling spicy), and you KNOW he got busy with some dwarves! I just think he’s very free with his feelings and desires, especially after coming to Beleriand, and he takes full advantage of his freedom and position of authority to get what he wants. (not necessarily in a weird power dynamics way, though he’s into that kind of kinky shit too probably, i mean more in ‘it’s my kingdom i get to make the rules and i say No Homophobia and No Slutshaming’) - and I’m super happy to multiship with Finrod, there are verses where he’s fucking everyone and verses where he’s pining over Turgon and verses where he never even thinks about anyone other than Edrahil and etc etc etc. there’s probably even verses where he and Sauron get up to some funky shit!

Angrod: I don’t have a lot of headcanons about him and Eldalote. She has a Sindarin name, so maybe she came with him to Middle-earth - or maybe not, and he just missed her so much that he wouldn’t shut up about her and so her name was Sindarized to Edhellos. Either way I think they had a very strong relationship that ended in tragedy one way or another. I’ve also seen some fun Angrod/Caranthir enemies-to-lovers stuff, which I can get into, but I think Caranthir is aro so it’s not really my main hc.

Aegnor: i mean how can you NOT ship him and Andreth??? that relationship is just….so tragic and heartbreaking and beautiful. I like the theory that Gil-galad was their child, and he was given to Orodreth to raise because Andreth couldn’t care for an elfling and Aegnor couldn’t publicly claim a son out of wedlock. But also verses where they are just tragically pining after one another are beautiful in their own way. My headcanon is that the thing keeping them apart was less about the war going on and more about Aegnor fearing to lose her - but then he actually dies before her, and Andreth has to live with that pain. (idk if that works out timeline wise but. yeah)

Galadriel: Meladriel is very good and I enjoy that - I’ve also seen some great Galadriel/Luthien and even a Galadriel/Feanor fic I enjoyed. BUT overall i really love that she chose to marry Celeborn, a wise “dark elf” even when she’s completely out of his league - he balances her very well, and I don’t buy depictions of her walking all over him. she cares about him and he’s really good for her!

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Finrod: I ship Finrod/Turgon but also WHAT a great friendship they have!! I love that they go adventuring together :) And Finrod, Maedhros, and Fingon are so fun to imagine growing up together! Plus there’s his relationship with his nephew Orodreth, who he clearly adores, and also the fact that he’s still buddies with the Feanorians even after the first kinslaying (at Alqualonde! his home! where his mom is from!) and he’s so excited to meet new people from the Sindar to the Edain to the Dwarves. Finrod’s just EVERYONE’S friend and i appreciate that!!

Angrod: ….what if he and Caranthir used to be really close, like they are similar ages and grew up together, but then Something Happened and they started hating each other later on. that would be Very fun. also, he and Aegnor were lords together over the same land and died together, which implies they were very close - close like Celegorm and Curufin!

Aegnor: Again, he and Angrod were Best Bros which is great. I also think he’s probably beloved by Andreth’s people, he’s just this huge elf man they all kind of adopted and he’s so honored that they love him so much!

Galadriel: Melian!! obviously!! she stayed in Doriath specifically to learn from her, which is super neat. and then Gandalf in the later ages, i love whatever they have going on in the movies especially. i also think she and Celebrimbor had a weird rival-friendship i the second age, they’re both geniuses but from opposite sides of the family feud…except the family feud has killed pretty much everyone BUT them, so they come together to mourn that.

My unpopular opinion about this character

(this turned into more of ‘what are their negative personality traits’ than ‘unpopular opinions’ but whatever…)

Finrod: i’m sure he did his best but….when he was king of nargothrond he was still gallivanting all over the place. orodreth was probably More In Charge from before he was officially king…

Angrod: he’s a grade-A asshole. just a dick. mean as shit and holds grudges forever. really annoying to be around.

Aegnor: a dumbass. always listens to his heart and gets in trouble for it, until the one time he listens to his head and regrets it forever.

Galadriel: would make an EXCELLENT villain. ‘all shall love me and despair’ ? come on yall. if it had been HER versus sauron instead of Finrod (and…considering she was probably friends with Luthien, it very well could have been) i think she may have won, and im just imagining Sauron working for her, and the second and third ages going very differently with her being a Queen who everyone loves until they look back and realize she’s been corrupted and turned evil.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

so i think canon did mostly a good job with them SO some of these are some AUs!!!

Finrod: …if he had managed to convince Celegorm and Curufin to help with the Silmaril quest–the war could have ended before the Nirnaeth, maybe. or at least gone very differently.

Angrod: im gonna physically fight tolkien over giving us practically NOTHING on the wives of various characters - tell me more about Eldalote you coward!!!!

Aegnor: JUST MARRY ANDRETH PLEASE. i’m a slut for interspecies relationships and the fact that this one is male elf/female human is SO good and frankly unprecedented in Tolkien’s works. PLEASE i need more!!!

Galadriel: FUCK that evil!Artanis AU would be REALLY cool and sexy, wouldn’t it?

[sproutspright]

Burning

Pairing: Mark x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: mentions of drugs and alcohol, language, fingering, implied sex

Word Count: 4.3k

Song Rec: I Don’t Think I Can Do This Again- Mura Masa, Clairo

A thousand heartbeats filled the room, but only the bass of the music reverbated inside of you. For a moment, you were afraid your heart had stopped beating, but you continued to breathe erratically as you sat on the leather couch cushion, taking in your surroundings. You had been to parties in high school, but not quite like this one. Your friend had dragged you out of the house, just days after moving in together, saying something about christening your freedom. It was true that you had lived under a strict household your entire life until now, and for that very reason you felt as though you stuck out terribly. Something which you hated the most. The people here were not like you. They flung around carelessly at strangers, talking as they sipped (or chugged) the contents of their red solo cups. Some even messed around with substances you briefly recognized from school assemblies on the dangers of drug abuse. Although you knew this kind of thing went on, being in the middle of it shocked you to your core. So much that you had already lost track of your friend, and had become trapped on a large white leather couch, a pair of party goers making out on the opposite end to you.

It all made your head spin, and you wondered how long you’d last in a place like this. Your eyes wandered the crowd, wondering what these people were like in the light of day. One had a beer box on their head, and another was slinking up the stairs, arms wrapped around two girls in tight dresses. But your eyes halted at the sight of one, sweeping black hair and dark eyes fixed upon a pretty girl with blonde curly hair. He looked so engrossed in whatever it was she was saying, you began to feel embarrassed looking at him. You looked down into your drink, taking a small sip of the bitter liquid. As your head rose up, suddenly his gaze had turned to you. Now you could feel the strain of your heart as a blush crept onto your cheeks. You quickly looked down again, tapping your foot and hoping he had continued his conversation with the girl. But as you looked up again, they had disappeared, and you sighed in relief.

“Mind if I join you?” a low voice sounded from above you, and you looked up to see him, standing there as though you had somehow summoned him. He wore all black, sporting a sleek leather jacket, looking as though he had jumped out of a magazine.

“Uh- yeah,” you scooted to make room for him, but he sat beside you, his knee against yours.

“What’s your name?” his eyes were curiously traveling your body, and you wanted to hide your face, which had now turned a deep rose color.

“Y/n,” you swallowed, taking a sip of your drink, your hand trembling slightly, “And you?”

“Mark,” he stated, keeping his eyes fixed on you as you struggled to hold your composure. His large dark eyes surrounded by sharp features commanded your attention.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” he continued, wrapping his arm around the edge of the couch.

“Well, I guess I’m pretty new to the area,” you admit, although it was painfully obvious.

“Ahh, I thought so,” Mark smirked, “You looked kind of lonely over here.”

“Well, I was sort of abandoned so I guess that doesn’t surprise me,” you quipped, looking around for your friend. She had been so excited to take you here, it left you bitter that she had so easily ditched you.

“I’m sorry, do you want me to help you find your…” Mark left the question blank, waiting for you to confirm what sort of relation you had to said deserter.

“Friend,” you replied shortly, “Although I’m not sure about that anymore.” Mark chuckled warmly, looking at you sympathetically. You returned a small smile, only because his laugh was so contagious.

“Should we just leave then?” he suggested, laughter still threatening to spill from his throat again. You couldn’t help but feel your mood begin to shift at his elation.

“Are you serious?” you look around, wondering if it were a good idea to leave with a complete stranger. Though the chaos around you was convincing enough.

“Let’s get out of here,” Mark rose up, his hand stretched out in offering. You hesitated a moment before taking it, feeling him gently pull you off of the couch. The rush in your head as your feet hit the floor was a telltale sign that you had more to drink than you thought. Perhaps from your nerves at being so out of your element. Heads turned as you both stepped outside, the cool night air like a salve to your hot skin. You realize your hand is still in his grasp, but you don’t move it away. His fingers entwined become a solid stability for the uneasiness burning inside your stomach.

“Right here,” Mark stops in front of a sporty red car, twirling the key ring around his finger. You blink, looking back through the windows of flashing lights and smoke. You weren’t sure if you were doing something wrong, but being away from the party had felt more right than any decision you could have made that night. He opened the door for you and you sat inside, the leather interior groaning under your weight.

“Where are we going?” you ask as he situates himself in the drivers seat.

“You’ll see,” Mark smiles and the scenery becomes a blur as you're carried away into the night, the lights of the city streaming past like smudges of paint. You both talk amicably, conversation flowing like a steady stream as you reveal bits and pieces of yourself. If you had been told the day before you would have been half drunk, in the car of a strange guy, and talking about yourself, you’d never believe it. But in the moment, you didn’t pay mind to how out of character it was. This new feeling became a spark, igniting in your chest until you found more ways to keep it alight.

Before you knew it, he had stopped the car inside the greenish glare of a parking garage. You sat in confusion as he got out and opened the door for you, a little smile playing on his lips.

“Where are we?” you questioned as he helped you out of the car. Luckily you had declined your friend’s offer to wear heels to the party.

“I’m kind of hungry, so I thought I’d take you to this nice ramen spot in town,” Mark said as he kept a grip on your hand. It slightly annoyed you how excited it made you feel. Your echoed footsteps faded as you exited the car garage and onto the street. Tall buildings towered above you, filled with people you didn’t know but were suddenly curious about. The smell of exhaust and cigarette smoke hung in the air like a fog.

“It's really close by, just around the corner,” Mark lead the way as you stared in wonder at the city you had only heard about from your far away suburban hometown. The fact that you were here with one of the most charming boys you had ever met further drove your excitement.

At the lanterned doorway hung a red curtain, billowing in the slight breeze. The rich smell of broth and grease beckoned. Mark lifted the curtain for you to enter, earning an enthusiastic greeting from the staff. You both sat near the back, excited to taste exactly what you were smelling.

“Definitely get the spicy one,” he pointed at your menu as you became overwhelmed with options, “That’s what I always get.”

“I’ll just try some of yours then,” you shrug and continue looking. A loud clanging in the kitchen turns your attention, and you see Mark’s gaze on you as he slowly moves his head, seemingly too distracted to have noticed. You blush furiously as you look back at your menu, propping it up further to hide your face. This earns a chuckle from him and you blush further.

“Sorry, you’re too pretty not to look at,” Mark confesses, averting his eyes.

“Pretty? I’m not trying to be pretty,” you cower shyly behind the laminated booklet. You definitely had never strove to reach such a standard, and had told yourself that it didn’t matter either way.

“You don’t have to try,” he laughed, “you just are.”

“Well I’d rather not, thank you very much,” you continued to hide your face, now hot with embarrassment. But that didn’t stop Mark from his admiring gaze, resting his chin in his palm.

“And you’re funny too,” he laughed.

After your food came out, you eagerly delved into your bowl. The warm broth soothed your stomach, which still burned with alcohol. The rosiness of Mark’s cheeks as he slurped his spicy ramen made your heart flutter.

How cute.

“What?” he questioned, his doe eyes looking concerned as he wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Nothing,” you chuckled, “you just look thirsty.”

“Hey, I can handle anything baby,” he said with a glint in his eye before coughing and reaching for a glass of water. You tried to stifle a laugh as you heard the bell above the door chime at the arrival of new customers. Mark’s playful demeanor turned icy as he eyed the four men in the doorway. You turned to look at the men, who hadn’t noticed the both of you tucked into the back corner. There was nothing distinctive about them in particular. They looked like average college guys. All except for one, who had several bandages on his face. Though most of his expression was hidden, the venom in his eyes said enough.

“Hey y/n, what do you say we get some fresh air?” Mark said to you, careful to keep his voice low. You turned and looked at him, his features becoming hardened. Were those men dangerous?

“You!” one of the men spotted Mark, who had already thrown cash on the table and had grabbed your hand.

“Lets go!” Mark led you out of the restaurant as one of them had tried to grab your sleeve.

“Come back here motherfucker!” you heard them shout as you both ran across the street, thankful that traffic had been stopped. The wind enveloped your face, hair flying behind you like a wild flame.

“Mark, what’s going on?”

“I sort of pissed those guys off a while back,” he admit, keeping a tight grip on your hand as you tried to keep up with his pace. You wondered what he possibly could have done to garner such hostility.

“Don’t worry, they won’t follow us too far!” Somehow his words made you feel more anxious. You were happy you hadn’t been able to finish your food, or you might have thrown up in the street. You couldn’t say you were athletically inclined, so the running left you more than out of breath as Mark finally slowed his pace.

“Okay,” he huffed, “Pretty sure we lost ‘em. You okay?” You nodded, your hands on your knees as your breath heaved.

“I think I just- worked off all that ramen,” you panted and he laughed, taking your hand and leading you down the sidewalk, his hair sticking to the back of his neck slightly. You didn’t talk for a few minutes, just listening to the bustle of the city and taking in the different faces that passed you by. Mark’s hand felt like an anchor now more than ever. You hoped he wouldn’t stop at any opportunity.

“So what happened back there?” you finally asked, your curiosity overcame you. Mark looked at you before his eyes drifted off to the sky, sighing and ruffling his hair with his hand.

“Well, I kind of broke that guy’s face,” he said bashfully.

“You what?!”

“It’s not what you think,” he laughed, “I was at their party and got too drunk and ended up getting sick on the floor. He ended up slipping and landing on the floor, which happened to be concrete by the way. It was sort of like an industrial loft type thing.”

“Hold up,” you interrupted, “You broke some guy’s face because he slipped on your puke?”

“Well...yeah,” Mark sighed, clearly embarrassed. You couldn’t help yourself as you burst into laughter at the thought of something so ridiculous. All this time you had thought maybe he was involved in something serious instead of a silly accident.

“He really fell that hard?” you continued through your laughter, holding your torso as you bent over slightly.

“Hey come on, I feel really bad,” he grumbled, avoiding your teasing gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you began to calm down, “I’ve just never heard of something like that before. They must be pretty mad at you.”

“Yeah well it’s not really all my fault, but how do I tell that to someone with a broken face?”

“I guess you’re right,” you squeezed his hand sympathetically. He returned your gaze, a small smirk crept to his lips.

“I mean, it is kind of funny.”

Though you had only known Mark for a total of four hours, you felt as though it was somehow a reunion with a good old friend. His presence was so comfortable and effortless you hadn’t realized the time or anything at all. You were in a different world with this person. One you knew you wanted to be in for as long as you could. There wasn’t a lot you knew about him, but you had come to recognize his intense dynamic, an overflowing aliveness that seemed to burn within him so strongly that it made your heart ache. This was someone who didn’t need to know what they wanted, because life would always be a gift to them. A soul that illuminated all the shadows within your own, until you were filled with nothing but warmth. It was as exciting as it was terrifying, that he was capable of invoking such feelings in you that you didn’t know you craved so badly before. You were so afraid to be recognized before because of the shame your parents had instilled in you early on. But all of that seemed to have shattered. You wanted to live. You wanted to do big things. You wanted love and heartbreak. Everything that made up humanity itself, you suddenly knew you had wanted to be a part of it all along.

“Hey Mark,” you interjected as he lead you across the bridge above the river, the lights of the city rippling through the water's reflection. You hadn’t even thought about where you were going, and it was apparent that he didn’t either.

“Yeah?” he replied, catching a glimpse of you before you turned your head to the water below.

“Are you afraid of anything?” He stopped and leaned against the railing of the bridge, looking up at the clouded orange sky.

“I’m afraid of those guys somehow catching up to us,” he chuckled, and you nudged him.

“No really. Aren’t you afraid of anything?” Somehow you didn’t want to know the answer, and were unsure of why you were even asking.

“Well, I’m kind of afraid that I haven’t quite convinced you yet.”

“About what,” you responded, perplexed. Mark turned to you, leaning his arm against the rail to draw closer to you. Your heartbeat began to quicken its pace.

“Being with a guy like me,” he answered, searching your eyes for any sort of confirmation. You didn’t expect him to say that and looked down, playing with your hair nervously.

“I don’t know, I’d probably disappoint you. I’m not that exciting,” you muttered, internally screaming because he had just revealed that he wanted you and you had no idea how to take that. Someone as special as Mark wanted to be with you? You didn’t think you had much to offer for him.

“I think you like to think that y/n,” Mark mumbled, catching your hair and tucking it behind your ear, “but you’re the only one who wanted to leave that party with me. I think you just hide behind the premise of being a wallflower to protect yourself. But I don’t want to hurt you, I just want to know you.” You had unknowingly become so close to Mark that you could feel his breath across your skin. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to cry and go home or kiss him. He had figured you out so quickly, and here you were still enthralled by the mystery of Mark. You figured it was too late to undo whatever spell had already been cast.

“Did I say too much?” he breathed, but you shook your head and wrapped your arms around his neck. Slowly, you brought your lips closer together until they crashed into each other like two waves. You felt goosebumps prickle from beneath your clothing as his lips melted in yours, one hand against your neck and the other on the small of your back, pulling you closer. His kisses were gentle but fevered and you wanted to savor them like a fine wine. Nothing came close to this feeling, as though you had reached the top of the summit. It was too sweet a moment to understand.

What proceeded became a blur to you. Your eager eyes staring into his, your footsteps echoing on the streets, his hand guiding you through his doorway, and then his lips leading you to his couch. You tried to remember how you had gotten here, your insistence on finishing your food you had left at the restaurant, to his hesitant offer to cook for you in his apartment kitchen. Although you really did feel quite hungry, the both of you knew why you had wanted to come here. You sort of wondered at it too. It was something you’d never done before, or had even wanted to. But you desperately hungered for the fire he had set inside of you. It burned brighter as his hands crept lower from your neck to your chest.

Every move you made felt so foreign to you, but it only fueled your excitement. You wanted to feel every part of him, holding onto him as though he would suddenly disappear. Mark nuzzled his face into your neck and began to suck at the skin lightly. It made you shiver and grip onto his shoulders a little tighter. You couldn’t stand his clothes in the way of his skin and began to help him shimmy out of his jacket. Mark looked at you as if to ask if you were still okay. But the alcohol had subsided and now he was the only thing you were truly drunk on.

Understanding his unspoken words, you lifted your shirt over your arms, much to Mark’s amazement. As he gazed at your half clothed figure, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again. Your lips held a much more heated determination than before, and Mark slipped his hands around your sides, feeling across your back until the straps of your bra barricaded his motions from your skin.

“Take it off,” you whispered in his ear, your own words shocking you. You felt his hands fumble behind you before it quickly fell into your lap. The warmth of his tongue against your breast earned a gasp from you as his hands lowered from your hips to the hem of your black jeans. He unbuttoned them and you shrugged them off your body, suddenly aware of the fabric of his couch against the backs of your thighs.

“Do you want me to keep going?” Mark rasped, his words tickling against your ear.

“Yes, keep going Mark,” you whimpered quietly, almost embarrassed by how desperate you sounded. He chuckled lightly and found your lips again, his hand rubbing against your center. You pulled his shirt from over his head and tossed it aside, your hands greedily touching whatever skin you could until you had signaled him to pull off his jeans too. Now he stood above you, eyes completely glassed over in lust and just the sight of him with his hair slightly tousled made you ache. The less clothing between you, the more feverish you had become.

Mark slipped two fingers inside of you, earning a pleased yelp from you as you began to stroke him through his boxers. He was much harder than you had thought he would be, and you shivered in anticipation. His fingers began to work faster as he rubbed your clit with his thumb. You began to feel a rising of tension in your lower belly as you moaned. You arched your back and Mark took the opportunity to suck on your breast as one hand supported your lower back. The friction became too much as your orgasm spilled over you, grasping his arms and bucking your hips as you moaned in complete pleasure.

Mark pulled his fingers from you and rested his hand on your hip, laying his head on your chest as you came down from your high. Both of you were breathing heavily, although you knew Mark had yet to find release. Instead of the tension subsiding between you, it only intensified as you imagined how much further you could go. Your conscience was silent as you let the scenario play in your head, the feeling of Mark’s skin further escalating your arousal. No it wasn’t something you saw yourself doing as soon as you had stepped outside your apartment tonight. But you no longer cared what others might think. Somehow, he had coaxed out of you what was already there. You only needed to follow your own rules from now on.

“Hey,” you whispered, his head still on your chest, “Can we move to the bed?”

“Are you tired?” Mark lifted his head, seeming not at all bothered by the prospect.

“No,” you smirked, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing yourself against him, “Just wanted something more comfortable.” With that, Mark rose from the couch and lifted you bridal style as you yelped playfully. He carried you through his bedroom door and carefully set you on his sheets. His eyes never left your body as he crawled up to meet your lips, arms at either side.

“Better?” Mark asked as his hips pressed into yours.

“Much,” you mumbled through a kiss, feeling yourself completely surrender beneath him. It didn’t seem possible, but every touch felt magnified more than before. You’d never been with someone so vocal, whose sole purpose seemed not to rush, but to please you as much as possible. You couldn’t bear to reach the end, to forego such an absolute euphoria. But as soon as his name left your lips, you had reached your limit. As you both caught your breath, suddenly enchanted by eyes filled with wholeness and wonder, you sealed the moment with a kiss. One that felt as warm as syrup spilling lazily over pancakes. There was nothing left to say, at least with words. It didn’t matter if this was the beginning or the end. You couldn’t spare thought for even a second, afraid that you’d lose the connection to the present, to this feeling of freedom.

Mark’s eyes began to droop low, his arm resting across your hip. You counted the breaths before he fell asleep, but you didn’t feel like joining him yet. His still, sleeping face was so beautiful but so vulnerable that you had to look away. Suddenly, your ringtone from your pants pocket in the living room began to chime, and you quickly got up to quell the noise before Mark woke up.

Looking at the illuminated screen, your friend's name appeared across the screen, demanding your reception. With an annoyed sigh, you tossed on Mark’s shirt from the floor, unable to locate your own. The phone continued to chime, and you hurriedly found the door to the balcony and opened it as you answered.

“Where the hell are you y/n?!” she yelled impatiently. You held the phone away from your ear while she calmed down.

“I’m um, at Mark’s place,” you said in a low voice. You stared out into the vastness of the city and began to feel tired.

“Mark?! He’s a total asshole y/n! Why didn’t you come get me?!”

“He seems pretty nice to me. What does it matter?”

“Has he fucked you yet?” she accused. You wondered if she was being overprotective, or if you had detected a tone of jealousy in her voice. It didn’t matter what his intentions were, because you had already established your own.

“Doesn’t make any difference,” you sighed exasperatedly, “I’m having fun, and you weren’t there for me. So I’ll see you tomorrow okay? Or I guess later.”

“Are you seriously-”

“Goodbye,” you cut off and quickly hung up. You felt a little guilty for being so short with her, but you began to fear that she had only wanted you around to keep herself above you. It seemed you had a lot more to learn about yourself as much as other people.

Mark’s arms engulfed you from behind and he lowered his chin onto your shoulder.

“Aren’t you cold out here?” his voice sounded heavy and the corners of your mouth turned a bit at its boyishness.

“Not anymore.”

[ka-chaaow]

RUMORS | KUROO TETSUROU X OC

fluff; Kuroo x OC, slightly suggestive

Part One | Part Two 

“You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you Mikasa?” 

Mikasa studied the worried expression painted across her brother’s face. The two sat on the edge of the school roof, overlooking a small greenhouse. Everyone at Nekoma knew Mikasa as the delinquent third-year who had a pretty bad reputation. Always falling asleep in class, running late, heck, at one point a rumor even started about how she was secretly dating one of the faculty members. 

Her brother Jun, on the other hand, was the epitome of a ‘model student’. Popular, charming, and not to mention good-looking. He was athletic and even at one point was a member of the Nekoma volleyball team - that is, up until an accident last summer prevented him from continuing his season. Mikasa continued to sip her juice pouch, trying to avoid the piercing stare of her brother.

“You’ll be attending university next year, Mikasa, you need to start-”

“I’m not going to university, Ni-san.”

Mikasa finally returned her brother’s gaze with a glint of protest in her eyes. She had no intentions of continuing her education. The only thing on her mind was finishing high school. University just wasn’t for her.

“I need to work to help you and mom.” his sister continued. “Nothing more.”

Jun thought for a moment. His eyebrow twitched. He lunged at his sister and grabbed her cheeks, squeezing her face. 

“WHEN DID YOU BECOME COOL, SIS?!”

Mikasa looked off to the side, ignoring her brother’s outburst. 

“You’re being overly doting again, bro…”

The bell rang to signal the beginning of the new hour and students began to flood the halls. Mikasa and Jun made their way off the roof and over to their next class. “Must be nice to walk with a friend,” Mikasa thought to herself as she looked at the flocks of girls laughing down the hall.

It wasn’t as though Mikasa never had friends. Back in middle school she typically managed to make a decent amount of friends. She and her family were constantly moving from town to town, however. Because of this, Mikasa had to give up on the concept of “friends” altogether. Gone were the days where she could ask a friend to finish homework together or save her spot in at lunch. Combined with the fact that all of Mikasa’s free time was spent at her part-time job, her third year at Nekoma so far had been an exceedingly lonely experience.

As the final bell echoed through the halls, in-class sessions came to an end and students hurried to their afternoon club activities. It was typically her routine to meet up with Jun after classes and walk home together straight away. Today however, her eager twin found himself instead taking a detour after running into the team’s libero, Morisuke Yaku.

Jun would often reminisce from time to time with the libero about their first two years on the team together. Mikasa didn’t mind. In cases like these, she would just wait near the second gym where the boys volleyball club held their practices until her brother finished up. 

Mikasa managed to find a secluded spot all to herself. Normally if she ever needed to study or have a smoke, she found this particular spot near the gym to be fairly private. It also helped to kill time waiting for Jun.

It had been at least few months since Mikasa and Jun’s bicycle accident. Although Mikasa emerged from the collision practically unscathed, her brother suffered much more serious injuries - injuries that prevented him from rejoining the Nekoma volleyball club. Mikasa couldn’t help but feel at fault for what happened to Jun.

I mean, she was the one pedaling the bike at the time, and when the speeding car suddenly turned the corner, she couldn’t help but swerve and crash onto the sidewalk. 

Her brother was diagnosed with cervical radiculopathy. He had extreme weakness in his limbs and because of this, had to undergo intense therapy. When the time came to decide whether he was going to rejoin the club during his third and final year at Nekoma, he refused. From time to time he would often try to convince Mikasa to join a club activity to make more friends, but she too refused. 

As her memories flooded across her mind, Mikasa reached into her school bag and pulled out a lighter and cigarette. It was a terrible habit, but after everything that unfolded this past summer she found comfort in it. As she brought the cigarette to her lips, she was suddenly greeted by a voice from behind. 

“Can I help you?” 

Mikasa turned her head around to identify the owner of the voice, her eyes landing on what was probably the worst case of bed hair she had ever seen.

The owner of the terrible hair smiled at her lazily. He was leaned up against the outside wall of the gymnasium with his arms crossed. She could feel his eyes following her up and down. His gaze traveling from her skirt that was purposely rolled up, revealing her toned thighs, to her white button-up that was bunched up to her elbows. His eyes stopped for a moment when he came to a few missing buttons at the top of her shirt, revealing a bit of her chest. The towering boy grinned as he finally captured Mikasa’s stare. He remained silent, awaiting her response.

“I’m good here, thanks.” 

Mikasa said casually as she turned back around to light her cigarette. Although her eyes landed on him for a split second, Mikasa immediately recognized the boy to be Tetsuro Kuroo, captain of the boys’ volleyball club’s and middle blocker. She recalled frequently seeing him at Jun’s practices and games. He didn’t speak much at games, but she knew he had quite the following of female fans. Hardly anyone intimidated the captain, let alone captured his curiosity. The handsome captain hardly entertained anything other than volleyball.

“It wasn’t a question.” continued Kuroo as he stepped toward her with his hands in his pockets. Mikasa could feel a chill shoot up her spine just by the pitch of his voice. She didn’t let it show however, and turned back around to face him. There was a hint of uneasy tension in the air. The middle blocker’s presence was definitely intimidating, and any normal person would feel obligated to crawl into a hole.

His eyes traced back to the cigarette in her hand. “That’s a nasty habit.” he teased lowly as he noticed her piercing blue eyes. He paused suddenly, recognizing her to be the sister of his former teammate. "Wait, you’re Matsunaga’s number one fan, aren’t you?“

Mikasa blinked, “You some kind of stalker or something?” she questioned him bluntly. Kuroo stood up straight, caught slightly off guard by Mikasa’s sharp response. He couldn’t help but laugh cautiously. 

He was well aware Mikasa Matsunaga was known for her witty nature, paired  together with an unfavorable reputation. She would often stroll into class late and most of her time consisted of her either dozing off in homeroom or texting on her phone. Despite this, however, her marks always managed to be top of the class.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your rooster hair in just a minute, Kuroo-san.” She replied as she captured his stare, “Seriously, do you style that hair? Or do you just wake up like that?” she teased back.

Kuroo blinked and flashed a smug grin. She sure was spicy.

“You know, the penalty for smoking is suspension, right Matsunaga-san?”

Mikasa frowned. What was he implying? She remained quiet as the captain continued to speak at a volume no louder than a whisper. “So, what will you do to keep me from reporting you?” He questioned, his eyes falling back to her slightly unbuttoned blouse.

Mikasa straightened her shoulders and placed her hands on your hips. “So, you want my body or somethin’?” she fumed, immediately assuming Kuroo Tetsurou was just another person quick to succumb to the rumors. Perhaps Mikasa’s line of thinking was what led her face to twist into one of utter confusion when she heard Kuroo roar out in laughter.

“Your body?!” he wheezed between laughs, hands now clutching onto his stomach to further communicate how much of a joke he found her bold statement. Mikasa’s eyes widened as Kuroo leaned in closer until he was inches away from her face. 

A cocky huff escaped beneath his breath. He paused for a moment, then stood up straight as if appearing to now be deep thought. “That sounds tempting, however…” he began as he tapped his chin, “You used to be quite a regular at our volleyball games, didn’t you Matsu-san? You probably have a good understanding of the game since your brother played…“

Kuroo looked over at Mikasa with a grin. “Be our manager.” he finished off with a shrug of his shoulders.

Now it was Mikasa’s turn to laugh. "You’re a sadist, aren’t you?” she replied as she let out a mocking laugh, now it was her turn to lean in closer to his face —a mysterious twinkle in her eyes. “Sorry Captain, but I have no interest in that.”

Silence fell between them. 

“I’ll give you until tomorrow to make your decision.” He stated, breaking the silence that had settled. “Otherwise, I’ll have to go to the principal.” 

Mikasa frowned. Before she could utter back a witty response, they were greeted by the soft voice of Nekoma’s setter, “Kuroo, practice.”  

Kuroo turned to his long-time friend and nodded. As he turned back to face Mikasa…

-she was gone.

(a/n: Hello! This is my first HQ fic series and I hope you like it?? I hope you will continue to support as I continue on in this series. Thank you so much for reading!!)

[desperationandgin]

Market Price (Modern AU Outlander Fic; Jamie x Claire)

Chapter Five: Formal Date Night

Rated: M

Also Read on: AO3

Previous Chapter

Dates three and four (tapas and another farm lunch respectively) consisted of more easy getting to know you questions: First kisses (hers in Egypt when she was nine years old and his behind a barn at thirteen), first jobs (he’d always worked the farm which she decides is admirable; she worked at a bookstore in college which he’d called ‘predictable but respectable’) and the like. Date five, though, the ante has been upped.

Date five is dinner at a reservations-only restaurant, which means dressing up for the night in clothes that don’t exist in any sort of regular rotation. Geillis helpfully supplied the choice in venue absolutely means sex afterward and now, in nothing but scraps for underwear, Claire is changing the sheets on her bed, making sure that in the event they do come back to hers it looks at least halfway presentable and not as if she’s laid around in her time not with him eating crisps out of the bag while watching Netflix.

Christ, she’s a certified disaster.

As she looks at herself in the mirror, passing dress after dress in front of her body, she huffs and bites at the inside of her bottom lip as she tries to decide between little black dress A, B, or C. Throwing all three on her bed, there’s a hint of color in the very back of her wardrobe and she pushes everything aside until revealing a deep, merlot-colored dress that Claire most certainly didn’t buy. Pulling it out of the dry cleaning bag she reads the note pinned to the fabric and rolls her eyes.

Figured you had nothing sexy enough to get laid in so you can borrow mine. Don’t ruin it doing filthy things - G.

“You’re a terrible friend,” Claire mutters in jest before making adjustments to her underthings and tugging the dress on; thin straps, pulled in at the waist and hugging her hips with a very daring neckline. Not bad, Beauchamp. Frank had always liked her to be a bit more conservative, so while she has plenty of clothes for going out, there isn’t anything quite like this in her repertoire. There was an internal debate with herself, to leave her hair curly or straighten it, but Jamie seems to like tugging at her curls when they kiss (he finally had again, yesterday. Well, they full on made out until he had to go back to work after lunch) and she very much likes it. Curly it is, a bit of makeup, black heels and one last pep talk in the mirror.

She’s nervous in a way she hasn’t been in a long time; she was nervous when she went on her first date with Frank but it was different. She felt as though she had to impress him with her intellect. With Jamie, her nerves are in anticipation of him simply looking at her. Without fail, every time his eyes land on hers she feels as though she might break apart in a mix of want and need; it’s exhilarating and feels dangerous, in a good way. A perfect way.

When the sound of his knock finally fills her apartment, she makes herself wait to the count of five to steady her pulse before opening the door. What she wants to do is greet him, but what actually happens is a slight parting of her lips as she lets her eyes move over him, taking in the sight of Jamie filling her door frame. His hair is down as well, red curls that brush the back of his neck (curls she’d like to take her turn tugging), wearing a charcoal grey suit that she’s positive has never looked this good on any other human male alive. He’s wearing a watch that she’s sure she’s never seen him wear before; his cologne smells like cedarwood and something citrus, spicy. By the time she makes her way back to his eyes he’s staring at her, his gaze making her legs liquid as she reaches for the doorknob to steady herself.

Later, she’ll have no idea if he moved first or if she did, but their mouths crash together before she has time to process it. Her mouth opens to him and the sound she makes is a variation of a moan she’s positive has never come out of her before. When she takes her turn, tongue gliding over his, she can feel his hands grasp her waist, slowly walking her backward, door closing behind them. There’s a vague sense of the wall behind her back, but all she can feel is the way his fingers press in against her hips, the scruff on his face against her skin, his tongue pushing back against hers. Her own hands have moved against his back, pressing him close, pressing him to her, and it’s only for lack of air that she parts their lips. She needs a deep breath and feels her head hit the wall with a quiet thunk. Eyes closed, she wets her lips, feels his grip tighten for a moment and then relax.

“I’m sorry, Sassenach. I dinna ken what came over me. Just seeing ye in that dress was…”

“It was what?” she murmurs, dragging her eyes open to find him looking right at her.

“Inspirational.”

Claire laughs, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Well, I’m always glad to inspire. But we have dinner reservations.” She watches as he worries his bottom lip with his teeth, resists snagging that lip with her own teeth. “What are you thinking?”

He seems to hesitate before clearing his throat. “Only that food does no’ seem like what I want right at the verra moment.”

Going quiet and still, they stare at one another as what he’s implying sinks in, and she slides her hands up his back further. She waits to ask the question on her lips, instead, letting one hand glide to his hip, then move up his chest slowly. All the while, his eyes haven’t left hers, his lips millimeters away from her own when she does finally speak quietly. “Do you want me, Jamie?”

The response is immediate, a groan just before his lips crash against hers again. “Oh, God, yes. Christ, I wanted ye the moment we first met.”

Either she’s gullible or she’s that turned on because it works, and her hands push off his jacket, letting it fall in a heap on the floor. “Date number five is respectable, right?” she asks breathlessly, eager to feel his mouth against hers again.

“Oh, aye. Verra. Though, we did no’ actually go on the date.” he points out as his hands move up her sides then down again to curve around her backside.

“We’ll eat later,” she decides before kissing him again and this time, letting her fingers tangle in his curls, lips parting for him. He tastes like a hint of whiskey, nothing obtrusive, maybe a little sweetness, and whatever it is she’s lost to it, easily sinking into him even as her fingers reach for his tie, undoing it, letting it hang loosely around his neck.

“Ye have a bedroom, I assume?” he asks when he breaks away long enough to ask, lips pressing to her throat even as he confidently lifts her, hands sliding around to support her weight. The obvious place is down the hall so he begins a confident stride that way, assuming her hand waving in that general direction means to keep going.

She can’t think for the way it feels to be lifted into his arms and carried toward her room, but then they don’t make it and she hits a wall again, grunting into his mouth at the slight force.

“Sorry, sorry,” he pants out, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he kisses a line down her neck and across her chest.

It’s enough time for her to think, and she blinks her eyes open to look at him. “Condoms?”

“Aye,” is the correct and quick answer, though when he puts her down and pats his pockets, he frowns and then comes the string of Gaelic curses.

“...What?” she asks, nearly afraid to hear the answer, already telling herself there are other things they can do.

“I left them in my car. Never have much occasion to need them, ye ken, and they do expire. Or so I’ve been told, so I bought a new box.”

She doesn’t mean to laugh, truly, so her hand moves to cover her mouth before she looks at him. “Go get them. We’re using them,” she promises, not even realizing the implication of them, as if they’ll need more than one before he leaves her bed again. His leaving gives her a chance to push a hand through her hair, wetting her lips as she stands dumbly in the hallway, waiting for him.

She can’t believe she’s doing this. Fifth date. Fifth date in a week. Fifth date back to back. It makes her have to stifle a laugh that sounds slightly hysterical to her own ears as she removes her heels and finally moves out of the hallway and into her bedroom. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed when he returns, calling out softly after closing the door behind him. “Back here,” she calls, giving herself credit because her voice sounds less breathless than she thought it would. As soon as she sees him she can’t help her smile, taking the condoms to toss on the nightstand before standing, turning her back to him. “I need help with the zipper.”

There has been absolutely no alcohol consumed on her part but she feels drunk in a very pleasant, light-headed way as soon as she can feel him standing close behind her. Then his lips press against the back of her neck and all thoughts simply cease to exist as her mouth goes dry.

“I believe I can manage a wee zipper,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the back of her neck, nuzzling her skin a little before grasping the zipper and tugging it down slowly, until the dress sags in the front.

Turning to face him now, Claire swallows heavily and pulls her arms free of the dress before stepping out of it, nudging it to the side with her foot. By the way his neck and face seem to turn a new shade of red, her last minute decision to go bra-less was a good one. Moments go by as he simply stares, and finally, she feels just self-conscious enough to drag an arm over her chest. “Christ, will you say something already?” she half jokes, half pleads.

“Claire.” He says her name slowly, as if it’s the first time he ever has and he’s trying to get a feel for it in his mouth. “Ye have to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he tells her with so much sincerity that he sounds almost desperate.

“Have you had your eyesight checked recently?” she asks even as she flushes a little and ducks her head at the compliment.

“I ken beauty when I see it.” A hand reaches out to lightly drag a finger along the soft curve of her breast, both of them with notable hitches to their breath.

“I want to see you,” Claire murmurs quietly, stepping forward and meeting his gaze head on, eyes searching his before the subtle nod he gives has her hands pushing at his shirt and then fingers fumble at the button of his trousers, the zipper, until she’s able to push them down his hips, briefs coming down as well. That’s when she has to step back and look, very close to saying something until he speaks.

“Claire, there’s something ye need to ken before we go any further,” he breathes out, eyes on hers.

Her stomach flips a bit, unsure of what he could possibly say that he thinks would keep her from wanting him. What could change from the hallway to now? Nearly afraid of the answer, she holds her breath a bit, waiting for it as she watches him, bracing herself for something she can’t even fathom.

Jamie’s lips brush hers in a soft kiss before his forehead presses against hers. “I was in an accident years ago. I was caught under some farm equipment, nearly ground my back into nothing. The scars are ugly. Deep. More than one lass has decided it felt too strange to touch. I wilna hold it against ye if ye feel the same.”

She can tell by the way his shoulders tense, the way his eyes close, that he’s bracing himself, and she shakes her head before finding his mouth. “I don’t care about your scars, Jamie, whatever they are,” Claire manages as soon as she breaks away from the pull of his lips. “I’m glad you’re here with me. Grateful there are scars from healing so that you could be right here.” Kissing him again, her hands drift from his hips up his sides, then around his back where she can feel the rigid and rough terrain of him. He’s one large scar but her teeth tug at his bottom lip.

“If that’s the only confession, I would quite like to feel you touch me now.”

Relief makes him laugh as he thinks, for a moment, that he just might have to keep this woman. “Is that a formal request, then?”

“Uh-huh.” A very eloquent answer in response to his query as she steps forward, pushing him along until they’re at her bed and he’s sinking down. Moving over him, there’s a flash of a grin before he captures it with a kiss, his hands warm and strong as they move up and down her back.

“Did ye ken yer skin is like ivory, Sassenach?” he asks, voice touched with quiet awe as Jamie looks up at her, his blue eyes taking on a deep indigo color as want and need begin to make themselves known.

“No one’s ever told me that before,” Claire murmurs quietly, bending to press her lips to his throat. Beneath the cologne, he smells of sweet hay and earth and him. It’s enough to warrant a taste, lips sucking softly at his skin, pleased at the quiet hum of approval. Her lips drift, to his shoulder and a round, puckered scar there. “Another farming accident?” she asks quietly.

“Nae, only lads being eejits with bows in the woods. It’s from an arrow. I was eighteen and verra drunk when I let a friend, equally pissed, prove he could shoot an arrow through an apple on my head.”

“Oh. He missed.”

“Did he then? Must be why I have a wee scar,” he teases with a grin, shifting so that Claire is under him and his lips can press to the center of her chest. “I’ve never met someone so soft,” he murmurs.

When his lips find the soft curve of her breast, then kiss onward to a nipple, her back arches a bit. “I’ve never met someone who paid so many compliments,” she confesses quietly in return.

“I could write sonnets about ye,” he mumbles against her breastbone, nipple abandoned for now but only to shift focus on the other, giving it the same attention. Soon, though, his curiosity gets the best of him, and he begins a slow journey down her body, breath warm, feeling hers quicken when his tongue drags across the flat expanse of her stomach, a promise of something to come.

“Where are you going?” She hardly recognizes her own voice, one hand tangled in his curls as she tugs just a little, causing him to look up at her.

“Ye ken where. And unless ye have any objections, I’ll be on my way,” he states before kissing the crease of her inner thigh. He does look up though, needing to be sure this is alright, that it’s wanted.

Claire can’t remember the last time anyone did this for her, but she nods, too far gone to think about it. His head ducks, she tenses in anticipation, and then there he is, tongue warm and soft and driving whatever thoughts that lingered right out of her head. For a few moments, she can’t understand where the noise in the room is coming from until she realizes with a start that it’s her. Whimpers and moans cut through the otherwise quiet room until breathless panting joins in. She feels his hands slide up her hips, around to cup her close. Without hesitating, one long leg drapes over his shoulder and she feels his groan against the very heat of her. There’s a certain intimacy in this, more of a vulnerability in letting him between her thighs this way. It takes trust, and God help her because she’s only known him a few days, but she trusts him. She knows she could give him every part of her and he would do nothing but protect those pieces.

As his lips and tongue move, she feels two fingers join in and the cry that comes out of her is full of keening want, and she swears she hears herself whimper faster, but she’ll never remember later. Breathing heavily, both hands clutch at the side of his head, gripping tighter the higher her pleasure builds. There are few words of warning before she comes apart, his name leaving her mouth in a strangled gasp as every sense shatters and pleasure makes every nerve ending spark and flame. She’s vaguely aware of the way he kisses his way back up her body while she tries to remember how to breathe.

“Ye squeak when ye come, Sassenach.”

It’s so far from what she expected to hear that her eyes open, taking a moment to focus on his face hovering over hers before laughing breathlessly. “What?” She’s so pleasure-drunk that her accent comes out thick and heavy so that it sounds more like wot than anything more refined.

“I said ye squeak. And it’s verra cute, I like it.”

Claire looks at him and he’s so earnest that it makes her laugh again, one hand curving to the back of his neck. “I do not squeak. It was the bed frame.”

“Oh, weel, then yer bed frame is verra talented because it also moaned my name,” Jamie says with no hint of smugness, just amusement.

“I’m sure you make noises,” she rebuts, reaching for the condoms and pulling out one from the box. “Shall we see?”

“Aye, we should. Because I want to see what other noises ye make.” He snags her lips with his own, keeping his composure until her hand wraps around the hard length of him. However he thought she would feel is nothing compared to the actual touch of her, and Jamie’s head drops, eyes closing as she unwraps the condom, nimble fingers sliding it over him.

“I want you, Jamie,” she breathes out, raising her head just enough to kiss him deeply, able to taste herself faintly on his lips. It makes her fingers at the back of his head dig into his hair in anticipation. As soon as she feels the press of him, hard and wanting, the kiss is broken with a gasp, the same leg that once found a home over his shoulder going around his hip now. He sinks into her and her face presses to the side of his neck, feeling him shudder.

“Claire.” Every other word he can think of has melted away. There isn’t anything else, there’s only her and them and the way her body pulls him in. For a moment, he can do nothing but press his forehead to hers, eyes closed as one hand braces himself over her, the other gliding up from her hip in a slow, lazy path to cup her breast.

With a slow roll of her hips, encouraging him, they find a slow, exploratory rhythm together as her hands move over his back, over skin she isn’t sure feels anything because it’s so thick with scars. She grasps at him, holding on as if her life depends on it as she rocks against him and lets out a sharp gasp of approval when he pulls out completely, then thrusts back home fully, slowly. It’s a tease for both of them and she grins in satisfaction when he groans low in his chest. God, he’s strong above her; when her eyes open she can see the way his arms carry his weight easily while he moves. The way he sounds and feels is addicting and though her thoughts are hazy, she realizes she may have been right.

They’re using more condoms than just the one.

His thrusts change on the heels of that thought and she cries out sharply when pleasure explodes behind her eyelids, hands moving around to hold onto his backside, her voice groaning out a command of more, so he repeats the action, faster, harder. She feels his arms, strong and sure, lift her against her chest so that her face can once again find a home in the crook of his neck. She’s so close to his ear that she takes time to whisper around gasps. “I want to feel you.”

It’s a plea that needs no repeating as he moves with more urgency, practically crushing her to his chest. The angle has her pressing against him in a way that causes her fingernails to lightly dig into his skin, hips grinding shamelessly. She has no idea who comes when, but as their bodies collide again she hears nothing but him gasping her name, speaking words in Gaelic and then nothing but her own moans mingling with his. Eventually, their hips still, and with chests heaving, he sinks beside her. Both of them wind up on their sides, clinging as sweat dries and pools at the dip of her lower back. Head on his chest, Claire can hear the hammering beat of his heart, hears when it gradually begins to slow to its normal pace.

“You don’t squeak,” she finally says, opening her eyes to look at him.

“I told ye so.”

“You grunt.” The look on his face has her biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

“I dinna grunt. Like a caveman ye mean? Och, I’m offended, Claire.” He isn’t, and the way he leans in to kiss her might give it away.

“Yes, like a caveman, but I like it. I like the way you look and the way you feel,” she murmurs, jokes fading away as her face softens. “I like you.”

Jamie smiles tenderly at her, nose nuzzling at her shoulder as he lets those words roll around in his mind and press to his heart.

“I like ye too, Sassenach.”

Next Chapter

[nickblaine]

script notes part 2 (nick)

as promised here are my notes on the season 2 scripts i read, still with the heavy Nick bias. if you missed it, you can see my season 1 post here!

btw i did not write up the scenes that are already in the “script to screen” clips - like the ambulance scene, etc - since you can already see those for yourself.

uhh the writers get spicy with the love scenes in this season. felt like an erotic novel at times. i actually read the phrase “stroked his soft penis until it was hard” with my own eyes not once but twice... those table reads must’ve been a real treat 👀

June being rough with Nick wasn’t in the script, that was Lizzie. in the script Nick just kisses June and backs her up against a wall before they bone all day.

June told Nick all about the letters and how she got them during her time at the Globe, so he knows what they are when he catches her burning them later. (this wasn’t a cut scene, it’s just mentioned during said burning) also they apparently got really used to being a normal couple during that time, and going back to sneaking around is one of the hardest things June has to adjust to when she returns to the Waterfords.

June seeing Nick in the kitchen for the first time after she was caught was “like watching her life preserver float away”

when Aunt Lydia shows up at the Waterford house and makes comments about the baby’s father while Nick tries super hard to look casual - this is when Fred realizes the baby is actually his

Nick is worried sick about June “becoming Offred” again. when he asks Serena Joy to get June a different kind of doctor, he was acting entirely on his anxiety. this is what sets off Serena Joy’s jealousy aaaand...

Nick’s wedding was entirely Serena Joy’s idea. she just manipulates Fred into setting it in motion.

the wedding really did break Nick. him saying he’ll have a child of his own someday was not a dig at Fred, it was him “showing his belly to the alpha” and disclaiming their child 😭

June still thinks about Nick a lot. the scene where she walks into the kitchen and finds Fred grumpily eating a snack, she actually went in there hoping it was Nick.

Nick told June that he loves her because it’s why he can’t consummate his marriage (besides, of course, being hella grossed out by it) so it wasn’t just a random declaration with bad timing, it was basically “i can’t do this BECAUSE i love you”

during the consummation, good old “hole in the sheet” was not present in the script. also Nick thinks about June and touches himself before the actual act (see my first note 😳) then just pretty much closes his eyes and does it. he feels sick the whole time. i was trying not to scream in the library while reading this

there was nothing fishy about the weird scene with Pryce where Nick requests a transfer. it’s mostly dialogue again. but Nick was described as “shattered” (note that this is a word usually only used to describe June) by the consummation so he was apparently just panicking. this season put heavy emphasis on the breaking of Nick.

also the red center explosion was written from Nick’s perspective. he’s standing with the other drivers and about to light a cigarette when boom.

the loss of Pryce affected Nick because he saw him as “an ally and protector” (i feel like protector is an interesting choice of words)

June and Nick’s kiss at the hospital was mostly dialogue. all the touching and Nick wiping away her tears was Max and Lizzie.

June and Nick holding hands in 2x08 was also unscripted

Nick returns to his apartment stressing hard about June going to Fred’s office (where Serena Joy gets beaten) when Eden jumps him about the curtains

when Eden finds the letters and Nick gets pissed - “Nick assumes the role of patriarch with frightening ease” but he later gets mad at himself for it

the script does not clarify whether or not Eden read the letters so it must be irrelevant. this scene only brings the focus on Nick feeling overwhelmed and trapped in his own house.

when Nick is about to leave for Canada, it says he stays cold with Eden because he has not forgiven himself for scolding her

with all the Eden scenes there is a lot of “Nick doesn’t know what to say; chooses silence” going on

when Nick meets Luke - the only thing different from the “script to screen” clip is that when Nick tells Luke he’s just a driver, he pauses and adds that he lives above the garage with his wife. this is why Luke isn’t suspicious of his relationship with June.

Nick and June’s reunion after Canada was apparently the first time they had touched in months

June was unable to process the news about Luke, and Nick was “hit by the strength of this woman” gosh darniT

when he says “i love you” for the second time, June doesn’t respond because “it’s all too complicated to put into words”

Eden’s breakdown after kissing Isaac is described as a “teenage temper tantrum” and Nick was really sad for her but also 100% over his life at the moment 😬

when Nick is sitting alone flicking his lighter, he’s thinking about how he could’ve become a father that day 😭

Nick tearing up during the June/Hannah reunion was not in the script

Nick holds and comforts June as Hannah is leaving with the Martha, before Hannah runs back to her. i was surprised by this as there were still Guardians present. he also runs to her and drops to his knees in the snow to hold her again after Hannah is gone.

there is no mention of Nick in the script during the birth of their child. June is really worried for him at the beginning of this episode, but that’s it.

in the church when June starts leaking milk at the sound of Holly crying, Nick is “amazed and moved” by it while Fred is “repelled” because he’s trash

Holly is referred to only as Nichole from this point on and i really Hate it

in the Hawaii scene, Nick’s line is actually “the baby is so beautiful” but Max says “our baby” in the final cut 😭 bless you Max

Nick walked away from June’s comfort after Eden’s execution because he knew if he opened up to her he would break down

there was a cut scene where he goes back to his empty apartment and really does break down

when Rita and June are going through Eden’s belongings, there was a part where Nick is bringing the stuff in and gets sad looking at it. June holds his hand and finally gets to comfort him, right in front of Rita who’s just like “we been knew”

the “your girlfriend is a badass” scene was mostly dialogue. again, all the touching was Max and Lizzie.

the scene when Nick holds Holly is described in the script as “a real family portrait” to juxtapose Fred and Serena Joy’s family portrait 😭

June saying “i love you” to Nick was completely genuine, nothing in the script implies otherwise. Nick is described as speechless. this scene is written like a sort of happy ending for Nick and June in season 2, and mirrors the pregnancy scene in season 1.

Nick was not aware that June may escape in the last episode, but when he looked up at the house he had a gut feeling that she was going to do it.

some other random things i took note of:

when June is going through newspaper clippings at the Globe, there’s so much info about Gilead being dumped here. she listens to recordings on a tape and the script describes everything she is finding in detail. i was running out of time at this point so i’ll need to go back and take notes on this scene specifically because it’s super interesting.

during the false labor scene when Fred is entertaining commanders in his office, there is heavy emphasis on Commander Horace having a baby with his wife and the fact that he “hopes to make all commanders like Fred obsolete” so i think this may be revisited in season 3

Serena Joy was absolutely VILE during the 2x10 rape scene. even Fred feels guilt immediately afterwards and can recognize that June is a person. but Serena Joy was only upset that it was more difficult than she expected. June’s crying makes Serena realize she “might actually be a terrible person” which makes her feel weak, and the weakness makes her angry. the script goes on to say that she hates June for fighting back and making it harder than it needed to be. she even holds June down by her neck at some point. remind me again why anyone is stanning for a Serena Joy redemption??

also despite Serena Joy being complete rotten garbage, after June tells Emily “call her Nichole” she actually goes on to say “tell her about Serena, that she loved her” (instead of “tell her i love her”) because the writers apparently had amnesia while making season 2

after reading all these scripts my conclusion is that Nick/June appears to be endgame. it’s definitely NOT a lustful tryst, or a convenient affair. their whole story reads like an epic romance - season 1 especially - and Max and Lizzie added SO much depth and chemistry to their interactions when they didn’t have to. i can tell that the writers put real effort into shaping Nick into the ideal love interest for someone in June’s position, while Luke is more of an afterthought. they wouldn’t do all that if June was meant to give up Nick and go back to Luke in the end.

i think in the final cut of the show they tried to scale back the romantic aspects and put more focus on survival, but it’s still real. and yeah, the main reason i did this is because people are prone to interpreting Nick’s character wrong, even though Max is great at getting these nuances across. he shouldn’t be dismissed as a non-victim just because he happens to be a Guardian.

also, since these posts are picking up steam, if anyone has questions about something specific that i may not have mentioned, i’ll answer while the scripts are still fresh in my mind! i’ll be returning to the library at some point as well, so if there’s something you want me to look up, i will take note.

[nachtgraves]

KuzuHina Week - Day Four

Still the 17th for me so I’m not late. But here’s a continuation of dragon!fuyu, the dinner date! You can read the first part here or on ao3.

Title: Wine and Dine // AO3 Word Count: 2,333 Warnings/Tags: T. Alternate universe, dragon!fuyu, unresolved sexual tension, minato is now my default rando unimportant oc name apparently. Prompt: Alternate Universe

Hajime spends no less than an hour getting ready for his dinner with Fuyuhiko. An hour after a lengthy shower and his bed is covered in shirts and pants and ties. Fuyuhiko had sent him a text with a time and the name of the restaurant he made reservations for but that was all, so Hajime could do nothing more than look the place up. It’s a fancy steak place, four dollar signs and a dress code, reservations only. In the end, Hajime ends up calling Chiaki for advice and she tells him to go with the dark green shirt that brings out his eyes and black slacks and tie. The shirt is a bit tight, he’d filled out in his chest and shoulders since he’d bought it, but it’s nothing obscene. The pants will be hell to get off past his knees but they make his ass look admittedly good. He tames his hair as best he can and spritzes cologne he was gifted at some point but never used. Then he has to leave or he’s going to be late.

Fuyuhiko’s waiting for him out front. He’s in all charcoal grey and black save for a glossy gold tie with some sort of embroidered decoration in a burnt gold tone. Hajime jogs up to him, heart in his throat. “Hey, sorry I’m late. Did you wait long?”

“I just got here,” Fuyuhiko says. He looks Hajime up and down slowly, lingering at his chest and Hajime starts to regret not changing. But Fuyuhiko smirks and draws his bottom lip between his teeth, meeting Hajime’s eyes. “You look good.”

Hajime short-circuits but manages to stumble out a, “You too” voice cracking and going an octave too high.

Fuyuhiko leads the way inside, Hajime keeping to his side and feeling well and truly out of place. They go up to the host and Fuyuhiko gives his name. The host grabs two menus and leads the way to a table covered in a silk eggshell colored tablecloth and even though it’s only set for two, there are more plates and utensils than Hajime’s ever seen outside of movies.

The host says their waiter will be with them shortly and suggests some wines before leaving them to it. The wine menu is extensive, to say the least, and Hajime doesn’t want to image the cost per glass much less per bottle.

“Are you a red or white wine sort of person?” Fuyuhiko asks.

“White, usually. I haven’t really acquired the taste for red yet.”

With a snort, Fuyuhiko says, “If a taste needs to be ‘acquired’, it’s not worth it.” Knowing that Fuyuhiko has a huge sweet tooth, it doesn’t surprise Hajime that he doesn’t like red wine. He almost feels like he’s passed a test.

But then their waiter arrives. He introduces himself as Minato and asks what they’d like for drinks as he sets down a basket of assorted bread and pours them chilled water. Hajime must make some sort of panicked expression even though he tries to keep his face neutral because Fuyuhiko grins at him and takes over, saving Hajime from figuring out the wine menu. He rattles off some sort of wine that Minato commends and then they’re left alone to peruse the menu. Hajime tries his best to contain his reaction to the prices.

“Don’t worry about anything, it’s on me so order whatever sounds good,” Fuyuhiko says. He’s not looking at the menu, instead just watching Hajime with his whisky gold eyes.

“Uh, I don’t really know what most of these are,” Hajime admits, laughs a bit self-deprecatingly.

“If you want, we can go somewhere else,” Fuyuhiko offers. He comes across sincere, looks ready to tell the waiter to never mind, they won’t actually be dining with them tonight.

“No, no, this is fine, great! Just, outside of my comfort zone. I, uh, can’t exactly afford to go to places like this.”

“Then take full advantage,” Fuyuhiko says. “I don’t do this often so I will be.” His tone implies that there’s more to his words and Hajime has to look back down and carefully read through the salads because Fuyuhiko’s grin is filthy.

There are a lot of unfamiliar items listed and whole sections that are for paranormal specific diets in a variety of other languages. Hajime sticks to somewhat familiar items that are safe for mundanes. Fuyuhiko asks for his opinion on appetizers and everything either sounds good or completely unfamiliar and he doesn’t want to pick something that Fuyuhiko might not like.

“I’m good with anything that won’t kill me, so whatever you think is good,” he says. There’re too many choices and he’s already nervous enough as it is. “I’m not a picky eater.” Picking his entrée is more than enough for tonight.

By the time Hajime’s narrowed down his decision between two cuts of steak Minato returns with their wine and Fuyuhiko goes through the fancy wine tasting ritual before declaring it fine and two modest glasses are poured. The bottle is set at the edge of the table in an ice bucket.

“Would you like a few more minutes to decide?” the waiter asks.

“I’m set,” Fuyuhiko says. “Hajime?”

Hajime nods and Fuyuhiko takes the lead, Hajime only chipping in to order his main. The waiter repeats their order, takes their menus, and then goes off. Once he’s gone, Fuyuhiko raises his glass. Hajime clinks his against it gently and takes a sip. The wine is the lightest wine he’s ever had, crisp and a touch sweet.

“How is it?”

“Good.” Hajime eyes the bottle to see the name and make a mental note. It’s probably way out of his price range but for a special occasion, he might be able to make an exception. “Light and sweet.”

“It’s why I like it. Not the best for steak, I’ll admit, but it tastes good and doesn’t fill you up.”

Hajime helps himself to one of the rolls and tears it in half to slather it with the butter. It’s not regular butter and it’s one of the best things he’s ever had. He tries to sneakily coat probably more than the recommended amount on his roll but Fuyuhiko nudges the little bowl over to him and pick one of the sliced breads to eat plain.

“It’s champagne brie butter,” Fuyuhiko says. “My favorite thing about this place, after their filet.”

Hajime pushes the butter back towards the center. “I’m not going to hog it.” Especially if it’s one of Fuyuhiko’s favorite parts of the restaurant. Fuyuhiko just shakes his head at him but he butters his bread with liberal blob and licks his lips of all stray traces of butter.

“So,” he says, picking out another piece of bread, “you’re going to the local university, right? What’re you studying?”

“Mostly education and literature. I want to teach. And I’m minoring in paranormal studies.”

Fuyuhiko selects a roll and breaks off a piece, popping it in his mouth. “And what have you learned about dragons in your studies?”

Hajime feels warm, wants to shrink back at Fuyuhiko’s pointed gaze. If there’s one thing he’s learned from being a mundane in paranormal-centric classes, often the only mundane at that, it’s that he has to tread very carefully when talking about a race to their face.

Luckily, he can dodge this potential bullet for now. “I haven’t taken that class yet.”

“There’s a class just on dragons?” Fuyuhiko sounds intrigued, maybe a touch smug.

Hajime nods. “Unlike the region based classes, dragons are from essentially every corner of the globe. Even amongst the Eastern dragons there’s a lot of differences and variations so there’s actually an Eastern dragons class as well as a Western one. For one of my requirements I’ll have to do at least one of those.”

“If you take the Eastern class, I could tutor you,” Fuyuhiko offers and the images in Hajime’s head make him squirm in his seat and reach for his wine. He’s being ridiculous, taking every innocent comment and twisting it. But he chokes on his generous sip when Fuyuhiko reveals that his offer is not far from Hajime’s gutter-drenched thoughts. “Although I can’t say that what I could teach you would be something your professor would test you on. At least they shouldn’t be.”

Fuyuhiko licks bread crumbs and butter from his finger with one long lazy swipe of his tongue.

Hajime downs the rest of his wine and hopes it can excuse his flaming cheeks and ears. He doesn’t know if he’s grateful or not to Minato who returns with their entrée. It’s a shrimp dish, the shrimps large and glazed in a brown sauce that smells like spicy barbecue.

Minato tops up Hajime’s wine and Hajime makes a mental note to slow down. His tolerance isn’t terrible but he wants to keep as much of his wits about him as he can. It’s hard enough as it is, he doesn’t need to self-sabotage by drinking too much.

They go back to safer, innocuous topics. Hajime talks about his classes, his degree, what he’s planning on doing after. Fuyuhiko tells him about how his sister was an absolute terror until high school where she became a different sort of terror.

“She hated me growing up,” Fuyuhiko says and Hajime can’t imagine anyone hating the dragon before him. “Everyone wanted her to be the heir, but I just happened to be born first and take to my dragon form a lot quicker. I spent more time as a dragon than as a human when I was little.”

Hajime easily imagines a tiny gold dragon taking naps on windowsills and stealing cookies. He imagines a tiny Fuyuhiko, smaller than he already is but eyes big and round in the way of children. He wishes he could see pictures. Fuyuhiko must have been absolutely adorable.

They get through their entrée with minimal provocation and choking on behalf of Fuyuhiko and Hajime, respectively. Hajime’s still taking his wine slow though, but Fuyuhiko’s almost on his third glass. He doesn’t seem affected thanks to his dragon blood, quick metabolism and high tolerance. Their main course arrives, Hajime’s a simple 6oz steak and Fuyuhiko’s a 12oz with a lobster tail, and Hajime’s mouth waters. His is a perfect medium rare and from the ruby red, Fuyuhiko’s a good, bleeding rare. Fuyuhiko’s eyes flash, his pupils narrow into slits. When he opens his mouth to take a bite, his teeth are a touch more pointed than the dulled, flat edges of a human’s.

“How is it?” Fuyuhiko asks when Hajime takes his first bite.

“Amazing,” Hajime answers truthfully. “Probably the best steak I’ve ever had.”

Fuyuhiko’s smile is pleased. “Their swordfish is also really good. I’d recommend that for next time.”

Hajime manages to smile and nod, maybe a bit too widely and little too aggressively considering he’s not the biggest seafood. Next time echoes in his mind on loop. Fuyuhiko’s talking about a next time. A smile is fixed on Hajime face as they work on their meals and carry on conversing. Despite his awkwardness, conversation is easy with Fuyuhiko. They talk about movies and books, work and school, friends and family, and whatever else comes to their minds. There’s only minimal suggestive teasing from Fuyuhiko but Hajime has to force himself to keep his eyes from Fuyuhiko’s mouth wrapping around his fork. Just meeting Fuyuhiko’s molten gold eyes that spark and light with intention as if he can read Hajime’s mind does more than enough.

At one point, Hajime accidently nudges Fuyuhiko’s foot under the table. His apology is cut short when Fuyuhiko’s foot, slipped free from his shoe, slides up the side of Hajime’s leg while the devious, teasing dragon asks about Hajime’s favorite books he’s studied in his classes.

The dinner overall is a test of restraint and willpower but Hajime manages to get through without jumping Fuyuhiko right then and there. His pants are tight for two reasons. He’s never eaten so much in one sitting but the cost weighs on his mind and he makes sure to eat every bite, on that it’s much of a hardship when it comes to how great it all tastes.

“That was amazing,” Hajime says. His wine glass is still a few swallows from empty but he’s feeling that heady lightness from the alcohol fuzzes the edges of his senses. Fuyuhiko has his last few sips, throat working and tongue licking away a stray drop from his lips when he’s done. Hajime busies himself by emptying his glass, looking at the ceiling to gather his wits.

Minato comes by to take their cleared plates. “Would you like to look at the dessert menu? We also have coffee and some excellent cognac that just came in.”

There’s no doubt their dessert will be fantastic, but Hajime’s full to bursting and can’t imagine trying to eat anything more, much as he might want to. But he knows Fuyuhiko has a sweet tooth, dessert probably his favorite part of any meal and leaves the decision in Fuyuhiko’s hands. Fuyuhiko has a thoughtful expression that turns mischievous and bodes ill for Hajime’s self-restraint.

“Could you give us a minute?” he asks. When Minato’s back is to them, Fuyuhiko turns on Hajime with dark, promising eyes.

“I have a suggestion. We could sit here for dessert and coffee and I’ll savor their delicious chocolate and whiskey mousse.” The image alone has Hajime squirming. He’s barely survived as it is and he’s under no illusion that Fuyuhiko won’t try to break him with dessert. “Or. Or, we can get dessert to go and you can taste the mousse and cognac I have at home off of me. However you image that.”

Hajime imagines that a lot of ways, none of them fit for public without threat of arrest for public indecency. “To go,” he says, blushing furiously. Fuyuhiko grins and asks for one mousse and their check.