#its okay I know this isn't a drabble prompt but yeah

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A promise kept

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 8

Prompt: Idiots to lovers

Rated: G

Tags: Childhood friends to lovers; Mistaken identity; Fluff; Modern AU if you squint

CW: none

Notes: @house-of-the-moving-image and I came up with this while bouncing ideas for another drabble and fell instantly in love with the idea. Be sure to also check out the precious art they made!!!

The bars of the jungle gym creak but Steve doesn’t lift his face from his hunched knees.

“Hey, big boy, don't cry.” 

“‘m not crying. Go away!”

This is ridiculous. He's almost eight, and eight-year-old boys don't cry. Not even if their only friend in the whole world just told them they're moving away to live with their uncle. 

They don't even know each other’s names. Names don't matter when you're eight and you're both at the park and looking for someone to play with. 

So Steve is big boy. 

And his friend … well, Steve mostly calls him his dragon.

It's because of this game they have. Steve is a king and the other boy his dragon and the jungle gym their castle, and every day, they have a new adventure. 

Except now, there won't be any more adventures.

“Oh? But how am I supposed to give you this?” 

Steve lifts his head, goes a bit cross-eyed at the flower that's hovering right in front of his face. 

“What would I want with that?” he snaps. “Flowers are for girls.” 

His dragon chuckles as he joins him on his perch. The playground stretches out under them. Their kingdom. 

“But this isn't just any flower. It's magical.” 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Magical?” 

“Yup!” His friend's face breaks into a grin, two teeth short. “As long as you keep it, I'll always make my way back to you. It may take a while, but I'll find you eventually.” 

“Promise?” Steve murmurs. There's a lump in his throat and it comes out small and quiet.

“I promise.” The other boy winks and tugs the flower behind his ear. “That I'll find you, and that I'll always be your dragon. And now, my king … how about one final adventure?” 

*

The colors of the jungle gym are faded with age. Like the pressed flower in its frame on his bedroom wall. 

“Oh hey, Steve!” 

Steve looks up from the book in his lap to find a familiar someone next to their picnic blanket.

“Eddie, hi!” He smiles, even as his stomach drops. “I … what are you doing here?” 

“Steve?” Will asks, ogling Eddie's tattoos and wild hair with large eyes. “Who's this?” 

“Oh, erm …” Steve runs an awkward hand through his hair. “My friend Eddie. He just moved here. Eddie, this is Will and El, the kids I babysit?” 

“Of course,” Eddie dips into a bow, which makes the twins giggle. “Steve has told me all about you.” 

“Do you want to sit with us?” El asks. “Steve is reading the How to train your dragon books to us.” 

“Fuck yeah, I love dragons!” Eddie cheers. Only he doesn’t sit on the blanket like a normal person - he perches himself on the steps of the jungle gym and hisses, pulling a silly face and mimicking claws with his hands. El whoops and claps while Will smiles shyly. Steve needs to swallow against the memories that threaten to crawl up his throat. 

*

“Was it alright to invite Eddie?” El asks. They've finished reading for the day and she helped Steve get snow cones. “You said he's your friend, but you seem sad when you look at him.”

Steve sighs.

“It's okay,” he says, because how do you explain this to a seven-year-old? 

How do you explain I only met him a few weeks ago but I really like him and it confuses me because it seems like I've known him forever because he reminds me so much of someone I used to know and I'm scared because it feels like I'm betraying that person even though I'm sure they've long forgotten about me?

Will is up on the jungle gym when they round the corner, beaming from ear to ear and talking animatedly with Eddie, who is gesturing up at him from the ground. 

“El!” he calls out when he spots his sister. She smiles and clambers up to join him, handing over one of the dripping snow cones. “Eddie has the best ideas. He just told me about this game he used to play as a kid. Did you know the jungle gym could be a castle and we could be kings and dragons? What do you want to be? We could-” 

“Steve?” 

Someone touches his shoulder and he flinches back into his own body. Eddie’s voice is full of concern, and okay, that's probably because he just dropped their snow cones. They're forming rainbow-colored puddles in the grass. 

“Stevie, c'mon, talk to me! You're freaking me out here!”

He snaps his head up. 

“Oh, thank fuck,” Eddie smiles. His eyes are large with worry. Large and brown and crinkling at the corners and so familiar and Steve's an idiot. “You just zoned out there, I thought-” 

“It's you,” Steve mutters. His hands are shaking and his eyes are stinging and then the next thing he knows is that his arms are around Eddie’s neck and he's sobbing into his shoulder. “Holy fuck, it's really you! You're my dragon!” 

“Wait, what?” Eddie pulls back, smile wide and incredulous. His fingers wipe away Steve’s tears, trace the shape of his cheekbones and jaw. “You're- Shit, really? I knew you looked familiar, but I thought there was no way-” 

“I was feeling so bad!” Steve blurts, chest heaving with what might be sobs or laughter, and who cares really, when he found his dragon again? “I was so scared to fall for you because-” 

“Oh?” Eddie’s grin isn't missing any teeth, but it's still just as brilliant. “Are you now?” 

“Huh?” 

Eddie chuckles. “Falling for me?” 

Steve feels himself flush, even as he gives a shaky nod. Eddie’s eyes are soft as he pulls him in. 

“It's okay, big boy. You don't have to be afraid of anything while I'm around.”

“This is really weird,” El whispers from somewhere above them as their lips meet. “I don't think they understand how being friends works.”

All my holiday drabbles

[minisugakoobies]

Sunny! I’d like to request #5 on the dirty texts with anyone - smutty dealers choice!

Ooooh, dealers choice?? Hmmm… I gotta go Yoongi on this one, I have not (and will never) recovered from the D Day tour. 😵‍💫

This was supposed to be a drabble but it's well over 1k so… sorry about that!! 💕

Title: Out of the Bag Now Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Genre: friends to lovers?, a bit cracky, smut, Coworkers!AU Rating: M(18+) Warnings: accidentally dirty texts, misunderstandings, mutual pining, masturbation (m), almost turns into phone sex, reader is flustered af (in the best way!), ends on a cute note, prompt is highlighted in bold

You: Okay, so we have everything ready for the presentation tomorrow?

Yoongi: Yeah, we're good to go

Yoongi: Nothing to worry about, so try to get a good night's sleep

Yoongi: I know you didn't sleep before March's shareholder meeting

Glancing at the last text message, you sigh wistfully.

For over a year now, you've been madly in love with your coworker, Min Yoongi. Ok, love might be stretching it a bit. You're wildly in lust with the man.

He's everything you've ever wanted in a partner - cool, calm, collected, clever as fuck with an acerbic wit that always makes you laugh (while praying that you'll never been on the receiving end of its sharp sting). Plus, he's absolutely gorgeous, the kind of guy that people would use an example of "have you ever seen a man so beautiful you cried?"

Or maybe that's just you.

But he is strikingly handsome, and makes your knees go weak when he favors you with one of his rare smiles. They usually come out when he's being sweet to you. Like when he's making sure you're getting enough sleep.

So yeah, you're head over heels for him. If only you had the guts to do anything about it.

You: I'll try

You: But you too! No late night movie marathons again, Yoongi

You: Boss's orders

That's just a dumb joke between the two of you. You're colleagues, on the same level, but Yoongi had insisted that you take the lead on this project, since you had more familiarity with the product than he did. Another check in the "pros" column - he's a man who supports his other colleagues and isn't afraid to take orders.

Yoongi: Yes boss

Yoongi: You can't see it but I'm saluting you right now

He sends a few emojis through and you giggle. For the last few weeks, the two of you have been texting back and forth after hours. It's mostly shop talk, but lately the conversations have dragged on and on, drifting into the late night hours. As this one has. You've already finished your nightly skincare and have moved on to your dental routine.

Yoongi: Seriously though, try not to stress about tomorrow

You: Honestly, I'm not! I'm feeling pretty confident about this

Yoongi: Good. Then you can just relax tonight

You: That's the plan

You balance your phone in one hand while using your electric toothbrush with the other. Yoongi cracks a joke, and your response is a little mangled by your sole thumb's lack of dexterity.

You: Sorry abour any typos

You: I'm like typing with one hand

Three grey dots dance across your screen for a few seconds.

Yoongi: Oh shit, you're REALLY relaxing. I didn't realize it was that type of conversation

You spit into the sink, brow furrowing as you reread his message. What does he mean by that?

Then you scroll up and nearly scream. "I'm like typing with one hand"?? Oh my god, why the fuck did you say that to him? He doesn't know that you meant you were brushing your teeth!

Frantically, you start typing out a response, erasing and starting over a few times, trying to figure out the best way to say "hey no I'm a dumbass who was just brushing my teeth and not touching myself to you" even though the fact is that you have touched yourself while thinking about him, several times actually, but that's neither here or there -

and then a new message appears.

Yoongi: Hold on, let me catch up

Excuse me??

Your phone buzzes with an incoming call and you nearly throw it into the sink in shock when you see that it's Yoongi calling. It takes a few seconds for the command to answer the call to get from your brain to your finger.

"Yoongi?"

A happy sigh greets you. "Fuck, that's better. Wanted to hear your voice."

The floor seems like the safest place to be right now, so you collapse onto it, leaning back against the cabinets under the sink.

"You did?"

"Oh yeah. You've got such a pretty voice, YN. Bet it sounds even sweeter when you're coming," Yoongi rumbles, that's the only word for it, he rumbles in that deep-ass voice of his, and you slide until you're just lying on your back, staring up at the bathroom ceiling, waiting for death to claim you, because how the fuck are you supposed to go on living after this?

"I - um - thank you?"

Yoongi laughs, but there's a slight hiccup in it, and it dawns on you what he's doing right now while he's talking to you. He's catching up. Images flood your brain - Yoongi lying on a couch, or maybe on a bed, hand tucked into his pants, fingers wrapped around a hard cock - and you choke on your own saliva.

"You ok?"

"Yeah! Yes. I'm fine, thank you."

He chuckles again, and it's physically impossible but you swear you can feel the vibrations through the phone. "You sure? You sound a little flustered."

"Oh, I'm sorry." What the fuck are you supposed to be saying to him right now? You're pretty sure it's not apologizing, but that's what you do anyway.

"Don't be. It's really cute."

Well thank fuck for that.

"Yoongi," you steady yourself with a deep breath, "what I said earlier… I didn't mean I was touching myself."

Silence. A lot of silence. It's a relief when he speaks again, but it fades quickly as you catch the disappointment in his voice.

"Oh shit, really? I - fuck." Now who's flustered? "What - what were you doing?"

"Brushing my teeth."

"Oh. Huh." He sighs, sounding deflated. "Guess I just jumped to a conclusion that I… wanted."

"Oh," you echo. "That's…" Incredible? Unbelievable? The best thing you've heard since you were born?

"Listen, YN, I'm so sorry. This whole thing was just - fuck, just really inappropriate, and if I've made you feel uncomfortable, I'm truly sor-"

Sitting up, you wave your arm to stop him. As if he can see you right now. "No, no! Yoongi. Wait. It's not like that. I wasn't doing anything right now but… but I have."

More silence. You bite your lip as you wait for him to catch up, for real this time.

"You mean…"

"I mean, I've t-touched myself while thinking about you. Before." Clearing your throat, you cover your eyes with your free hand, hiding your face from an invisible audience. Somehow, it emboldens you to keep talking. "A lot, actually."

He exhales shakily. "Really?"

"Yeah. Yeah, really." Uncovering your face, you stand, propping yourself up against the counter as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Is that really you having this discussion right now? You start to laugh.

"I don't think I'm getting the joke," Yoongi says slowly.

"Holy shit, this is just so surreal, Yoongi," you inform him. "I never in a million years thought I'd be admitting that I - Jesus, that I masturbate to thoughts of you! Not over the phone like this. Maybe after like-"

"A date?"

You huff out another laugh. "After a dozen, maybe. This is… I'm extremely out of my depth here."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I think you're doing a great job." He's laughing now, too, and it makes you grin so wide your cheeks actually hurt. "How about this - you let me take you on a date tomorrow night, to celebrate our successful presentation, and maybe by the end of the night, we'll know where we stand on the timeline for surprising confessions?"

"Okay. Yeah. Yes." You close your mouth to prevent yourself from continuously accepting his offer.

"Great. Then… I'll see you tomorrow." His voice drops to a soft whisper. "Sweet dreams, YN."

"Good night, Yoongi."

Okay, so you may have lied to him. Because there's no way you're getting any sleep tonight.

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜 

© 2023 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

[appocalipse]

are the prompt list requests still open? if so, i'd like to ask for color with eddie please (if they're closed, then please just ignore this!)

thank you so much!

- 🍂

hi i love u, sorry this took me so long </3 i'm sorry if i didn't do this prompt justice, but i've made it a part two to this drabble, hope it's okay 🥺 | rockstar!eddie

-

"You look like you're pissed off," says Eddie, taking the plate you hold out to him.

You are pissed off. Well, maybe pissed off isn't the right term; it's more of a strange mix between despair and delight, between absolute happiness and extreme misery, but yes, it's there. 

Your mother had invited Eddie over for dinner — of course, she had — and now that you've survived the meal (which was punctuated by lots of praise for Eddie and lots of genuinely interested questions about how he's been doing for the past two years) she'd decided to 'go for a night walk', code for 'I'm giving you and Eddie privacy so you can work out whatever this is'.

Sometimes you almost wish she wasn't such a nice mom.

Cleaning up seemed like a much better idea than just sitting alone with Eddie, so that's what you're doing now — washing the remaining dishes while he dries and puts them away. Eddie still remembers where most things are; even that hasn't changed. Nothing about you seems to have changed, you think. You're still in the exact same place, the same person you've always been, while he's found a brilliant path that doesn't include you.

Being happy for him is easy. Forgetting what he means to you…not so much.

"Y/N," he says, and this time he doesn't move to take the plate you're holding out to him until your gaze meets his. "I'm sorry."

Eddie doesn't usually apologize. In fact, he usually doesn't do anything he needs to apologize for, and when he does, he usually apologizes through actions more than words. He'd bring you your favorite food, make you a new mixtape, rent a movie he knew you'd like. It's strange to hear him apologize, especially after all this time apart.

"About what?" you ask.

"About leaving."

It's not fair, you think. It's not fair for him to be so nice. He should have gotten stuck up and insufferable when he got fame like any normal young rockstar does. It would make it easier for you to get over him.

"There's no need to apologize for that," you say mildly.

Water drips from the plate you're holding onto the floor. You try to grab the dishcloth to dry it yourself, but Eddie doesn't let go. Instead, he pulls at the fabric and you stumble closer to him as he clearly wanted to, too close for comfort. 

Eddie has never acknowledged the concept of personal space — it's just how he is, how he's always been. Being this close to him never failed to make your heart beat faster.

"Eddie," you chide, the same tone as when you were kids and he needed to be stopped from going to far. 

He lets you get the dishcloth and just watches as you dry and put the last plate back in its place, slightly brushing past him as you do so. Eddie looks like he wants to say something but can't work up the courage to let it out. Your back is turned, but you don't have to look at him to know he's looking at you too — the butterflies in your stomach tell you as much.

When you do turn around, you confirm you're right; Eddie is leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, staring quietly at you. Awkward silences are a common occurrence between you two now, it seems, so you say the first thing that comes to mind in order to avoid it.

"I thought you hated yellow," you say, eyeing the T-shirt under the leather jacket he's wearing. It's by no means a bright yellow tone, one of your favorite colors, but it's still yellow.

"Uh," Eddie looks down like he doesn't remember what he's wearing. "Yeah, well, I guess I like it now."

"You do?"

"It reminds me of you."

There it is — the silence. The awkward silence. Eddie is much better at creating it than you are at avoiding it.

Fortunately, something else picks his interest pretty quickly.

"Did you get a tattoo?" It's a rhetorical question. He's past the initial surprise. Eddie already saw that you did — he had a good view of the design on the back of your shoulder as you reached over to put the plate away. 

He walks over to examine it with curious eyes and a sweet smile, long before you can protest. In fact, before you even know what's happening, he's standing behind you, fingertips grazing your bare skin as he brushes your hair off your shoulder to get a better look at the tattoo — and if just being in the same room alone with Eddie is already kind of complicated, let alone being this close to him.

He still smells the same as always. His fingers are still calloused from relentlessly playing the guitar. It's a window to the past.

Damn halter dress. What a bad decision it was wearing it tonight. You should have pretended to be sick so you wouldn't have to come down to dinner. 

Eddie's fingers trace each line and shape of the tattoo on your skin as if he wants to memorize it. He's so close you can feel the heat of his body and you're tense, too tense for you to explain why without saying something silly.

"It's pretty," Eddie practically whispers, not taking his hand off your skin. "Suits you."

It's overwhelming, all of this. You only realize you're holding your breath when you're forced to breathe again, and then you force yourself to turn around to face Eddie.

"You went alone?" he asks quietly. The promise of another awkward silence is suffocating, so you say the first thing that comes to mind — it just so happens to be the truth.

"Steve went with me."

This seems to take him by surprise. Eddie even looks a little hurt; you know him well enough to read it in his expression even if it quickly disappears.

"Steve, huh?" he tries to sound normal, but he doesn't. He sounds almost…jealous. Is it possible? Judging by the way he's looking everywhere but you, it seems to be. "Are you two like, a thing now?"

Wait. Wait.

"'A thing?'"

"You know what I mean."

No, I don't, you're about to say, wanting him to spell it out for you so you could be sure he was, in fact, jealous; but then, something else occurs to you.

"We went on a date," it's not a lie. Technically. You're also not telling the entire truth though. How Steve was nice and sweet and funny and it still wasn't enough because he couldn't be who you really wanted, how the night came to a close sooner than it should have.

Eddie doesn't need the entire truth — his mind is running wild already. "A-and how was it?" he asks.

Are you imagining the desperation in his eyes, the need to know?

"It was…" Useless? Enlightening? A complete waste of time? "...nice."

"'Nice'? Just 'nice'?"

Oh, boy.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know, I-" Eddie shrugs, but you can see the frustration he's so desperately trying to hide, subtleties that would go unnoticed by pretty much anyone but his best friend — former best friend, you remind yourself. "So you're together now?"

"No!" You don't want to tell him that, but you can't drag Steve deeper into this mess. It wouldn't be fair. "No, we're not. He's just-"

A friend?

"-boring?" Eddie offers. He doesn't really think so. In fact, he likes Steve, likes him a lot; he'd go as far as to say they are friends. But the devil on his shoulder has been yelling at him since you told Eddie about that stupid date.

The date itself might have been a bit boring since you could only ever see Steve as a friend, but you're not about to tell Eddie that — in fact, you seem to take it personally, he notices, blood rushing to your cheeks. 

"No!" you say firmly. "Steve was nice and funny and a gentleman, and he would never-"

Eddie kisses you. It just happens…just like that. One moment you're going on and on about how wonderful Steve is; the next, he's taking your face in his hands and pressing his lips on yours like he couldn't have done anything else.

You inhale in surprise as he presses on, the kiss growing desperate when he crowds you into the wall. Eddie is certain where you hesitate, your hands not quite knowing where to go as one of his slides down to wrap around your waist, fingers squeezing softly at your skin. His other hand gently holds your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek ever so slightly.

You're out of breath when he pulls away. Eddie rests his forehead against yours for a moment, lips almost touching, so close you're breathing the same air. 

For the first time, he doesn't have anything to say.

You look at him with a question in your eyes — a thousand questions, really, standing very still between his body and the wall. Why, how, what if; he doesn't answer any of them, looking back at you with the same kind of hesitation you're feeling. It's like setting foot in a foreign land.

Then, you hear the front door opening. It's like something clicks inside of your mind, prompting you to move.

"Shit!" you whisper, ducking under Eddie's arm just as your mom appears in the kitchen.

You look guilty, you know that. Maybe even slightly disheveled, to be honest. And Eddie is not helping your case standing there scratching the back of his head while your mother eyes you both suspiciously.

"Did I miss something?" she asks, trying for nonchalance but missing it by far. You can all but hear the excitement behind her words.

You have no idea, mom.

[ask-sibverse]

Prompt: hiking date with Killer (As much fun as explicitly diabetic related situations are, it's nice to do some things where the main focus isn't diabetes. I do have another diabetes focused drabble planned, but for now, fluff! Mostly.) Set in the same version of things as this

TW: violent intrusive thoughts

(Like this? Want more? Send a prompt!)

Cgm, check. Pump set to activity mode (one of the author's favorite damn settings about the Omnipod), check. A boatload of granola bars and other low blood sugar snacks to shove in your inventory, check. Plenty of water? Got it.

"I think I'm ready," you said.

Killer had suddenly texted you that he's taking you on a hike, before immediately backtracking and asking if it was too much with your diabetes. You tried to resist the urge to smack him as you reminded him you swim regularly in the summer and did martial arts several times a week for years. You know how to balance diabetes and exercise.

So here you were now and hour later about to go on a date with Killer. Was it a date? He hadn't called it one. It could just be a friendly, platonic outing. You shouldn't make things weird.

But you were ready to go, either way. You walked out of your room to find Killer on the couch with your cat. Cats are tiny hunters and Killer is, well... Yeah. So it didn't really surprise you that he got along great with your cat. Said cat was currently purring in his lap.

"I'm ready to go."

"I'm trapped, go on without meeeee."

You stared at him. "I don't even know where we're supposed to be hiking."

"Oh yeah. But the caaaaat."

You snorted and scooped up your cat. He meowed in complaint but let you move him off the murder skeleton. "Lets get going, shall we?"

He nodded eagerly. "You ever been to Mount Ebbott?"

"No, I don't think I have."

"Its not too horrible a hike, and the view is great from the entrance to the Underground."

"Okay, let me get my car keys."

"Why bother? You've got someone with you who can teleport."

"I keep forgetting that."

Killer snorted and extended his hand. "Hang on tight."

Shortcuts were sometimes more disorienting than portals. Portals you at least were passing through something to get from point A to point B, shortcuts you were one place and then you blinked and were somewhere else. So to suddenly be in the woods at the base of Mt Ebbott took a moment for your mind to catch up with.

Killer started dragging you up the path as soon as you collected yourself. It was a beautiful, sunny day. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming, and it was just the two of you on the mountain.

"Is it usually this peaceful?" You asked. "I don't think anyone is up here."

"Depends on the AU, and the time of year," Killer said. "But yeah, no one but us here right now." He paused. It seemed like thoughts were running through his mind. "I could do anything to you, and no one would know."

"Killer."

"I wouldn't, I promise!"

"Killer."

You sighed. "What's going through your head?"

"... That no one would hear you scream. That I could chase you through the woods and kill you, watch my knives make you into a pincushion and no one would find out until it was too late. But I won't do that, promise!"

You put a hand on his shoulder. "Do we need to go back? It sounds like your mind is getting to you."

"No! Ill be fine, I want to show you the view from the top!"

"Alright, I trust you."

So you filled the silence to give him a distraction. Talking about your hobbies and cats, asking what he and the gang had been up to. It seemed to work, at least to distract him if it didn't fix things. You almost didn't notice the entrance to the Underground until you were about to fall in, Killer having to grab you by the collar of your jacket.

"Don't fall in. You're not a Frisk." he snorted. You stuck your tongue out before turning.

The view took your breath away. You could see all of Ebott City from here and the surrounding valley. You could imagine how incredible it must feel to see this for the first time after centuries kept underground.

"This is..."

"Incredible, yeah. I saw it a few times before my human really lost it."

You squeezed his hand gently. "I hope Chara doesn't reset here, I'd hate for everyone to lose this." Especially your friends

"Eh, who knows." He shrugged. "Don't have a high opinion of most of those brats. Or humans in general."

"What about me?"

"You're... Different. Special."

[tmwcs]

How would any of the hee leads react to their y/n walking home alone? Like, maybe she told them she had to do something, maybe overtime at work or a study group, and told them to pick her up at like 9pm but when they’re getting ready to leave the house to pick her up she walks through the door like “oh yeah it ended early so I just decided to walk back”. I imagine any hee would be pissed, especially since it’s late 😭

- 🍞

Sweet loaf,

so i think it is in one of the HHP chapters where it was mentioned (actually i think it may have been in either the smaus or drabbles that occurred in the timeline) heethan for sure does not like and will not let y/n walk alone. heebros, and not to spoil but even heeler aren't much different....in fact they're all very much the same. the only difference is that out of all the hee-leads, to include heelel (although heelel....i mean..lol there isn't anywhere for y/n to go without him knowing or seeing bc he's with her literally 24/7. you're stuck on that bed platform in front and all for him to admire) but with heethan, i would say that his character development and progression has not only been the longest standing, but its been the slowest and he' started out kind of a soft yandere, but as we can see in the latest chapters of HHP he's obviously become very hard yandere. so all in all, none of the y'n's can go out walking by themselves. we can already see that in DT, heebros wont let y/n out of their sight, even when she's at work, they are so prompt in picking you up and dropping you off right on the dot (and that was even before....they um....sealed the deal with you.)

even if y/n was to try and be adamant and be like "its okay, the group study is going on at 9pm, you'll be busy, i'll hitch a ride with someone else or walk home" nope......not gonna happen. where there is a will there is a way and heethan (and all hee leads) will find a way. for heethan specifically, if he doesnt know or trust the person picking you up, it aint gonna happen. and you def not gonna walk home alone, he's either gonna drop his shit and come get you himself or arrange one of his trusty friends like jake to come pick you up.

[yi-dashi-a]

🚗💟👶

“No,

 no,

 and no.”

[glowingbadger]

Okay I need to write this because the idea has not left my brain since we chatted about it. At some point, I'll get to a full Arranged Marriage fic with Seteth (the concept for that is here), but for now, I loved this idea one of y'all brought to me and wanted to do a separate, shorter drabble with it. But really all you need to know going in is: Rhea decides it'd be cool to have more Nabateans around, is predictably willing to do shady shit to make that happen.

And uhh... let's consider this one of the kink prompt drabbles. Yeah.

Even though this ended up more character and plot heavy than I anticipated lmao

CW: sex pollen/aphrodisiac trope and the usual dub-con baggage that comes with it (but don't worry, Seteth is a good boy)

Seteth (FE3H) x AFAB Reader - Aphrodisiac

NSFW 18+ V

You know well what is expected of you this evening. The Goddess smiles upon your efforts, Y/N. Go with her grace and her blessings.

You force yourself to exhale slowly, crumpling the note in your hand as you examine the objects on your bed. One, a vial of some unknown substance. The other, a folded up garment of some kind. Yes, you do know what's expected of you- aside from which, isn't this what you'd wanted for so long anyway? For now, you put out of mind the looming thought that failure would not be tolerated, and raise the small glass vial to your lips.

~~~

Seteth kicks off his boots at the door to his private quarters, then unclasps the cloak from the back of his robes and drapes it over the desk chair. He rubs wearily at the back of his neck, gradually working out the worst of the knots and aches of another day spent hunched over his office desk. It had been a day like many others before- slow and plodding, but productive, with everything sorted and well in its place by the time Flayn had finally persuaded him away from his work for dinner. Seteth relaxes the ever-present tension in his shoulders and smiles to himself, reflecting on the one distraction he'd allowed in his day. He'd met you for tea over lunch. A small, simple thing, perhaps. He had no doubt you'd hardly thought of your time together since. But it had bolstered him in a way he found hard to express, lingering pleasantly in his thoughts as he went about his usual mundane tasks.

Just as he feels his chest warm at the memory, a knock at his door startles him.

"Seteth?"

It's you- he starts toward the door, then pauses. He frowns. You'd sounded off somehow, almost breathless. Brow furrowed with concern, he rushes to the door and opens it to you. At the sight of you, he utters your name with audible surprise; you seem a bit unsteady, your face flushed to a dark pink, and the only clothing you wear is a tunic wrapped hastily around your body, which flutters dangerously high around your thighs. And your eyes- there's something bizarre and heavy in your glassy eyes, something that sends a shiver along his spine.

Thinking of your modesty, he quickly pulls you into his room and shuts the door behind you.

"Y/N, are- are you well?" he gently holds onto your shoulders, "Do you, er- require something of me?"

"Yes, I do," you say softly, your voice low and husky. Your hands press to his abdomen and run up the firm contours of his muscled chest, and Seteth's body tenses at the far-too intimate contact. On instinct, he seizes both of your hands in his.

"Please- just- tell me what you need, I-I will help in any way I can."

You remove your hands from his grasp and reach to undo the fastening of your tunic. Seteth watches like a man hypnotized as you discard the garment on his bedroom floor and step towards him.

Goddess above.

Silken fabric pulls just a little too tight around your chest, cupping your breasts with thin material that does nothing to hide your nipples pressing against it. The shining silk gathers beneath them, then flutters down sensuously about your curves, framing where equally flimsy panties hug the tempting space between your thighs. Seteth's mouth feels dry, his body burns hot. The sudden onslaught of shock and arousal is so consuming that, when you approach to nudge him back towards his bed, he doesn't even think to resist.

With his back propped against the pillows and headboard, you straddle his hips, then take both of his hands in yours. You place them on your body, slowly guiding them up your hips and to your breasts, directing his touch as you say in a lustful groan,

"I need you, Seteth. Please..."

Your words finally shake him from his shock-induced complacency. He rips his hands from you, clutching the bed sheets beneath him if nothing else to keep himself from reaching back to you. Still, for all his restraint, he feels his manhood twitch and swell, rapidly rising at your provocation as you stir the needs and urges he'd tried to bury long ago. Now, as he feels your hips grinding your warmth against him, your plush lower lips rubbing along the hardening shaft of his cock, he struggles to align his thoughts.

"I... I have lost my senses entirely," he whispers breathlessly as your touch runs down his torso once more, your lips so agonizingly close to his, "Or- this is... some sort of maddening dream."

As though in direct defiance of his words, you've begun to undo the buttons down the front of his clothes, and the electricity of your fingertips brushing his bare skin is all-too real. His chest rises and falls with his panting breath and you reveal him to you inch by inch, and his craven body readily betrays him.

Isn't this exactly what he's longed for in that forbidden corner of his mind for so long? You're eager for him, desperate- the hunger in your eyes makes him feel weak, and yet, so very powerful. Like he could conquer you. Claim you. Pin you to his bed and make you his own- and you would gladly whimper and sigh and plead for him all the while.

His hands slowly run up your thighs, emerald eyes half-lidded as you tug his clothes out of your way. All the while your own hands continue to adore him, your touch hot along his skin as you admire his tightly muscled torso. Without a thought, he holds firm at your hips and pulls you to him.

"Ohhh... Seteth..!" you moan his name in a way that not even his most lurid fantasies could have conjured, and he feels his cock throb against you, knowing you must be able to feel his desire. Then, your lips are at his throat, and Seteth tilts his head back with a gravelled moan. You caress up the opposite side of his neck and tangle your fingers into his hair. He feels your nails along his skin, your breath at the corner of his jaw, the sting of your teeth. He wonders, with a thrill of arousal through his core, whether you aim to mark him.

Seteth embraces you, holding your body against him as his fingers dig along your back and his member ruts between your thighs, the subtle rhythm of his hips matching yours. Then, a sudden and new sensation; you bite at the shell of his ear, not terribly hard- but the feeling sends pleasure through his long-neglected nerves like a catching fire. At last, his restraint utterly shatters.

Without warning, he turns you onto your back on the bed, holding you to him with an arm around your waist, and kisses you fiercely, hungrily. You arch against him with an eager moan while his tongue thrusts past your lips. Your heel nudges him closer from behind, and Seteth allows his body to move on instinct. His hips roll against you, pressing his aching cock to your heat, resentful of the barrier of clothing between you. At last- at long, long last you will be his, and he can finally exorcise the longings he's fought so desperately to suppress. The softness of your lips, the way you gasp and sigh with pleasure beneath him, every curve and contour of your body in his hands- it's everything his guilt-ridden imagination had promised him and more, and he's blissfully drowning in it all.

Yet something else has woken in his memory- something that's prodding at the back of his whirling thoughts, even now. Something familiar, and yet, which has no place in this day and age.

That taste.

Seteth pulls away from your kiss and grabs onto each of your hands, pinning them beside you. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, though the sight of you squirming anxiously beneath him with that lustful look in your eyes isn't helping to steady him. He manages your name, though his voice cracks awkwardly when he speaks.

"Did you... drink anything strange tonight?"

You hardly seem to register his words. Instead, you bite your lip as you look up at him with those large, expectant eyes.

"Seteth... more- please..! I can't take it!" you whimper softly, rubbing your thighs together. His head hangs for a moment, and he groans.

"Merciful Goddess, why have you seen fit to test me in this way," he mutters under his breath as he fights against his very instincts to pause and sort this new information. Only one foreboding conclusion hovers in his scattered thoughts: Rhea.

Your prior response had made it clear that lust has overridden your better reasoning. He needs to find a way to either cure you of your ailment, or get you through it without unduly tormenting you- and it would be best if he could find a way to earn your compliance. Seteth breathes deeply in, then out. When he meets your eyes once more, his gaze is direct and commanding.

"Y/N, I am going to bind your wrists."

You hum playfully and brush your nose against his,

"Mmm, but then I can't touch you, Seteth,"

That's exactly the point.

He scowls for a moment, but keeps his focus. Moving your wrists above your head, he speaks in a low and soothing tenor,

"Please, Y/N. It would... give me immense pleasure," he emphasizes these last words, and he can see the way they make you shiver, "To... see you tied up, that is," he adds stiffly.

Lips parted and eyes hazy, you give a meek, "uh-huh," as he sets to work. He reaches beside him on the bed for the belt you'd removed from his robes, then winds it around your wrists and buckles it in place, tight enough to hold secure but not enough to hurt you. You shift with excitement at this new development, briefly tugging at your bindings.

"I always knew you'd be into things like this..." you say with a devious grin, and Seteth's face burns bright red.

Always knew he'd-??

He stifles his incredulous response, instead tightening his jaw and running a hand along your cheek.

"Behave," he says firmly, noting the way you bite your lip at his forceful tone, "There is... something else I want you to do for me. Wait patiently a moment."

Seteth extricates himself from the bed with no small amount of willpower, leaving you helplessly tied and needy for him as he moves to his desk. His member still strains hard against his breeches, the pressure providing an irritating distraction from his task. With another deep breath and a moment to center his thoughts, he begins to search through the various drawers of his desk. He keeps a certain tea here- one said to have detoxifying effects, in addition to acting as a sleep aid of sorts. If it is potent enough to affect his unusual constitution, it should allow you to come down from your current intoxicated state, and perhaps to sleep off any lingering effects.

"There we are," he says, the herbal blend finally in hand. He sighs and mutters, "If you recall any of this in the morning, I can only beg your forgiveness."

Seteth returns to you for a moment, pausing to test that the belt binding your hands above you still holds firm.

"I want you to stay here and wait for me, do you understand? If you can do that for me, I will," his eyes scan your scantily clad figure on his bed, "...help to alleviate your needs."

"Yes, sir," you say with a moan and a playful smile. Seteth's brow creases, his face hot. He hadn't been prepared for what that reply would do to him, and it's all he can do to turn himself from you, hastily button up the front of his clothes, and leave to ready your tea.

By the time he returns with the drink in hand, you're in a state of utter desperation. Turned on your side with your wrists still tied, but your hands between your thighs, you look up at Seteth with pleading eyes as he approaches. Your arms squeeze in around your chest, emphasizing its curves, and it's only this distraction that keeps him from realizing at first that your fingers are stroking your wet folds from atop those silken panties. He very nearly lets a low groan escape him, but he chokes it back and kneels beside you on the bed.

"Seteth- please, I... I need..."

"Shh, just a little longer, Y/N," he gently urges your hands from your body and guides you upright, an arm held protectively around your waist, "You wish to please me, correct?"

"Yes- anything..." you moan, leaning close to nuzzle into his neck, desperate to touch or kiss some part of him. His body tenses, burning urgently, but he merely presents the tea to you in his free hand.

"Take this for me. All of it. I... want to watch you swallow it," he nearly winces at the words, but knows this is the only way to reach you in your current state. If the worst that comes of tonight is that you retain some strange impressions of his sexual appetites, then he should be grateful.

Carefully, he tilts the cup and allows you to drink from it, and thank the Goddess, you obey. He watches you intently, still cradling you to him as you gulp down the tea, occasionally glancing towards him for approval.

"Just like that, you're doing well," he says softly.

"Am I... pleasing you?" your voice is softer now, and the focused and hungry flame in your eyes has dulled.

"More," he says, pressing the cup to your lips, "I need to see you take every last drop."

"Yessir," you slur out, and open your lips for him to feed you the rest of the drink. At last, you've finished it, and Seteth puts aside the cup, but continues to hold you upright while he cautiously observes you. Already, he can see your lustful gaze soften, and he breathes out a small sigh of relief. You'll likely fall asleep before too long; such a powerful aphrodisiac would be quite a lot for your human body to process, and coming down from the effects may feel akin to a hangover.

Your head slumps onto his shoulder, and at first he worries that you've suddenly lost consciousness. Then, you moan his name, nuzzling into the front of his robes.

"Do... do you not want me, Seteth?" you mumble into the fabric. He lets out a short scoff, the sound wry and weary. Then, he pauses, and gently kisses your hair.

"I desire you so ardently that I fear it has shaken me to my very core. But... I will not have you like this," he speaks softly, praying that you will not remember this when you wake. You give no reply- in fact, it seems likely you dozed off to the sound of his voice. Moving you slowly and carefully, Seteth lays you in his bed, and unfastens the belt around your wrists. He retrieves the tunic you'd left on the floor near the bedroom door, and drapes it over you. While he cannot risk jostling you awake by moving you beneath the sheets, he does want to offer you every amount of comfort he can.

He busies himself with doting on you for a time, checking that your breathing and temperature are steady, that your head is resting comfortably on his pillow, that you're as appropriately covered as he can manage. It's only when he's run out of tasks and things to double-check that his thoughts circle back to that singular taste- the taste of the aphrodisiac that could have only come from one source.

Long ago, centuries ago, Seteth had known that taste. Among his kind, it had been no more than a recreational intoxicant, similar to how humans consume alcohol. But to a human constitution, its affects were far too potent. Dangerous, even. They had never kept written records of the concoction's recipe, and had no reason to share it besides.

His head spins with the implications of such a maneuver- that Rhea would go so far as to drug you, and for what purpose? For curiosity? For some misguided encouragement? No, there could be no purpose, none worth considering for even a moment. Nothing could justify this manipulation- this violation. Seteth's heart aches, his chest tight and his brow deeply creased as he watches you sleeping peacefully on his bed. He couldn't possibly leave you here to seek the answers he needs. Confronting Rhea will have to wait until he's certain you are well.

He pushes this matter aside for the time being. Unfortunately, this provides room for a new host of images and sensations to crowd his thoughts. The memory of your lips on his, of your touch across his skin, your body so eager and so willing for him. At the mere moment of recollection, his cock stubbornly twitches to attention, half-hard in an instant. Seteth sighs irritably and runs a hand over his face. Then, his movements stiff but resolute, he seats himself at his desk and searches the piles of paperwork and books for something- anything- to keep his chaotic thoughts in line for one very long night.

[yonkimint]

Hi 🙈 i was wondering if you ever considered doing like little drabbles with characters from your previous stories?

Kind of like a stand alone chapter but we could look into the characters lives a few years later or some situation that happened past the story line but might be fun to look at

I saw some one shot (?) social media au where the main character was graduating college and I just thought that i would love to see something like that done with seokjin from still want you

But it's just a silly question that i had and since I love your stories I thought it doesn't hurt to ask

I hope you're having a great day or night depending on where you from 💖

Okay, soooooo... first of all, this isn't a silly question at all! I love the idea of taking requests but I'm hesitant to do so right now because I'm in my senior year of college and I frankly don't know if I could keep up with them on top of my course load 😅

BUT

I couldn't stop thinking about that little prompt and so I wrote something for you just now that I haven't edited but I hope you enjoy anyway! I think we all deserve some Seokjin fluff, yeah? I'll put it under the cut!

Still Want You [Jin x Reader] - The Ceremony (a bonus drabble)

You are a mess.

You can feel the tangle of nerves writhing in your chest, prodding at your sternum and wrapping knots around your ribs. You squint in the mirror watching for the tell tale signs of your torso about to burst open. You feel wild and totally out of control so why does the rest of your expression seem so calm?

The door to your room swings open on oil hushed hinges and footsteps you would recognize anywhere sound behind you. You tear your gaze from the mirror to smile at the pillow lipped god of a man you get to call your boyfriend. He’s wearing his glasses, his tousled bangs spilling over the rims, still getting in his eyes no matter how many times he shakes his hair out of the way.

He pouts his lips at you, “I know that look… what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You drop your gaze and begin to fiddle with your fingers. More specifically, the fourth finger on your left hand. A delicate silver band now encircles the digit, a teardrop cut opal glitters up at you from its diamond inlay. You hadn’t cared what stone Jin picked when you’d started talking about getting married, just that he picked it with meaning.

Opal, he had told you, For October. For your dad.

You had cried the whole rest of the night. It was, of course, your dad’s birthstone. So he’d always be remembered for as long as you were with Jin. For forever. 

The ring brings you an intense amount of comfort these days when school had gotten stressful or when Jin worked long nights and weekends at the studio. You still have the band of chaos, of course, but Tae is often filming and Jimin made lead dancer a couple years ago so he’s been touring the world for competitions. Jungkook is around the most actually but there are moments that even he can’t soothe the ache.

“It’s another milestone without your dad,” Jin guesses before you can answer the question. He’s learned what it means when you twist that ring around your finger. He takes your chin between his crooked fingers and smooths the pad of his thumb across your lower lip.

You let out an airy, half-hearted laugh, “Don’t tell Hobi that I still have daddy issues after all this time!”

Jin bites back a smile.

“Want to walk through it? What would happen today if your dad were here?” he asks.

You sigh and wonder if Jin is tired of playing this game. It doesn’t happen as often anymore but you still feel self-conscious about being sad about your dead dad. You don’t want him to resent you for having to go through this schtick every time there’s some big event.

“We don’t have to you,” you whisper, trying to be brave. You pull away, turning back to the mirror, and adjust your silky black graduation gown and the ribbons draped across your shoulders marking you as a graduate with honors.

“No, c’mon, sweetheart! I want to!” Jin insists, coming up behind you in the mirror and wrapping his arms around your waist. He presses his lips first to your temple and then begins his slow journey down, against the curve of your ear, tongue darting out against the soft lobe, and then he’s on your jaw.

You know you’ll cave by the time he reaches your neck but still you wait, still reveling in the sensation of his lips on your skin. Still mesmerized by the idea that he wants you.

He sucks on the curve where your supple neck tapers into your shoulder and you gasp, twisting in his arms. You place one palm on either of his forearms and glare up at him, “If you give me a hickey before my college graduation, I’ll kill you!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he apologizes but his twinkling eyes betray that he isn’t sorry at all.

“Fiance or not, you don’t have rights today,” you grumble, “My dad may not be here but my mom will end you.”

Jin bites his lip, laughing and says, “You promised not to let me go into the afterlife alone, remember?”

You roll your eyes. You were drunk that night and terrified of your mom catching you with this boy who turned out to be the love of your life, your everything, and you distinctly remember saying you didn’t want to go alone, not that you would go with him. But you know you would. Jin is sort of like air for you now. You’d go anywhere with him.

“Yeah, yeah, but I’m not ready to go so you better behave,” you say.

He nods, swiveling you back to face the mirror, and curves his body around your spine, his chin resting gently on your shoulder. There’s love and admiration in his still twinkling eyes and you watch the blush creep up your cheeks in response. “You are so beautiful. I’m so proud of you.”

“I love you,” you tell him, blowing him a kiss in the mirror. He catches it and presses it to his mouth. And then he waits expectantly for you to answer his previous questions. What would happen if your dad were here?

You sigh.

“He would stage a surprise party or something. He’d make everyone bring party poppers and horns and silly string. There would be candy necklaces that he would sneak candy from the rest of the night when he thinks I’m not looking. He’d make sure there was cake, of course, and he’d make me drink a whole bottle of soju with him now that I’m ‘old enough.’ He’d make all of you write sappy notes on a ‘Congrats, grad’ card and there would be speeches. You know? The works!”

Jin nods along with all of this, laughing at the easy image of your dad going overboard for his favorite daughter.

He doesn’t tell you that he’s already been in cahoots with your mom and with the Band of Chaos. He doesn’t tell you that Hobi has been hyper fixating on mixing a special playlist for your afterparty for the last month or that Namjoon and Yoongi have been incorporating their congratulations into a special rap meant just for you.

No, instead, he flashes a winning smile, kisses your cheek, and reminds you that you have to leave in five minutes to get to the event center for the ceremony. When you walk out into the living room of your shared apartment exactly four minutes later, you are promptly covered in silly string, party horns blaring in your ears, smoke and streamers billowing across the apartment.

They’re all there, grinning from ear to ear.

Your mom, brimming with pride. Tae and Jin’s parents also on the verge of tears at your appearance, your second parents and soon to be in-laws.

Tae and Jungkook bouncing on their heels, their heads thrown back in maniacal laughter at your dumbfounded expression.

Jimin, his arm wrapped around Yoongi, head leaned up on his shoulder.

Namjoon grinning like a proud parent himself.

Hobi, pretending to be aloof but flashing you a secret smile that says all you need to know. He’s proud.

And Jin. Beside you still. His hand slides into yours, his fingers tangling with your own, and he turns to whisper in your ear, “See? You were worried for nothing. Your dad is here.”

You feel the tears brimming in your eyes but you worked really hard on your makeup so you refuse to let them spill over. Instead, you lean up on your tiptoes until your mouth is nearly pressed to Jin’s ear and say, “No. You’re here and honestly, that’s even better! Thank you, jagi.”

Jin’s ears turn red like they always do when he’s blushing. He doesn’t respond to this comment except to tightly squeeze your hand before pulling you into the fray of your gathered friends and family.

[theweasleysredhair]

Breathless [F.W.]

Character: Fred Weasley

Word Count: 2783

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: “Stop biting that fucking lip!” In which Y/n is a sales assistant working in the Weasley’s store; Fred likes her but finds it difficult to show this, especially since all he wants to do is to throw her against a wall and shag her.

WARNING: this is NSFW, 18+, smutty, sexy times, idk how else to say it. read with caution. or delight. idk anymore.

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @wand3ringr0s3 @theweirdsideofstuff @harrysweasleys @thoseofgreatambition

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: I DID A THING (Fred Weasley is one hot motherfucker just saying)

also this was supposed to be a drabble... oops?

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

Fred wondered why he had hired you.

Well he knew why he had - because you were amazing at your job - but right now, as he watched you, bent slightly at the waist, interacting with some young children who had entered the shop, he severely regretted his decision. The only reason for this was that, due to the nice summer weather, you had decided to wear a skirt. A form-fitting skirt. A skirt that made Fred’s pants a tad too form-fitting themselves.

It wasn’t your fault - the sun had come as a welcome change, prompting the majority of people to be wearing lighter clothes as they hurried through Diagon Alley, so as to beat the heat. You’d just happened to have chosen a skirt that made Fred wish he could bend you over the till counter and pull said skirt up to your waist.

He couldn’t help the way his eyes wandered down your form to the curve of your bum as you reached up to grab products for the customers you were with, or - even better - this morning when you had bent down to pick up something someone (Fred) had dropped. His heart was pounding from the thought, and he was still trying to live down the fact he’d had to ask to swap with George, who was behind the till, in order to hide a certain problem of his from customers and from you - something George had found hilarious, joking about it every time he passed his twin throughout the rest of the day - “Alright there, Freddie? Working hard are we?” - earning more than a few glares.

Merlin though, Fred wanted you. He wanted to be able to kiss you, hold you, love you openly. He wanted to ask you for your input on new inventions, to ask you for your opinion on anything - everything. To be the last one to kiss you at night and the first thing you saw in the morning. And he definitely wanted you in his bed. Or in the shower. Or against the wall.

Preferably all of the above.

He couldn’t remember when he first caught feelings - sometime during your years at Hogwarts, but Fred couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he realised he was in love with you as opposed to just loving you. Perhaps it was that one game of truth or dare that lead to you kissing him - a thought he savoured and thought back to a lot. The way your lips felt against his and how he was able to hold you close in that moment.

All he knew was that he was left breathless in your presence.

He spent the rest of the day with thoughts of you in his head, swirling around as he tried to focus on serving customers. This proved a difficult feat considering you were right by him on the shop floor - talking, laughing, smiling. Fred cursed himself for being so caught up on you, but he couldn’t help himself.

He was so wrapped up in watching the way your lips turned up into a smile, the way your hips swayed as you walked, imagining how they’d feel against his own that he nearly missed George bidding his goodbyes after the store had closed for the day - something about meeting Angelina - as he made himself busy tidying one of the stands near the entrance.

“Hey Fred?” You called from the storage room. Fred blinked, pulling his thoughts away from his fantasies and back into reality, “Yeah?”

There was silence for a moment, and Fred placed the vial he was holding back into its place before wandering over to the storage room just as you entered back onto the shop floor.

“George asked if we could find a place to put these new products,” you said, bringing out a couple of trays of a new product designed to give the taker the temporary ability to read minds.

Fred frowned slightly. He knew for a fact that this product was supposed to be set up at the weekend, not today, before he both cursed and thanked George mentally as he realised his twin had given him some time alone with you - and an excuse as to why.

You’d placed the trays down and began looking around the shop, trying to work out the best place to display them, absent-mindedly pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you did.

Fred’s gaze was directed at where your teeth met your lip and he swallowed, his jaw clenching as he imagined himself being the one biting your lip, and what sounds you’d make whilst he was doing so.

In his haze, he hadn’t realised you’d moved to the opposite side of the till counter, placing some other products you’d taken from another display down as you leant on the counter yourself. The movement caused Fred to glance over at you and his breath immediately hitched in his throat.

He could’ve sworn your top was buttoned all the way to your collar just moments ago and yet now, as you were leaning on your elbows on the counter as you spoke about the idea for the display you had, all he could focus on was the sight of the top of your breasts, in perfect view from the way your top had fallen as you’d leant.

“I suppose we could always move the love potions stand to the other side of the shop,” you looked up at Fred to see his response and instead were met with a soft gaze and no hint that he’d heard what you’d said. You raised your hand up in front of his face, an amused smile now playing on your lips as you watched him jump slightly, pulling him from whatever daydream he’d concocted in his head.

“I’m sorry, love, what we’re you saying?” He reaches up to stroke the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Were you not listening again?” You teased, giving him a playful eye roll. “I’m sorry, I was just distracted,” he replied.

“By what?”

Fred cleared his throat, not wanting to admit that he was very much imagining throwing you against the nearest wall and snogging the hell out of you. He instead changed the subject, he hoped subtly, as he returned his focus to the tray of products on the counter, “We could move the Pygmy puffs over and put the new stand nearer the front.”

“That could work,” you looked around and bit your lip in thought again, “Yeah and then we could move...”

But Fred’s focus was lost again. He knew he should be paying attention, that you’d beg him to know what had him so distracted but he couldn’t help it. Not when you were stood barely five feet in front of him, with your top practically unbuttoned and your skirt hugging your curves the way it was.

“What do you think?” You turned back to him happily, before seeing him in a trance again, “Um... Fred?”

Fred blinked, “Oh um yeah, yeah sure, sounds good!”

“Okay good! And then where should we move the snack boxes to...” And there you went again with the lip biting. Merlin, were you doing it on purpose? Could you tell how badly it was affecting him?

And suddenly Fred was only vaguely aware of you being mid sentence as he interrupted your planning with a growl, “Will you stop biting that fucking lip?!”

You jumped, a bewildered look dancing across your features, “What?”

“Stop. Biting. That. Fucking. Lip.” He spoke in a low tone that hit you between your legs and your mouth dropped slightly.

That’s when you saw it. His skin flushed, jaw clenched. His darkening eyes. Your own eyes wandered down his suit-clad arms, sleeves rolled to his elbows and displaying his toned forearms, knuckles white from gripping onto the counter.

You watched his tongue dart out to swipe across his bottom lip and nearly whimpered.

“Oh yeah? Or what?” You challenged him, purposely pulling your bottom lip between your teeth again.

“Or this!”

And suddenly Fred had slammed you against the nearest flat wall, his hands around your wrists as he easily pushed your arms up above your head. Your chests were pressed together, heaving from the deep breaths you were taking, his forehead resting on yours before he crashed his lips against your own.

He held onto your wrists with one hand, using the other to pull you closer to him by your hip, his tongue licking into your mouth as you moaned, completely taken by the man pressed against you. He ran his tongue across your bottom lip and gently nibbled, finally finding out what it felt like to bite your fucking lip.

You felt him through his pants, hard against your thigh as you sighed into his mouth, your hips rolling against his and making him let out a guttural moan.

He dropped his grip from your wrists just long enough to shake off his suit jacket, leaving him in his shirt as you ran your hands down his chest, revelling in the feel of his abs through the material.

His lips were still on yours, as if he was trying to imprint the feel of kissing you into his brain forever. In case this was a one time thing. In case it never happened again.

And then suddenly his mind was taken over by the feeling of your hands on his chest, unbuttoning his shirt as his own hands ran along the skin underneath your own shirt, fingertips reaching up to dance along the base of your bra, his hands gripping your back as you worked to take each others’ clothing off.

You pulled away for just a moment, pulling your shirt over your head as Fred did the same, throwing your bra somewhere in the middle of the floor, instantly forgotten as Fred put his hands back on you.

You shimmied your skirt down before making quick work of getting Fred out of his pants, mouth almost watering when you saw his hard cock pressing against the material of his boxers.

He pushed his lips back on yours, holding your bum as your hands reached around his neck to pull at the tufts of hair there, earning what you could only describe as a growl from him.

“Tell me to stop,” he groaned, taking in the sight of you, breathless and writhing under him.

“What if... I don’t want... you to stop,” you gasped as his mouth ghosted down your jaw, pressing the occasional open mouthed kiss to your skin.

“You want me to keep going?” He asked, sucking at the skin just below your jawline. “I want you to make me feel good,” you said as you stared up into his dark eyes.

“Darling, I can make you feel better than good,” Fred promised with a smirk.

His lips were then busy licking down your neck, towards your chest and he gently teased a nipple into his mouth, nibbling and earning breathy moans from you. One hand gripped your bum as the other held the back of your thigh, slowly moving round and under your skirt as he lightly ran a finger along the lace of your underwear. “This wet just for me?” He grinned, pulling away from your breast to meet your gaze as you nodded breathlessly, “All for you, Freddie.”

“I like the sound of that,” he replied as he moved to your other breast, giving it the same attention as he hooked a finger under the band of your underwear.

He began trailing kisses down your stomach and then kneeled before you, slowly pulling your underwear down your legs before pausing, looking up at you, “These expensive?”

“I can buy more.”

And with that, he ripped them from your legs, throwing them off to the side, falling somewhere with your discarded shirts.

His warm breath hit between your legs and he gripped your thighs before plunging his tongue inside of you, licking into you and making you gasp. The sound you made when he gently bit your clit was downright filthy, and you swore you could feel Fred smirking against you. He pushed his fingers into you, lazily thrusting them in and out as you leant against the wall, eyes closing in pleasure.

Just as you felt yourself getting close, your breathing staggered as you edged towards your climax, Fred decided to pull away from you, the cold air hitting you suddenly, making you open your eyes and you whimpered at the loss of contact.

“Look at you, being so needy. My needy girl, huh? I’ll make you cum, don’t worry, I’m just... dragging it out a little,” Fred smirked as he stood up, his fingers suddenly entering you again but this time only moving slowly.

You desperately thrust your hips into his hand, hoping for more friction, sighing frustratedly as he tutted and removed his hand completely.

He stepped away from you, pulling his underwear off and you finally caught the sight of his cock, long and thick, precum covering the tip. He grabbed himself, slowly stroking himself as he stepped back towards you.

“Can I..?” You spoke, your eyes following his hands. “Be my guest, princess.”

Fred could’ve died happy, he thought, with your pretty lips around his cock, your hands pumping what wouldn’t fit into your mouth, letting out groans as your tongue swirled around the tip.

He felt himself twitch, when suddenly you’d pulled away and he knew as he watched you stand up with your swollen lips curling into a smile that it was your way of paying him back for denying you yours before.

“Dangerous game you’re playing here, love,” He warned, stepping towards you.

“I’m playing to win,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest and absent-mindedly pushing your breasts up with the action.

Fred groaned, “I need to be inside of you.”

His hands were back on you, kissing you again before he guided himself to push inside of you. You both groaned together, breaths hitting the other as he thrusted up into you, pinning you against the wall. He grabbed your waist, his muscles flexing, sweat beading along his collarbone as you leant forward to kiss his neck, biting the spot under his ear that made him suddenly moan and his hips stutter.

“Look at you, taking my cock so well,” he breathed out, his abs tightening with every push into you.

He then nodded over to the till counter just behind you, “See that counter? I’ve been thinking about bending you over it all day.”

“Then why don’t you?” You gasped out your breath hitching in your throat as he gave a particularly deep thrust.

Without a reply, he pulled out of you, making you whimper at the empty feeling, before pulling you over to the counter quickly. He shoved the product trays onto the floor, unbothered by them crashing to the floor as he pressed a rough, dirty kiss to your lips before turning you around and bending you over like he’d imagined so many times before. His hands roamed across your bum, squeezing before pushing back into you and making you cry out.

His hands were on your waist as he pounded into you, before he reached around to pull you up so your back hit his chest, both of you glancing towards the large front window of the shop.

“Anyone could come by and see us, but you don’t care about that do you? Just as long as I keep making you feel good,” he growled in your ear, and you felt yourself clench around his cock, earning a groan from him.

“Freddie,” you whispered, your head falling back against his shoulder as you felt your stomach tightening, building up to your release, “I’m gonna- I’m gonna-“

“There’s a good girl,” Fred praised, a hand running up your stomach to hold one of your breasts, “You’re so good to me. Come for me, princess.”

You let out a moan as your climax washed over you, collapsing forward onto the counter as Fred thrusted into you a couple more times before releasing inside of you, gripping your hips as he groaned, his head falling against the back of your neck as you both tried to catch your breath.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his lips tracing across your back and down your shoulder. And in that moment, as you were coming down from your high, whispering the words back to him, you knew this was the start of something that neither of you were prepared for.

After all, you left each other breathless.

[friendlyneighborhoodcapricorn]

‘whatever happens it’ll still be me & you against the word’ for any ship (damn the other creative juices just aren’t flowing ig)

I'm like, half working on a fic but it's going slow, so I'm hoping writing some drabbles might get me back in the flow lol

Anyway, thanks for the prompt! I hesitated so bad between writing this for Timkon or Birdflash, but I went with the former bc I'm already working on that Birdflash fic, but both are kind of angsty lol

It's not often Kon wakes up gasping from a nightmare. It's even rarer that he wakes Tim up in doing so, but that's mostly because Tim usually isn't asleep yet.

He is tonight, though. Or rather, he was. Because now he's sitting up next to his slightly hyperventilating boyfriend.

"Kon," he whispers into the otherwise silent room, and then, when Kon doesn't answer, he whispers, "Conner, hey. What- what's wrong?"

Kon shakes his head, one hand rubbing at the fabric of his shirt, right over his heart, while the other fumbles for Tim's. Tim grasps it quickly, rubbing his thumb over Kon's knuckles before bringing it to his lips and kissing his palm.

"Talk to me, Conner," he says. It's easier to snap him out of things like this by calling him Conner rather than Kon, for some reason. It's also not working. "Hey, look at me."

When that doesn't work, Tim reaches up to cup Conner's cheek and tilt his head until he can look into his eyes. They're glassy, as if he isn't really seeing Tim. That's fine. Tim knows they've both been off worse, so they can work with this.

Stroking his thumb along Kon's cheekbone, he whispers, "We're okay. The team's okay. We're safe, we're alive."

He brings the hand he's still holding up to his own chest, to where he knows Conner will be able to feel his beating heart. He covers it with his own, intertwining their fingers, and waits.

He waits until the fog clears from Kon's beautiful eyes, and he slumps forward until his head is resting against Tim's collarbone. He mumbles something unintelligble, and Tim strokes a hand through his curls. "Come again, baby?"

Conner turns his head until Tim can feel his warm breath against the side of his neck. "You left."

Tim doesn't have a good answer to that. Not immediately. It's an irrational fear they both have, but one that rears its head so rarely that neither of them really knows how to handle it.

"I'm still here," he offers lamely when he realizes that the silence isn't helping the matter either. "And as far as I'm concerned, I'm not going anywhere."

"You might not have a choice," Kon murmured. One of his hands slipped under the hem of Tim's shirt, tracing mindless, spiraling patterns on his hip.

Tim knows what he's talking about. It's the one fear he really can't do anything about. Their line of work is dangerous, and there are risks. And Tim's odd of getting hurt (or worse) are significantly higher than Kon's.

"I know," he whispers into Conner's fluffy hair. "But I've got your back, and I know you've got mine. So we'll be okay. And no matter what happens, it'll still be you and me against the rest of the world, yeah? No matter what, it'll always be us against them. I know we're part of a badass team of superheroes, but you and I, we're a team of our own. And that's why I'm not worried."

Kon tilts his head back to look up at him. "I'm not sure I'm following."

Tim can't fight back a smile. "You're the best part of me, Kon. That's why I'm not worried about leaving."

He swears he can see Kon's cheeks flush, but Kon ducks his head so quickly that it's hard to tell.

Tim goes to lie back down, and pulls Conner along with him, wrapping one arm around his waist and holding him close. Kon tucks his head under Tim's chin, his curls tickling Tim's throat but it isn't enough to make Tim want to move. He's pretty content to stay right where he is.

[deepseavibez]

Why So Serious? || MYG

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-> Picture Source - Pinterest

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Why So Serious? [Yoongi x Reader]

Prompt - @casnextdoor

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Genre - Fluff; Comfort; Dad!Yoongi; Mom!Y/n; Drabble;

Summary - Why is your babygirl crying? And what can Daddy Yoongi do to make it better.

🎶- People - Agust D

Warning - Crying; Bad feelings(implied); Confused parents (at first)

Word Count - 1.7k

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'No.' You looked up at the short answer. Four year old tempers were a thing, you understood that but your baby girl hadn't said no to picking up her toys before.

After playtime Mina usually cleaned up after herself, the task relatively easy for her, something like a game to put everything in its place in the shortest time she could.

You believed she got it from her father, because there was no way the trait came from you. You relished in your organized chaos, if it felt like it should be there it would stay there. You would go as far as capping your pens but they were never in their holders, just strewn about your desk, the closest color to your mood for the day.

Stretching your arms out along the island where you were chopping up pieces of apple for a midday snack you gave your toddler your full attention.

'But your LEGOs are all over Minnie, and you finished playing with them this morning,' you tried to sound as gentle as possible - an invitation for an explanation.

'I don't want to.' She shook her head back and forth, no playfulness present, mouth a stubborn line, as if that answer was good enough.

'Mina, those are your toys, you played with them, would it be fair for Mommy to clean up after you?'

Shaking her head in response she looked down and away from you, twiddling with the ears of the giraffe teddy in her hand.

You gave her a minute to move, to respond, each second of it hiking up your level of annoyance.

'I won't ask again, Mina.' Your voice was stern now, patience worn thin.

'No, Mommy, No!' She cried out, and ran out of the room toward Yoongi's study.

'Mina,' you dragged out, following swiftly after her.

You found Yoongi at his desk, phone at his ear, he looked at you and motioned with his eyes toward the tuft of hair peeking out from between his legs.

Leaning on the door you watched her cry, something in you tugging at your chest in frustration, because all you wanted was for her to listen, but you also didn’t want her to cry. She was never like this.

'-- I'll email them by tomorrow, yeah sure, just text me. We can set up a meeting to discuss the list.' Ending his call, Yoongi discarded his phone immediately and reached between his legs to settle his babygirl on his lap.

The transition would amuse you on any other day, the serious, intimidating Min Yoongi, softening his lips, his eyes, using gentle fingers against Mina's cheeks to wipe away her tears.

'What is my pretty girl crying about huh,' he asked, as he tried to make her face him.

Shaking her head in refusal to answer, he looked up at you, a camouflaged seriousness in his eyes, meant only for you.

'She refuses to pick up her LEGOs, told me no, and when I asked her again she ran out of the room crying.' Your voice sounded even but just by looking at you Yoongi could see, you were unnerved. The tantrum uncharted territory, especially for a task carried out so many times before.

'Daddy!' You had barely explained before she burst into tears again, falling into his chest, hiding her face from view.

Holding her close and patting her head tenderly he looked up at you in alarm, 'Why is she-, ' he mouthed at you.

'I don't know,' you mouthed back, shrugging your shoulders in emphasis, your expression bewildered.

Staring ahead for a few seconds, he contemplated before his eyebrows smoothed out, a realization crossed his face, as he decided to do something.

Interest piqued, you straightened up, and watched him, ready to jump in and follow his lead.

Your crying four year old still bawled her eyes out, hiccups coming from her chest, her throat would be ouchy later, you thought in concern.

‘Shh, baby, shh, you aren't in trouble, but you need to tell Daddy why you won’t clean up your toys.’ His voice was soft and coaxing as he gradually pulled her back to look at him. Grabbing tissues from the box he had near his desk for situations like sticky fingers and leaky noses, he wiped her tears and her small nose.

Yoongi, even now, in a situation like this had you in a pile of mush. He was not outwardly one for softness, especially with his blunt nature and his solid hands, but here he was gingerly running his fingers through Mina’s hair and setting it as he cooed at her to stop crying, to listen to Daddy.

Her voice hoarse from crying so hard she answered him, ‘I don't feel okay daddy.’

‘Are you hungry?’ Yoongi prompted, discarding the tissues in the wastebin, his hand now at her back and waist, holding her up, and lowering his head with a sulky expression to match hers.

With a shake of her head, she rubbed at her eye, he tilted his head to the side, and prompted again. ‘Are you tired? We could nap, you and I together, Mommy too.’

Another shake of her head, this time her frown prominent and lip quivering, as if ready to burst into another set of tears.

‘Did mommy do or say something bad to you,’ he asked in a whisper, talking her into telling him a secret.

Your eyes widened at the question, panicking internally in resistance. What was that supposed to mean? As if there were eyes at the back of his head, he held up his hand, a clear sign to wait.

Mina shook her head hard, now in a state, more confusion than ever clouding her features as she battled not to cry. ‘It feels bad, Daddy, I don’t like it and it won’t go away.’

‘Is it telling you to be mean to Mommy?’ Yoongi asked as she grabbed onto his shirt again, ready to hide away.

‘It just feels icky,’ she answered wetly, looking over at you her eyes widened momentarily ‘Mommy don't cry. Daddy I made Mommy cry,’ she cried out in desperation.

Your eyes blurred with unshed tears at your baby’s voice, holding a hand to your mouth you kept as quiet as possible. Yoongi had this.

Yoongi swallowed hard at his daughter's face, his protective instincts flaring, but this was one boogeyman he needed her to fight with him.

‘Baby,’ he used another tissue to wipe up the fresh tears. Moving the keyboard aside, he sat her up on his desk in front of him so she could lay her head on his shoulder and he could rub her back. ‘Sometimes Mina, we feel bad inside, and we don't know what to do about it.’ His voice was smooth as he explained, no indication that he had been affected. ‘It tells us to be mean, because we don't know what we’re really feeling and it's okay baby, because Mommy and Daddy feel it too, and we’re here for you. We love you.’’

‘Do you think it's okay to be mean to mommy.’ He was so patient about it as he asked her and it left you in awe as he made her understand.

‘No,’ the word muffled as half her face was squished on her father’s shoulder.

‘No it isn't, baby, and we can't help you if you don't tell us what's wrong.’ Pulling back he smiled softly, her cheeks puffed up and blotchy, eyes shiny but without tears. ‘If you told mummy you were feeling icky, she would have tried to help, right?’

She nodded enthusiastically at that. ‘Mommy always helps me.’

Your heart soared at the statement as you watched the energy come back to your Mina.

‘There's my girl,’ Yoongi smirked as he pinched her nose and she scrunched up her face, at the action. ‘So from now on, when you feel like this again, you can tell Mommy or Daddy and we can help you and take care of you.’ Holding out his pinky finger, she smiled as she curled her small pinky finger around his - she knew we took pinky promises very seriously.

‘Come on, let's go give mummy a hug and tell her you're sorry.’ She reached up her hands to be picked up as he stood from his office chair.

Mina reached out for you as Yoongi carried her towards you and you plucked her easily from him. Her hands immediately wrapped around your neck and she placed a wet kiss on your cheek.

‘I'm sorry for being meany mommy.’

‘It's okay baby,’ rocking her back and forth, you closed your eyes at the feel of your small human in your arms, a certain escape, as if everything in the world mattered a little less as long as she was okay. ‘Mommy feels bad too sometimes, and you know what daddy does?’ You prompted excitedly.

She leaned back to look at you, her cheeks puffy, lips pouting, as she listened to you.

‘Daddy gives me lots of cuddles and kisses me here and here and here and here,’ you placed kisses on her cheeks and forehead and nose, ‘and he gives me food, and chocolate and anything else I want.’

Giggling now, your chest ached at her happiness, a sweet ache, her importance beyond anything she could imagine.

‘Did you know Daddy got me Gloss when I felt really really bad.’

‘Big white gloss,’ she motioned with her hands, her eyes full of wonderment.

‘Yep,’ you popped the ‘p’. ‘Big white gloss,’ your own excitement palpable at the mention of the white teddy bear on your bed, his size slightly bigger than her form.

‘Mommy,’ she motioned you forward with her hand and you leaned closer to her, ‘Can daddy get me a gloss too?’ She told you in your ear.

Her very loud whisper had you turning your attention to the man who now leaned against the wall and watched the interaction.

He smiled his gummy smile as wrapped his arms around both of you and answered her softly, ‘Anything for you Minnie.’

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[thornescratch]

Hi! I’m really curious about the ‘I want to understand you, I study your obscure language’ one for the wip thing!

Ooof. So I don't really like Sidney Crosby, for a series of reasons that we won't get into because some of them come down to petty geographical sports reasons, and some of them come down to petty fandom reasons, but I have friends who do like him and I guess also tumblr followers as well, so I try to not be... awful or obvious about it. I used to be much worse! He's slightly more tolerable for me now that the Caps have a Cup.

It's honestly, like, only 500 words from being complete. I just keep putting it off. I’m kinda-- I can deal with fictional Crosby (and to be fair, fictional Ovechkin is also easier to deal with over real Ovechkin) but I worry that my attitude towards him bleeds through the writing, so I tend to second guess myself a lot while writing him, on if I’m being fair or not.

Anyway, the fic itself is quite short, and grew out of a double drabble request someone asked of me some years back and I think the prompt was something like Crosby and Ovechkin and conversations. The title is from a line of Pushkin poetry and it’s (supposed to be, anyway) relevant to their actual conversations. And so it was two very short little pieces about them and each other's voicemails, and I always thought it was sorta missing something. So then I figured, oh, thematically, there should be a closing scene where they talk in person. But what are they talking about? And, well it just happened on its own.

But there's something different about this, in a way. And then he knows, and Jesus fucking Christ, holy fucking shit. This is going to piss off so many people. This is amazing. Alex is actually kind of unable to talk from the sheer delight of it.

But as the silence drags on, Sidney looks even more agonized, and the dull flush of red starts creeping down his neck as well. "So, yeah. I know things are sometimes weird but. Even so. I guess I could have handled some things different, like better. But I can, I mean. In the future.

"If you want," he adds when Alex still doesn't say anything.

"With me," he tacks on after that, like Alex actually needs the clarification.

"Oh my God," Alex says blankly, still marveling over the hilariousness of it all. "Sidney Crosby, you love me. Like, in love with me."

And he starts to laugh his ass off.

Sid blinks and then makes the exact same pissy expression that he does whenever he loses a faceoff, which isn't an sight Alex usually gets to see this close up—he's usually been off to the side and watching the way Nicky takes the draw, while hoping for a one timer chance—but he almost can't focus on enjoying the look on Sid's face because he's still too busy being consumed with the enormous glee of it all.

"Yeah, well," Sid says grumpily, when Alex doesn't stop laughing like a maniac. "I thought you should know."

"I knew," Alex says, still wheezing.

"I thought I should tell you, though," Sid says. "You. I just. Thought I should say it."

"Oh," Alex says, "good," and then he swallows the last of his laughter down in a hiccup, so he can crowd in close, then reach out and touch the little furrow line between Sid's eyes; it smooths out under his finger. "I'm glad you did."

"Yeah?" Sid asks, eyebrows raised, still a little stiff and defensive.

"Well, you don't say it like I think you gonna say it, but you say it Sidney way," Alex says. "That's okay, that's best way, actually."

"Oh," Sid says. He frowns. "Uh. I guess we can do the classic thing. I love you. Is that better?" He shifts his weight from foot to foot. "I could, like, go down on one knee, I guess."

"It's good too," Alex says. "Actually, yeah, I want one knee." A thought occurs to him as Sid is in the process of going to one knee. "Oh my God, you already got a ring too, yeah?"

"What?" Sid says, frozen halfway down, and then looks shifty. "No, I don't have a ring on me."

Alex stares hard at Sid, runs that through his head, considers everything he knows about him, and then he starts laughing in helpless joy again. "You do, though. I bet you already buy a ring. Maybe not here, but I bet you got ring hiding, like, in sock drawer."

Sid looks grumpy again and stands up, arms crossed over his chest. "I wouldn't store anything valuable in my sock drawer."

"You got me valuable ring?" Alex says, still hiccupping with laughter. "Ooh. I wanna see."

"I'm keeping it now," Sid says. "I'm gonna take it back to the store."

"You wanna marrrrrry me," Alex croons, and right before Sid can get really pissed off, he swallows as much of his giggling as he can and says, "Okay, yes. Wait, no, you don't ask. Ask. On knee, you gotta do it right. Come on, come on." He gestures and snaps his fingers.

"Okay yes what?" Sid asks. The pissy faceoff loss expression is giving rapid way to more of a confused I just heard a whistle blow and I can't tell if the penalty is on my team or we're about to get a powerplay expression. Hope and dread mixing together in equal parts, and expecting chaos no matter what.

"Ask me," Alex says.

"…right now?" Sid says, still looking like he's trying to recover from the conversational whiplash. "I don't have my notes."

"You don't need notes, you already know I'm gonna say yes," Alex says patiently. He would like to see the ring first, because he prefers classic yellow gold even if everyone's into platinum these days, but Sid is weird and conscientious enough to probably already have a full folder of research on Alex's taste in jewelry and there's no chance in hell he doesn't know that already. Hell, he bets Sid's proposal notes have multiple versions that were specifically calibrated for optimal weighted outcomes based on geography, time of year, day of the week, weather, which of their respective teams won their last game against each other, point standings, and whatever other insane factors Sid thought would possibly affect the answer.

[pilvimarja]

Drabble | Ficlet | ●●● | teen Lawrusso | adult Lawrusso |

Prompt used: Nightmare

(Post-TKK3 AU, Daniel is a little chubby in this and Johnny is into it, accidental kink discovery, mild dom/sub undertones, messy BJ, mild feminization, internalized homophobia, use of the f-slur, Johnny's budding drinking problem)

Johnny takes a sip of lukewarm beer and points the remote at the TV to switch from one late night infomercial to another. He should be asleep like Daniel who’s snoring at his side, bathed in a spill of neon from the No Vacancy sign across the parking lot, but he’ll need a few more beers to numb the restless noise in his head.

The motel is even shittier than last time with its cigarette-yellowed wallpapers and garish color scheme, but there’s no way Johnny's sneaking another guy into his dorm, and the walls at Mr. Miyagi’s house are made of paper. Literally.

So yeah, it’s a shithole, but the lady at the front desk asked no questions, and Johnny gets to ignore the budding identity crisis these clandestine meetings with LaRusso try to spring on him.

He hasn’t gone steady with anyone since Ali, and he’s not about to call Daniel LaRusso his boyfriend, because he’s pretty sure he’s not like, a fag or anything, but this thing between them sure is something when Johnny’s willing to skip one of Ken Bennett’s infamous ragers for a night at a cockroach-infested motel with a guy who once kicked him in the face.

He takes another sip of beer, half-convinced that he absolutely needs a bunch of vitamins for beautiful, healthy hair, a Chia Pet and a set of kitchen knives, because they’re only $19.99 and wait, there’s more! but he's saved from his impulses by Daniel's restless fidgeting.

Johnny drags his eyes away from the TV and lets them rove over Daniel’s sleep-soft features. He's changed since high school, they both have, though Johnny's idea of reinventing himself when he got to college was limited to a mullet and a few wispy hairs on his chin that didn't even meet the requirements of a goatee.

Daniel however, looks nothing like the scrawny shrimp Johnny had tormented throughout their senior year. Yeah, he’s still short and he never stops running his mouth, but he's also filled out. A lot.

Johnny would roast him for it, but he kind of likes the way Daniel’s jeans strain around his ass and how his little tits jiggle when he rides Johnny’s cock. They don't fill his palms like girl tits, and Johnny’s fully aware that Daniel isn't anything like the babes he fucks back on campus, but maybe that’s part of the appeal.

And there's that damn identity crisis again.

The shadows in the room stretch and shrink with the shifting pictures on the TV screen, and Daniel’s face twists into something pained. He jerks against Johnny's flank, his arms and legs twitching like someone’s giving him tiny shocks of electricity.

Johnny reaches out, his hand hovering over Daniel’s shoulder. Are you supposed to disturb someone if they’re having a nightmare? Or was that about sleepwalking?

Daniel's hands come up like he's trying to block a strike from an invisible enemy and he breathes out a distressed sound that makes Johnny’s skin crawl.

He sets his beer on the nightstand and gives Daniel’s shoulder a careful nudge. “Hey, LaRusso—Daniel? You okay?”

Daniel kicks his legs around the tangled sheet and punches the air.

And Johnny’s fucking nose!

“Ow shit!”

Johnny’s eyes water from the strike and his tastebuds prickle at the metallic tang of blood flooding down his throat.

“J-Johnny?”

Daniel sits up and blinks at Johnny with dazed, bleary eyes.

“Jesus Christ, LaRusso… Do you have some personal vendetta against my nose?” Johnny groans, but there’s no heat in his voice, because he knows it was an accident.

“I’m-I’m so sorry, oh man, I musta been having a nightmare or something,” Daniel sputters, freeing himself from the tangle of sheets. He climbs into Johnny’s lap and wipes his thumb through the trickle of blood under his nostril. “Seriously, Johnny, I didn’t mean to��”

“I know you didn’t,” Johnny huffs, trying to blink around the tears in his eyes.

“But I’m real sorry, man.” Daniel cups Johnny’s cheeks and breathes his sleep-stale breath all over his face as he presses a kiss to the throbbing tip of his nose.

“What was it about?”

"Huh?”

“The nightmare. What was it about?”

“I, uh…” Daniel chews his lip and stares at the peeling wallpaper behind Johnny's head. “I don’t remember."

He's such a shit liar.

“You sure about that?” Johnny's had his share of nightmares, knows what it’s like to wake up with his heart knocking against his ribs, sheets soaked with sweat.

Daniel wrings his hands and continues to stare at the wall. “I'm sorry… I don't wanna talk about it.” He glances up at Johnny, eyes haunted and a little apologetic. “Okay?”

Johnny tugs on the sweat-damp hair on Daniel's nape. “Okay.”

They've been careful not to delve too deep into personal stuff, but Johnny’s got a nagging feeling that Daniel is dealing with some Shit with a capital S.

And it’s not just the nightmare or Daniel’s obvious reluctance to talk about it. Johnny can’t narrow it down to one single thing, but something about Daniel has felt a little fragile and withdrawn since they started hooking up a few months ago, like he's locked part of himself away.

Johnny's done his best to let go of his own misguided need for violence, but there are days when the bullshit in his head gets so loud and intrusive that he has to down a couple of sixers to chase away his untamed demons.

He can't picture Daniel LaRusso getting blackout drunk, but he offers his half-empty can of beer to him and is rewarded with a look of disapproval and disgust.

"Johnny, it's almost two in the morning! And that stuff tastes like battery acid and it's warm!"

"Who cares what it tastes like if it gets you drunk," Johnny huffs. He empties the can in one long gulp and crushes it with a satisfying crunch of aluminum.

Daniel shakes his head and gives Johnny a lopsided smile. "You're such a caveman."

"And you're totally into it, LaRusso," Johnny snorts, tossing the can across the room.

Daniel mutters something in Italian, his smile a funny mix of exasperated and fond as he settles into the cradle of Johnny's thighs and drags the sheet aside.

"Oh, okay. We going another round, at two in the morning?" Johnny smirks.

Daniel rolls his eyes and drops a trail of kisses to the valley of Johnny's pecs, going down, down, down.

“You know you don’t have to, right?” Johnny says, because he doesn’t want Daniel to feel like he owes him for something he didn’t mean to do.

Daniel looks like a little succubus against the backdrop of red neon, watching Johnny with ink-dark eyes. “I know, but I really want to.”

Johnny forgets all about the dull pulse of pain in his nose when Daniel wraps his fingers around his dick and takes it into his plush mouth.

"Fuck...”

He hadn’t even entertained the idea of a blowjob with Ali, and the girls he meets at keggers are usually too worried about ruining their makeup to really go for it.

But Daniel LaRusso is gagging for it.

His cock is hard between his fleshy thighs, a pretty little thing that Johnny had done his best to ignore the first couple of times they did this, because the idea of putting his hands on another guy’s dick was somehow worse than railing their ass.

The first time he touched it was at a drive-in theater in Van Nuys, jealous of all the horny couples around them who felt no need to hide. He'd waited for the screen to explode with a high-octane car chase, the speaker on his open window rattling with the sound of screeching tires and gunshots as he reached between Daniel’s thighs and palmed him through his too-tight jeans.

The handjob was objectively bad and Johnny never looked away from the screen, but Daniel went off like a Roman candle, and Johnny's pretty sure the upholstery in his car has permanent stains from that night.

Daniel hums around his cock, drooling all over his chin and the wiry hairs on Johnny’s crotch as he relaxes his throat and takes him even deeper.

His mouth is warm and wet like a pussy and Johnny has to fuck it, just a little. He thrusts in and strokes his fingers against the soft roll of fat on the underside of Daniel's chin, feels the way his throat opens for his cock.

“Fuck, sweetheart... Your mouth feels so good.”

Daniel lets out a surprised mewl at the pet name, and Johnny’s about to panic, because that's what he used to call Ali and it kind of just slipped out and he’s pretty sure he’s just made things weird.

“Sorry, I-I didn't mean to—”

Daniel pulls off with a wet squelch and replaces his mouth with his hand. "Say it again," he pants, tugging on Johnny's spit-slick shaft. "Please?"

Johnny blinks at Daniel as his mind plays catch up. "Uh, sweetheart?"

"Yeah." Daniel settles over Johnny's leg and grinds his cock against the thick muscle of his thigh. "I make you feel good?"

Johnny nods, thrusting into Daniel's sloppy grip. "Duh! I mean, yeah, so good." He runs his hands over Daniel's arms, supple like an overripe fruit, and marks them with a smattering of red fingerprints.

Daniel traces them with his own fingers, almost frantic as he rides Johnny's thigh. "I'm so close, please, Johnny, can I come?"

Johnny's playing catch up again. Daniel has never needed his permission to blow his load, and the breathless, desperate way he's pleading for it now feels like a game, but Johnny's not sure what role he's meant to play.

Daniel bites his lip, watching Johnny through his lashes. “Please, let me. Haven't I been good?”

The words ignite Johnny’s blood and send him on a familiar power trip. And Christ, how he used to fantasize about this, of making Daniel LaRusso beg. He drags his fingers through Daniel's sleep-mussed hair and yanks his head back, his grip assertive but not unkind.

"Johnny?" Daniel whimpers, his cock straining against the soft underside of his belly. "Can I?"

Johnny flexes his fingers in Daniel's hair and presses his mouth to his ear. "Yeah, sweetheart, come on." The words stumble from his tongue in an awkward rush, like he's delivering a line in a school play, but Daniel throws his head back, almost rapturous.

The stark light from the TV paints a halo around his messy hair and he looks like some kind of religious figure as he comes, beautiful in a way that makes Johnny feel like he's ruining him with his touch.

Daniel collapses against Johnny's chest and blinks at him with pleasure-hazy eyes. "Uh. That was..."

"Yeah, man." Johnny lets out a stunned chuckle, because it sure was. He's still hard between the sweaty press of their bodies, and he drags his fingers over the seam of Daniel's lips.

Daniel grins at him and takes the hint, settling back between Johnny’s thighs. He let's Johnny hook his thumb over his bottom teeth and gives it a playful little nip.

“Want me to swallow?”

Johnny almost blows his load at the question and his voice comes out in a high-pitched wheeze. “Sure. Okay."

Daniel tugs on his cock, smiling like a little imp as he sticks his tongue out, and that's it. Johnny's hips jerk up and his cock spits out a fat glob of come over Daniel's plump cheek, and it's one of the hottest things he's seen (and Johnny's seen a lot of hot shit, because his roommate, who's probably some kind of sex fiend, has lined the walls of their dorm with so many naked babes that you can't turn your head without seeing some bush).

The rest of his load lands on the bow of Daniel's lips and he feels like his soul is about to depart from his body as he watches Daniel drag his fingers through the jizz on his face, popping them into his mouth like he's savoring a fucking treat.

“Jesus, LaRusso… Feel free to punch me in the nose whenever you want if this is what it gets me,” Johnny chuckles, slumping against the lumpy pillows.

Daniel crawls to his side and rests his cheek on Johnny's shoulder. “I really am sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Johnny strokes his hand along Daniel’s flank and gives his ass a playful smack. “So… You really liked it, huh?”

“What, punching you in the nose?” Daniel sputters, blinking up at Johnny.

“No, not that.” Johnny snorts. “I mean the other stuff. Asking for my permission and you know, when I called you... that name.” Johnny's cheeks prickle with heat, because it's still weird to call another guy something as soft as sweetheart, even one as pretty as Daniel.

“Oh. That.” Daniel bites his lip, unable to hide his flush in the bright glare from the TV. He presses his fingers against the marks Johnny's left on his arm and looks a little flustered, like he’s as surprised by the whole thing as Johnny. “Well, yeah, kind of.”

“Is it something you want to, like… do again?” Johnny asks, braver in the shadows than he’ll ever be in broad daylight.

Daniel throws his leg over Johnny's waist and gives him a coy smile. “Maybe.”

[cherry-gemz]

Summary: This is a continuation of the movie Before We Go and my interpretation and imagination of an A/U. Brooke is you (Y/N) and Nick is still Nick :)

Prompt: "Just admit that I'm right." for @the-ce-horniest-book-club Drunk Drabbles for Nick Vaughan.

Pairings: Nick Vaughan x Y/N

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: <2k...is this a drabble still? Oopsies XD

A/N: I watched this movie for the first time just last week. It's now one of my top 3 Cevans movies! While I'm all for a romantic, serendipitous, spontaneous trope...much like Before Sunrise *no spoilers*, the ending was great, but I wanted a different spin. No pressure...yah, right! Either way, hope you enjoy xx.

Tags: @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @tonystankschild @a-little-counter-esperanto

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

You sniff and rub the end of your coat sleeve with your nose. Had to be the chill in the air, you thought. Not the fact that you just spent the most amazing and life changing night with a man you just met hours before and it was ending.

You stare out the train’s window; the gentle hum of the cart gliding across the steel tracks echoed in your thoughts. You shook your head in thinking that you made a mistake. I should have stayed...I should have told him how I felt…

“Nick. It's you again. Listen. I want to give you one more piece of advice. You're gonna be playing one night... Grand Central... thinking of every reason in the world to not go see the girl that broke your heart. Then, you're gonna meet somebody. And now, at first, she's gonna seem… icy. You're gonna know right away she's trouble. She's gonna take all your money. You're probably gonna get punched in the face. But stay with her; you're gonna need her a lot more than she needs you. And at the end of the night, you're gonna want to say some things, but don't. Don't ruin it. It's nothing she doesn't already know. Just give her a kiss. Wish her good luck. And thank her. Thank her for showing you that you can love more than one person in this life.”

He was unbelievably charming. You said so yourself. His raw talent with the trumpet was beautiful and different from what you were used to. The suburbia of the Boston bubble was what you were forced to live in now. You were from London, you were cultured and refined. Sure things with Michael were exciting at first, but the ho hum of the daily diatribe of routine became loathsome. Dépaysement. But you still never wavered in your marriage. Unlike Michael who had crossed that sacred line and lost your trust. It wasn't even fully the physical aspect that he went to another woman. It was the intimacy of telling her his deepest desires and then some that hurt the most. That he would want to share that with anyone else but you. But tonight. Tonight was what made you see clearly.

"It's possible, isn't it? It's possible that you could meet somebody who's perfect for you even though you're committed to somebody else," you asked as you bit your lip.

"No, no, see, I think if you're committed to somebody, you don't allow yourself to find perfection in someone else."

You found yourself blushing and cupping your cheek in thoughts of Nick. He was right. The whole night was a cluster mess of you trying to get home before Michael so you'd be able to throw away that wretched note. That he'd come to his senses and forget Linny. That he'd realized he was a fool and you'd start over. Just like old times.

However, slowly that feeling of reconciliation faded away little by little as each hour in the city passed. You couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but somehow the scrappy trumpet player Nick Vaughan etched his way into your icy heart and left an impression and stayed.

His fluffy, dark hair - so soft and inviting for you to rake your fingers through it was enough to drive you mad. His scruffy beard, which tickled when you kissed. You already loved ghosting your palms over it softly and imagined being able to do it whenever you wished. He said earlier into the night you weren't his type; you scoffed, but we're annoyed that it bothered you. You were a classic model of what guys were into, looks wise. Sure, your attitude was what rubbed some people the wrong way, but Americans really were too sensitive.

He however...he was the full package. Every toothy grin, wink, and full hearty laugh. He was addicting. He was a dead ringer for a heartthrob, but you also couldn't hate the guy for it. He was the friend you'd call to bail you out of jail at 4am and the boyfriend that you could see settling down with. It was nauseating really.

And then his lips. His soft lips...you can’t believe you kissed him in the hotel room. And then again at the train station. But you would have kicked yourself for not doing so in the first place. The way your fingers interlaced themselves on his terry cloth robe, how desperately you wanted to press your body against his. All you wanted was for him to feel that burning need within the apex between your thighs and extinguish it all night. But it was more than that, he was what you were missing. But you were kidding yourself. You weren’t running to Michael, you were running away from Nick.

But why? Because of the unknown? Because he actually knew who you were deep down inside? How could a man you barely knew, change you? Change what you thought was true, what you thought was love?

You dove your hand into your wool jacket’s pockets to push any thoughts of self-doubt, when you realize there was a piece of cardstock. You were puzzled to find it and immediately smiled in recognizing the hotel survey card. You bit your lip as you read down the survey questions one by one and notice Nick’s handwriting at the bottom, ‘turn over’ with an arrow.

Curious you turn over the hotel card and he’s written the word ‘yes’. Yes? You furrow your brow and contemplate further what he would be saying yes to. You think about the night - the time at the bar, helping him with Hannah, when you went to the psychic reading. Yes? What in the world - and then you turn the card back over and realize that on the second to last question it asked “Will you be likely to return?”

None of the boxes are checked, but he’d written ‘yes’ on the back. Yes. Yes he’ll return? Where? To the hotel? But when? You look up and rush to think about stopping the train dead in its tracks to return back to Grand Station. You breathe out heavily and come to terms that this isn’t a movie. He’s not chasing you down the tracks, jumping on the train to find you. Or is he? You wouldn’t put it past him. The whole night was filled with serendipitous concourses, this would be icing on the cake. You dart your head around to see if he’s in the cable car. It’s like in every rom com movie ending, the man of your dreams will be right there. He’s somehow charmed his way into boarding the train and found you waiting like a princess in her high tower. The train car is dark and bleak, only a few passengers are riding it as it’s the first route to Boston on a Sunday. You peer over to see if he’s in the next cart, but alas he is not. You slump in your seat and rub your thumb methodically over his words.

"Have you ever had a feeling that somebody was going to play a major part in your life?” you ask.

“Yeah."

“Do you know the most interesting thing about hotel art? It's what's on the back.”

It’s then you realize you have to return to New York. This story wasn’t about you and Michael anymore. No, it was about the man who selflessly helped you while you were in need, not only at your dire hour, but metaphorically as well. This was meant to be. You were meant to miss your train, break your phone, and meet the handsome man named Nick Vaughn. You knew he’d still be in the city because of his audition for the day with Duke at least, if you could just get to him somehow...

*

Your knees bounced as you sat on a cushioned chair in the hotel lobby. You had planned to wait there all day, but then realized the $13 train ticket was your only way of providing you security back home. So you went home. Confronted Michael. Cursed, cried, and then relief rushed over you as he had read your letter and how you knew about the affair. How you wanted to throw fists on his chest and tell him how much you hated him. But once you saw him, you found it didn't matter to you anymore. Someone else was worth fighting for. Your marriage was over. The hatred and spite you once had for your husband had dissipated. Your world didn't end like you thought it would. This wasn't your only chance at love. You were choosing to be happy, whether it was with Nick or not. This was the first time you were going to jump without having a net.

And Nick was wrong. Michael didn't want to work things out, he was coming to tell you that he loved you, but that and he'd be returning to Atlanta for good. The house, car, everything was yours: Nick said so himself, you gotta be okay with not being okay. So you walked away. You made the choice just like the psychic said and took it in stride, you faced the music.

However now you found yourself back in New York. Not the once stranded woman at a crossroads less than 24 hours before, but the woman that made a choice. You were worried that Nick would see it as you running away again. Running away because Michael didn't choose you. But in reality you didn't choose each other.

Still without an ID, you took your car and better against the four hour drive to the city and hoped a cop wouldn't pull you over. You thought of the night in the hotel. The laughs, the closeness you two encountered. The playful and cheeky way he could make you feel seen. You were starting to get nervous, what if he doesn't show up? What if I missed my chance?

"I'm an idiot," you murmur to yourself. "I can't believe I'm here."

You stand up and realize there Nick was there in your path. He looked a little worn, obviously from staying up all night. But he had changed and showered from the looks of it, and his signature trumpet case held in his hand.

"Well look who it is. The biggest loser in New York."

You laughed and blushed at the sight of him. He slung his trumpet case over his broad shoulder and walked over to close the gap.

“Just admit that I’m right.”

"Admit what?" You ask as you find yourself touching his jacket sleeve.

"Admit that you couldn't get enough of me." You hitched a breath from his words.

"You can say that."

"I can't believe you came back," he responded. His blue eyes gazed into yours as he brushed away a tendril of hair from your face.

"I read your answer to the survey...on the back."

"The stay did exceed my expectations and I did say I would return," he smiles.

"And here you are."

"Here I am…" he pulls away slightly as he's reminded that you're married.

"I jumped," you replied.

He's taken back by your statement and furrows his brow.

"What? With what?"

"I told Michael it was over."

"Wow. I'm so...sorry, Y/N."

"Don't be. You said so yourself, at some point it was time to face the music."

He nodded, absorbing the information.

"Say what's in your head."

He shook his head and grinned,"I'm just glad you came back is all."

"Yeah? How'd you know?"

"I didn't. Just sure as hell hoped you would."

He intertwines your fingers with his and holds tight. Like a missing puzzle piece found, your hand fits perfectly with his.

"Whaddya say we get out of here?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"I may know a place," he smiles devilishly and gives your knuckles a kiss.

You grab his dress shirt collar and turn him towards you. He runs his hands through your hair and places his lips upon yours, kissing you deeply. It's a kiss so passionate, so perfect - that after you part, neither open your eyes for a few moments afterwards and he embraces you tightly.

"Good, because I'm not going anywhere."

[katedrakeohd]

Wacky Drabbles #52

this week’s prompt: Sure, alcohol solves most problems, but in this particular case, I don’t think it will help.

Wacky Drabblers: @ao719 @axwalker @bbrandy2002 @bebepac @bitchloveskcbaseball @blackcatkita @bobasheebaby @burnsoslow @dcbbw @debramcg1106 @doriansapprentice @drethanramslay @emceesynonymroll @everythingchoices @flutistbyday2020 @jessiembruno @katedrakeohd @kingliam-rys @losingbraincellseveryday @loveellamae @lucy-268 @oofchoices @openheart12 @pedudley @ravenpuff02 @romanticatheart-posts @sirbeepsalot @speedyoperarascalparty  @storyofmychoices @texaskitten30 @utterlyinevitable @wackydrabbles @walkerswhiskeygirl

..

What happens in Paris....(stays with us forever) (part 1)

TRR book 2:

Drake × MC (Kate Darling)

The lights of Paris twinkle in the warm summer air as Drake and I walk arm in arm back to the train. Between the bachelor party and the drinking game at the dive bar I've had way too much whiskey. Drake is definitely more relaxed, and every now and then I catch him wearing a little smile when he glances my way.

It's been an emotional few days for both of us. In my mind I'm worried about who may still be plotting against me. Bastien and Penelope are the last people I'd have suspected. Bastien is supposed to play a protective role at court.  Who could be so threatened by me that they'd hire Bastien to smear my name in the press? Meanwhile Bertrand had been trying to discredit me and cause more scandal by selling Maxwell's scrapbook photos to a tabloid. How can he have so little faith in me? If those photos had gone public it would have been worse for Liam, and tainted the whole social season before it had even begun.

And then we found out that Maxwell has been hiding Savannah's whereabouts this whole time from Drake. And he's been secretly stealing Beaumont money to support her. Sure he felt his intentions were honorable because he was helping his nephew and respecting Savannah's privacy, but to see Drake every day and hide his own sister from him still hurts. Plus finding out that Bertrand had callously brushed Savannah aside as not being worthy, stung me too and she's not even my sister. No wonder Drake hates nobles and all their pretentiousness and lies.

Drake and I don't know who we can trust anymore. But at least we have eachother. I know he wants to be with me, and I want to be with him too. Although at this point we don't know what kind of relationship we can safely have together. 

Even though Drake had been invited to Liam's bachelor party at the fancy speakeasy as his best friend, he knew he didn't really fit in. I'm glad I was able to be there with him so he wouldn't be the only non-noble at the party. He looked so handsome in his blue jacket and green dress shirt. In the smoky, uber masculine atmosphere of the club with a whiskey in his hand he had looked so sexy too. And being there with him in that black cocktail dress and knowing that he appreciated how good I looked, was a thrill all by itself. If only he and I could have been there on a date instead of a spy mission. 

Although he had tried so hard not to look at all of my exposed skin during the drive in the limo, with every move I made or every time he had to interact with me, I knew he was having a hard time trying to hold himself together. If Maxwell hadn't been there, he would have been all over me for sure. Just like yesterday after we had returned from Savannah's apartment. Granted it had been me who had initiated the brief makeout session, but I couldn't help myself after spending the afternoon with him. We had been riding the emotional high of finding Savannah safe, and discovering that Drake was an uncle.

Ever since I returned to court after the coronation, Drake has been by my side to protect me. And little by little he's been opening up and letting me into his life. I feel safer around him than among all the nobles who have been scheming against me. Even Liam is being openly duplicitous by smiling next to Madeleine for the press, and then seeking out my company in private. Though he and Madeleine have an arrangement as far as I'm concerned, he's still lying to his subjects about their engagement. I'm definitely not comfortable being thought of as his mistress.

In the few moments that Liam and I have had together in private, he's made it plain how much he loves me. And trust me he's quite easy to love back, with his charm, good looks and romantic ways. I'm not going to lie and say I don't care for him, because I do, but loving him comes with a price. No matter what, as a King, his duty to his country comes first. Marrying him comes with a crown and country attached. Sure I can be polite and diplomatic when I have to be, but the idea of being queen scares me. Madeleine can have the crown all she wants, she knows how to be Queen, but I worry about Liam's happiness. 

The more time I spend with Drake though, the more I really don't want to be a noblewoman at all. Despite my love for Cordonia with its unique customs and Mediterranean climate, it's such a breath of fresh air compared to New York, until this scandal is resolved and the media stops blaming me for making Liam's Coronation so controversial; I feel like everyone is staring at me and talking about me.

I wish Drake and I could just run away from all of this and never look back, but we can't.

When we arrive back at the train, Drake walks me back to my compartment. Suddenly being so close to him in the narrow passage is overwhelming and my palms are sweating.  I fumble to work the latch on my door, and can't get it to open.

I can feel his eyes on me as he leans his shoulder against the wall beside me. "Having trouble there, Darling?" he says, in a low tone, his words slightly slurred.

Wiping my hand on the curve of my hip, I can hear a change in his breathing as he steps in behind me. 

"Let me help. These doors can be tricky sometimes, with all the jostling of the train cars."  His breath is hot on the back of my neck, and smells of whiskey. I find myself teetering on my heels and leaning back against the broad wall of his chest.  He reaches around me to put his hand on the door latch, and his other hand braces on my hip to hold me upright. 

"Woah there, Darling. You really are a lightweight when it comes to your whiskey aren't you?"

I giggle self consciously as I hear his soft grunt in my ear, his strong hand easily turning the latch and forcing the door open. He nudges me forward and follows me into my room. Stepping back he leans against the doorframe, watching me kick off my heels and sit down on the edge of the bed.

"So, uh. I guess this is goodnight then." He mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to avoid looking at me. 

It's now or never. I either invite him to stay, or let him shuffle off on his own. 

 I know he shares a compartment with Maxwell, who's not exactly his favorite person right now, and I feel sorry for him. "Thanks for sticking up for me back at the party." I say quietly, not wanting him to leave yet.

He steps back into the hall, his hand going to the door latch to pull the door closed. "Yeah, uh you're welcome." He grins sheepishly, "Thanks for stopping me from making a bigger ass of myself. Oh fuck, If I'd hit Bertrand…"  He heaves a sigh, puffing out his cheeks as he breathes out and rubs at the frown on his forehead.

Getting up from the bed I walk over to him, "Hey, I understand. I would have been pissed too. But yeah, hitting him in front of everyone would have been really bad."

He punches the doorframe and then leans his forehead against his fist, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. "It..all..just..makes..me..so..mad." he grounds out, his chest heaving.

Placing my hand on his arm, I can feel how wound up he is, his muscles feel like stone under the fabric of his jacket. Now I know I can't let him be alone. 

"Drake, look at me." I say quietly.

"I can't," he whispers, turning his head to face out into the hall.

Tugging at his arm with both hands, I pull him off balance and he stumbles into my room and I slide the door shut and lock it. Regaining his footing, he stands there, fists clenched and stares me down as I bar the door with my body. "Okay, not funny. Let me out." he grumbles. 

I shake my head, crossing my arms across my middle, deliberately making them a shelf for my breasts. The motion isn't lost on Drake, and I catch him looking down at the way my cleavage is on full display behind the black mesh insert of my dress. He quickly looks away, blushing, and starts to pace back and forth like a caged animal.  His long legs eat up the tiny space in only a couple of strides per trip. I can practically see the smoke coming out of his ears, as he continuously rakes his hair back from his forehead.

"You can work yourself up all you want, Drake. But I'm not letting you out of here to take out your frustrations on destroying the interior of the royal train, or to drown your anger at the bottom of a bottle. Sure, alcohol solves most problems, but in this particular case, I don’t think it will help."

He stops and looks at me, with a devilish smirk on his face, "And if I try to force my way out of here?"

I raise my chin in defiance as he steps over to me, placing his hands on either side of the doorframe and looking down at me in an attempt to intimidate me. "I'll scream." I say, not scared in the least.

His eyebrows shoot up, and now it's him that looks worried. "You wouldn't dare!" 

I undo the button on his jacket, and slide my hands up the front of his shirt stopping them to rest on either side of his neck, his skin feels so hot to my touch. "You need an emotional outlet Drake. Let me help you with that."

/ the second part here