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cinnaminsvga · 5 years ago

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Hug-o-gram | Yoongi

→ summary:

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font.

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

{or alternatively: Seokjin is a terrible wingman. He also runs a profitable business by sending hugs to people’s crushes for a fee. Mix them together and you have a recipe for Min Yoongi’s worst nightmare.}

→ genre: college!au, hugging booth!au, fluff, humor → warnings: yoongi is so smitten that he’s a walking disaster, so much shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to scream, seokjin just tryna get his homie some y/n love coochie bro ;o; → words: 13.3K → a/n: another commission by the lovely @jincherie because she’s epic like that!! she literally just told me to write whatever the hell i wanted and well... yoobie got me Good... anyway here’s more yoongi fluff bc apparently i’m a fluff writer now and sometimes i just want my boy to be happy... appa yip yip

Kim Seokjin makes a lot of good decisions. He also makes plenty of bad ones, but he likes to think the score is lying heavily towards the positives. Min Yoongi will be the first one to quickly disagree, but Seokjin doesn’t let it get to him. He doesn’t make it his business to listen to opinions that don’t immediately align with his, anyway; he likes to call it “selective hearing.” Yoongi calls it stupidity. Either way, the point still stands: Seokjin knows a good idea when he sees one. Case in point:

“This automatic popcorn machine is absolutely divine,” Seokjin moans, his mouth agape as he waits for the Mister Popcorn Robot to bestow him with another morsel of goodness.

“Yeah,” is Yoongi’s verbose reply. He also has his mouth agape, his prone body lying side by side with his roommate of four years in their small living room. Their roomba (another one of Seokjin’s good ideas) cleans all around them, its steady whirring serving as their only source of background music. “Lowkey though, I think our position isn’t quite… as optimized as it could be.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks, as he drapes his leg over Yoongi’s. His movement jostles the surrounding popcorn halo around them, as most of the food had missed their mouths by a couple of centimeters. At this point, the roomba has probably eaten more of the popcorn than the two of them combined.

“Nothing,” Yoongi shrugs, or whatever might be the lying down equivalent of a shrug. Some of the popcorn on his chest falls down, only to be quickly devoured by roomba-chi. Yoongi stares at the ceiling, tracing shapes out of the cracks that Seokjin had accidentally made when he tried using a pogo stick indoors. He points up, catching Seokjin’s attention. “Hey, hyung. Doesn’t that look a bit like Y/N?”

Seokjin squints. “You mean the mysterious brown stain near the lights? I think the toilet from the elderly couple upstairs might have leaked that.”

“No, you dipshit. The squiggly curve over there. It reminds me of her smile.” Yoongi says. There’s a stupid dopey grin on his face and Seokjin wants nothing more than to wipe it off.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Seokjin groans, turning over to envelop Yoongi in a sweaty half-armed hug. The buttery residue on his arms and stomach leaves something to be desired, but Yoongi doesn’t scoot away. He only continues to sigh dreamily, staring mindlessly at the image of you that only his lovelorn brain can imagine.

Seokjin slaps Yoongi in the face. “Dude, get a fucking grip,” he grouses, giving Yoongi a serious look. The younger doesn’t break out of his trance, further irritating him. “Will you stop pining in front of my popcorn? It’s seriously making roomba-chi lose her appetite!”

To his credit, roomba-chi did seem to be slowing down, though that could also be because it had overloaded with popcorn and was seconds away from exploding. Wouldn’t be the first time, but Seokjin always managed to find a way to save roomba-chi from imminent death. She was like a daughter to him.

“Hyung, you know I can’t. I just… God, I really like her, you know?”

“That’s the third time you said that within the last hour. Believe me, I know.” Seokjin groans, shoving Yoongi away. He sits up, reaching over to the popcorn machine and switching it off. He grabs a fistful of fallen popcorn from the ground and shoves it inside Yoongi’s mouth. “There. That should shut you up.”

“Aw weawwy wike hew, hwung.”

“And yet, you still haven’t done anything after four years,” Seokjin tuts, finally standing up. He stretches his limbs, his joints creaking youthfully. He grabs his phone from the coffee table, nearly dropping it from the butteriness of his fingers. The clock reads 4:32 PM, which means–

“Yoongi, it’s time for me to head to work. You want to come with me today?” Seokjin asks, though he knows what answer he’s going to get. You see, Seokjin’s new booming business is another one of his fantastic ideas, but it is a little... inventive. Sure, Yoongi had scoffed when he had originally suggested the idea, but Seokjin knew that it was going to be a money-maker. Sure, it had taken a few years for the business to really take off, but once it finally did…

Enter Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service! Students from his university are able to send anonymous payments directly to him, with little notes attached for their crushes. Each love letter delivery comes with a hug from Seokjin himself, delivered straight to the person without them ever knowing who the hug came from. It was ingenious! It was lucrative! But most of all…

It allowed Seokjin to cause drama and have an excuse for it! Nothing could have been more perfect for a man like him.

“No thanks,” Yoongi snorts, rolling over to face him. He watches from the floor as Seokjin changes into a butter-less shirt, which also happens to have his own face printed on the front and back. His trusty cardboard sign that reads “I’m Gonna Glomp Ya!” also joins his attire for the afternoon, a long piece of string tied to its edges so that he can wear it around his neck. Throwing on a pair of white sneakers with the tags still attached, Seokjin is ready to tackle today’s list of would-be hug-ees.

“How do I look?” Seokjin asks, combing his hair with his fingers. It leaves an oily sheen, which he somehow makes it work.

“Ugly,” Yoongi says, like a liar.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can speak tsundere, so you don’t need to explain,” Seokjin snickers, nearly getting hit with a TV remote by Yoongi. He opens his phone again, swiping to his e-mail to see his list of hug deliveries for the day.

Seokjin gets around 10 requests a day, with around half of them coming from regular clients. He’s especially fond of this boy who has been sending hugs to his TA named Namjoon for almost a month now. He has no idea why this kid has so much disposable income, though seeing the blush on Namjoon’s face everyday makes Seokjin think that he would spend every last penny for him too. Namjoon had begged Seokjin for his secret admirer’s identity, but snitchin’ isn’t a part of his service, unfortunately.

As much as Seokjin wants to know who is crushing on who, his little business wouldn’t work as well as it did if anonymity wasn’t included in his package deal. It allows people to thirst in public without facing the repercussions, like getting a knee to the groin or a slap to the face. Not that Seokjin has ever been at the receiving end of that; everyone loves him! Like, have you seen him? He must have saved a civilization in the past with how devastatingly beautiful his forehead is.

“Why am I suddenly filled with the relentless urge to deck you right now?” Yoongi says, getting up to change into clean clothes as well. His black t-shirt unfortunately does not have Seokjin’s face on it, but that can quickly be amended if the elder of the two decides to follow his every intrusive whim.

Seokjin laughs, completely unaware of the murderous capabilities of his friend. Due to his smaller body size, his percentage of evil is unusually concentrated. “Maybe it’s because you know that I’m into pain pla–” but Seokjin’s retort suddenly grinds to a halt. He chokes mid-sentence, coughing wildly as he pounds his chest with a balled-up fist. When Yoongi looks up at him, he finds his hyung staring slack-jawed at his phone, seemingly flabbergasted by what he finds on his screen.

“What’s the matter? Accidentally sent a dick pic to your prof again?” Yoongi snorts.

“That was one time! And no, it’s…” Seokjin trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. He shifts his gaze from his phone to Yoongi, a drop of sweat quickly forming on the back of his neck. Yoongi raises a brow, silently urging him to continue.

Instead of replying, Seokjin hands him his phone. Yoongi finds a copy of one of Seokjin’s newest hug requests, only having just received it five minutes ago. As he scrolls down, he finds that this secret admirer is a new client, but that isn’t what made Seokjin stop in his tracks. Instead, it’s the recipient of the hug that catches his attention–

“Y/N has a secret admirer?” Yoongi says, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, trying his best to school his face into something less… jealous. He swivels away from Seokjin, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He convinces himself that he is the very epitome of calmness.

“You okay there, Yoongi? You look like you’re about to vomit,” Seokjin says, immediately breaking his inner peace. Yoongi groans loudly, shucking the phone over his shoulder, uncaring of where it lands. Seokjin, with his superhuman and God-given reflexes… doesn’t catch it. But he did dive to the floor like a seasoned Olympian, and his ass cushioned his phone so he supposes that’s a win.

Back to the matter at hand––

“I am fine,” Yoongi says, as he continues to not be fine.

From the floor, Seokjin shoots him a disbelieving look. He lies down more comfortably, propping his head on his elbows. Screw his hug-o-gram appointments for now; nothing brings him more joy than seeing Yoongi absolutely losing it. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I marched up to Y/N right now and give her the warmest, coziest, most tender hug of her fucking life?”

“Y… Yes,” Yoongi squeaks, neck glowing a furious red. He has his fists clenched (adorably) by his sides, head bowed as he faces the wall of their apartment. Seokjin’s brain makes the unhelpful comparison of Yoongi with that cat meme who says “no talk me angy” in Impact font.

Seokjin grins, his wickedness from within coiling and yearning to burst from his seams. This is it! Maybe if he pushes a little more, then maybe Yoongi will stop pining like a pathetic loser! Also, it didn’t hurt that he got to push Yoongi’s buttons while he’s at it, but hey! Not all heroes go to heaven or whatever.

He grabs his phone from his ass, scrolling back to the e-mail. “So… You wouldn’t mind if I walk up to Y/N right now and tell her ‘Hey! I’ve had an embarrassingly long crush on you and when I heard about this hugging service… I couldn’t miss the chance to shoot my shot! If you’re single and ready to #mingle, then please meet me at the Corner Cafe at 2 PM tomorrow.’” Seokjin sing-songs, snickering loudly when he sees the absolute pain etched onto Yoongi’s face.

There is a pause, and Seokjin waits as Yoongi uses his tiny kitty brain to think of what to do. He can only imagine what’s going inside his head, but he has a guess. Yoongi could either: 1) finally admit his feelings for you and come clean before Seokjin has to deliver your hug, or 2) do something stupid and counterproductive.

It comes as no surprise when Yoongi goes with option number––

“Hyung, let me come with you to work today,” Yoongi decides, walking over Seokjin’s prone body to their shoe rack. He slides into a pair of sneakers, his harried movements unusual for his customary lethargicness. He grabs a coat from its hanger, stomping his feet to get Seokjin to move faster. “C’mon! We have hugs to deliver.”

“Woah woah woah! Slow down there, Simpimus Prime.” Seokjin gets back up to his feet, skipping over to him. An absolutely feral grin is stretched upon his face. “Am I hearing what you’re saying? Are you offering… to deliver hugs with yours truly? Are you finally going to take up my offer to be an employee at Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi scoffs, but his shifting eyes betray him. He fidgets in place, refusing to return Seokjin’s eager gaze. “I just… wanted to go out for once. Yeah.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You haven’t left this apartment other than to go to class in over a month. You never go out. You’re an indoor cat!”

“I’m not a fucking cat,” Yoongi hisses, like a cat. “And of course I go out! There was that one time I went outside to pick up our food delivery last week.”

Judging from Seokjin’s unimpressed stare, Yoongi’s excuse doesn’t cut it. Yoongi flaps his arms around, defeated. “Okay, fine! I rarely go out! Screw me and the bounteous crapload of assignments I have due! It’s not my fault I don’t have the time to socialize and have fun. What do you want from me?”

What Seokjin wants is to push a confession out of Yoongi, not because he needs the confirmation, but mostly because he just wants to annoy Yoongi and say “I told you so!” He’s also pretty cute when he’s all blushy and tsundere whenever he talks about you. Should he film him and sell the footage on eboys.bb? He’s certain that goth boy over here would make a pretty penny.

“You like krabby patties, don’t you Squidward?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Yoongi sniffs, nose upturned. He opens the door, not looking behind him to see Seokjin’s triumphant expression. “C’mon. Y/N’s last class of the day ends in a few minutes and we might catch her before she leaves the Science Building.”

Seokjin snorts. He is quick to slip his own coat on and he follows soon after. He locks their door shut, hopping over to Yoongi and matching his shorter-legged pace. “Yeah. Because you totally just know her schedule at the top of your head. You know, like a normal person.”

Yoongi ignores him. He trudges on, each step filled with determination as they make their way to Seokjin’s beat-up truck. Seokjin skips alongside him, observing the younger boy and placing bets inside his mind. The drive to campus isn’t that long as it only takes around 10 minutes to get there, but Seokjin guesses that Yoongi’s defenses will begin to chip away only 3 minutes into the drive.

He’ll start to realize the gravity of the situation, the cogs in his smooth and slushy excuse of a brain slowly comprehend what he’s about to witness. He’ll first think about how 1) he’s going to see you and that never helps his poor dainty grandpa heart and 2) he’s going to see you hugging Seokjin as he reads to you the short love confession from your anonymous Romeo. Seokjin bets that after 8 minutes, Yoongi will start to break out into a sweat, leaving gross perspiration marks on his good car seat leather.

After exactly 7 minutes and 34 seconds (Seokjin was keeping track of the time on his dashboard), Yoongi’s face turns an unflattering shade of green. “Dude. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Yoongi had originally offered to drive the two of them to campus, but Seokjin had the good foresight to refuse. Had Yoongi been the one on the wheel, he would’ve brought them back home in an instant due to nerves. So instead, Seokjin speeds up, ignoring Yoongi’s soft whimpers of defeat.

“Too bad, but there is no turning back now. I have six deliveries today and I am not putting my livelihood on the line just because your balls have magically shrunk in size,” Seokjin snickers. He glances at Yoongi from the corner of his eye and feels the slightest touch of pity for the pathetic fool beside him. “But if it really makes you want to shit yourself from anxiety, we could save Y/N for last. Though, on second thought… That could also prolong your misery, which I will always be up for.”

“God, shut up,” Yoongi groans, slamming his head on the dashboard. Seokjin continues undeterred as he pulls into the campus parking lot, waiting for his friend to make up his damn mind for once in his life. He supposes that he is being a little harsh on Yoongi, but there are only so many sad love songs he can listen to without going completely insane.

Aren’t you tired of being nice? The demon on his shoulder cajoles, shoving the corpse of his angel counterpart somewhere down a ditch. Don’t you just want to go apeshit?

And who is Seokjin to deny his impulsive needs anyway?

“No, let’s… just get this over with,” Yoongi decides, head still smushed against his dashboard. He doesn’t make any move to get out of the car, not even when Seokjin shuts off the engine and makes a show of “leaving” Yoongi behind.

“Okay, lover boy. You have ten seconds to get your butt into high gear before I’m leaving you behind. And you should know that I’m not above playing dirty and giving Y/N the sweetest fucking hug of her life that will make her forget anyone else exists in this world, so you better start moving before I–”

Like lightning, Yoongi scrambles out of the car faster than if it had caught on fire (and Seokjin’s car has exploded before and Yoongi certainly did not seem as bothered to escape than he does right now.) He nearly trips over himself in his haste, getting caught by the car door and nearly receiving a concrete facial to boot. He straightens up with as much dignity as he can muster (which he doesn’t have very much of, if at all.) Seokjin is kind enough not to mention anything, but the shit-eating grin on his face is enough to make Yoongi bristle.

They exit the parking lot, looking to the world like the sun and moon had turned human for the day. Min Yoongi, with his all-black attire and gaunt appearance, is heavily juxtaposed with the man who appears to have been vomited on by a rainbow. They walk side-by-side together, accustomed to the stares that often come their way when they go out in public.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this,” Yoongi moans for the umpteenth time, his movements stilted like a robot. His footsteps look heavily disjointed like his knees were beginning to rust. His arms swing like a pendulum, adding to the unnaturalness of his motions. Basically, he looks like a fucking idiot.

“Who are you calling an idiot?” Yoongi snaps. Seokjin startles a bit, realizing belatedly that he’d said that out loud. Not that he cares. Yoongi continues, “I’m not the one wearing a fucking cardboard sign that looks like a toddler made it with macaroni and glitter!”

“Hey, Taehyung told me it looked good,” Seokjin sniffs, fingering the macaroni pieces dejectedly. “I don’t need to hear an opinion from a Music major.”

“Shut up, Business major. No one likes you fucking snakes,” Yoongi retorts, crossing his arms. “Your definition of fun is going on LinkedIn and using Excel sheets.”

Distracted by their own quarrel, neither of them notice the sound of the large clock in the middle of campus that chimes every hour, signaling that it was already 5 PM. A few minutes later, hoards of students begin to leave university for the day, the walkways beginning to fill with people as they head home. Amidst the chattering and bustling of everyone trying to get out of the crowd, it is hard to notice that you are also one of the hundreds of people finishing your last class of the day.

But Yoongi notices, as he always does. Call it Y/N intuition, or whatever. “There,” Yoongi points you out over dozens of heads. Seokjin can hardly spot you, but he trusts Yoongi’s weird Y/N-dar to find you without fail. People have begun to notice the two of them, most of whom were whispering excitedly when they notice that Seokjin is in his work attire.

“Oh my god, someone’s getting a hug-o-gram! I wonder who…”

“Have you ever ordered one? I got one for my current girlfriend last month and that’s how we got together.”

“I’ve always wanted to send one, but the prices are insane! Fuck them business students and their capitalist ways.”

“Screw sending a hug to someone else! I wanna order a hug for me. Kim Seokjin is a hot piece of ass.”

(Yoongi swears the last comment had sounded eerily like Seokjin himself, but the older boy’s mouth hadn’t moved in the last minute.)

“Alright, Yoongi. Here’s the plan,” Seokjin leans closer to Yoongi, stage whispering into his ear. Everyone within a six-foot radius is eagerly eavesdropping, not even bothering to pretend that they aren’t. It’s common knowledge that Seokjin basks in their attention, anyway. Yoongi rolls his eyes, urging him to get it over with.

“Y/N is over there, right? Well, I have to send a hug to this guy named Mark Lee too, who just so happens to be over there,” Seokjin points behind them, in the opposite direction of where Y/N was heading, “so here’s my proposition. You go over to Y/N and deliver the hug for me, while I go catch up to Mark so that we can kill one bird with two stones!”

“Excuse me?” Yoongi wheezes, pushing Seokjin away from him. His eyes bug out. “Are you insane? I am not doing that. And the phrase is ‘killing two birds with one stone,’ you fucking idiot.”

“Same shit, Shakespeare! Who cares about numbers!” Seokjin exclaims, exasperated. “Listen, would you rather you hug Mark and I hug Y/N?”

“I would much rather prefer that I stick my whole fist up your anus,” Yoongi seethes.

“Interesting proposition, but maybe for a later time,” Seokjin says, not missing a beat. “Listen, dude. The longer we prolong this little bitchfest you have going on, the farther away Y/N is gonna get. You know I will stop at nothing to deliver her hug anyway, so would you rather you miss your chance right now when I am so magnanimously offering you a shot at getting closer to your crush?”

Even though Yoongi feels like his insides were slowly turning into mashed potatoes, he knows that he had already made a decision long before they left the house. Seokjin is right; this is a good opportunity for him, whether he is willing to admit it out loud. Perhaps it is just because it is Seokjin of all people who is egging him on that preprogrammed him into thinking that this was a bad idea. In all seriousness, it was just a hug, nothing fancy. It isn’t like Yoongi was going to have to kiss you––

(His heart contracts and Yoongi wonders if he’s having a stroke. The thought of your soft lips connecting with his is enough to cause the wind to knock out of his chest. God, Yoongi is so screwed.)

“Why must I always feel as though I am a snail and God is personally salting me,” Yoongi groans, stepping away from Seokjin and heading your way. Behind him, Seokjin hollers in what he assumes is friendly support, but it only further antagonizes Yoongi. The absolute buffoon waves enthusiastically from behind him, a beaming grin almost ready to split his face in two. Yoongi flips him off without looking back.

God fucking dammit. The closer that Yoongi is to approaching you, the stronger the urge to just evaporate like ice cream on hot concrete becomes. He can feel himself perspiring from every corner of his body and he just hopes that his black attire will do well to mask the slimy creature that he is underneath his clothing.

This is all Seokjin’s fault, Yoongi reminds himself. If he hadn’t started this stupid hugging service in the first place, then no one would have ordered a hug for you in the first place. Then Yoongi wouldn’t have to be in this stupid predicament either!

But you could’ve ordered a hug for her if you wanted to, says the annoying part of his brain – the same part that’s always been a little bit too hopeful for Yoongi’s liking. The whispers continue, And she wouldn’t even know it would be you! But more importantly…

“Seokjin wouldn’t know either,” Yoongi huffs irritably because he knows it’s true. The biggest thing stopping him from ever making a move on you, other than his debilitating fear of rejection and heartbreak, is the fact that he’d rather explode into spores than for Seokjin to find out that he’d used his “genius” business idea to get the girl of his dreams.

He’s afraid that one day, Seokjin would magically develop telepathic powers (a fear that Yoongi feels that the majority of the human population should also share) and find out that Yoongi doesn’t actually think his hug-o-gram service is dumb. It’s actually really cute, and Yoongi hates to admit that the success rate of his service is nearly perfect in terms of getting couples together.

But Yoongi is a strong (read: stubborn) man; he’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin the satisfaction of seeing his business work out for his seemingly hopeless case. Which brings him to the present–

You’re standing by the entrance of the Sciences building. You are dressed nicely as always; Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen you in anything remotely slobby, not even a pair of sweats like any regular uni student. You always look a little bit business proper: the epitome of someone who should be on the student council.

You’re speaking to someone, a younger male student by the looks of it. The hairs on Yoongi’s neck stand at attention and, God forbid, did he just fucking growl? Did he make that sound? By the looks of the students carefully navigating their way around him, Yoongi surmises that he did make that sound. Geez, is he some sort of animal? Is he going to turn into those feral stan accounts on Twitter that salivate over their K-pop boys like it’s their job? He hopes not.

But what if that’s the kid who sent the hug–

Yoongi shuts up his brain before he can let it finish. No, he can’t let himself go down that path. It’ll only cause him to self-combust right then and there, and he isn’t exactly keen on letting you see his entrails anytime soon. That would be the least cool thing to do, he decides. And so, with his brain turned off, he walks over to you, arms swinging robotically by his sides as he forces himself closer.

“Oh thank you so much, Y/N! You’ve been a real help to our club, you know?” The boy (Yoongi can’t believe they’re letting toddlers into university these days!) says, his eyes glittering with an ambition that still hasn’t been killed by the all-consuming dread that comes with university.

You laugh lightly, the sound causing butterflies to flutter excitedly in Yoongi’s chest. “No worries, Soobin. I’m glad I could be of help. If the editorial board needs any more help, don’t be shy to shoot me a message, alright?”

Soobin nods enthusiastically, his head bobbing up and down so quickly that Yoongi was afraid his neck would snap. “No worries, Y/N! Have a good rest of your week!” He waves a cheery goodbye, springing away with his numerous anime keychains on his backpack jingling softly in his wake.

“What a cute kid,” you sigh. You look incredibly fond, and Yoongi hates the bitter coil swimming in the pit of his stomach. That feeling soon fizzles out when you finally turn to face Yoongi. Your eyebrows shoot up, but your expression quickly morphs into one of pleasant surprise. Yoongi’s heart stops for just a moment, feet turning cold. “Yoongi! Oh my goodness, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you! How’s it going?”

Let’s play a game, shall we? How many of Yoongi’s nervous ticks can you spot within the next five minutes? Think of this as the easiest game of Where’s Waldo ever!

“Hnng,” Yoongi stammers, his hand immediately going to scratch the back of his neck. His cheeks pinken, pupils shaking in every different direction as they try to focus on anything but you. It always feels like he’s standing way too close to the sun when he’s around you, hardly able to keep his gaze focused on you. He chooses to stare resolutely at your chin, but even your fucking chin was impossibly cute.

Seriously? Yoongi is a walking shitshow! His inner voice comes back, but this time it sounds uncannily like his roommate. Come on, buddy. Just say hi… You know, like a normal person. “H… Hey, Y/N.”

Success count: 1 point for the Yogurt Machine!

Even though Yoongi felt like he was living his worst nightmare, you still looked every bit like his favorite daydream. You are all smiles, seemingly unperturbed by Yoongi’s slow, embarrassing demise. “It’s so good to see you! Midterms haven’t been too hard on you, I hope?”

“I’ve been better,” he says. Better now that you’re here, he leaves unsaid. God, can you imagine if he said that out loud?

Your mouth drops open, soft cherry blossoms blooming across your cheeks. “Um, what did you say?” you squeak, embarrassed. But certainly not as embarrassed as the boy in front of you.

Yoongi stops breathing. He did not say that aloud, had he? Judging by the awkward silence stretching between the two of you, the signs are pointing to: yes. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygo–– “Er, what I mean to say is,” Yoongi stutters through his sentence, his entire body flushing fire engine red like it’s nobody’s business. He must look like Satan’s spanked ass right now. “I… I’m here to deliver a hug!”

Confusion quickly replaces the shock on your face. You tilt your head, brows scrunching up cutely. “A hug?” you ask.

“R-right,” Yoongi says, waving his arms around because he has nothing else better to do. He gestures vaguely in the opposite direction, where Seokjin had left to find his other clients. “I’m, uhh… Helping my roommate. Have you heard of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram service?”

“Oh, yeah!” You hop excitedly in place, looking to all the world like the cutest thing in the universe. Yoongi thinks you should be classified as a public hazard, what with how you’re somehow able to give him diabetes just from standing next to him. “I totally heard about that! I’ve always wanted to send a hug, but I’ve always been a little shy.”

That piques Yoongi’s interest immediately. You wanted to send a hug? But to who? He unconsciously clenches his jaw, and he can feel a vein pop up near his neck. He forces himself to smile, but he knows it probably looks more like a grimace. “Oh really? That’s… I didn’t know you had a crush on somebody.”

Yoongi is too busy wallowing in his own self-pity puddle that he misses the way you gaze shyly up at him through your eyelashes, your hands clasped behind your back. “Y-yea… I don’t really go around telling it to just anybody,” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can. You clear your throat. “So, are you here to deliver a hug or something?”

Nothing gets past you, huh? Yoongi swallows thickly as he twiddles his thumbs. He still can’t bear to look at you head-on, afraid that his emotions would be too obvious if he did. (Who is he kidding… He knows he’s fucking obvious, and yet you never seem to get the picture!) “Yea, I am. I’m here to deliver one to you, actually.”

He doesn’t get to see your reaction, but he does notice the way your entire body stiffens. His mind immediately starts to run a minute, trying to guess why you’d suddenly gone stock still.

Did you know who your secret admirer was already? Or perhaps, were you just thoroughly shocked to receive one at all? That can’t be it… You’re the campus sweetheart! Surely it’s much weirder that it has taken eons for you to get your first hug… Or perhaps, are you so disgusted by the thought of him delivering the hug? Oh my god, what if you didn’t want him to hug you? Shit, this entire thing is a terrible idea! How did Seokjin ever convince him to do this stupid shit and get his heartbroken in the process? He swears he’s going to shove ten firecrackers up his ass the next time he sees him––

“Um, Yoongi?” You’re staring worriedly at him, your hand semi-raised as if you were about to wave in front of him. Did you say something? He must look like a fucking prick to you! He shakes his head, trying desperately to get his mind back into his body. Why must he be cursed with inner monologue disease? What is he, some sort of shoujo manga male protagonist?

“Sorry about that. I’ve been a little spacey these days,” he laughs, but even he can hear the panic laced in his voice. He sounds just on the edge of being hysterical. “Ahaha… What were you saying?”

“I was just… shocked?” You giggle softly, making Yoongi cry internally. You smirk, mischief glittering in your eyes. “I just never imagined you’d be the type to… I don’t know…”

“Willingly hug people for the sake of capitalism? I feel you,” Yoongi snorts, forgetting for a moment who he’s talking to. “Believe me, I’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin to use me for his stupid business venture.”

“Then why are you delivering a hug to me now?” you ask, still smiling.

“Hnng,” Yoongi’s tongue feels like it’s grown two sizes all of a sudden. He wheezes, choking on his own spit as he’s caught off guard by your question. “W-well, I––”

“Just being a good friend, I’m guessing?” You’re full-on giggling now, barely trying to hide your mirth behind your hands. Yoongi understands now; you’re teasing him. He hates how amused you are by his awkwardness, but he loves the way your entire expression lights up, like you’re enjoying yourself by being with him.

“Let’s go with that,” Yoongi mumbles, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. He has his head bowed, hoping that his unruly fringe can finally come in handy and hide the disastrous blush encompassing his face. “Right… I’ll just, umm…”

“Am I getting my hug today, or am I gonna have to take a rain check?” You laugh, slapping his shoulder in an attempt to help him shake off the awkward tension. It has the opposite intended effect, as Yoongi’s breath hitches imperceptibly at your proximity. You had taken a step closer, and Yoongi could smell the sweet perfume you always seemed to be wearing. Please don’t pop a boner right now. That would be super fucking creepy.

“You’re…” Yoongi hesitates, arms uselessly immobile by his sides. He doesn’t know if he can even get them to move at this point, as he has lost all motor skills the moment you had focused all your attention on him. It’s a miracle that his heart remembers to beat every so often. “I’m just… I’m just gonna go for it, okay?”

You nod, hands tucked neatly behind your back. “No need to be scared, Yoongi. I don’t bite,” you joke.

God, if you only knew about the dreams I’ve had of you. Yoongi hopes to all the deities from up above that he had not said that aloud, but you don’t seem to be disgusted, so he can only assume that his traitorous brain had disconnected with his mouth for the time being.

He shuffles closer to you, the warmth of your body closing in as he makes the grueling effort to lift his arms up to gently wrap themselves around you, but before he can even fully hug you––

You’re quick to reciprocate. With a small laugh, you wrap your own arms around his torso, nuzzling into his chest with more force than Yoongi was expecting. He lets out a soft wheeze, mouth dropping open when he is assaulted by the smell of your fruity shampoo. His hands hover awkwardly above you, still unsure of where it’s okay to touch you without weirding you out.

You tilt your face up, eyes crinkling cutely by the sheer force of your grin. Both of your faces are only centimeters away from each other, and Yoongi could probably count your eyelashes if he so desired. His breathing stills as he becomes positively mesmerized by the beautiful sight in front of him. He doesn’t even hear the sound of phone camera shutters around him, as he is much too deeply focused on nothing but you, you, you.

“Hey, don’t half-ass your hug! Gimme a good ol’ bear hug!” you whine, nudging his elbows gently to get them to move. Snapped out of his reverie, Yoongi mechanically does as you say, his head completely empty of thoughts. He wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders, his wrist knocking slightly against the back of your head until you’re back to snuggling deep into his chest.

“Your laundry detergent smells nice,” you say, slightly muffled by his shirt. Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, mostly out of disbelief more than anything. He can’t even begin to process anything right now; he feels like he’s reverted back into a single-celled organism.

“Thanks?” Yoongi squeaks, but you don’t seem to mind his awkward attempts at being a Normal Person™️. You crane your neck upwards so that you’re looking him directly in the eye. There’s a twinkle of mischief there, like you’re enjoying Yoongi’s flushed face a little too much. He honestly feels like he’s seconds away from exploding into tiny bite-sized pieces, and he fears that if you snuggle deeper into his chest, he might just do exactly that.

“So… Are we just supposed to hug for another ten minutes, or am I allowed to let go?”

Yoongi doesn’t even realize how long it’s been. You could’ve been hugging him for ten hours and he wouldn’t have known. Yoongi jerks away from you, nearly vaulting himself across campus by how quickly he lets you go. Thankfully, you don’t appear offended––you were more amused than anything. Yoongi has no idea how red he is right now; he feels like he could be blowing steam out of his ears, astounding anatomists everywhere by his peculiar talent.

“I just have to–” Yoongi pats his back pockets for his phone, clumsily pulling it out and looking for his text messages, “–read this message from your, um, secret admirer and then we’ll be good to go.”

“Great.” You nod at him enthusiastically. “Whenever you’re ready, Yoonie.”

Yoongi’s breath hitches right then, caught off guard by the nickname. Only you ever called him that, and it never fails to make Yoongi’s insides feel like molten lava every time you say it. “I… Yeah, here goes,” Yoongi mutters, trying his best to remember how to speak.

He recites the message with as much enthusiasm as he can manage, which is to say, not very much. He could probably read the phonebook with more zeal, but it’s hard to give it his all when the words feel like acid in his throat. He’s unconsciously clenching his jaw as he speaks, looking like a constipated gorilla. “...so, if you’re single and ready to #mingle, then––” Yoongi stops mid-sentence, staring resolutely at his phone screen with a grimace.

You blink confusedly. “Then?”

“Then nothing,” Yoongi finishes, pocketing his phone without an inch of remorse. “I don’t know what was up with that message, but somehow the letter got cut short. Sorry about that.”

“Huh, strange.” You shrug your shoulders, not bothering to question him.

Yoongi fist bumps himself mentally, though other people might disagree and say that he doesn’t deserve any type of congratulations, to which Yoongi says a big “fuck you!” to those imaginary haters. In the wise words of Kim Seokjin himself, “not everyone is worthy to receive your fucks, so it’s time to stop giving them.” (Kim, 2020)

“Well, that was fun! Thanks for delivering the hug to me, Yoonie,” you pinch Yoongi’s cheek, giggling when they turn even redder. “I’ll see you around, I guess? Don’t let those midterms kill ya!” You wave cheerily at him, walking past him and heading towards the bus stops. Yoongi stands frozen in place, the events of the last few minutes finally catching up to him and frying his brain beyond repair.

Oh my god, he fucking hugged you! Like, a good and genuine hug! You felt so warm and so soft and you smelled really good and it was more than he could ever imagine and just––

Yoongi’s brain is trying (and failing) to desperately parse the delayed barrage of information as it comes, but it’s hard for the little hamster running circles in his head when it has never had to run a day in its life. Yoongi’s body feels like it’s overheating even though the weather is nearing the start of winter, but that’s all thanks to you and the devastating effect you have on him.

In short, Yoongi machine has broken, and any sort of maintenance is going to be hard to come by at the moment.

Yoongi could have been standing in front of the Science building for an entire year and he wouldn’t have budged until a tornado in the form of Kim Seokjin arrived to knock him out of his brain dead state. Whistling lowly, the elder stops in front of the rigid mass of meat, an eyebrow quirked in exasperation. “Dude, nice rigor mortis cosplay. Like, yes girl, give us nothing!” he exclaims, slapping Yoongi back to consciousness.

Yoongi blinks rapidly, dazed like he’s woken up from a dream. “What? What’s happening?” he replies dumbly.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Yoongi. Did you finish delivering Y/N’s hug or what? I finished all my deliveries in the same time you had with Y/N, so I better hope to God you aren’t planning on applying to be an employee of mine, because you certainly have a long way to go before––”

“I hugged her,” Yoongi interrupts, eyes going glassy once more. His mouth is agape, and Seokjin can see a pool of saliva forming, ready to runneth over. He could see the rusted gears turning inside his dongsaeng’s head. “Oh my god, hyung. I fucking hugged her.”

“Yeah, and I hugged Taehyung Kim and felt his gigantic dick press into my stomach. You aren’t special,” Seokjin snorts, clasping Yoongi by the bicep. He drags him away, leading them to their parked car. “C’mon, Dampé. I’m tired and I wanna eat popcorn again.”

As they walk back to the parking lot, the campus roads are a lot less populated now that most students have gone home. Yoongi only then realizes how late it truly is and he vaguely wonders how long he had been stuck standing there before Seokjin had come to drag him back home. The sun has begun its daily descent, filling the courtyard with a warm glow and causing their shadows to grow longer as they trudge quietly to their car.

The campus is quiet enough that both of them hear the quiet buzz of Seokjin’s phone, despite him putting it on silent mode before he had gone on his hugging deliveries. He stops mid-step, causing Yoongi to bump his nose into his wide back. He yelps, shoving Seokjin forward in irritation.

“Why’d you fucking stop, you asshole?” Yoongi whines, his normal annoying personality resurfacing now that he’s begun to recover from your hug. He peers over Seokjin’s behemoth shoulders, squinting at his phone screen. “What? Another hug delivery?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it tomorrow since I think she’s gone home for the day,” Seokjin says, his tone sounding slightly too delighted for comfort. “In fact, I know she’s gone home already.”

Yoongi stills, changing his focus onto the elder’s expression. He looks… too eager to receive a simple hug-o-gram request. A shiver shoots through Yoongi’s spine when he realizes how nefariously bastardous Seokjin’s smile has grown, the tips of his smirk curling upwards like a villain from a classic Disney animation.

“What?” Yoongi glares acidly at Seokjin, but the elder is unaffected. In fact, he seems to grow more pleased the more aggravated Yoongi becomes. “Spit it out! What’s got your prostate tickled?”

“Oh, nothing,” Seokjin singsongs, shoving his phone down the front of his pants, exactly where he knows Yoongi would never touch. “Just got an interesting new regular customer, is all.”

“A new regular?” Yoongi’s pitch heightens, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in alarm (like a cat.) “Is it… Another request for… You know who?”

“I wasn’t aware Voldemort went to our university,” Seokjin teases, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s distress. “Though, if you’re talking about Y/N, then the answer is not not not no.”

“Two double negatives.” Anyone could hear the audible soft rattling of his two brain cells exerting themselves as Yoongi deciphers his answer. “That means…”

Yoongi stares pointedly at Seokjin’s crotch, where the outline of his phone is glaringly obvious. “Show me,” Yoongi growls, not making a move to actually touch Seokjin’s nether regions.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. “No one’s stopping you from taking my phone though?”

“Hyung!”

“Buy me bubble tea first, then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” Yoongi acquiesces, folding his arms in annoyance. “Just tell me. Is it really the same guy who requested the hug for Y/N today as well?”

Seokjin fiddles around for his phone, digging deeper when it nearly drops down the leg of his pants. When he pulls it out and swipes to his e-mails, he confirms Yoongi’s fear. “Yep. And it seems like he saw you deliver the hug today. Says that he’d prefer that I deliver the hug next time,” Seokjin smirks, enjoying the deep-set frown on Yoongi’s face.

When Seokjin takes a closer look at the order, however, he notices something a little off. “Hold on a sec,” he scrolls to the receipt, scowling when he sees the incorrect amount. “Well, you might be in luck, Yoongi-chi. Looks like loverboy sent the wrong payment. He’s a few dollars short.”

“What?” Yoongi says, for what feels like the tenth time in this entire fic. He grabs Seokjin’s phone, no longer repulsed by where it had been only a few minutes prior. Like Seokjin said, the customer had given the wrong amount, much to both their confusion.

“That’s weird, considering he just ordered a hug today,” Seokjin murmurs, shaking his head. “Oh well. Happens to the best of us. Guess I’ll just have to refund the poor sap.”

“Wait,” Yoongi presses the phone to his chest, preventing Seokjin from taking it. His hyung raises a brow.

“What is it?”

“What if I just… pay you the remaining amount? Then I can also deliver the hug to her and, uhh...” Yoongi mumbles the remaining part, but Seokjin has trained his ears to catch every whisper and mutter for moments just like this. He wouldn’t be where he is today if he didn’t perfect his eavesdropping skills to a spy’s degree. That’s right––Seokjin is a sloppy and nosey bitch and he’s not afraid to admit it!

“Oh? Do my ears deceive me?” Seokjin guffaws, pinching Yoongi’s cheeks for good measure. He hisses in response, but Seokjin isn’t afraid of some little kitten. Seokjin is a bigger bitch with a meaner bite. “Is my little Yoongi Woongi seriously offering to deliver another hug to Miss Y/N? How magnanimous of you.”

Yoongi stares at him, stunned for a moment. A few seconds pass before he shakes his head, faux disdain coloring his expression. “That’s right,” Yoongi huffs, detaching himself from Seokjin’s meaty claws. He keeps his gaze averted, like the big stupid tsundere that he is. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart! I care about your profits, and I want to make your workload a little lighter! Isn’t that what you want?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Seokjin snickers, poking Yoongi in the tit. He swivels away, skipping merrily away to their parked car. “I’m expecting that cash in my Paypal by the time I get to the car, or else the deal is off. Make it snappy, loverboy!”

Yoongi had never transferred cash to someone so quickly in his life.

(Yes, not even when the food court on campus was doing a BOGO promo for churros. That’s the extent of how whipped his ass is, period.)

x x x x x

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

“Listen, I’m seriously not forcing you to do this,” Seokjin starts, even though he’s giving his utmost effort to further embarrass Yoongi by handing out flyers about Hug-o-gram’s newest employee. “Please, take one!” he cajoles, offering a flyer to a gaggle of giggling freshmen. “Make sure to reserve a hug within the week! Yoongi-chi over here is on his way to becoming employee of the month if he gets ten requests by Friday!” They all point and whisper at Yoongi, and he swears he hears one of them wolf whistle in admiration.

“That’s what makes this entire thing terrible. I’m doing this on my own volition, and I absolutely abhor myself for it,” Yoongi moans, grabbing Seokjin’s stack of flyers and smacking himself in the head with them. It probably would’ve hurt more when Seokjin still had a full-stack, but people had swarmed them the moment they entered the heart of the campus, everyone curious to see Yoongi in his interesting attire.

Seokjin might have been famous for creating the Hug-o-gram Service, but Yoongi was famous for hating the business idea, so it’s easy to understand why everyone was interested. (For good reason, he thinks darkly to himself.)

“Damn, Yoongi-chi. Looks like you’re trending on the campus Reddit page,” Seokjin laughs, wheezing even harder when Yoongi points him with a murderous glare. “What? Like you said, this was all your idea.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask to wear… whatever this is!” Yoongi whines, tugging on the string around his neck. The cardboard sign had been ready and prepared the moment they arrived home the other day, arousing Yoongi’s suspicions on Seokjin’s actual involvement in his current predicament. Those suspicions are put in the backburner for now, however, as Yoongi actually feels like he might die of embarrassment instead of the packets of MSG coursing through his veins from the ten ramen packs he ate this morning. Maybe both will kill him, if he’s lucky.

“Well, I would love to lend you my uniform, but I haven’t gotten a t-shirt printed with your face on it yet, so you’ll have to deal with the kitten ears and cardboard sign for now,” Seokjin says, patting him on the back. “Or, would you rather I have you wear a shirt with my face on it? I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’d rather swallow a Tide pod, thanks,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth. “C’mon, let’s move. We’ve been standing in the middle of campus like street clowns for long enough. We need to find Y/N because her class is about to end.”

“Street clowns, huh? I guess you are only missing the make-up to complete the look, especially since you seem adamant to keep honking your way through that sickening crush of yours.” Seokjin nearly catches a punch to the head, but his superior reaction time saves him from Yoongi’s sorely lacking physicality. He snatches Yoongi by the hand, dragging them towards your lecture hall. “C’mon, clown! Let’s honk this bread!”

As the two of them get closer to where you are, Yoongi’s heartbeat begins to accelerate. He wonders idly if he should see a doctor after all this, hoping that he hadn’t actually contracted heart disease due to all this stress. Lord forbid that he meet his end before he even gets to ask you out or something!

Even though he’s already hugged you once (and it was, by far, the most euphoric experience of his sad, miserable life), he still finds himself getting clammy hands at the thought of seeing you again. Nevermind the fact that he looked like a walking circus with his get-up… No, Yoongi refuses to think about it anymore, lest his last remaining brain wrinkle irreversibly smoothens.

The campus clock rings loudly, signaling the end of another block of classes. Students rush out of the buildings, with you being one of the first ones out for a change. When Yoongi spots your head of hair among the crowd, he doesn’t immediately notice what you’re wearing at first. In fact, it’s Seokjin who stops in his tracks for a moment, surprised by how you look.

“Woah, Y/N! Looking good,” Seokjin greets, rushing past Yoongi to envelop you in a hug. (A platonic hug, Yoongi reminds himself. Because unlike Yoongi, Seokjin is a normal human being who can give hugs to anyone he wants because he’s… fucking Seokjin! Lucky bastard that he is.)

“Woah!” You laugh, surprised by the sudden hug. You pat him on the back giddily, allowing him to swing you around a little. “What’s this all about? Am I getting a hug-o-gram again?”

“Yes, you are. But not from me,” Seokjin detaches himself from you, scooting away to point at Yoongi. When Seokjin moves away, Yoongi finally understands why his hyung had said you looked good. No, that was an understatement––you looked [redacted].

(For the sake of the author’s fragile ash-coated heart, she has chosen to redact Yoongi’s exact words to protect herself from slamming her head against a keyboard from how cheesy this fic is becoming. Let’s just say the word starts with a B and ends with an L. Make of that as you will.)

You must have come out of an interview or presentation of sorts because you were dressed more nicely than you usually do, which is a pretty big deal considering how put together you always looked. Your hair is styled nicely, obviously given much more care and effort than your regular appearance. You’re wearing a cute little black dress, long enough to be professional but short enough to give Yoongi breathing problems.

If Yoongi’s brain had a playlist, it would be nothing but the sound of him going HNNNNNNNNNG on repeat.

“Oh geez.” Yoongi curses lowly, smiling through the pain. This is fine, he thinks, even though it is clearly not fine. Yoongi has always been a terrible liar.

“Yoongi?” You sound incredulous, though that’s honestly a win in Yoongi’s book considering everything. You didn’t look disgusted, so that’s great. “You look…” You stop yourself, covering your mouth to hide your grin but your amusement is palpable. At least he made you laugh, he supposes.

“Like a fucking idiot? You said it,” Yoongi snorts, arms crossed defiantly. He’s trying to look intimidating, but with his cheeks puffed up and these abominable kitten ears on his head, he looks more like a grumpy cat throwing a tantrum. He juts a thumb at Seokjin, “Thank this himbo for the outfit. I definitely would have chosen something more… inconspicuous.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” You quip, still trying to mask your giggles. On the other hand, Seokjin was wheezing like a hyena, his phone pulled out and presumably filming Yoongi to add to his cringe compilation.

“Exactly what I said!” Seokjin says through his laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face. He walks back to Yoongi, pushing him forward until he’s face to face with you. “Go on, then! We haven’t got all day!”

“I’m assuming you’re officially part of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram business now?” you ask, opening your arms wide to accept his hug. Like the beta male that he is, Yoongi has to be the one to follow in your footsteps, meekly coming closer to wrap you in an embrace.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yoongi mutters, tucking his chin onto your shoulder. He feels you vibrate with laughter, bringing a small smile on his own face. He likes making you laugh, always has.

With the cardboard sign serving as a barrier between the two of you, he isn’t as fearful of you feeling the erratic beat of his heart, though it wouldn’t be hard to guess if you looked at him. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy your hug rather than just panic through the entire ordeal like yesterday.

Soon enough, you’re detaching yourself from him, still standing close. Your arm is just a hair’s breadth away, and if not for Seokjin enthusiastically videotaping this entire experience, Yoongi might have closed in for another hug if he could manage.

“It’s always nice to get a hug from someone you like, huh?” You say, cheeks tinted a rosy color. The true meaning of your words flies over Yoongi’s head, as his feeble mind chooses to focus on your comment a little differently.

“I––Of course I like you! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Yoongi laughs nervously, unaware that he’s slowly digging himself into a ditch. To the side, Seokjin audibly slaps a hand to his face, body shivering with secondhand embarrassment from being blasted by the full force of how idiotic his friend actually is.

Yoongi sees you deflate a little, further confusing him. “Yeah, you’re right I guess…” You sigh, taking a step backward dejectedly. Yoongi flounders a little, unsure how he managed to fuck up in just a few seconds when you had just hugged him like your life depended on it.

Choosing now to interfere before the going gets rough, Seokjin steps in between and slings an arm around both of you. Yoongi groans under the weight of his arm, glaring when he notices that Seokjin had done it on purpose, but only to him. You don’t look too bothered by his rude gesture, albeit you were more befuddled than before.

“Hey, Y/N! I don’t know if you’ve ever ordered a hug-o-gram before, but I’m doing a special this week! Now that Yoongi-chi has so kindly joined the team,” Seokjin gives him a pointed look, to which the black-haired music major sticks his tongue out petulantly, “we’re doing a little promotion for first-time customers! Would you be interested in ordering one?”

Your eyes widen, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “M-me? Ordering a hug-o-gram? Well, I…” you hesitate, sending a small glance at Yoongi before looking away in embarrassment. “I would like to, but I don’t know if it’ll be well received, you see…”

Seokjin grumbles, silently cursing the stupid shithead who caused his own demise in the first place. The worst part is that he had no idea that he totally just friendzoned you! YOU! Someone who was literally leagues ahead of him. He sincerely has no idea what you see in this bumbling idiot, but everyone with a brain knows that you have been crushing on him for as long as he’s been crushing on you, so perhaps you’re a little bit of an idiot yourself for liking him back.

Being friends with the two of you makes him feel like he’s constantly wearing a sloppy wet diaper, and he hates it. He wants to wipe his ass as soon as possible!

Seokjin shoves Yoongi away roughly, ignoring his indignant squawks as he pulls you aside. He takes you by the hand, taking you a few steps away from Yoongi, far enough that he can whisper into your ear without the other boy hearing.

Yoongi fumes from the sidelines, trying to keep his emotions in check even though he’s bursting at the seams with jealousy. Not for the first time, Yoongi irritably realizes that he does act like a cat, especially in moments like this. He might make fun of Seokjin for being an attention whore, but Yoongi is the same, if only at a smaller scale. He just wants you to look at him, as selfish as that sounds.

Can someone give him a break? He’s been holding in his crush for four years now… Imagine having to take a massive shit after drinking two gallons of milk while being lactose intolerant, except every time you line up for the washroom, the line gets increasingly long no matter how long you wait. That is the extent of his suffering, he tells himself. So please, excuse his dramatics for this one instance.

(Seokjin’s Note: This fucking jackass is SO stupid. If he only knew how easy it is to ask you out, he would know that his emotional constipation could be solved if he just fucking ASKED where the next washroom is. He could have relieved himself ages ago, but NO! And he calls me the idiot! Me! The utter betrayal! I’m never agreeing to become the second lead to a rom-com ever again!)

When Seokjin finishes whispering in your ears, you appear amused by what he had said. Yoongi sweats when you turn to face him, grinning slyly at him. “Is that so…” you wonder aloud. Yoongi feels like the world has shifted on its axis somewhat, though he still doesn’t know exactly how. He has a hunch that he’s going to find out soon enough.

“Would I ever lie to you?” Seokjin laughs that annoying laugh of his, slapping his thigh in the process. He straightens up almost immediately, his expression turning deadpan in an instant. “Send me the details by tonight, and I’ll make sure to deliver it, okay?”

“Promise?” You ask, holding a pinky up towards him. Yoongi might have let out a high pitched sob when he sees the gesture, wanting nothing more than to cup your hands in his. God, if he already nearly died from hugging you, who is to say Yoongi won’t immediately disintegrate if you were ever to hold his hand?

“Promise,” Seokjin replies, linking his pinky with yours. He doesn’t forget to point a shit-eating grin at Yoongi, for good measure.

You pull away, looking happier than you did moments prior. You were absolutely glowing, filling Yoongi with a warmth that only you ever knew how to provide. He wants to make you smile like that all the time, wants nothing more than for you to live beside him, filling his walls with the sound of your tinkling laughter. You wave cheerily at the both of them, stepping away to head home. “I guess I’ll see you, then? I’ll make sure to e-mail you my request, Seokjin!” you say, winking teasingly. “Bye to you too, Yoongi! Thanks for the hug!”

Yoongi watches as you walk further and further away as the usual melancholy that follows whenever you leave soon takes its place in his soul. It might be his imagination, but Yoongi thinks the cat ears on his head might have started to droop to match his mood.

The only way he knows how to replace the sadness, however, is by redirecting those emotions on an unsuspecting victim. Lucky for him, a willing volunteer is already within punching distance.

“Ow! Stop punching me, you gremlin!” Seokjin whines, blocking Yoongi’s series of punches like a pro. He might as well put ‘professional punching bag’ on his resume at this point. “I’m trying to help you, you useless beta male!”

“How is this helping! You made me wear cat ears and whispered blasphemies into Y/N’s ears! Now she’s going to order a hug-o-gram for her crush and it’ll be the end of my chances with her! How could you!”

“I was not whispering blasphemies, you twittering tit! I was giving her advice,” Seokjin sniffs, annoyed. “Don’t say I never help you, by the way. I’ve been trying to help you for years now.”

Yoongi hits him with a steely glare. “Really? So replacing all my clothes in my closet with clown attire is your version of help? I had to wear those stupid clown shoes for a week before you told me where you hid my clothes, jackass!”

“I was only trying to help you physically express yourself! You’re already a clown on paper, might as well help you achieve your final form!” Seokjin huffs, infuriatingly haughty. “Listen, believe me. I only told Y/N something that everyone already knows anyway, so just shut your trap and let Daddy handle the rest. You’re not going to lose her, I promise.”

“Please never refer to yourself as Daddy ever again,” Yoongi seethes, stalking off towards their car. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

“No talk, Yoobie angy…” Seokjin snickers to himself, following Yoongi with a spring in his step. This bastard is going to grovel at his feet by tomorrow evening, he’s sure of it. If he doesn’t, then Seokjin will bite his own dick in half––that’s how sure he is of his plan! (Not that biting his dick in half will do anything to his length; he’d still be left with eight inches, let’s be real.) All in good time.

x x x x x

Seokjin gets an e-mail the next morning, much earlier than any sane person would choose to be awake at. He groans lowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tries to read the contents of the letter. When he’s satisfied by what he has read, he forwards the e-mail to Yoongi before allowing sleep to take him once more.

Sleep evades him, however, when the sound of Yoongi’s big feet pounds noisily outside his bedroom. He hits his knee loudly against the coffee table, causing their beloved popcorn machine to tumble to the floor, but that is of little consequence to Yoongi right now. No, he needs to get into Seokjin’s room right now and scream––

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Yoongi hollers, slamming Seokjin’s door open. The hinges creak, desperately hanging on despite the impact. Yoongi proceeds to slam a fist upon Seokjin’s ass, who barely flinches due to the fatness of his ass cushioning most of the damage. He blinks blearily at Yoongi, but the smirk on his face is clear as day.

“Came to claim your hug so early in the morning? Well, I usually don’t entertain clients until after I’ve taken a shower, but for you… I’ll make an exception,” he yawns, peeling back his blanket and patting the empty spot on his bed. “Come on in, Yoobie Boobie… Let’s hug like it’s the last day on earth.”

Seokjin fails to realize that once he removed his blanket, he had inadvertently left himself vulnerable. Yoongi slams the heel of his foot against Seokjin’s groin, causing him to shriek bloody murder at 7 AM. He wonders, amidst his pain, whether this might be the last straw and that their landlord will finally kick them out after years of their stupid shenanigans.

“WHAT DID THAT E-MAIL MEAN? IF IT’S WHAT I THINK IT IS…” Yoongi threatens, but it’s as empty as Seokjin’s butthole. They both know the implications of that e-mail, even a toddler can put two and two together and make sense out of it. Anonymous e-mail or not, Seokjin wouldn’t just forward any hug-o-gram request to Yoongi, unless…

What did the e-mail say? It goes something like:

Dear Mr. Kim,

Thank you for offering your special promotion for new time customers of your Hug-o-gram Service! I’ve always been a quiet fan of your business idea, but I’ve always been a little shy to submit a request of my own. Thank you so much for giving me the little push that I needed to send my first (and hopefully last) hug.

I’d like to send a hug to Mr. Min Yoongi from the Music Department. I understand that he has recently been appointed an employee at your business, but seeing as how it’d be difficult for him to hug himself (while not entirely impossible), I’d like to request that you be the one to send the hug to him.

I don’t really have a message for him, per se… I’m still a little shy, even though you already told me that there is no reason to be. I want to believe what you said was true, so I’m pushing my fear aside and putting my fate into your hands. So, to Mr. Min Yoongi… “When I told you it was nice to hug someone you like, I don’t think you understood what I meant. A hug, after all, is a two-way street. They’re often served the best when it is reciprocated, if you catch my drift. :)”

Peace! :3

Regards,

[Redacted] [Redacted]

“Have your brain synapses finished connecting? Because if even this flies over your head, I’m sorry to say buddy but… You might have smooth brain syndrome,” Seokjin pipes up. He observes Yoongi’s brow crumpling, the first signal of his impending mental breakdown. If Seokjin remembers correctly, the next signal should be when––

Yoongi drops down to his knees, his phone clattering to the floor as he stares absently at the ceiling. Seokjin cringes, worried for the state of his friend’s frail kneecaps. The poor sap has bad heart health already; surely, it isn’t too early to get him a life alert button?

Seokjin scooches over his bed, dangling half his body over the edge to appraise his friend. “So. What do you plan to do now?”

For a moment, Yoongi remains silent. Eventually, he shuffles closer to him, perching his hands around Seokjin. The business student raises a brow, confused, until Yoongi pushes Seokjin back onto the middle of the bed so that he can cram himself beside Seokjin on his small double bed. He huffs amusedly, allowing the smaller boy to snuggle into his chest, though he still refuses to wrap his arms around him. Close enough, Seokjin snorts.

“I need your help, hyung.” Yoongi’s voice is small, shy. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Seokjin immediately softens. They might act like toddlers together the majority of the time, but Seokjin truly does care about Yoongi more than anything. During early mornings like this, when the sun’s soft rays are filtering through his sheer curtains and filling the room with a gentle warmth, it’s nice to cuddle up with one another and enjoy the silence. In fact, Seokjin would never admit it to Yoongi, but he got the idea for his Hug-o-gram service from Yoongi himself, back when the younger boy would be more prone to sneaking into his bed during his bouts of loneliness and homesickness.

Above all else, Yoongi is just a boy with a lot of love to give, so who is Seokjin to say no to his pleas for help?

“You know I always got your back, Yoongi-chi. Whenever you’re ready, we can do whatever you want. Ask and you’ll receive,” he replies, caressing his soft black tresses. Yoongi hums, smiling softly into his chest.

“Thanks, dude. For being… you know.”

Seokjin’s heart pangs a little, but he ignores it. Instead, he continues combing through his hair, humming gently. “I know.”

x x x x x

It’s been a few days since you sent the e-mail to Seokjin and you haven’t heard back from him. You aren’t sure if he sends confirmation e-mails to his clients as you’d never asked for a hug-o-gram before, nor did you know anyone who has. You are forced to continue on with your days like normal, trying to ignore the unsettling anxiety from creeping up your throat and spewing all over the sidewalk.

If Seokjin hadn’t been lying to you, then there shouldn’t be anything to worry about. You’ve been harboring this crush on Yoongi for years now, and you never thought in your life that it would ever be reciprocated. He always seemed a little bit detached, a little too cool for you. Never mind the fact that he always seemed so jittery around you, like it was hard to talk to you or something!

Your answer comes on the last day of the week, after an especially rough day at class. Your back is bent, having finished a grueling four hour lab period where you did nothing but stand and stare at your reaction vessel spinning without any signal of change. You are just a little bit hangry from all the stress piling up on your plate, especially since you hadn’t eaten a decent meal since breakfast at 8 AM.

In short, life isn’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped for your senior year, but you can’t let the blues get to you too soon. After all, there are leftover chicken wings in your fridge with your name on it, and nothing beats your meat more than greasy poultry to end a terrible week.

You’re only inches away from sliding your keycard to open your shared dorm room when the door opens without prompting. You flinch backward, yelping loudly when your roommate Park Jimin grins slyly from the doorway––never a good sign, if you knew anything.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jimin says, leaning casually against the door like he hadn’t just scared the living shit out of you. He takes one glance at your disheveled hair and lightly sweaty clothes before grimacing in disgust. “Girl, I can’t let you meet the love your life while you’re looking like that. Come on, we have a few minutes before he arrives. Let’s get you freshened up.”

“I’m sorry?” You squeak, allowing your roommate to manhandle you into your own home. He pushes you into your room, depositing you roughly onto your unmade bed. You try to make eye contact with him, but he’s too busy raiding your closet to pay you much attention. “Excuse me? What did you say just now?”

“No time, princess! Your Prince Charming is on the way, and I’ve been ordered by Seokjin to prepare you for this life-changing moment, so get your ass into gear and change into this!” He shoves a clean pair of jeans and a nicer-looking blouse at you before proceeding to grab your hairbrush and comb your tresses with the gentleness of a mother tigress. You shriek when the brush gets tangled in an especially stubborn knot, but Jimin is relentless. He nearly tears your hair by the roots, ignoring your pained whines.

“Will you fucking stop! I have literally no idea why you’re acting like a psycho all of a sudden–” You shout when Jimin begins to undress you, having to kick him in the chest to get him away from completely eradicating your remaining traces of dignity. “Okay, fine! I’ll dress myself! Just get out of my room and fucking stay away!”

Jimin looks at you dubiously for a split second, before eventually acquiescing. “You have two minutes to get changed. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, do you?” he says, smirking knowingly. He better dread the day that you finally wipe that annoying twinkle in his eye; it’s been a long time coming.

Left alone to your own devices, you do as Jimin says even though you’re still wildly confused by everything. To think you had been so excited to feast on your chicken wings, and instead, you went through a decade’s worth of torture within the last few minutes. Patting your hands on the butt of your jeans, you meekly take a step out of your bedroom, where Jimin is already tapping his foot impatiently by the door.

He motions for you to hurry up. “Let’s go! Seokjin says they’re rounding up the corner. Hold on,” he steps closer to you, raising your arm up to take a shameless sniff of your pits. “Sorry, had to make a pit stop. You can never be too sure,” he shrugs, disregarding your squawks of indignation.

“I smell fine! Now what are we–” Your sentence is cut short as Jimin all but carries you to the elevator, your shrieks of terror causing one or two of your neighbors to peek their heads out of their doors. When they see it’s just the two of you, they simply shrug their shoulders, returning to their lives like it was normal to see Jimin carry you in a fireman’s hold.

He doesn’t put you down until you reach the lobby of your dorm complex, barely out of breath despite having held you the entire way down. Stupid buff baby, you groan internally to yourself, straightening down your clothes in a desperate attempt to look decent. “Okay, we’re here. Who am I supposed to be meeting?”

In lieu of an answer, Jimin points wordlessly outside your building. A black car is parked on the other side of the road, and you can barely see a familiar head of hair poking out from the driver’s seat. “Seokjin? What the…” you trail off, before your eyes finally land on their target.

Yoongi stands outside the glass doorway, not dressed in his usual all-black attire. He’s wearing an outrageously cute pink shirt today, matching the color of his natural flush. He always looks effortlessly good, with his hair a little windswept in that boyishly cute way. Your mouth goes a little dry when you realize he’s wearing his famous leather jacket, the one that always got the girls and boys swooning when he walked past in them. You hated how whipped for him you were, not wanting to be like the weird kids in his secret fan club, but who can blame you? He’s just so…

You rip open the door, nearly tripping and falling over the short steps leading to the entrance. You grind to a halt in front of him and you’re acutely aware of how rabid you must look. Your chest is pounding, like your heart is begging you to step closer, just like when you had hugged him all those days ago. God, you were going to kill Park Jimin for this.

“Yoongi? What are you…” You take one look at him before your gaze drops to his hands folded carefully behind his back. It doesn’t hide the fact that there is an obvious bouquet of flowers behind him, though. Your face lights on fire when you notice they were your favorite flowers too.

“I’m here to deliver a hug?” Yoongi says it like he’s unsure of himself, but there’s a little coyness laced in his tone. His cheeks are painted a soft pink, and not for the first time, they remind you of freshly baked bread pulled out from the oven. Soft enough to kiss, you wonder idly to yourself.

“I mean… I did order a hug a few days ago, but I do recall not ordering one for myself?” you laugh a little hysterically, your breath cutting short when Yoongi grins softly in response. “I… Who is this hug from?”

Yoongi takes a glance back towards Seokjin. “Hey, boss. Am I allowed to reveal who the secret admirers are, or will that get me fired?”

Seokjin, despite being a few meters away, laughs loud enough for the whole street to hear. “Well, Yoongi-chi. Something tells me your resignation letter was coming in the mail eventually. Who cares about the rules at this point?”

“He’s right,” you quip, pulling Yoongi’s attention back. You’re smiling wide now, your hopes and dreams skyrocketing in your chest and blooming a garden in your heart. “Who cares, right?”

“Right,” Yoongi agrees, taking the last two steps he needs to get closer to you. He drops the bouquet somewhere behind you before finally, finally, embracing you once more. He kisses you gently on the forehead, the contact short and sweet.

You feel like you’re dying, but it’s all good because Yoongi looks just as embarrassed as you. But none of it matters, not when both your happiness is palpable in the air.

“Y/N…”

“Yes?”

“This hug-o-gram is from me to you. Will you go out with me?”

You’ve always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. So when you lean in to plant your first kiss of many many more, he knows your answer well enough.

3K notes · View notes

pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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Popping Pearls and Purple Skies (Din Djarin x f!reader)

Summary: While in your home system, Din takes you to your home planet for your favorite treat.

W/C: 3.6k

Warnings: food mention, Star Wars cursing lol, mentions of physical fighting, mentions of trauma

A/N: okay. this was inspired by me thinking Grogu would love popping boba bc he loved the frog lady’s eggs so much!! I hope I did it okay :) Siruus, reader’s home planet, is supposed to be a mishmash of cultures, none specifically, I just picked cool elements from a variety of cultures!

One of the delights you missed most from your home planet was, you discovered, practically unattainable on any other planet. You’d scoured far and wide, hoping maybe you’d cross paths with another Siruusian or an admirer of the culture, but found nothing. It was only on Siruus that you could find your favorite drink: a milky tea with popping pearls.

Din knows you miss your home. Late at night, in the hull of the ship, he’d confide that he missed his home planet too. He told you tales of growing up in Aq Vetina, the feather-light and velvety robes that he wore every day, the spicy foods his mother would cook- which later made him a great Mandalorian.

Did you know that the Mandos love spicy food, cyare? We have a whole vocabulary to describe the heat of a dish. It’s traditional. I was raised on it, and the comfort of a burning mouth was a universal sensation: one that reminded me of my real parents and my adoptive clan.

Rarely did the Mandalorian man let his guard down, but never had he completely done so like he has with you. From the moment he hired you to care for his little green son, he’d been entranced by your laughter, the smooth sound of your voice in the language you’d been raised speaking. He caught you teaching the kid some vocabulary, and he’d quiz him on it when you weren’t around. The kid couldn’t speak yet, but he could point and match words to images or objects, which he attributed entirely to you. You were the child’s primary caretaker and kindergarten teacher in one, and Din admired your care and commitment.

Something about you spoke to him, and over time he thinks he came to realize it was the fact that, though you’d never heard of The Way before meeting Din, you were the holistic ideal of a Mandalorian. You valued knowledge and valor, and though you didn’t work in the traditional Mando fields of bounty hunting or working as a warrior, you embodied another aspect: that care for children.

Watching you with the kid was what made him realize he was in love with you. He’d told you everything. When you looked over your shoulder and laughed, the baby watching you too, the gaze was a love Din has never felt but immediately recognized. It hit him and his whole body shuddered, harder than it had when the Maldo Kreis cold had seeped into his bones, even through the beskar. At the same time, he felt too warm in his own skin, like the fever he’d had as a toddler that threatened his life- he’d told you that story too. Dank Farrik. This was not in the plan.

You had told Din all about your home planet too. You told him of the bright flowers that bloomed in the cold of winter, that released a pollen that made the birds in the area start laying their eggs. He listened intently every time, clinging to every word he told you like he’d never hear that beautiful voice again. He’d hear you singing Siruusian lullabies to the baby, and on nights you missed home.

He’d offered to take you back many times. Any time you were near, there was a standing offer to pop in for a visit. But you’ve always declined; the child and Mando would bring too much attention to your quiet little planet, you explained. That was only partially true, so you didn’t feel as bad lying by omission to Din. You’d neglected to mention, every time, that this was your life now, and more specifically that you never want to leave his side again.

Din really is something. You’d never even heard of Mandalorians before he swept you off your planet, never understood the intricate Creed and their strong beliefs. It didn’t matter to you, that you couldn’t see his face; at least at first. Of course you’d respect the slightly terrifying man’s customs.

But over time you’ve fallen for him, and that’s made everything just a little harder. The man seemingly made of steel was warm and gentle beneath it, with you and the child. He’d wrangle a bounty into the carbonite freezer then tenderly tuck a flower he found behind your ear, calling you sweet names in Mando’a that you didn’t understand. The juxtaposition of the man’s very being- covered in impenetrable, freezing metal to hide an ooey-gooey center like that of a warm pastry- was exciting and beautiful to you.

How could you not fall in love? The three of you became a little family, even as you joined Din on the quest of returning your little green son to his people. You’d treated the baby as your own son, the way Din did too. You’d tried to shepherd him away from the Frog woman’s eggs, only to find him munching on them moments later, scolded him with love and promptly hidden the container.

That day made you miss home even more. The eggs reminded you of the popping pearls you loved so much- no wonder the kid loved them. You’d never eat the Frog’s eggs, of course, but you’d sung the baby to sleep that night in the hull of the ship, another lullaby from your youth. Maybe next time you’d take Din’s offer to visit home seriously. Maybe. There was still another reason you didn’t want to return: if you came home, you weren’t sure you could leave again.

Now you’re in hyperspace, nestled into the small bunk, your child snoozing softly above you with gentle grunts and snorts of sleep. Din is up in the cockpit and you can’t sleep. You wonder if he’s awake too. Maybe you’ll go check.

Sliding on warm slippers to pad your bare feet from the cold metal of the floor, you climb the ladder to the cockpit and see Din sitting in the captain’s chair. You’re unsure if he’s awake or not; it’s hard to tell through the beskar. His shoulders shift a little as he hears you moving and you can tell he’s awake. “Hi. Couldn’t sleep,” you admit as you assume your regular position. The chairs move with the pull of a lever, and you scoot yours closer to Din and prop your feet on his arm rest.

Din nods, resting against the chair. “Me neither. The kid?”

“Asleep,” you confirm and nod, slumping down in your seat.

It’s nice and quiet between the two of you, a relaxed silence as the stars fly past and the Crest hums its low rumble of engines and filters. Just being in his presence soothes you more than being alone in that coffin of a bunk. If you think this is calming, you ponder, just his presence, imagine his arms around you while you sleep. Imagine his warm skin beneath the beskar surrounding you and radiating heat.

He’s thinking the same thing. You look impossibly soft and warm. Your plush skin prickles with the cold of the cockpit and Din wants to put an ungloved hand over it and let the heat of his flushed body sink into yours. He doesn’t. He just stares off at the stars. “We’re approaching your home system,” he murmurs softly. “Would you like to visit?”

Well damn. You hadn’t expected to be confronted with the question so soon, and you’re not quite sure how to answer. “I don’t know.”

It’s quiet again. Din’s silence invites you to speak your inner monologue, to throw your tangled thoughts into the open so he can help unknot them with his nimble mind. In response to his lack of words, which say as much as any sentence, you respond. “I haven’t been there in so long. I don’t know if I want to go back. I like my life now, and I’m scared I’ll want to stay if we visit.”

Din nods as you speak, processing the meanings of your words. “Well,” he begins, “what if I rephrase it like this: would you like us to visit?”

Us. What the kriff does that entail? The three of you, your little family, perhaps? You and Din as friends, as coworkers? Or as something more… your mind spins and you can’t make sense of it, so you give it up. “What does that mean?”

Din turns his chair to face you, moving your legs to drape across his lap. Even through the gloves, he holds back a shiver as he rests his hands atop your shins. “We’ll go, all three of us. If you like your life now, we’ll be your reminders of it.”

Your mouth curves into a warm smile, your body feeling soft and fuzzy all over. “How kind.”

“I’ll even buy you that tea you ramble about,” he offers.

Gasping in excitement, you clap your hands together. “Will you try it? Oh, Din, you’ll love it, it’s the most delicious thing in the galaxy.”

“We’ll see about that,” he chuckles through the modulator, a sound you wish you could hear without the mechanical suppressor.

Popping up, you kiss the top of his beskar-clad head in excitement before you can stop yourself. “Thank you, Din.”

“Anything for you, cyare,” he says with a certain warmth to his voice, a large hand finding your waist. “Go get some rest, lie down. We’ll be there in about half a day.”

“Only if you rest too,” you tell him and your hand rests over his. It’s the most he’s ever touched you purposefully, and now all you want is for him to slide that hand back until he’s wrapping you in his muscular arms. Din nods and you pat his forearm. “Sweet dreams.”

The ramp comes down and your mouth forms a soft ring in excitement. It’s a beautiful day, the nearest sun making the atmosphere the beautiful purple you grew up under. The oranges and yellows of the architecture surround you, and you instinctively clutch the Mandalorian’s hand. “Welcome to my home,” you tell him with a grin and lead him down.

Your little green child is strapped to your chest in a baby carrier, a birikad in Mando’a, and he looks around in wonder, squealing excitedly. As you walk through the streets of the small city, vendors call in Siruusian, a language Din is slowly learning from you. He thinks he recognizes a few words here or there.

Venturing to the side, a stall sells small animals made of a gorgeously embroidered fabric. You had many of these as a child; your favorite was a blue and silver bantha, an exotic animal you’d never seen before your adventures with Din. The child coos at the menagerie in front of him and you squat so he can look at them.

“Toata,” you coo in Siruusian, a word to mean little one, “can you pick the frog?”

That’s one of the words you worked on with him. A tiny, green, three-fingered hand grabs a gorgeous yellowy-brown frog and holds it up in triumph. “Good job, cutie! Aren’t you a smart little thing?” you grin and kiss his forehead. “Is that the one you want?”

Din watches from a few meters back, grinning beneath the helmet. When the child nods excitedly and squeals, he almost laughs softly at the beautiful sight. You pay for the frog and Din meanders over, the baby already chewing on a long leg of the plush.

He wants to see you like that for the rest of his life: glowing with excitement, the little kid strapped to your chest, absolutely at ease and relaxed in the place you used to call home. “You want one too?” you ask.

He shakes his head at first, but after a little haggling, Din purchases himself a copper and yellow blurrg and a mudhorn made of silver for you. The symbolism of the mudhorn, of Clan Djarin, is not lost on you. It makes your heart flit nervously around your ribcage as you wander through the market, making your little mudhorn and the baby’s frog pretend to fight. As always, the littlest member of Clan Djarin triumphs over the mighty mudhorn.

An aromatic smell wafts through the air and your face lights up to see a stand selling your favorite beverage. Din spots it too and makes his way over, getting in the line, his hand holding yours once again. This time, he initiated it. You like that. It makes you giggle and squeeze his fingers softly.

“What do you usually order?” he asks you.

You frown and scan the menu. You explain your drink to him, an orange-colored, sweet and herbal milk tea with your favorite citrusy popping pearls in the bottom. He asks what you think he’d like and you pick a drink for him: a blue, warmly-spiced milk tea with the same pearls. “It’s not the proper drink without it,” you explain.

Picking the baby from his carrier to face you, you ask him questions by the process of elimination. “Okay, toata, do you like… mushfruit?” He makes a noise of disproval. You knew he hated that one; you wanted to ensure he was listening. “No? How about…” you pretend to ponder it. “How about panga?”

The baby squeals in excitement. The green fruit has always been his favorite when you and Din require him to eat his fruit. “Wonderful, and a panga milk tea with you. Do you remember froggie’s eggs?” You ask him, pointing to the frog toy he holds. He tilts his head in confusion.

“The snackies I said no?” That clue does it. He nods, cooing and giggling. “These taste like those! You’ll love it.”

The rest of the time in the line is quiet, shuffling forward slowly to reach the stand. “Is it what you’d hoped?” Din asks after a while.

You nod and smile. “As soon as I get my tea, it will be.”

“And you… you don’t want to stay?”

“Nope,” you agree, popping the p with your lips.

He doesn’t know quite what to say. He’s not the wordsmith you are. “Well. I’m glad. I, uh. I’d miss you if you left.”

The words are simple but they warm your heart. “I’d miss the two of you far too much to leave,” you assure him. “For different reasons, respectively.”

Your flirtation is more than mild, but it hangs in Din’s mouth like a spicy Mandalorian food. He knows what you imply, and the thought that you could feel the same practically sends him into orbit, above Siruus’s atmosphere and next to one of its 4 moons. He can’t respond. He just tightens his grip on your hand.

Once you’ve acquired the drinks, Din holding his and the child’s, the three of you make your way back to the Razor Crest so Din can enjoy the drink too. Walking up the ramp, you sigh as the air-controlled atmosphere warms your slightly-chilled skin from being outside for so long in the Siruusian spring.

You unpack the kid from his carrier, and grin as he toddles to his father, making grabby hands for his green drink. “Oh my, toata,” you tease. “Your drink is the same color as you!”

Din laughs softly, and sets the drink on the floor for him. The baby tries to hold it and walk but the cup is too tall to move with his tiny body. You lift it for him and move it so he can sit in a circle with you and Din, cross-legged on the floor.

The baby plops down in front of his drink then realizes it’s too tall for him to sip from the thick straw while seated. The baby makes a little whine of frustration and you scoop up the kid, putting him in your lap. You hold the cup for him, and his two tiny hands grab the straw to drink from. The baby squeaks as he pops a pearl in his mouth. It’s just like the froggy eggs, and he couldn’t be more excited.

Your free hand holds your drink, and you close your eyes in happiness when the first sip of your tea reaches your tongue. You make a content little moan at the flavor, then open your eyes to see the child vigorously slurping up the drink. “Woah, little man. Slow down.”

Din just watches the two of you, smiling to himself. When your eyes return to him, he lifts his drink. “I’m not really supposed to do this,” he admits as he grabs the edge of his helmet. Both you and the child watch in bewilderment as he lifts his helmet just enough to expose the bottom of his nose, his lips and chin.

You’d never really processed that Din would be… well, so human. The strip of his face, exposed, reveals warm skin, dark stubble, and lips that look ridiculously soft. It’s a sight to see, a Mandalorian cross-legged on the floor and sipping tea with popping pearls. It makes you grin, and both you and the baby lean in closer to try and look under the helmet further.

“That’s as much as you get,” Din teases as he lowers the helmet, once more covering his entire face.

You frown, but the excitement of Din trying your favorite treat overwhelms it for now. “What do you think?” You ask.

Din tilts his head and does exactly that: thinks. “It’s very good,” he nods as he looks at the child, nearly halfway done with his green milk-tea. “I really like it. That’s delicious.”

“Yay,” you smile and sip your own drink again, sighing. The three of you continue like that for a while, sitting together and drinking your tea. Every time he lifts his helmet, you consider those plush lips, the scruff coating his defined jaw and chin. When his tea is gone, you frown to realize the moment of intimacy, of seeing just a little of his face, is over.

The kid is tuckered out from his day. You put the baby to bed in his hammock over the bunk, kissing him goodnight and singing him a lullaby as you rock the knit cradle. He falls asleep quickly, tummy full of a delicious treat very similar to his favorite snack. While you put the child to bed, Din pilots you safely out of the sky harbor and away from Siruus, out of the purple-tinted sky and back into the darkness of space followed by hyperdrive.

You climb up to the cockpit, entering and standing behind Din’s captain chair. “I had a wonderful time today. Thank you.” You put your hands on his pauldron-covered shoulders.

“Thank you,” he insists. “I’d never go there for any other reason. The drink was wonderful and the kid absolutely loved everything about it.” “Maybe we’ll have to vacation there sometime,” you chuckle, spotting Din’s little toy blurrg peeking out from a pocket on his utility belt.

Din turns and stands from his chair, looking at you through that black t-visor. You’re not sure why he does it; in all honesty, he isn’t either. You stare into the helmet, where you suspect and hope his eyes are. “You’re very handsome under there,” you tell him, putting a hand on the divot of his helmet, where the beskar caves inward over his cheeks.

“I’m nothing special,” he shakes his head, a hand covering yours. “Nowhere as special or as beautiful as you.”

Heat rises in your skin, blood flowing closer to the surface. “That’s not true, Din.”

“It is. You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve seen in the galaxy,” he murmurs, his other hand cupping your cheek through leather gloves.

“Well, thank you,” you laugh softly, almost nervously, “but I meant you’re very special. I haven’t even seen all of your face and I know you’re absolutely gorgeous beneath that helmet.” You pause, tracing the curves of the beskar. “What color eyes do you have? I want to finish the mental picture.”

“Brown,” Din breathes out, barely able to control himself with you this close.

“Din?”

“Mesh’la.”

“Can… can you do what you did with your helmet to drink the tea?”

He lifts it just enough, just exposing those goddamn taunting lips and the scruffy jaw. “Like this?”

“Exactly,” you exhale before cupping his soft jaw, feeling the stubble beneath your palms as you press your lips to his. Those lips are a little dry but warm and strong, just like you’d assume the rest of him is. He puts a hand on your waist and pulls you in close, kissing you back deeply.

The beskar right above his lips makes it more difficult but not impossible. He lifts the helmet a little higher so he can tilt his head to the side, can kiss you with the energy and passion you’re putting into it. Mentally, he adds this to his lists of favorite tastes: spicy Mandalorian cuisine, your favorite tea with popping pearls, and you.

It lasts a while before you break away and Din lowers his helmet all the way once more. You breathe heavily from the fervor of the kiss, lips swollen and damp. Maker, he wishes this visor had a photo capability to take a picture of the way you look. “Come rest with me. Please, Din.”

Din can’t say no to that. He retreats downstairs with you, strips himself of the beskar save for the helmet, and snuggles into your side. Your wish comes true then and there, when you learn that he’s as good of a cuddler as you’d hoped. “Goodnight, Din. Thank you,” you murmur.

“Goodnight, mesh’la. Thank you more.”

The baby above you gives a little snort in his sleep. That’s the last thing you remember before falling asleep in his arms.

Taglist: @remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles @1800-fight-me

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin imagine #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the mandalorian #baby yoda #pedro pascal fanfiction #grogu #din and grogu #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction

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jaskierswolf · 3 years ago

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The Prince of Darkness

Written for @thewitcherbog flash fic challenge a while back but I never posted!

Rating: M

Summary: Jaskier is the King of the Underworld, and it's Valdo's day of judgement.

CW: Demon!Jaskier (and witchers), implied sexual content, death, torture (burning, choking, freezing.), Jask has an open relationship with all the witchers (but Geralt is his favourite), mentions of non con.

The hotel lobby was sophisticated and yet traditional, like something out of a movie. The dark panelling on the walls were dimly lit by flickering candles, and there was a fireplace roaring in the centre of the foyer, and a handful of gorgeous golden-eyed beauties were making their way around the room. They were finely dressed, perfectly tailored suits with silken blood red waistcoats detailed with golden buttercups, a tray balanced on their hands as they passed out flutes of champagne. In the corner of the room was a black grand piano, the lid propped up as the man behind it let his fingers dance across the ivory keys, rings glistening silver and gold in the candlelight.

Jaskier smiled to himself as he played, his eyes shut, focussing on every little sound in the room, blending it with the music, manipulating the souls around him until they were practically eating out of his hand.

The Prince of Darkness, the mortals called him.

Lucifer himself.

He preferred Jaskier; buttercups were so beautiful, so innocent, so toxic.

It was the perfect moniker.

Lux was his domain, his hotel, a haven for demons and sinners alike, and the perfect stage for when Jaskier had to deal with… unpleasant business. The witchers, as he liked to call his inner circle of demons, would deal with the aftermath, cleaning up the elevator before any of Jaskier’s regular clientele could see.

The witchers were just such good pets.

Geralt approached the piano, his honey golden eyes almost entirely black as they approached the end of another poor soul’s contract. There was an itch that creeped under Jaskier’s skin, hot fire burning through his veins, but it didn’t bother him. No, he relished in the flames, let it warm his cold immortal body. Cracking an eye open, he peered at the witcher who had disturbed his music.

“He’s here, my lord.”

Jaskier sighed, bringing the music to an end, and then, with a snap of his fingers, the ivory keys started to play anew. The song was a familiar tune, a well known pop song from the mortals’ charts. It would keep his honoured guests entertained, after all, at Lux the party never-ended. Those who stepped through the swinging doors were transported to a realm of endless night; cocktails, champagne and designer clothes. The chandelier in the middle of the room twinkled, and there was a sharp clack of high heels on the granite floor as his guests mingled.

None of them ever seemed to realise there was something not quite right about Lux. When they were done partying, when Jaskier had made deals for their souls, they would leave and return to their realm as if they had only been there for an evening, never to return until their contract was up.

And they always returned.

Occasionally, a poor mortal would fight it, realising their impending doom. They’d try to flee the country, get as far away from Lux as possible, but the witchers were excellent hunters. Once the demons got the right scent, they could track their prey to the end of the known universe. The mortals never stood a chance. They either came willingly or they would be dragged through the doors by two of Jaskier’s finest demons; he wasn’t sure which he preferred.

Yes it was simpler if they accepted their fate, but he couldn’t deny that he just adored the thrill of watching the poor terrified soul being thrown at his feet.

He thought of himself as a kind devil, if such a thing existed, his father would certainly disagree, but his father could rot in heaven. Truly, Jaskier did his best to be fair. He granted the mortals wishes and made sure they lived their best lives, he even allowed most of them to live for many decades with the gifts he gave them, their deepest desires. Really, for some of the wishes he’d granted, it would have been kind to allow them even a year of life, let alone what he gave to them.

Ungrateful bastards, the lot of them.

Valdo Marx had been an easy soul to claim; he was greedy, lustful, full of pride. He’d practically begged at Jaskier’s feet back when he was in his first year of university.

“I want to be the best musician the world has ever seen, I want the most beautiful woman, Virginia Stael, to be my wife, and I want-”

Jaskier had waved his hand, his dark feathered wings spreading out behind him, and Valdo’s jaw had snapped shut, muffled sounds coming from his throat.

“I want, I want, I want,” Jaskier had cooed, his finger hooking under Valdo’s chin as he pouted down at the mortal, whipping his tail round to caress down the poor man’s arm until his wrist had been locked in a vice. “Do you know what I want… Marx?”

The wanna-be musician had scoffed, a fatal mistake and one that had cost him years off his life. “Everyone knows that, Lucifer.”

“My name, Valdo, is Jaskier,” he’d hissed, his forked tongue flicking out from his lips as more and more of his devil form had been revealed. “And I just want to have fun.”

“You want my soul.”

“No, your soul is the price. A mere business transaction. I just want to get wasted and shag my rather lovely demons, and you are wasting my time.”

Ah yes. Valdo had always been a little shit-stain in Jaskier’s life, but now his time had come.

The piano music began to build to an earth shattering crescendo, making the glasses rattle, and dust fall from the chandelier. Jaskier cracked his neck, feeling a prickling sensation on his scalp as his horns began to grow, and still the sweet, oblivious mortals noticed nothing. They sipped on their champagne and chatted amongst themselves, ignoring the way Jaskier’s cornflower blue eyes slowly turned onyx, his skin deathly pale. He smiled sweetly at his favourite witcher, running his lips along Geralt’s sharp cheekbones.

“Thank you, darling,” he breathed, capturing Geralt’s lips with his, tongues meeting in a quick but heated display of passion.

And then the doors burst open, Lambert and Aiden dragginga handsome but aging man through the doors, grey hairs dusting his temple, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. It had been a long time since Jaskier had seen Valdo Marx, but there was no denying his beauty, now distinguished, a true silver fox. Dark chocolate eyes met his as all the colour drained from Marx’s face.

“Oh God, no… no, please,” he stammered, struggling in the arms of the demons that held him.

“My dear father holds no power here,” Jaskier chuckled, smirking at the man at his feet. “There’s no use in praying. Your soul belongs to me.”

“Lu- Jaskier, please. I’m too young. It’s too soon,” Valdo begged, reaching up to Jaskier with open hands. “My wife, my children.”

“Oh but Valdo, It’s never too soon. I am never early and I never try to back out of a deal, darling,” Jaskier pouted, squatting so he was at eye level with the mortal. “So why don’t you come with me, love? Stop all this fussing. You’re ruining my party.”

With a fire not often seen in mortals, Valdo spat at Jaskier, and an eerie silence fell over the club. The piano music screeched to a halt, the lid closing with a bang, and the only sound was a low rumble of growls from the witchers. Geralt was at Jaskier’s side in a flash, his sword drawn and pointed at the man.

It was sweet.

As if Jaskier couldn’t defend himself, but he did enjoy the show, the way Geralt’s arms would flex as he gripped the sword, twirling it in a circle before executing his victim.

“I had planned to give you an easy death,” Jaskier lied, standing back up to his full demonic height and clearing his face with a snap, “but now, I think I’ll have some fun. Geralt, Eskel, with me. Lambert, Aiden, make sure our guests stay out of the way.”

“No!” Valdo cried, falling once more at Jaskier’s feet, gripping onto his ankles.

Oh, how he loved it when they begged for their lives.

When Jaskier glided through the foyer, picking up a champagne flute from Coen’s tray with barely a brush of his lips to the demon’s cheek, the crowd parted before him. Compliments fell off their tongues, sweet like honey, unaware of the influence Jaskier had over them. They all watched him, they always watched him, so very eager to please. Geralt snarled behind him as one brave mortal rested their hand on Jaskier’s arm, but it was Eskel who snapped their fingers, silent and deadly, before they’d even realised he was there.

Valdo was pulled into the elevator, tears streaming down his face and choked off screams ripping from his throat, but Jaskier remained calm, and if it weren’t for his eyes and the horns amongst his tousled brown hair, he would have looked like any other hotel owner.

Until the doors closed.

And then all hell broke loose; literally. Jaskier’s body cracked and snapped into place as his legs extended to inhuman proportions, his fingers growing into talons, and he let out a sinful moan as his wings unfurled behind him. He flicked out his tail, and his three-piece suit melted away into a gorgeous black silk corset, embroidered with golden buttercups. Red stockings adorned his legs, held up by lacy black garters, and as he flicked out his ankles, a pair of strappy heels materialised on his feet, the soles flashing red before clicking back onto the floor.

“Jaskier, please, please,” Valdo cried, falling against the side of the elevator as lightning sparked and they dropped fast, the dial on the wall spinning out of control.

“Your soul… belongs to me,” Jaskier hissed, pressing Valdo up against the wall, his hands wrapping around his throat.

He was tempted to snog Valdo’s soul right out of him, a sweet kiss to seal the deal, but that was too kind, and he was feeling a little more dramatic than that, so he pushed back off the wall, beating his wings so he hovered just off the floor. Geralt and Eskel were standing on either side of him, swords drawn with toxic black eyes, veins like ink beneath their skin.

Flames burst out behind them, whipping around so the whole elevator was surrounded by a burning pyre, singeing Valdo’s clothes, and the mortal screamed as the fire licked at his hand, scorching the calloused skin. His precious hands, his livelihood, the first things that Jaskier had blessed for him.

There was something so delightfully poetic in that, and Jaskier found great pleasure in it.

“Everyone always thinks that hell is eternal fire,” he purred, stroking a talon along Geralt’s cheek, before pulling Eskel into a soft kiss, taking his time to enjoy the taste of sulfur on his tongue, “but that isn’t always true.”

“W-what?”

Jaskier just pouted at Valdo. “Do try to keep up, darling.”

And then he snapped his fingers, the fire was suddenly extinguished, replaced by a flood of muddy tar. Valdo spluttered and choked as he slid to the ground, the tar catching in his hair, and wherever it landed his handsome looks withered away. The wedding band slipped from his finger and disappeared, despite Valdo’s desperate scrambling to find it.

The muddy mixture spewed all over the lift, covering the two demons as well as their victim, but Jaskier stayed clean and dry, untouched by the tar. He really wasn’t in the mood for ruining his clothes, not like this. He was rather hoping Geralt would tear them from his body later on that day whilst his other beloved witchers watched.

“J-Jaskier!” Valdo screamed, just as the entire elevator froze.

Blue ice creeped up the walls, wrapping around the legs of both the demons and the pitiful mortal on the floor. Valdo sobbed, trying to escape the ice but they both knew it was over. His back pressed against the wall as the ice grew, crystallising over his body, wrapping around his throat. Snowflakes fell from the ceiling, landing in his eyelashes as he struggled to breathe.

And Jaskier stole back his voice.

The final gift.

Valdo’s soul ripped from his body, and the man fell limp against the wall.

With a wave of his hand, Jaskier captured the soul, weaving his magic until a silver fox with chocolate brown eyes was nestled in his arms. He grinned, lowered the fox to the floor and then snapped his fingers to open the doors.

Before he left the elevator, his corset grew into a beautiful gown, split all the way up to his thighs, and his demonic features melted away. He patted Geralt once more on the cheek, pressing their lips together, before striding back into the foyer, not looking back at the frozen massacre he’d left behind. Beside him, a silver fox trotted along, a shadow of the man he used to be.

#the witcher #jaskier loves witchers #demon!jaskier #wolfie's witcher writing

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luxekook · 5 years ago

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chapter two.

⇥ pairing: namjoon x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, chaotic namjoon, power tools, hints of poly relationships, overall pretty smut free (who AM i???)

Chapter Two

Habitat for Humanity Worksite – 9:26am

When I signed up to volunteer Saturday morning of syllabus week, I should have known I would end up regretting it. I almost punted my alarm clock out of the apartment window this morning, but instead settled a slightly more civil action – punching the shit out of the ‘off’ button.

Don’t get me wrong: I love volunteering. It’s been part of my routine since sophomore year when I was recruited for the all-women’s service society on campus – the Alphites. As a society, us Alphites volunteer around campus and in our local community each week. There’s something about doing service together that really creates bonds, and the girls in the society have quickly become some of my closest friends.

We sign up to volunteer for a variety of different service projects each week, and Habitat is my current favorite project to sign up for. As a nonprofit organization, Habitat for Humanity helps families build and improve places to call home. Currently, our regional Habitat is working on building a house from the ground up for a local family in need.

Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form a very ‘handy’ person. Luckily for me, there are always a couple volunteers with construction or engineering backgrounds who are willing to teach other volunteers with less experience – or none, like me.

Since beginning to volunteer at the site last year, I have learned how to use a power saw, how to fasten siding, and how to mix, pour and level cement. It’s definitely empowering to learn new skills and also to see how my handiwork contributes to someone’s future home. I also feel lowkey badass when I get to use the power drill for anything.

Pulling up to the worksite, I clutch my cherished 24oz. Wawa coffee. I finally feel somewhat human as I park my beat-up Jeep Wrangler and hop out to meet the other volunteers for our task assignments.

The site leader Eddie – a burly retiree with a background in construction management – greets me with a huge grin, “(y/n)-doll, we missed you this summer! I can’t believe you abandoned us during the hottest months of the year.”

I roll my eyes, smiling at his teasing. Eddie’s like a teddy bear disguised as a grizzly – all rough edges and a heart of gold. “Missed you, too, Eddie.”

“Look at our progress now,” he continues, “Pretty impressive, yeah?” Nodding, I greet some regular volunteers I recognize as Eddie leads me around the house. He proceeds to show me what they had done over the summer in my absence – and they had done a lot. The house now had its full foundation and wooden framing with most of the doors and windows installed.

As we walk back to the front of the house to the main area, I sip my coffee and turn to Eddie, “So, what can I work on today, fearless leader?”

Letting out a patented ‘Eddie belly-laugh’, he replies, “I know you worked on the siding at our last site so I'm gonna have you work on where we started the siding on the right side of the house.”

Sweet, I could work with that. “Aye, aye, captain,” I respond with a lazy salute of my coffee cup. Before I can turn to start towards the scaffolding to begin, Eddie stops me.

“Oh, one more thing. I’m gonna need you to orient our new volunteer and let him shadow you today. Kid’s from the same school as you, I think… Mandatory service. Anyway, he should be here any minute.”

Shit, I know what ‘mandatory service’ means. It’s the first form of disciplinary action that the college issues and is usually the only form of disciplinary action for our athletes or for Greek life – a fact I actively resent. During my time in the Alphites, I have had to deal with some of these ‘mandatory service’ characters and they’ve never been much fun to be around.

“Ah, that’s probably him now,” Eddie startles me out of my thoughts of dread and doom as a black gleaming Tesla practically purrs down the block, swinging into the spot next to my Wrangler. Scowling, I cross my arms as I survey the stark contrast between this person’s shiny-ass luxury car and my dirty-ass well-loved Jeep.

The Tesla door opens. A Timberland booted foot emerges followed by a thick leg encased in light jeans, a tanned well-muscled arm…

No. Nope, it couldn’t be— Please, not today, Satan.

He stands with his back to us now, stretching out his large body. In only a cutoff t-shirt, his rippling back muscles might be enough to send me into an early grave.

I sigh in bitter defeat of the inevitable. Seriously, the fucking universe must have it out for me because I can’t seem to shake this stupid fucking fraternity.

As if the boy feels my eyes on him, he turns. His eyes immediately clash with mine as he slams his car door, clicking the lock over his shoulder. Those eyes – golden brown beneath dark brows and a wave of bleached blonde hair. Their focus is absolute – hard – as he strolls towards us. It’s almost as if he knows the maddening effect that he has on me.

I think Eddie is speaking, but my senses are on lockdown, his words muted. My thighs tighten as my pulse picks up. Get a fucking grip, (y/n). I can’t let him know that just one look from him has me thirsty and oxygen-deprived. I can’t look away – that would be succumbing to weakness.

Instead, I hold his heated gaze as best I can as his confident gait brings him closer. God, he’s got to be at least 6 foot...

The goddamn president of BTS Kim Namjoon is getting closer and I can’t help running my eyes over him.

His thighs flex and shift beneath his jeans with every calculated step. His abs are apparent under his tight cutoff shirt emblazoned with his fraternity letters.

Namjoon stops in front of us, hands stuffed into his back pockets, biceps flexing. “Nice to finally meet you, Eddie,” Namjoon takes his eyes off me long enough to greet Eddie and shake his hand, but then they’re right back on me, “Hi, (y/n).”

He drags out my name in a such a sinful way that even old Eddie does a slight doubletake. Clearing his throat unnecessarily loudly, Eddie booms, “You two know each other?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Our differing replies sound at the same time.

“Yes,” Namjoon repeats, lips turning up in an infuriating smile, “We have several mutual friends that she’s met a couple times now. Want me to jog your memory? I’d be more than happy to do so.”

Eddie takes one look at my face and hustles off, mumbling something about support beams. I guess my inner thoughts of ‘kill, maim, slaughter’ could easily be read from my facial expression.

Namjoon opens his mouth to speak again, but I’m faster, “Listen, Kim, I don’t know who you think you are, and, quite frankly, I don’t care. What I do care about is this house and these people working on it. Don’t fuck this up for me, okay? Let’s just get through today and then you can go back to ordering around your brothers and causing general mayhem.”

I’m feeling pretty proud of my little soliloquy until I realize he’s still smiling with those blasted dimples out in full display. No, his smile has grown even wider now as he simply answers, “The semester.”

My nose crinkles in confusion, “What?”

“The semester,” he repeats, “I’m assigned here every Saturday for the rest of the semester.”

I stare at him.

He smirks back.

I stare.

His smirk begins to fade, “Uh, did you hear me?”

I stare.

“Okay, you’re creeping me out now, (y/n),” Namjoon waves his giant paw of a hand in front of my face, “How many fingers?”

I break out of my trance of denial and hiss, “What did you do? Double homicide? Serial arson? Oh my god, you were the one who blew up the science lab!”

His hand covers my mouth – it’s rough and warm and entirely disarming.

“You have quite the imagination, jagi. I’ll keep that in mind,” Namjoon chuckles, “To answer your question, I did none of the above. Now, answer a couple questions of mine: what did you do to get here and – more importantly – why did you distract Jungkook from doing his fucking job on Monday?”

I glare in response, waiting for him to remove his hand from my mouth. He takes too long, and I lick his palm. It works. He removes his hand, but from the look on his face it seems like he liked my tongue on his skin entirely too much.

Thankfully, Eddie chooses the perfect moment to yell across the site, “What are you doing just standing there, (y/n)-doll? I don’t pay you to just loiter around all day!”

“You don’t pay me at all!” I yell back, already moving towards the trailer with all the supplies to get started. Namjoon follows.

“(y/n)-doll?” his eyebrows are raised as I hand him a pair of the biggest gloves I could find, “What’s up with that?”

Taking a pair of smaller gloves for myself, I turn to look for some hammers and nails as I respond, “I’ve been here a while. He’s like my honorary grandfather at this point.”

I spot the hammers and nails tucked away on the highest corner shelf and I huff. Namjoon follows my gaze, “Need a strong, intelligent, tall young man to grab those for you?”

He’s impossible, but for some reason it draws a small smile to my face, “Yes, that’d be great.”

The smile I receive in response is so bright I wonder if it could make flowers grow, “Okay, but only if answer my questions, (y/n).”

I shrug, trying not to notice how his cutoff shirt rises as he stretches to reach the upper shelf. I catch a sudden glimpse of his abs, and I praise every god out there that hot weather can be blamed for my sudden onset of sweat.

Clearing my throat, I laugh lightly, “Fine, first of all, I didn’t ‘distract’ Jeon. I just had a temporary lapse in judgement. Besides, he came to me all on his own.” His back muscles tense up at my words, but I continue, “And second of all, there’s no juicy story of how I got here. I just volunteer here every Saturday for the Alphites.”

The sound of a hammer hitting the floor startles me as he whirls around, “You’re an Alphite?”

Namjoon’s tone is one of disbelief and it’s a tone I do not appreciate, “Yes, why is that so hard to believe?” My arms cross defensively, “I’ve been a sister since my sophomore year...”

I trail off. He’s still gawking at me ridiculously. Narrowing my eyes, I stride across the trailer and grab his chin, closing his mouth for him, “Watch out, Kim, you’re gonna catch flies.”

Spinning on my heels, I sashay out of the trailer, nose held high in the air and satisfaction held even higher. He’ll catch up. After all, he’s basically supposed to be my bitch today.

I climb up the scaffolding next to the house’s right side and assess the siding work that has already been started. It looks pretty solid and level. I should have no issue with continuing without having to make any initial corrections.

The sound of a bucket of nails hitting the top platform I’m sitting on alerts me of Namjoon’s impending presence. Saving the bucket from teetering over the edge – a safety hazard for sure – I watch amusedly as Namjoon struggles stay upright and climb up to where I am on the scaffolding. Finally, he plops down next to me – entirely too close. I can feel his stare on my skin as I steadfastly ignore him.

“Hey, jagi,” he pokes my arm, “(y/n), listen, you just caught me off guard. I mean, you don’t seem like the type to be an Alphite – that’s all.”

Fury curls up inside me for the umpteenth time that morning, as I turn to face Namjoon with a sickly-sweet smile that has him flinching back, “Then do tell, Namjoon, what type I seem to be?”

I pick up the hammer closest to me and dip a hand into the nail bucket. The sooner this siding got done, the sooner I could haul ass out of here.

“I feel like that’s a trick question,” Namjoon sighs, rubbing a hand over his chin, “I didn’t mean anything bad by it, okay? I guess I just have always thought that your society was a bunch of mom-types—”

I cut him off with a swing of my hammer in the air, “What’s wrong with mom-types, you uncultured swine? And is serving your community really such a ‘mom’ thing to do? I’m sorry. I must have missed that memo. Here I was thinking that it was public service but go off I guess.”

He blinks, “Did you just call me an ‘uncultured swine’?”

I sniff in indignation, “Get with the times, Kim. I just roasted your ass. Now hand me that piece of siding and make yourself useful.”

“You’re so weird,” Namjoon mutters, sliding my request over to me.

“So what?” I shrug, “All the best people are weird. Now, do me a solid and explain to me why you and your ‘brothers’ keep suspiciously popping up everywhere I go.”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he grins, “We’re interested.”

“What does that even mean? That you’re interested?” I wrack my brain, “As in all seven of you fuckers?”

“It means, jagi,” Namjoon pauses, leaning closer, “It means that we’re going to date the shit out of you.”

a/n: i love namjoon. that is all.

taglist (message me to be added):

@catsandstrawberries @h5naaa @meowmeowyoongles @leftflowerprunedonut @rjsmochii @athletes-of-god @karissassirak @weallhavesecretsinthebestway @cvbachacbitch @bewitch3dforivar @honeyspillings @xxonyxpearlxx @valiantcollectorofsandwiches @fivesecondsofsarang

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strayfreckles · 4 years ago

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all on you.

☕︎︎ hwang hyunjin x reader (ft. ryujin, felix, & yeji); highschool au, friends-to-lovers au, barista au, bulletpoint fic.

maybe you would’ve gotten out of highschool with your emotions (and pride) unscathed if it weren’t for hwang hyunjin and his so-called romantic, obnoxious—and, in your case, unfortunately effective—antics.

includes: fluff, angst (especially in the middle), mutual pining, somewhat slow burn (?), gn!reader, barista!reader, a hefty amount of swearing, the only consistent thing you’ll see here is how utterly terrible this is, fluctuating humor

notes: this was requested by a wonderful anon! before you dive in, i’d like to inform you that this is my first fic of any kind, so please tread gently 😔✋ though constructive criticism is appreciated !! hope you enjoy (and hopefully not cringe too much sdkdnkdks) <33

wordcount: 2.8k

let me be the first to say that you absolutely abhor romance films with every existing fiber and cell in your body.

like, you cannot physically withstand the atrocity that is occurring right before your very eyes and you have to tear your gaze away before you bash your head to the nearest table.

and though you do admit that you’re overreacting sometimes

you also admit that you’re a massive dumbass for falling prey to one of the most common—and one of the most infuriating tropes—that is falling for your best friend.

yeah, hwang hyunjin? that boy holds your heart between his palms and with every smile you fall deeper and deeper

you’ve known that kid since you started eating crayons in elementary, and since then you’d been attached at the hip, clung to each other through all the clownery of middle school

finding each other in places is like a sixth sense; it only takes you both less than a minute to find the other before startling them with a quiet “hey, you”

but time is impatient, and that timid, starry-eyed boy you knew became the dimpled heartthrob come highschool—geared with the smarts and the talents and love-laced words that sent boys and girls running after him

but to you he was always just that kid who nearly consumed clay cakes because “it looked so real!”

until he wasn’t

it just came to you like a blow to the face, in the middle of sophomore year, sitting on hyunjin’s bedroom floor on a weekend trying to cram revise for your upcoming exams

you decided to take a quick break, and made the mistake of looking at hyunjin

and my oh my was he stunning

every laugh that tumbled from his lips sounded like a fucking symphony

and the bastard was just playing with kkami !!

he looked so damn soft as he planted kisses on his coat

every single constellation you knew was embedded in his irises

haha heartbeat go brrrrrrr

and maybe all you wanted was for him to never stop smiling, because he looked the most beautiful when he did, and maybe you wanted to brush his hair away from his face because you couldn’t see his eyes all that well and what the fuck—

you just malfunctioned

because that was your best friend

he noticed you staring, of course, and had the audacity to smirk, and in a second you wanted to set yourself on fire

“y/n, i know i look good, but at least try to be subtle.”

“you look like a low-budget minion, hyunjin.”

“i’d rather be a minion than a shabbier version of gru, thank you.”

(many fists were thrown that day, and hyunjin learned not to pick fun at your clothing lest that he face humiliation)

for the first few months you were in constant denial, even going so far as to blame hyunjin himself for forcing you to watch countless romcoms on your weekly sleepovers

but once you catch hyunjin staring at you with that fond look in his eyes, one he’s carried since childhood, your heart finally has the courage to murmur into the concaves of your chest, i am in love

it gets worse around senior year

the summer after junior year you land yourself a job at miroh café, a coffee shop at the heart of the town bc you’re broke as fuck and you need the cash

and, as expected, hyunjin becomes a frequent patron

he’s armed with a pickup line every single time he orders

and every single time you have to tell your heart to calm the fuck down he’s always been like this c’mon gimme a break

it’s even gone to the point where the regulars mistake him as your boyfriend

and as if your conscience nagging you 24/7 wasn’t enough mental baggage, your coworkers and fellow seniors, felix and ryujin, decided to weigh in

“if that isn’t the look of someone who’s simping over you then i don’t know what is,” ryujin nudges you, and from the repetitive force you’ve sustained from the past week you’re surprised your ribs aren’t bruised yet.

“you act like you’re not in the same dance crew,” you scoff, “ryujin, he flirts with everyone—he even had the balls to hit on chan!”

“let me remind you that denial is always the first stage of falling in love,” felix chirps, cheerful as he replenishes the pain au chocolat in the display.

“and let me remind you that i’m holding a very hot cup of coffee straight out of the machine; ‘accidents’ can happen, felix.”

of course, you weren’t in denial—you’d been past that stage long ago

it’s just that you didn’t wanna give yourself false hope

you didn’t want to lose this beautiful thing with him that’s lasted for nearly a decade because of your stupid emotions

so you’ve trained yourself to remain indifferent to the many compliments and lines he sent your way, hoping that if you could fool the others into thinking he didn’t affect you, maybe you could fool yourself, too

but oh ho ho, do i have some news for you (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

you don’t know how hyunjin’s pulse speeds up whenever he sees a handwritten note on his coffee wishing him good luck

you don’t know how often he forces himself to stop staring at you whenever you’re not looking

you don’t know how stupidly happy it makes him when he sees you smile

especially when he’s the reason why.

maybe everything about you makes hwang hyunjin happy

and maybe if you weren’t so kind and gentle and considerate during the times he lost a competition then maybe he wouldn’t have fallen this hard

but you were (and still are)

during the times you cried from laughter at all his antics

or cracked a smile at one of his pickup lines

he’d think that maybe—just maybe—he could stand a chance

but every time he did, he’d spiral into self-doubt

because there’s no way you would ever fall for him

you’re the kindest, most talented person hyunjin has ever known who deserves the universe

and he’s just… him

even if he did plan to confess, he’d be putting everything at stake; you’re too important to him, losing you would be a loss too heavy for him to bear

so he’s content with playing this role

even if the idea of you being with someone else hurts him so much

he’s content with reminding you everyday—even if it isn’t direct—that your mind is like no other, and that anybody would be blessed to have you

you both think it's always going to be like this

with you struggling to keep your feelings from showing

and hyunjin battling his inner demons

and those left to perceive the “discreet” ogling across the room and the hidden yearning in your voices are none other than (you guessed it!) felix and ryujin 🤩

it was funny the first few months

but now it’s just plain frustrating and they want nothing more than to bash your two oblivious heads together because y’all !! are !! idiots !!

no matter how much they persist, they’re always met with either a sad, gentle smile with a shake of the head or a monotonous “ha. you’re really funny.”

both have considered dropping your asses but they can’t because they love y’all too much

so all they can do is hope for a change

and change does indeed arrive when september rolls around

dance practice has just ended and hyunjin feels hyped because it’s movie night and he can’t wait to cry to kimi no na wa again

and lowkey stare at you for the entirety of the film

he exits his dance crew’s studio and is about to go straight to 7/11 for snacks when he spots the team’s newest recruit by the road, waiting for a ride home

hwang yeji’s only moved here two months ago and in a short span of time she’s already become one of the well-liked kids at school

but she’s a kind & humble sweetheart who deserves all the love & attention !!

so being the good sport he is, hyunjin approaches yeji with the brightest grin, having only talked to her a few times prior

“hey, there! yeji!” when the girl turns to him, her smile looks and feels like liquid sunshine. “waiting for your date?”

yeji turns rosy when he asks, like she does when everyone teases her about her special someone, who she’s been crushing on for weeks and who she finally had the courage to ask out. “c’mon, stop that. i don’t even know if they like me like that—they probably think it’s just another friendly date.”

“they’re a fool if they don’t end up liking you after, then,” hyunjin quips, hoping the bitterness doesn’t seep into his tone and wishing he has half the luck and strength yeji has, and she laughs.

“you know them, actually.”

“oh?”

“yeah! y/n l/n?”

oh.

o h

hyunjin can only blink at her dumbly, feeling like a thousand arrows are digging into his skin

you… with hwang yeji?

is that why you asked about her the other day? because you like her back? and that her feelings are far from being one-sided?

watching a dark cloud loom over his features, yeji thinks about asking if he’s okay when he blurts out an inaudible excuse as he walks away, zooming past the convenience store when he does

when he heads off he doesn’t even look at where he’s going, relying solely on muscle memory

he feels like he wants to grow smaller, biting his lower lip and clenching his hands into fists

he doesn’t even know why he’s upset

you were never his to lose

why would he regret what couldn’t be in the first place?

when his feet instinctively halt in front of miroh café, all he can do is stare blankly at the glass doors, at your figure behind the counter

but he wills himself to move away again, and when he does he clashes with another body

“hey, watch where you’re... hyunjin?”

ryujin stares at him with her mouth half agape, and she flinches when she sees his eyes glistening, his face flushed with the shade of pure heartbreak

“did you know about them?” he’s afraid to raise his voice, because doing so would mean there’s no stopping his emotions, “about… y/n and yeji?”

the lack of response provides the answer, and hyunjin walks away from the block

that afternoon, a cup of coffee with his name scrawled on the front went forgotten on the countertop

that evening, hyunjin doesn’t show for your monthly tradition for the first time in five years

you spend the rest of your evening obsessively checking your phone for text from him, wracking your brain for reasons he couldn’t come

of course, there are multiple reasons: like schoolwork (you are seniors, after all) and the upcoming dance competition

but you know he would text you over the slightest inconvenience, so why isn’t he saying a thing?

you rack your brain for anything you might’ve done, and your chest tightens when you think that maybe—just maybe—he’s finally caught on to you

you try to distract yourself with other thoughts as you lie wide awake in your bed: like your midterm exams, the nearing debate tournament… your date with yeji

bright, splendid hwang yeji who shares the wittiest jokes in biology and has the most colorful personality around

the first time you spent time with her she made you smile so wide it made your cheeks hurt

her laugh is the loveliest one you’ve ever heard; like dewy lavender fields beneath the spring sunshine

but every time you hear it you’re reminded that it isn’t hyunjin’s laugh, that you aren’t with him and every time you realize it you wanna cry

bc yeji’s been nothing but sweet and considerate this whole time and you’re more than guilty at the fact that all her attentions will be wasted because of you and your stupidity

you barely escape the wrath of crying yourself to sleep when you finally doze off when the clock hit two am

the next day at school, you both barely even make eye-contact

even the underclassmen who’ve heard the frequent calls of your names feel uneasy when they don’t hear hyunjin’s high-pitched voice or your shrill tones

felix especially, who’s experienced the trauma of sitting in between you two at history and feeling the tension that nearly chokes him

you’re more than terrified to look at him at him in the eye, terrified that once you do you’ll realize he doesn’t gaze at you the same way anymore

something inside hyunjin aches every time he spares you a glance, because every time he does it’s painfully obvious that he’s always been hopeless

in all honesty, hyunjin wouldn’t have shown his face at all if it weren’t for the tiny thread of patience inside ryujin snapping

so here he is, inside miroh a quarter before closing time

felix’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he sees him, so he sends a pointed look to his coworker,

“what did you do?” he murmurs. ryujin’s eyes are sharp when she looks at him, and he feels his blood run cold.

“what i needed to.”

no, she didn’t threaten to kill his entire family, if that’s what you’re wondering

she merely gave him… a warning

so one can imagine the surprise you feel when you emerge from the staff room, and felix drags ryujin outside to give you privacy

you both remain silent once they’re gone, neither one of you moving in place

until quiet words escape your mouth, and the familiar greeting makes hyunjin’s heart clench:

“hey, you.”

he doesn’t make a sound, so you continue, the tension heavy

“you owe me three dollars, by the way. i just wasted a perfectly good iced latte with the other day when you didn’t…”

when you trail off, hyunjin opens his mouth to let out an apology, and he realizes with a start that the words tumbling out are completely different:

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“what?”

“why didn’t you tell me about yeji?” hyunjin’s eyes begin to quiver when they meet yours, “we’re best friends, aren’t we?”

your jaw tightens, i told you. best friends. nothing more. “because you worry too much about everything; if i’d told you about us then you’d—”

“y/n, we’ve been together for a decade!” hyunjin intervenes, “we’re always going to worry about each other, whether you like it or not. and this— this is… i…”

every coherent thought vanishes as hyunjin grapples for more things to say. he knows he’s being selfish, undoubtedly so, but he wants you. he wants you so, so bad. the fight in him leaves until, eventually, all that’s left to say is the truth: “please, don’t go. don’t go… with her.”

your heart is close to breaking your ribcage when you stare at his face, you wait for him to say anything, to justify why he’s said it, but when the quiet settles, all you can see is red

“this is why i don’t tell you about these things,” you grit, trembling violently. “when i do, you say— say stuff that make me believe that you feel the same way i do when you actually don’t.

“and i hate you so much but in the end it’s all my fault because i’m the idiot who caught feelings for their best friend and—”

hyunjin doesn’t let you add anything else, because his lips are on yours and you’re overwhelmed with the feeling of him, him, him

the kiss doesn’t leave any room for doubt; he’s shaking, and his legs might give out, but he wants you to know that everything he feels is real

you’re both gasping for air when you pull away, but his hands still linger on your face and he traces the edge of your mouth, and you can do nothing but pull him closer by the waist

“still hate me now?” he asks, and you chuckle breathlessly, putting your forehead on his.

“yes, very much so,” you look at him tenderly, and he yelps when you pinch him gently, “this is all on you, y’know. if it weren’t for your godforsaken romcoms, we wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

“but if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have ended up with a boyfriend, amirite? ow, shit— i’m kidding!”

bonus!

“oh, thank fuck,” felix exhales, looking through the windows one more time before ambling beside ryujin, who looks pleased with herself as she places her apron on the crook of her elbow. “so, spill: what did you tell hyunjin?”

she smiles, “i told him not to give up before he’s even tried anything; sometimes, there are people who are worth taking that risk for.”

just as felix is about to commend her for sounding the most wholesome he’s heard her, she adds: “and i threatened to revoke my tutelage—his ass is failing calculus so hard.”

#inkidz #skz #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids au #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #hwang hyunjin fluff #hwang hyunjin scenarios #stray kids oneshot #just when i thought i couldn’t get more inadequate i hit y’all with a bulletpoint fic 🤩#but pls let me know what you think of this! i’d be happy to read your thoughts !!

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passable-talent · 4 years ago

Note

Hi yes so I just finished the anakin punk au and it was uh perfect? And you should 100% please write more in that au it doesn’t even have to be in some coherent storyline, just more punk anakin please I am hooked

say no more my dear

I write this. and I think to myself “punks. they like weed. they drink. I should talk about that.”

and then I don’t. because I have a,,, responsibility to promote good health I guess?

don’t do drugs kids. most of them arent worth it i promise

and yes just like i mentioned wattpad in the last one tumblr is coming up on this one we’re breaking the FUCKING fourth wall

part one here

You passed out on his shoulder, exactly as he predicted, at about 2:00 AM.

He didn’t notice for a few minutes, and once he had, he had to make a very hard decision.

He knew you were leaving in the morning, you had other places to be. And he had to get home, Cliegg was going to be pissed he’d been out this late as it was. But- just like you, he never wanted the night to end.

At 2:15, he shimmied out from under you, finding your room key quickly. Once he’d slipped it into his pocket, he picked you up, carrying you all the way back to your room. The door seemed to scream as it opened, but none of the girls were awake. He laid you onto the only empty bed, leaving your room key on the dresser, and kneeled at your beside, for just a moment.

A night he wasn’t going to forget. One he wasn’t willing to leave behind.

He found the notepad left by the hotel for guests and its nearby pen, scribbling his phone number onto it before smacking it onto your room key so that he knew you’d see it.

He wasn’t taking any chances. He did everything he could to make sure that you were safe, that you’d sleep soundly, that he’d see you again. It was a bit of a walk back to where he’d left his car, at the venue, but it was worth it- he shrugged his jacket up around his neck against the cold and kept going, remembering how it’d felt to hold you.

But, in all of his kindness, he had made one mistake. You didn’t get to say goodbye.

You woke up in the hotel room the next morning, for a moment thinking that maybe you’d dreamed the whole thing. But then you realized you still had your shoes on, and you were laying on top of the sheets, why the hell would I do that, and you phone hadn’t been plugged in, and-

And there was a phone number on the dresser.

You weren’t really ‘dating’- you shouldn’t call it that. If you were going to call it that, then there would inevitably be a post on someone’s tumblr that you had a boyfriend, and who was he, where was he from, yada yada... that damn website already had half the internet convinced you were dating Padme, you didn’t want to add any more fuel to the fire.

So no, you weren’t dating. But you were texting every day. You learned so much about him, about how he was raised by his mom and worked at her friend Watto’s auto shop, about his step-brother and future step-sister-in-law, how his mom died when he was nineteen, about how he’d tried to move to California with his friend Obi-Wan a few years ago, but it fell through. In return, you told him about your life- living in the outskirts of San Francisco, being pushed into ballet lessons as a kid (as he said- ‘that’s why you look weightless on stage!’), being cut out from your family for quitting college to pursue music.

You texted every day and every night, sent him videos from gigs, and he sent dumb little snapchats from underneath whatever car he was working on. You expected that to be it, probably for a long time- neither of you had the money nor the time to see each other more often. So you held onto the connection you had, the night you’d spent together.

And you thought that’d be it. But- the universe has a funny way of surprising you.

Your record label was based in LA, so you lived in Salta Ana, about thirty miles away, where the real estate was way cheaper. The band lived together, close as four friends could be, so they knew all about how you’d fallen for Anakin. Ahsoka would notice you glued to your phone, and ask snarkily “texting skyguy?” to which you always scolded her that his name was Skywalker.

Living so close to LA made it easy to do gigs at any venue that would take you- bars, clubs, a particularly anarchist biker hall. A bar- such was the case for tonight.

Like usual with a gig like this, Aayla had taken to instagram and called any fan in the area, so the bar was mostly filled with people who knew the music, but there were regulars, too. People who couldn’t be damned to listen to the lyrics, and just let the atmosphere move them.

The setlist changed, when you were at a place like this. You didn’t necessarily rely on the hundred voice chorus that you loved so much, and so couldn’t include some of those songs. Your music strayed a little more to the rock end of the spectrum, when you played in places like this. With that high energy came faster music, more running around the stage, more movement, but you weren’t tired, when the set ended at 11:25. You were more energized than usual, in fact.

“Pads, I’ve never heard you solo like that!” You said, a bright smile on your face as you pushed out of the employee entrance of the bar. She gave you thanks, but not a moment later stopped dead, not saying a word, staring at you. You paused, looking at her, then Ahsoka and Aayla, who’d both stopped, too.

“What?” Ahsoka and Aayla, though, were looking at something past you, which made you realize that Padme was, too. You turned, and leaning against the wall was- was Anakin.

“Oh my god,” you said under your breath, dropping into a run toward him immediately. “Anakin!” He shoved himself off of the wall, letting you run into his arms, and just held you. You pulled away to look at him, amazed that after months, here he was, right in front of you, real.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, bewildered, surprised, ecstatic.

“Visiting Obi-Wan,” he said, and he lifted his hand to your face, giving you a good look at that tattoo you hadn’t quite forgotten, dark lines reaching from his elbow to his palm.

“And you,” he added. You couldn’t help it- you hadn’t seen him in so long, you couldn’t help the way you leaned into it when he pulled you into a kiss, and this time you weren’t exhausted, and you could let yourself feel it, you could pay attention to his chapped lips and the way he slid them over yours, still soft, even after waiting in the cold. You never wanted to leave this moment, like so many of the others that you spent with him, his hands on your face keeping away the January air.

“Yeah, I’m heading home,” Ahsoka said, making you break the kiss. “Coming, or not?” You looked back at her with a bit of a glare, letting Anakin’s hands fall to your neck.

“You guys go ahead,” you said, checking your jacket pocket for the essentials- wallet, phone, house keys. “I think I have a tradition to uphold.”

The bar you’d played at tonight was a bit far away from the place you wanted to take Anakin, but you didn’t mind the walk, since it was with him. You’d been texting every day, and yet it felt different, there was so much more to talk about now.

Apparently, Anakin hadn’t seen Obi-Wan since he’d left to move to LA, so it was a visit to an old friend as much as it was an excuse to see you again.

“So you’re staying with him?” You asked, leading him by the arm down the street.

“Yeah,” he said, hooking his elbow into yours, which let him keep his hands in his pockets. “He’s got an apartment in east LA, it’s got a nice couch.”

“East LA, not bad. What’s he do?”

“He’s a talent manager, actually. Went to business school and everything.” Anakin paused, suppressing a chuckle. “He told me that he’d love to represent you, if you didn’t already have someone.”

“Sadly, we do,” you said, playful, “but I’ll keep him in mind.”

You’d pretend it was the winter chill that brought the flush to your cheeks- he’d told his friend about you. That had to mean you were important to him, right?

“Where are we heading, anyway?” He asked, and you, luckily, could channel your inner dramatic and turn toward the doorway you’d been heading toward all along.

“Right here,” you said, and you took him inside.

This was your recording studio- it was always open, so that any artist could stop in and get out whatever creativity they had. You showed your ID card to the lobby clerk, who approved it and called the elevator. Anakin followed your lead until the door closed, and just like you had on the night you met him, you pressed the button for the highest floor.

“This is one of the buildings for our record company,” you said, the elevator so familiar.

“Which would explain why he let you in,” Anakin said, a slight teasing tone to his voice. All you could do was chuckle, waiting for the elevator to reach the top floor.

From there, you lead him to a glass door, and swiped your ID card through a reader near its frame so you could step outside.

“This is the rooftop set,” you said, gesturing to the wide space, “It’s where we film a lot of music videos.” This close to the door, it was hard to see over the side of the building, and so you took Anakin’s hand.

“The city lights keep us from stargazing,” you said with a smile, and brought him to the guardrail at the edge of the roof. “So I thought I’d show you the city’s version of the night sky.” Looking out across the city, there were a thousand orange sparkles, windows illuminated in buildings stretching as far as the eye could see. Criss-crossed between them were lines of red and white, LA traffic clogging the city streets even so late at night.

No matter how many times you came up here, you’d never get tired of the view. Fifty-five stories up, there were other buildings that dwarfed this tower, but the west was free of them, so your view to the horizon was clear, even in the LA overcast.

“Wow,” he said, looking out over it all beside you. “I’ve never- I don’t think I’ve ever been up this high.” You fixed him with a surprised expression, leaning your elbows down onto the banister.

“No? Really?”

“I didn’t grow up in a city, like you,” he said, settling in beside you, his arm pressed to yours. You let your head rest onto his shoulder, remembering the night you met.

“I’m glad you came out to LA,” you said, “though I’m hoping you’ll stay a while. I want to go on an actual date with you.” You heard him exhale.

“You don’t call this a date?” he asked, and you lifted your head, looking at him, the lights of the city giving his face the slightest, golden glow.

“Well, I mean-” If this was a date, then so had been the one after the show, back in October. Which meant this was your second date, and you’d technically been ‘dating’ this whole time, which kinda made him your- boyfriend?

“Is it?” Anakin slipped his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together.

“This is better than any dinner and movie we could’ve gone to, I think.” He turned over your hand, tracing his first finger over the skyline tattoo that bisected your forearm. “Especially since it seems like this means a lot to you.” You couldn’t believe he’d noticed that tattoo- it meant he really was paying attention to you.

“Yeah,” you said with a smile, lifting your arm up, his hand still held in yours, aligning the tattoo with the skyline you were looking at. “I got this done after we did our first video.” Silently, he examined the ink and compared it to the sky, seeing what you meant.

“That’s really cool,” he said, bringing your hand back down, since his fingers were getting cold in the wind, and he had to assume yours were too.

“How long are you going to be in town?” You asked, resting your temple down onto his shoulder again.

“A week, or so. Watto says he needs me to work on a mustang that we’re getting- I think Cliegg told him to say that since he doesn’t want me in the city.”

“Well, I don’t want to undermine your dad,” you said, “But I wouldn’t complain if you stayed here a lot longer than that.” You ran your thumb over the back of his hand. “It’s really nice to actually have you with me, and not over the phone.” Anakin turned to kiss the top of your head.

“Tell me about it. It’s worse for me, I promise- I listen to your music all the time, and it just makes me want to see you.”

“Sometimes I forget that you were once just a fan,” you said with a laugh, “listening to our music.”

“The luckiest one in the world,” Anakin added, and you almost wondered how you’d ever lived without him.

You let a moment pass, in silence.

“I’m twenty five,” you started, wondering if you had the courage to finish, “do you think I’m too young to be in love?” Anakin didn’t respond, at first. He turned to you, lifting his furthest hand to your face, making you look up at him. You could never get over those blue eyes- you’d forgotten how intense they were.

“I guess it depends on the guy,” Anakin said, his teeth quickly catching his lower lip. “Do you think you are?” You reached up past his arm to his face, your first finger tracing his eyebrow before your palm came to rest on the ridge of his cheekbone.

“No,” you said, and you rushed forward to meet his lips.

-🦌 Roe

#reader insert #imagines #anakin x reader insert #star wars anakin #anakin imagine #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #punk!anakin #singer!reader #modern au #musician au #star wars #fics

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pikemoreno · 5 years ago

Text

denying, admitting

part 2 of the ‘pretending’ universe

pairing: jack “whiskey” daniels x f!reader

word count: 5.2k (hahaha whoops. the longest single piece i’ve ever written)

warnings: canon typical violence, mildly gruesome death of a bad guy, some bad words, idiots to lovers

a/n: here it is finally, the continuation of the drabble pretending. the link to it is below. enjoy the best yeehaw man. we ignore canon here.

wanna join a taglist?

pretending | masterlist

“Your name is?”

“Erica Shields.”

“And your boyfriend’s name is?”

“David Wells.”

“What does he do?”

“He is the CEO of a new weapons manufacturer called Co-Tech.”

“And when they ask what he really does?”

“He is the CEO of Co-Tech… And all of their offshore accounts holding millions of dollars from the sale of illegal bio weapons.”

“And, just so we’re clear, the targets tonight are?”

“Mr. Lucas Mora and Mr. Grant Levin. Lead dealers of an illegal weapons ring known in the inner circles as IWE. They are the primary targets and any known-associates can be subdued as secondary targets.”

“Good,” Champ nodded, looking quite confident in your ability to keep to your fake identity, “You’re good to go, Agent Brandy. I’ll call up Agent Whiskey now and you can go ahead ‘n head down to get ready.”

You froze as you stood to leave. “Get ready, sir?” Air left his mouth gruffly in a way akin to a laugh as you looked over the pantsuit you were wearing. His eyes were knowing where yours were markedly confused.

You were already ready… You thought?

“Just go meet Ginger Ale downstairs. She’ll explain. Good luck tonight.”

“No luck needed, sir. We’ll take ‘em down tonight. Maybe a couple of their other dealer friends if we can prove they’re in on it.”

“Not that, Agent.”

“What--” Agent Whiskey knocked on the half-open door at that moment.

“Ready for me, sir?”

“Yes, please come in. Agent Brandy was just leaving.” His cheeky smile directed between the two of you told you nothing and everything all at once.

What did he think he knew about this? This was nothing. Just an agent with a miserable crush on a senior agent. You excused yourself from the conference room quickly, ignoring Jack as you brushed past him.

Ignoring how intoxicating he smelled-- was that a new cologne for the occasion?

Ignoring how nice he looked-- wine-colored velvet suit jacket, white button-up, dark dress pants, the usual hat abandoned in favor of his dark hair, immaculately styled for the occasion.

Ignoring the fact that you could feel his eyes boring into you and you were not going to be giving him the satisfaction of playing into his flirting.

You did as you were bid, making your way to the staging area to get your weapons and other effects for the mission to find a high-low red satin dress, black heels, and obnoxiously large jewelry hanging along with your knives and the “upscale” version of the Statesman glasses. Your face must have dropped quite visibly because you heard a laugh from Ginger Ale next to you.

“Absolutely not,” you groaned, “I thought ‘Maybe a tasteful pantsuit with some flats?’ Maybe some boots? How am I supposed to work in this, Ging? Where are my knives gonna go?”

“Unfortunately this crew you’re going to be dealing with is-- well-- Unapologetically misogynist under the guise of being ‘traditional’ is probably the best way to put it,” Ginger shook her head.

“So they’re afraid of a girl wearing pants?”

“When they look as independent and secure as you, absolutely,” she laughed. “The other women at the party are gonna look like this. You would’ve blown your cover before you even spoke if you were in your regular attire.” You sighed. You guessed it was a pretty hot look, if not a little unruly to complete the mission in. It’d get you to walk three inches taller in newfound confidence and you guessed that couldn’t have been anything but helpful in this scenario.

“So do I get my knives or am I just playing the part tonight?”

“Not at all. What better way to take them out then doing it by the hand of someone they don’t respect? They’ll never see it coming.” She presented the thigh holster that had been laying on the table next to her.

“Oooh, now that’s sexy, Ging,” you gawked, admiring the piece and absolutely filling it to the brim with the best of your knives from the wall of weaponry in front of you, as well as your trusty vial of poison.

“I know someone else who’ll think so too.” You stopped cold and turned to face her as she looked particularly smug

“Oh, not you too. First, Champ was acting weird about this and now you too? What exactly do you guys think is going on here? It’s Jack. He flirts with everyone.”

“It’s not just Jack that I’m talking about. I mean this with all the love in the world, but you can’t possibly be that dense, Brandy. Stop playing coy.”

“Playing coy how?’ Your anger bubbled in your throat, not at Ginger Ale or tonight or even Jack. Just yourself. Yourself and your dumb affections. It made your words come out a little more venomous than you intended, but Ginger took it in stride. “Pretending I don’t have a ridiculous crush on a senior agent and my partner in this tonight? Pretending that I won’t be heartbroken when tonight means nothing in the grand scheme of things?”

“You should probably go ahead and get ready. Your partner should be done with Champ any minute.” She gave you a tight-lipped smile and ushered you off to go change.

By the time you made it outside, Jack was already waiting, leaning coolly against the sleek black town car-- no Bronco for tonight; a CEO could only show up in the best.

“Look at you, all gussied up,” Jack smiled as you walked towards him. You rolled your eyes, and avoided his in doing so. It was all a part of the charm. Jack was a serial flirt. You’d seen it. And you’d seen too many before you fall for it, take his having fun too seriously. You couldn’t let his words fluster you or start thinking they were something they weren’t. But still, you couldn’t hide the playful smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth as his eyes stayed on you.

“After you, my sweetheart,” he opened the door to the elegant car for you.

“There’s no one here, Jack, you don’t have to start with that yet.”

If only you saw the way he had to bite his tongue as you settled into the passengers’ seat.

You were really starting to make him question how good he is reading the signals. It had been seeming so obvious that you were into him; and so he reciprocated, making it more than clear that he is very much into that idea. And now you had taken the coy act so far that he was wondering if it was an act at all. Of course, he wanted to tell you how he felt about you. He’d wanted to tell you tonight. After a night of him “pretending” to woo you, showing you off, and kicking some criminal ass, he would tell you that the pretty things he’d said to you were real, that he would love to take you out for real and definitely not to an illegal weapons party this time.

But he didn’t want to do that if you really weren’t interested. He didn’t want to put you in that uncomfortable position of having to reject someone you were going to see and work with everyday. Until he got a good read on how you really felt, he’d have to keep it to himself… While still making it so painfully obvious-- in a non-committal way.

The drive was largely silent as you both thought far too hard about the messes you’d put yourselves in. The thick cloud of it was only interrupted by occasional questions and confirmations about the plan, the targets, and the escape.

Mr. Lucas Mora’s mansion was absolutely breathtaking as you pulled up to you: all light stone with a tiled roof, big windows, a grand driveway featuring a roundabout winding around a glamorous fountain that sparkled in the night lights. You found yourself trying to hide your awe as a valet took the black town car away and Jack led you by the arm up the marbled stairs to the front door that must’ve cost more than your entire apartment. You kept your voice low as you spoke to Ginger Ale over the com. She’d hacked into their security cameras like the damn genius she was and had eyes on the whole affair.

“What do we see, Ging?”

“Levin and Mora are in the lounge. A lot of foot traffic in there. You should get them out of there before engaging”

“We have to get them separated. Less chance of one escaping.” Jack put his hand over his mouth, pretending to scratch at his mustache so no one could read his lips. You walked in the direction of the lounge, arm in arm. The way the knuckles of his other arm ran lightly over your arm was far too distracting for its own good, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I’m not seeing a lot of weapons for a weapons dealer party. Should we be worried, Ginger? Anything hidden?” you asked, talking into a flute of champagne you picked up to keep your words hidden.

“Of course not. Their weapons are far too dangerous for their own use,” she laughed, “I don’t see anything, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Copy th--” You didn’t get to finish before the two of you were intercepted by Levin, the younger of the two leaders. He had a strong jawline featuring a smattering of well-kept stubble, slicked back greasy hair, and a smile so smugly charming it surely sealed him a few deals.

“Where do I know you from?” he had an oddly ambiguous accent that you couldn’t quite pin and you wondered if that was on purpose. This man had to be a chameleon. “I pride myself on never forgetting a face. It would seem I’ve missed one.” He talked solely to Jack-- of course.

“David Wells. CEO of Co-Tech.” He held out his hand to be shaken. Levin only looked at it. “And this,” he put an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer, “is my girlfriend Erica Shields.”

“Never heard of you.” Jack let his hand fall back to his side, not dropping his eager smile.

“We’ve had several dealings with IWE. Often sell to--” Levin’s eyes lit up.

“Oh none of that code here, Mr. Wells, we’re all friends. Glad to have a loyal associate here with us.” He gave Jack one solid pat on the shoulder and then continued on to talk to someone else. You noticed for the first time how tense your shoulders had been and Jack rubbed a hand over one soothingly. How did he always know?

“Alright, let’s re-group,” you shrugged his hand off lightly, turning to face him. “I’m gonna tail Levin. You try to schmooze Mora. Take this.” You placed the poison vial in his hand, disguising the gesture as a hand squeeze-- which you couldn’t say you were mad about doing-- and stalked off to find your target.

It was a half hour before you saw him again. You were walking the pool deck and listening to Jack’s poor attempt to give Mora a poisoned drink. He was incredibly uninterested and you internally groaned at how obvious Jack was being with trying a little too hard to get it to him. The thought was interrupted by a voice coming from the pool below.

“And who might you be? I think I’d remember a gem like you.” You looked down to find none other than Levin, and staggered a moment, unsure of what to make of the comment.

“Erica Shields. We met a few minutes ago? With my boyfriend David Wells?” you responded in your sugary-sweetest voice.

“Right, right, of course.” You nodded awkwardly and there was a long beat of silence. What game was he playing? Or was he really just that dismissive towards women? “Well, are you coming?”

“Coming?”

“You don’t have to play dumb with me, sweetheart.” It was the same term Jack had used with you earlier, and yet this one went down like poison instead of honey. “Come on down here with me.” He rose to float on his back in the water to emphasize where exactly he was wanting you to go. “Your boyfriend may be making millions, but I’m making billions.” He winked. You had half a mind to take a knife out right there and plant it directly into his chest, unconcerned with the consequence of the on-lookers, but then you realized you had an even better opportunity.

Let’s turn this Ms. Shields into a gold-digger.

You played along.

“Oh I don’t doubt it, but I’m afraid I didn’t get the memo about swimsuits.” You cocked a hip, tilting your head at him.

If you could just get him alone.

He practically leaped out of the pool and climbed up onto the deck, coming to stand almost nose to nose with you.

“Brandy, I know what you’re trying to do and I can’t recommend this. Rendezvous with Whiskey and you can figure out another way,” Ginger Ale’s voice came into your ear. Levin’s voice cuts back in.

“Well, we don’t have to stay here, angel.”

“Ginger, what’s she doing?” Jack’s panicked voice followed, “Brandy? Where are you? I’m coming to find you.” You’d never heard him speak so urgently. It made you freeze for just a second before you spoke to Levin

“Lead the way,” you smiled, watching as Levin quickly dried off before leading you with a hand on the middle of your back. You leaned into it despite wanting to put one of your knives through it. What a pig.

It was at that moment that you met eyes with Jack, just briefly, just long enough to see his face fall. You turned away before Levin noticed your staring, missing the seven stages of grief cross Jack’s face as you walked away.

His first instinct was jealousy. He, of course, knew you weren’t going anywhere with a worm like Levin for any reason other than your job, but he couldn’t help the knee jerk reaction from seeing someone else with an arm around you. His second reaction was worry. You were the most capable agent he knew, but that sort of situation was a particularly dangerous one. He didn’t miss the possessiveness of Levin’s grip; and he didn’t want to think about what he was going to try to do when he had you alone. His third reaction, then, was to follow you. It was his fault you were in this mess with him anyway-- so much for “wooing” you. There was no way he was going to let you suffer for it.

In that time, Levin had pulled you into the first of ten bedrooms in the upstairs corridor of the mansion and promptly pinned you against the opposite wall, an arm on either side of your shoulders. You responded in kind, the way anyone would respond to an unwanted advance by a sleazy billionaire: by stabbing him in the neck. About that time is when Jack finally caught up to you, slamming the door open, lasso at the ready, eyes wide in fear. He relaxed visibly as Levin crumpled lifeless to the floor. You watched Jack crack a smile.

“Guess I should’ve known you wouldn’t need any rescuing,” he reeled the lasso in, returning it to its place on his belt. You smiled back.

“You should’ve. But it was sweet of you to worry, so I’ll forgive you. Let’s get Mora and get the hell out of here before anyone finds the body.”

***

You made surprisingly, anticlimactically quick work of Mora once you found him again. You snagged a tray of drinks from where a member of his extended wait staff had set it down. Jack added a dash of your little secret ingredient to one of the glasses and you presented it to him as he lounged on the couch. He gave you one singular nod, took the drink from you, and continued laughing with his guests. One sip would be plenty to have him on the floor within ten minutes, and you watched him take that first deadly sip with pride.

So now the targets were either dead or dying and you knew instantly you were going to have to book it out of there because once Mora keeled over, it wouldn’t take very long for anyone in that room to figure out the culprit. The issue, of course, was remembered once you made it outside the doors: your ride back was in the hands of the valet: a valet that was overcrowded with guests trying to leave. It’d take far too long to get the keys and peel out of there. Mora would be long dead before then.

“Ginger, how long before we can get an extraction? We can’t get the car back in time.” Jack mumbled lowly as you made your way out of the mansion, walking with Jack hand in hand as though you were a couple going to look at the front gardens

“I’m not sure. All other agents are out. There’s a small town about a mile away if you can get there. I’ll send someone to you with a ride as soon as possible.”

You looked at each other.

“Guess we’re walking darlin’.” Screams sounded from the house and you both jumped at the sound. “Quickly,” Jack added, eyes wide.

It was about a quarter of a mile of walking down the roadside before the terrible heels really started digging into your feet, leaving blisters and arch pain in their wake. No one had trailed you so far, which was good because your feet couldn’t handle moving any faster than their current trudging pace.

Jack must’ve noticed your limping, because he stopped and grabbed your hand to stop you as well, eyebrows knitted in a frown.

“You alright?” He looked you over, as if checking for injuries.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, Jack. Don’t worry. It’s just the shoes.” He looked down at them, noticing the angry red rub marks. He didn’t waste a second in kneeling down and starting on removing his right shoe.

“What are you doing? You don’t have to do that, Jack. I’ll just go barefoot.”

“Nonsense.” He finished removing the right shoe and started on the left.

“Well now you’re gonna be barefoot. What’s the difference?”

“I still have socks. You don’t know what kinda weird stuff is on the side of the road out here, Brandy.” He removed them and then gestured to your shoes, looking up at you. “May I?”

You worried at your bottom lip for a moment, looking down into sparkling eyes you’d thought about too often. They were now so close, so earnestly looking into yours. The care and concern sent a little spark up your spine. You nodded and joined him in undoing the little buckles on each shoe. He held out a hand for you to grab onto for balance as you slid out of the heels and into his much-too-large dress shoes. The strange, casual intimacy of the act was odd, but not unwelcome.

“Well, it’s certainly not a perfect fit, Cinderella, but it’s better than whatever the hell Statesman gave you,” he smiled and you returned it. He stood back up and your hands parted as you continued your trek to the town Ginger had found, shoes in hand and the promising lights of it gleaming up ahead.

Actually arriving to the little town of Speake was less than spectacular. The shining lights you’d seen came from the neons of a gas station and a 24 hour dive and the flickering street lamps in front of a long-closed post office, and a quaint but not horribly sketchy motel.

“Ginger, we made it,” you called, “What’s the ETA?” She hesitated.

“Is there a place there you’d feel comfortable staying at a while?

“I guess,” you sighed, afraid to ask again, “What’s the ETA, Ginger?”

“First thing tomorrow morning.”

You looked to Jack. “Motel it is, then.”

***

Jack couldn’t help but feel he’d won the lottery as you dragged yourselves up to the second floor of the motel. There was only one vacant room with one king bed. It was a little too perfect, like he’d set it up himself, but he hadn’t. Well, he guessed he had, actually, but just the part where you joined him on the mission as his fake girl, not that you’d get stuck out here and have to share a motel room. Sure, he hadn’t gotten the chance to charm you quite like he’d wanted to: having you on his arm, complimenting you to others at the party, maybe getting to fake-- real-- kiss you. And he definitely regretted putting you in danger. But all of that sort of fell away from his memory now that he was getting so much more alone time with you than he’d initially bargained for. He wouldn’t dream of trying to share the bed with you, of course. He’d rough it out on the chair or find a way to make something up on the floor. But still, he couldn’t help but be a little giddy at the prospect of spending this much more uninterrupted time with you.

Jack might’ve been incredibly enthused with the scenario, but he hid it from you well. He didn’t want to seem overeager and come off as though he was excited about the arrangement because of the off-chance that you might sleep with him. He knew what his reputation could be around the workplace. Hiding what he was feeling from you, though, meant that you had no idea what to think at this point. It all looked very different and incredibly confusing on your end of things.

First and foremost, you’d settled it in your mind now that you would be sharing a bed with him. That was fine. You were friends, pretty good ones at that. And both professionals to boot. The unsettled part came in you knowing how you felt, but becoming more and more unsure of him. The fact of the matter was that any flirting that occurred before tonight was unreliable as proof that he might be attracted to you. He flirted with far too many other women for you to be able to take it seriously. Then there was tonight. He was clearly panicked about your safety and willing to give up his shoes for you. Hard to say what it meant. He might be a bit of a stubborn asshole at times, but he cares deeply about people. It’s what put him in Statesmen in the first place. Given that, would he have acted similarly with other agents out of the simple goodness of his heart? Maybe. But then again, it had seemed that he was catching onto your crush based on the day in the boardroom when you got this assignment. “You keep saying that we’re friends but you look at me for a moment too long for that to be true,” he had said. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Obviously, he was getting the idea. So assuming that he truly was acting differently around you, was it because he felt differently in and of himself? Or was it because he had caught on to how you felt and knowing someone had given into his charms made him automatically more interested in them?

It was hurting your head, going in circles like this. And by the time you gave up on your spinning, cycling thoughts, you’d reached your $35 room for the night.

It wasn’t… Terrible, you guessed. About what you’d expect for a $35 room in no-town Kentucky: beyond basic, subpar comforts, and flickering fluorescents. But it looked clean enough, that was a relief.

Relief ended as you looked in the bathroom mirror, mentally getting ready for bed as it now reached 1am. Relief ended when you realized you had nothing to sleep in other than the sweaty, itchy, puffy dress on your back. A long night was about to be even longer as you stared at the ceiling uselessly, sleeplessly waiting for the extraction.

You stepped out of the bathroom and stopped as you watched a long-legged Jack trying to squeeze himself into a small armchair in the corner of the room.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m getting ready for bed.”

“Yeah, sure.” You hopped onto the bed. “C’mon, there is more than enough room to share this miserable little bed here.” You spread your arms across the bed for emphasis. but he hesitated. Of course he really didn’t want to spend the night in a lumpy old chair, but he didn’t want you to say that it was ok just because you felt bad for him and have you be uncomfortable.

“Ah-- Well, only if you’re comfortable with that, darlin’. I don’t want to overstep. I’m fine here, really.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Get over here.”

“Oh, thank God.” He practically ran and jumped next to you on the bed.

“Liar,” you grinned, “I thought you said were fine over there.”

“Who wants to spend a night on a chair like that? I’m not crazy.” He crinkled his nose at the realization of your bed attire. “But I’m thinking you might be. Are you really gonna be sleeping in that?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to be sleeping in?” He sat up and started unbuttoning his white button up shirt before you could utter another syllable. “What--” You began, but it was obvious he wouldn’t hear it. You were too distracted anyway, unable to look away from the exposed, tanned skin of his shoulders down to his soft belly. You’d always assumed him to be the type that took immaculate care of his body and wouldn’t settle for less than perfectly toned abs. The realization of the truth was a happy one, if you were honest. It was endearing, imperfect. It made him a little more human and less Agent Whiskey.

“It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s probably a lot better than that.” He held the shirt out to you and promptly turned around for your privacy when you took it with gratitude.

“No peeking, Whiskey,” you teased as you changed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sunshine.”

You flopped back onto the bed when you’d finished and touched his shoulder to let him know it was ok to turn back around.

“Better?” he grinned.

“Much better. Goodnight, Jack.”

“Goodnight sweetheart.” He flipped off the light and you both retreated to your edges of the bed.

Both out of respect for the other.

Both kind of wishing that this was happening under other circumstances that didn’t require you both to separate like two magnets of the same pole.

But instead you repelled apart until sleep took you both.

Waking up in the morning was another story. Both of you had migrated toward the other in the night, meeting in the middle. You were facing each other, noses almost touching, his arm draped over your middle. Both of you coming to at about the same time led to an awkward dance of moving away and arms jolting away and mumbled sorry’s as you both laid there for just a moment more.

And he didn’t mean to say it, he really didn’t. This was not how he’d want this come out, but he was just admiring the way his shirt laid against your skin and the way your eyes glittered even in this grungy lamp light. And it just… slipped out.

“When I’ve imagined you wearing my clothes this definitely wasn’t what I was expecting.” You sat up so fast you felt a touch of vertigo.

“I’m sorry, what?” His eyes widened in panic. Did he say that out loud? He wasn’t just thinking that? Damn was he tired still.

“That came out wrong I—“

“What does that mean, Jack? Why would you be imagining that?” Your heart rate was picking up to dangerous speeds, your tone was more clipped than you intended, fear seeping into it.

“You know,” he mumbled, hands covering his face now, regretting every choice that led him to this moment.

“No, I don’t,” your voice softened as you crawled over and gently removed his hands from his face. “As a—,” you gulped, “A conquest or a… Something else.” He sat up, horrified, sitting directly across from you.

“A conquest? Of course not! I talk a big game, but I don’t do that shit anymore.” He sighed. “I recognize that I flirt around a lot, but it really never goes anywhere honestly. I don’t let it. But even then, of course you were different.” You gawked, but you couldn’t hide the way your mouth twisted upwards on the corners.

“How was I supposed to know that, Jack? You said it best, you flirt with… Everyone. How was I supposed to tell the difference?” He took your hands softly, giving you the space and permission to take them away if you wanted. You didn’t. You let him thumbs run over the knuckles soothingly as he spoke.

“You think I’d give just anyone my shoes to walk in or my shirt to wear? Hell, do you think I’d generally offer to take the floor when presented with a gorgeous woman and a motel room? No, Lord knows a younger me would’ve been all too happy to share the bed and hope something more came out of it. But it’s all different with you.”

“Oh,” you whispered, looking down at the interconnected hands between you.

“Oh?” he chuckled, “That’s all I get?”

“Jack I-- I’ve liked you since I met you on my first day. Do you remember?” He nodded. “Swept me right off my feet. I was so upset when I realized you were like that with everyone.”

“It was different then too. I just didn’t know how to make that obvious. It’s been a while since I’ve had to actually try to woo somebody, I guess.”

“You didn’t even have to try. I wasn’t so good at showing that either, I guess. Afraid I was just another name on a long list.”

“No lists. If there was, you’d be the only name on it.” You outright giggled in embarrassment and glee and exhaustion and pure dumbfoundedness all at once. Then your downcast eyes met Jack’s fully and next thing you knew your lips were on his and you really couldn’t have told who initiated it, but now his hand was on your cheek and your lips moved soft and slow against his, just getting used to the brand new feeling that was sending sparks through your stomach. It was over too soon, but you smiled at the prospect of that being your new normal, that you would have the opportunity to get used to the feeling: the feeling of his lips on yours in the morning light and the feeling of his hand in yours as you walked to meet the agent outside for the extraction.

Well, maybe you wouldn’t need another extraction again at least.

permanent taglist: @acomplicatedprofession @hdlynn @makaela27 @space-floozy @catfishingmorales @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @princessbatears @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @findhimfives @mistermiraclee @marydjarin @seasonschange-butpeopledont @miss-leto @spacegayofficial @winters-buck @phoenixhalliwell @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @mrpascals @aerynwrites @jigglemiwa @manda-not-lorian @dindjarindiaries @pancakepike @huliabitch @sammiesweet @randomness501

#whiskey x reader #bri writes

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fanficparker · 4 years ago

Text

Small No-things | Tom x Haz one-shot

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Tom Holland

Word count: 2.8k words

Warnings: I am leaving this fic open-ended, Fluff and angst sprinkled here and there

Summary: Tom was bothered for not putting in as much efforts as Harrison into their friendship. But when Harrison reminds him of how he's all for him by being his assistant on the set of Spider-man Homecoming, Tom realises he wanted even more from his best-friend.

A/N: Hope this ends my writer slump.

Tom didn't like lying, however, he did lie a lot. In his defence— he just happens to struggle with expressing his feelings because how does anyone do that shit without feeling as vulnerable as a tortoise devoid of its shell?

"Tom, love, are you feeling well?" His mum asked from the other side of the phone.

"Very," He told her, smiling lightly though the words which may seem strange as she cannot see him. But the smile was not for her in the first place, it was for him. He liked telling himself that he was fine and it was almost working.

He hung up when the conversation got too forced, wishing her good night. And as soon as the beeping of the disconnecting tone fell into his ears, he kept the phone down and shoved the plastic wall aside, almost taking Harrison by surprise.

Harrison and Tom were sitting (half-lying down) in the luxury area of an already luxurious London to Atlanta flight. The interior was greyish and the furniture was brownish with cream-coloured curtains. Both of them were sitting beside each other but a removable opaque plastic wall standing between was separating them, which Tom just removed (sixth time in the seven hours, considering they didn't even set it up in the first three hours of the flight).

"Jesus, Tom! Learn to knock!" Harrison jolted, keeping a hand over his heart.

"Sorry!" Tom uttered, not feeling it though (Harrison was a drama queen anyway), "Just a matter of two hours." He gritted his teeth in excitement and nervousness (at least, he wasn't jumping on his seat).

Harrison chuckled, putting down the magazine he was holding. He kept his elbow on the make-shift table, squeezing his legs in his seat and leaning towards the brunette.

"I know. Exciting isn't it?" He said softly, looking up at the ceiling.

"And terrifying," Tom added quickly.

Harrison chuckled, again.

"It's going to be fine..." The blonde produced a full mouth yawn at the end part, removing his glasses and tossing them over the magazine.

Sleepyhead. Seeing that Tom turned the lamp off, sinking into his own seat, shutting his tired eyes.

He knows it's going to be fine. It... It's just that it doesn't feel fine. How does he even explain this?

...

"We can eat a burger. If it will make you feel better..." Harrison offered as the two boys dragged their luggage trolley across the airport.

Definitely, a burger can't make him feel better.

"I said I am fine," Tom repeated, sounding almost frustrated. Because wasn't this the thirteenth time, Harrison was asking him this question?

"You don't look fine though..." He defended in a soft voice.

But it just added to Tom's bubbling irritation.

First, the man who was supposed to pick them up at the airport hasn't arrived yet. Second, that person was telling him how he was just a few miles away for the last two hours and now he wasn't even picking up the call (if things couldn't get any worse). Third, Tom's feet were aching. Fourth, he wanted to sleep in a comfortable bed. Fifth, he didn't like people trying to pursue him into changing his mind and Harrison was doing exactly the same.

"Okay... But can you eat for me? I am really starving."

Tom stopped at his friend's words, leaving the trolley as his hands rest over his hips.

"Mate you got a completely different abdomen. You can eat for yourself!"

"Please..." Harrison did his stupid little pout, making Tom roll his eyes but it was all for vain. He knew well that his friend won't take no for an answer.

With a final huff, Tom relaxed his tensed shoulders, giving in.

"OK."

Soon, he found himself sitting at the counter of an open Burger joint inside the airport itself as he watched Harrison eat.

"Now why are you stealing my chips?"

Well, he wasn't just watching...

"Doesn't your stomach fill up when I eat?" Tom mocked, throwing another finger chip into his mouth and licking the salt off his fingertip.

"And I thought, my best mate wasn't any regular creep..." Harrison produced a gagging noise but then instantly stuffed his mouth with a big bite of the burger.

"Yeah, he is a PhD scholar." Tom rolled his eyes again, chewing on the chip.

That made Harrison laugh. He tried shutting his mouth tight, pressing a hand over his lips as his cheeks swelled, struggling to stop the food from falling out of his mouth.

Tom failed to contain his own grin that split his face. He joined Harrison in the meal as his own order arrived. He watched his phone ring off and away. For once he didn't care about reaching the hotel any earlier. They were fine here. He felt fine here. Didn't he?

...

"Whoa, this is huge!" Harrison dropped the bag on the floor with a thud, instantly rushing to take a look at the bathroom. He checked the other room and then the spare bathroom... Then the kitchen, the balcony and then rushed back to the living room which also served as the outer, larger bedroom, where Tom was still standing unmoved, arms folded across his chest.

"It's huge..." He repeated, letting the adjective trail off his lips.

Tom opened his mouth to say something but Harrison was quick to cut him off—

"Which room should I take? The inner one or the outer one?"

The brunette scrubbed a hand down his face, "The inner one because I seriously don't want your hundreds of shoe pairs invading our living area."

Harrison's brows quirked, "How-how do you know?"

"You posted it on Twitter." Tom shrugged.

"You don't even use Twitter!"

"Yes, and your fans did repost the video on Instagram tagging me."

"Well, then they are your fans. Traitors!" This time Harrison had his hands folded across his chest, dramatically swaying his head to the other side.

There was a pause.

"... Did you actually bring them all?" An amused smile formed on the corner of Tom's face as Harrison licked his lips.

Unnecessary drama... If it was something, the boys would have called it their personal quirk.

"All for you..." Harrison replied, smirking, maintaining the eye-contact with the other boy.

But it was too fatal. He gave up.

"Actually, no I didn't." He rolled his eyes this time.

The victorious smile reached Tom's ears but he was too tired to care. He could kill to sleep on that soft bed. So, he jumped up on the mattress, discarding his shoes and pressing his face against the silky fabric of the pillow.

"I am taking the outer room anyway." His voice came out muffled, not that it was unintelligible.

"Twat." Harrison whispered, twisting his mouth. He was anyway going to invade Tom's space and Tom knew it.

...

Tom won't call himself sad or melancholic. It was just that Harrison had so many... friends.

He had always been great at maintaining relationships even with the people he met in Year Five. But Tom really only had Harrison, despite all the enormous extra amount of people he knew because of Billy Eliot or The Impossible and now even the Marvel Universe. Even when Tom was meeting Jacob Batalon for the third time, it was Harrison who could crack up the conversation. And they were meeting for the first time!

Tom was visibly jealous of this. It wasn't the angry or hateful kind of jealous. It was a sad one. It made him feel as if he was putting in less amount of effort than Harrison. It made him feel as if he was not doing enough— dishonest, insecure and what not...

He felt stupid for feeling this. Yet, it didn't stop him from feeling it more than often. Not that Harrison would ever make him feel this way. He felt worse for knowing and yet feeling all the same.

"Hey, Holland?"

It was Jacob's voice that brought him back to reality.

"Mind if I steal your boyfriend? We are liking each other way too much." Jacob winked, looking at Tom and then at Harrison.

They were inside Jacob's trailer where Jacob was sitting on his chair and Harrison was standing beside him, leaning over his shoulder on his elbow. While Tom was standing opposite to them, basically out of the conversation. Jacob's statement did only one job— make him more anxious than before. Dread settled at the bottom of his stomach, his breathing got laboured and his heart almost stopped.

"We--we aren't boyfriends."

That made the two boys laugh more but Tom only got more confused and felt more left out. Harrison must have noticed because—

"Tis' just a joke. Relax." Harrison shook his head, looking directly at Tom.

Tom could best produce a spluttered laughter, ready to leave for the set.

"Jacob likes teasing. Which means we are gonna be shipped a lot from now on." Harrison giggled as they waited for Tom to be called for the scene. He was wearing that overly tight Spider-man suit, way too uncomfortable.

"... And that doesn't bother you?" He swirled his neck to look at his best-friend, wondering...

"Why would it bother me? It's just a joke. Normal between friends." Harrison shrugged his shoulders like it was...

Normal...

If Harrison is saying then it must be normal.

It has to be...

...

"That was sick! I totally didn't assume Laura to be 'the' prankster. Z was so not ready!" Harrison laughed as he emerged from his room, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. Tom hummed in response busy scrolling through his phone. Harrison tried to ignore it, not caring about whatever Tom was busy gazing into his phone but he could read the uncomfortable longing in his friend's brown eyes. His own laughter died in his throat as he sat beside Tom, giving him a side glare.

Three weeks they were together in this hotel suite which made Harrison more aware of Tom's expressions than any other time. And today, all he noticed was Tom's eyebrows furrowing more and more as he looked into the device. Harrison snatched it off his hands when he suspected him of—

"Hey what?!" Tom yelled, trying to take it away but Harrison was quick to raise it up in the air, using his height advantage. He looked into the screen.

— stalking Henry. He was scrolling through Henry's Instagram profile. Tom sunk into the cushions realising that he was caught red-handed. He watched the softness of Harrison's eyes vanishing replaced by something close to anger as he scrolled through his phone.

"We talked about this, right?" His voice came low as his line of sight shifted from the device to its owner. Tom didn't reply, rather looked to the other side, at the empty wall.

Harrison's nostrils flared. He tossed the iPhone to the side and stood up, pushing his glasses that had fallen to his nose tip back to his eyes.

"He's a piece of shit and you are still clinging onto him?" It was a statement disguised like a question to cloud the fact that Tom didn't have a choice than to accept that his ex-boyfriend was in fact a piece of shit. He was supposed to move on.

But does Harrison have any idea how difficult it was to move on? Does he has any idea how many times he looked at people, thinking he would fall in love with them but in a few days the truth would hit him hard on the chest?

He couldn't.

He can't.

At least, things with Henry were so much better. They lasted the longest. Two years were the longest he had been with someone and not felt drifting apart. Until...

Tom started, voice higher than it should be: "Just because you don't like him, that doesn't mean I---" But he was interrupted by a voice even louder.

"Of course I don't like him. I don't like arseholes!" There were mixed lines of anger and worry on Harrison's forehead. He paused, breathed from his mouth and added in a lot softer voice: "Don't you remember how it was with him?"

Until, he saw himself in the mirror. Until, he noticed the dullness in his eyes that used to glint with enthusiasm. He saw those dark circles, the loss of sleep, the loss of self-esteem.

He even stopped dancing, the thing that once meant everything to him. The thing that paved the way to everything he loves now. And he left it because Henry didn't like seeing him dance. Wear skirts and perform ballets. And he loved Henry so much that he stopped doing it.

No, he never loved Henry.

Henry was his weakness manifesting as a person, taking form in flesh and blood.

"I... I am just seeing his pictures, not that I am going back to him." Tom stated, his pride trying to overshadow his vulnerabilities.

Harrison again exhaled, sitting back on the sofa beside him.

"It's not just about physical things. It's also mental. We talked about it. You deserve so much better Tom and no one even close to Henry." He kept his palm over Tom's knee, looking him into his eyes, "Henry is your past. Gone. He doesn't even deserve a space in your memories."

Tom would have argued but he remembered that they have had this conversation in the past and that Harrison was right.

Henry told him what was good and bad for him. He decided everything for Tom and that's what Tom loved. He loved that he will no longer be responsible for any wrong decisions he ever made. That he would have someone else to blame for all his failures but he was so wrong.

It was his mistake. Considering the possibility was his mistake. Accepting Henry in his life was his mistake. Letting Henry make decisions for him was his mistake.

Henry tried to push his friends away from him. He did push all his friends away. But Harrison was the only one to push back. Push back even harder.

Harrison stayed with Tom no matter how much he pushed him away because Henry said Harrison was not right for him. Still, Harrison knocked at his door, asked about his day, told about his day, wished him New Year before anyone else.

Harrison even knocked at his door when Tom had completely given up, accepted that the gear of his life was no longer in his control. Harrison gave him his chest to keep his head on and cry. Harrison listened to him patiently and understood everything even when Tom was sure his words were just sobs, completely unintelligible.

And right now, he was again pushing Harrison away and Harrison was pushing back with a stronger force. Something hot and wet flashed through his eyes, collecting at the bottom of his eyelids. He wiped it off before it could fall down or before Harrison could notice.

His chest constricted imagining what if that tear had dropped. That it's been so many years after Harrison had those steel braces over his teeth removed or when Tom was no longer afraid of never growing taller and reaching Hollywood... And yet, Harrison would still give his chest for him to lay his head over and patiently hear his sobs and understand his distorted speech.

"Sorry. I shouldn't be so harsh on you..." Harrison apologised removing his hand from Tom's knee but the touch still lingered. He could still feel the warmth of the touch on his skin.

But Harrison was not harsh at all...

Tom smiled this time, looking into his best mate's blue eyes. "No, you are right. Henry is shit."

Harrison smiled too and got up again, stretching his arm is Tom's direction with his palm facing up. His hair fell on his forehead when he looked down at him, exactly like a bungee jumping rope.

"We should go out then. Refill that brain of yours with memories that will be worth memorising." He cheered.

But Tom knew there were moments worth memorising even in those times with Henry. All those moments he had his friend with him. The one who wore those metallic braces, complained about those acne on his forehead or how thin he was and joined gym at fifteen but then never went there the next day.

"Yes." Tom placed his hand above Harrison's. Harrison who no longer had those braces or those teen acne neither he chickens out of the gym training...

Tom did skip over a small detail. That little itch in his fingers when he noticed Harrison's curls falling over his forehead. The desire to touch them and push them back. He had clenched his fists momentarily until he unclenched them back to put his hand over Harrison's bigger ones. He pretended that that itch didn't exist.

Or that he liked holding his hand...

TAGLIST: @hazmyheart // @justasmisunderstoodasloki // @tommysparker // @just-a-littlebit-of-everything // @thenoddingbunny-blog // @calltothewild // @viagracex // @httplayer // @slytherin-chaser // @perspectiveparker // @catkeeperthetall // @god-knows-what-am-i-doing // @its-a-leap-of-faith-kid // @emmaloo21 // @tomxhazarchive

#tomxhaz #taz #torrison #tarrison #hollerfield #osterland #idk but i am not tagging it as individual tags #tom holland x harrison osterfield #friends to lovers #friends to lovers au

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malecsecretsanta · 4 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, cor321!

For @cor321 Hiiii! I really hope you like this story, I tried to incorporate some tropes you mentioned. I enjoyed writing this for you :) Happy holidays!

Read On AO3

*****

Misery ²

The door opened, and in stumbled Alec Lightwood’s roommate, Magnus Bane, with his date– both giggling and cheeks pink, nuzzling each other’s noses, both smelling of alcohol.

From his desk on the far right side of the room, Alec looked up from the textbook he was reading. He rolled his eyes and sighed. What was this, the weekend?

No, it was only Wednesday, with classes tomorrow.

In fact, he was trying to read up for a quiz tomorrow. Not to be subject to this racket…

No doubt they had just come from one of the bars on the edge of campus. Maybe Magnus had even picked his date up tonight, as Alec didn’t recognize him.

It was an ongoing pattern with Magnus to hit up the bars nearby, and then either come back alone, slightly giggly from being buzzed, or with his latest hookup – as it was, Alec was starting to lose track of Magnus’s ever shifting schedule. As a creature of habit, this made Alec’s head spin.

Magnus and his date finally walked into the room and came face to face with Alec.

And of course Magnus was dressed to the nines, even overly so, Alec noted, scrutinizing his outfit from head to toe. Dark black hair done up in a quiff with dark red highlights, eyes lined with red and black liner, then clad in his form fitting maroon racer leather jacket, white tee, and slim black pants and low ankle boots.

Not to mention the number of silver necklaces adorning his neck and chest.

The longer Alec looked at him, he felt a slight tightness in his chest, a feeling that he wasn’t sure he was ready to reconcile within himself.

He turned away, feeling slightly flustered.

“Oh, you’re home,” Magnus said distractedly.

“Well, I’ve only been sitting here all night, and I was here when you first opened the door,” Alec stated dryly. “And you only just noticed me over here, now? But, oh I see -- you were otherwise preoccupied…”

He nodded at Magnus’s date, who now looked like he was attempting to shrink into the background. He was clearly uncomfortable about the tension between the two roommates.

“By the way, he has a name. Elias,” Magnus stated. “And he’s a great guy.”

“And…it’s also Wednesday night, and some of us still have classes the next morning,” Alec pointed out.

“Hey, Magnus,” Elias interjected, sounding incredibly uncomfortable, “Maybe he’s got a point. There are classes tomorrow still. How about we go out Friday night instead?”

Magnus whirled around to face his date. “Wait, you’re leaving?” he huffed.

Elias gestured between them. “There’s obviously something here that I shouldn’t get in the middle of. It’s okay,” he said.

Magnus, however, had already turned back toward Alec, and the two roommates were glaring at one another like no one’s business.

“Uh, okay. I’m leaving,” Elias said to no one as he quickly left.

The silence that followed his departure was jarring, and the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped to subzero with the way the roommates were locked in a glaring contest. Neither looked away.

Then in the next minute, Alec just rolled his eyes and sighed, sitting back down, and trying again to concentrate on his books.

Magnus huffed in turn, as he went to his side of the room. He opened up his mini-refrigerator, taking out a beer and taking a swig.

“Hey, shouldn’t you slow down? You just got back from the bar, didn’t you?” a snide voice said from the other side of the desk.

If Magnus’s eyes were laser guns, they would have burned a hole through the back of the desk.

Shut up, Magnus thought, crossly, as he tossed back the rest of the beer.

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

It was just Alec’s luck to end up having Magnus as his roommate in his junior year of college.

Alec had initially planned to move into a double with his brother, Jace. But then Jace had accepted an offer to another university at the last minute.

When Alec had found that out, he had groaned.

Now he was stuck with a double room, whereas he could have just applied for a single room to begin with!

The idea of having to share a room with a stranger was bad enough, especially with any habits they would bring about them.

Not that Alec was completely anal regarding his habits.

But he certainly had his share of bad experiences in the past.

Was it too much to ask to keep a room clean, no dishes in the sink, and everything in their rightful place?

Or having quiet hours when they should be quiet?

From past history, his roommates tended to fall short of these ideals within a short period of time, and it would always end up in a fight between them.

He was just not a roommate type of person. Hell, he just wasn’t a people type of person. He just preferred his own space above all else.

Alec didn’t think that was too much to ask.

As the time grew near, he eventually became more accepting of the idea of having a dormmate, as there was really nothing he could do about it. So why fight it?

He even got to the point where he had nearly convinced himself that most people were reasonable and able to maintain mutual consideration and respect…

But that was before Magnus Bane, his would-be roommate, barged through the door, his luggage and belongings falling from his arms. Walking in, he all but collapsed on the common area couch.

“Oh my god,” Magnus complained, bringing one hand to his forehead in dramatic fashion, ”That trek up four flights of stairs was killer, why couldn’t they have given us an option to select ground floor?” Then came a whole slew of moans and lamenting.

Alec just stared at this spectacle, his mouth dropping open, as his brain couldn’t even believe that anyone could be this dramatic.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, where I’m from, most people would say hi to their new roommate and shake hands,” he offered in a sardonic tone of voice.

That made Magnus stop his dramatics, as he turned.

The surprise on his face made it clear that he definitely hadn’t noticed Alec until then.

Alec wasn’t really surprised by that. Not many noticed him outright. There really wasn’t all that much to notice. Anyway, it didn’t bother Alec too much, as he preferred not to be in the spotlight anyway.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Magnus said, suddenly affecting a dulcet tone of voice. It was very musical, low, and sweet. As he looked directly at Alec, his brown eyes with glints of gold dilated as he surveyed Alec. “I’m Magnus. Magnus Bane. I guess I’m your new roommate.”

His whole demeanor – along with his necklaces, crisp form-fitting leather jacket and black pants, and that silver earcuff on his left ear, not to mention his expertly lined black and silver eyelids – was enough to throw Alec off his regular standoffish-whatever type of attitude when acknowledging someone.

Alec, for once, was tongue-tied. He didn’t know how to act…

“Ah, hello,” he managed, his throat dry. What was this? Why was his heart suddenly pounding?

He didn’t like this feeling at all. But, actually, he had no idea what this feeling was.

Bottom line, he was uncomfortable.

He was … breathless, nervous. He was…UGH. HE DISLIKED THIS FEELING.

Yea, that must be it. There was something off about this.

He decided, right then and there, that he did not like his new roommate for making him feel like this.

“I’m Alec. Alec Lightwood,” he continued, finding it easier to find his voice, now that he had resolved his inner feelings in the meantime. “You have your space, and I have mine. As long as we mind ourselves and give consideration to one another, things should be fine.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow upon receiving Alec’s words.

Oh, is this how it is? he thought. A smile crept across his face.

“So,” he said, using his lowest purr while looking at Alec under lowered lashes., “Alec, eh? Is that short for Alexander?”

Wow, even just attempting this line on this guy was making him nauseous. Funny, how he would be motivated to use this line on others. But for some reason, he just felt like he wanted to annoy the shit out of this guy…

The guy’s eyebrows shot up, clearly taken aback by his response.

“Uh…” the guy said. “Yea, actually it is. But no one calls me that. It’s just Alec…”

Magnus smirked. “Alexander, it is,” he said flippantly. Then bit back a grin as the guy scowled.

“Suit yourself,” Alec said curtly. “It doesn’t matter to me. Anyway, I already picked the right side, so the left side’s yours.” He gestured briefly to the bed, desk and space to the left to him. And with that, he retreated behind his desk, leaving Magnus just standing there, looking after him with his mouth falling half-open, and indignant.

The nerve! Boy, that guy’s stiff as hell, he thought, starting to get annoyed.

As far as he was concerned, it was a waste of time to be uptight. Wasn’t it much easier just to be more open and accepting about things? Why so angry, dude?

He shook his head in disbelief. But then he sighed.

This was his room assignment and roommate for this school year. Unfortunately, there were no other rooms available. He would just make do with this situation – at least until the next signup, which was in June.

He just prayed that it wouldn’t be too difficult living with Alec Lightwood.

His roommate continued to survey him, his eyes lingering upon his face which registered something akin to confusion – probably due to the duo-colored eyeliner he was wearing. Then he shook his head, huffed, and turned to walk back into his space.

Magnus was left with mixed feelings, standing there.

Oh well, he thought, so much for the welcome brigade. Great first day…

Such a shame, Magnus couldn’t help thinking as his thoughts went back to his roommate. So stuck up. But attractive.

Definitely attractive. Such nice hazel eyes, thick dark hair, and great build. Truthfully, he was totally Magnus’s type.

It was just too bad that he was stuck-up and annoying. And the way Alec had balked at his face, with his makeup and eyeliner, he probably also “didn’t approve of alternative lifestyles.” But oh well, this was something Magnus was used to, ever since he himself had come out during middle school, and facing those with dissenting opinions. Yea, they could all go to hell for all he cared. He was proud of himself and his lifestyle; and determined to have a great year at school.

Neither a crappy person nor a bad situation could take that away from him…

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

Months later…

Magnus hugged his books to his chest, as he climbed the stairs of his dorm building, huffing and puffing when he finally reached his floor. Again he cursed inwardly at the three flights of stairs he had to climb, just to get to his room.

Then again, his brain suggested helpfully, you didn’t really need to wear your stiletto boots today, did you? Just because that guy in lab was cute…

Oh be quiet, Magnus thought, wrinkling his nose.

As he approached his dorm room, another thought popped up in his head.

God, he hoped Alec wasn’t back yet. Or, maybe he hoped that he was there? Anyway, he was confused enough about him as it was. Today had also been his long day, and he was exhausted.

He didn’t know if he had the strength within him to endure something unexpected…

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure Alec out….

And, usually, Magnus was pretty good at those things…

…………………..

Ever since that first day, it had been nothing but snarkiness from Alec. Even when they were across the room from one another, somehow Magnus could still imagine the snideness being projected toward him by Alec.

Right against his back, like some stinging sixth sense, as if laser beams were shooting straight at him.

This animosity was getting ridiculous.

Magnus’s thoughts briefly went to the last guy he’d been seeing, Elias, which was actually just under two month ago.

Unlike others, Elias had tolerated Alec being around, even with him being something awful.

After a while, Alec had even grunted a sullen “Hello” or even a small wave whenever Magnus had brought Elias over to hang out.

That was uncharacteristically responsive for Alec, and Magnus was still weirded out by it.

Anyway, the thing with Elias had ended after maybe two weeks or so.

Since then, Magnus had not brought anyone back to the room. He hadn’t wanted anyone else to encounter how weird Alec could get at times…

And could someone be more nitpicky about things? For instance, he left one plate lying around in the sink one night a few weeks ago, and Alec had been ready to tear his head off.

Well, okay, he admitted, perhaps it was more than just one plate.

Maybe a few plates…and maybe even much more than that.

His mind went back to two days ago, when he had inadvertently hosted an impromptu dinner party for his three study buddies that he had brought over to go over notes for his History midterm.

Two of them, who had walked back with Magnus, had casually suggested getting carryout from the local Chinese restaurant since it was getting close to dinnertime. That had seemed quite reasonable to Magnus.

And so they had.

The third guy, Marcus, who had come about an hour later, carrying two bottles of wine --- well Magnus hadn’t asked him to do so.

Before long, they were all eating, and studying, and having a light glass of wine – and it was actually kinda odd, but it was working. They were actually getting some studying done, and yet somehow it had become very much a dinner party – in Magnus’s room.

Things were going great.

And then the key turned in the lock. Magnus froze, as his roommate, Alec, walked in.

The glare they all received from Alec, immediately as he walked in the door, was enough to freeze everything in the room.

Beside him, Magnus could feel the study group tense up.

Pretty much how everyone acted around Alec, when he was being Mr. Uptight.

Magnus felt a flare of irritation rise upon within him, as Alec cleared his throat in a very exaggerated way. He tensed up even further as Alec’s eyes scanned the room. He saw his gaze fall upon the plates and glasses strewn all over the coffee table.

Feeling an accusatory statement coming on, Magnus decided to beat him to the punch.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were coming back early from class,” Magnus offered as a way of apology. “We would have gone elsewhere –”

But instead of accepting the apology, Alec’s face slowly turned red, as his mouth pressed into even firmer of a line.

“Oh? And why is that?” Alec said, his voice tight. “Because you never think of asking me if you can have people over to our room? Or that you never tell me about these things at all?”

Then his gaze seemed to freeze as he saw the books all over the couch next to them. And his face suddenly paled.

“Uh, e-excuse me,” he stammered. This was followed by an abrupt turn as he half-walked, half-stumbled to his side of the room.

Wait…

Magnus’s annoyance suddenly turned to confusion.

Had he detected a note of embarrassment in his voice?

Hmm, that was new…

Oh, man, he soo didn’t want to get dragged into whatever Alec was going through right now…

“Uh, Magnus?” One of the guys, Marcus, was talking to him. He turned to him, albeit distracted.

“Yes?” he asked absentmindedly.

“You don’t look like you’re in the mindset to study right now. We can take a break for a bit -- we’ve been at this for awhile now,” Marcus observed. He nodded in the direction that Alec had stomped off to. “Don’t you think you should take care of that before it gets worse?”

The look on his face indicated that he already thought that it had…

“Hmm, maybe you’re right,” Magnus mused. “Thanks, Marcus.” He smiled at him gratefully.

Taking a deep breath, Magnus made his way toward Alec’s side of the room.

He found Alec sitting on his bed, huddled in the corner with a book, which was completely obscuring his face.

Ah, he’s busy, probably best to leave him alone….

But something made him stay.

“Uh, Alexander?” he ventured hesitantly.

No response. Ah well, Magnus thought. Okay, play it that way, then…

He turned to leave.

“Uh, I didn’t realize you were studying,” a gruff voice emerged from behind the book. “I didn’t mean to overreact.”

Magnus stopped where he stood and then slowly turned around. Alec’s tone had been equally hesitant and unsure.

Now, how was he supposed to act? Magnus ran his fingers through his hair, feeling slightly distressed. He wasn’t used to feeling so off-balance. He usually prided himself in being able to take on any type of situation or confrontation.

And yet, now he was nearly speechless.

“Uh,” he said finally. “That’s okay. I mean, things did get really disorganized. Dinner was definitely not on the agenda when we first planned things. And Marcus, he brought the wine over, not me…”

While Magnus was talking, Alec had emerged from behind the book, his hazel eyes intense and piercing, causing Magnus to nearly choke upon his words.

Oh my, he thought. If he had thought that his roommate’s eyes were beautiful on that first day…well right now, that had been elevated to another level.

They were…incredible - the way they looked at him, searchingly, as if seeking something that had yet to be found.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Alec continued, his voice softening slightly, now with a nice gravelly texture to his baritone voice. He seemed to avert his gaze for a moment, seemingly preoccupied.

Magnus resisted the shiver that nearly shot down his spine at the sound of the voice.

“That’s quite alright,” he said, managing to keep his voice even. He took a deep breath. “Not to worry though, we will clean up after we are done.”

Alec nodded.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. He looked up just then and their gazes met. Magnus inhaled sharply.

There was an expression in Alec’s eyes that he wasn’t able to recognize. Regardless, neither of them could look away.

For Magnus, funny things were starting to happen. Like wind rushing past his ears, and his heart was suddenly pounding madly.

His throat was also, suddenly, incredibly dry.

He attempted to clear his throat. “Well,” he said, putting on a smile in an effort to quell the tension that had seemingly appeared, “You’re welcome to come out and have some wine with us, as well as the rest of the food if you’d like. There’s plenty. I don’t know if you’ve eaten yet…”

Alec’s eyes appeared to widen at that. “Oh,” he said. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose…”

His eyes again seemed to search Magnus’s face intensely. Magnus felt his cheeks turn pink upon his gaze.

“No, no trouble at all,” Magnus found himself saying. “The guys are really cool too. They won’t mind. In fact, Marcus was the one who insisted I come in to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh really?” Alec said, surprised. Something appeared to shift in his facial expression just then, and the beginnings of a smile started to appear. “Well, that’s nice of him. Tell him I appreciate it.”

Magnus attempted to keep his expression even, as his brain nearly imploded.

Wait, was Alec Lightwood, grumpy roommate Alec Lightwood, actually…smiling?

He didn’t even know if he remembered him ever smiling, not even on the first day that they met.

And that was months ago…

“You can come out and tell him yourself. Seriously, they’re cool,” Magnus insisted, suddenly making it his mission to bring Alec out of his shell.

Alec continued to look at him for another minute.

And then, he slowly nodded.

He got off the bed and stood in front of Magnus, shifting uncomfortably as he didn't seem certain on what to do next.

“C’mon,” Magnus said, in as gentle of a voice as he could muster amidst the awkwardness.

He started to walk forward, turning back briefly to make sure Alec was following.

“Okay,” Alec said gruffly. He followed him out.

The chorus of “Hellos” directly toward Alec made Magnus smile.

………………….

Yea, that had been an interesting evening, Magnus mused as he paused right outside his own door.

And, a bit odd at the same time.

That evening had turned out to be full of surprises.

He could have sworn that he caught Alec looking his way once or twice as the night progressed. But then he would look away immediately with a flush upon his cheeks. It had made Magnus a bit flustered, a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to having.

And especially not toward Alec Lightwood of all people…

Once the initial introductions had been made, everyone had settled back in their seats with their drinks. Alec had then cracked a joke, which everyone laughed at.

Including himself, to his surprise.

And then Alec had proceeded to down a glass of white wine, his normally stoic, grouchy looking face softening into a smile with wonderful crinkles to the corner of his eyes.

The whole effect was simply magnetic, causing Magnus to nearly lose his breath as his heart stuttered. Again, he felt the stirrings that he had, upon that first day he had encountered Alec…

Oh god, what was happening to him?? Magnus thought.

Magnus had just stared at Alec in wonder, his mouth slightly agape. Who was this guy, again?

One minute, Alec was practically lashing out at him over some preconceived notion of what was going on –and the next minute, he had comfortably settled in – a completely different person.

Well, at least it appeared so, in front of company…

……………….

Magnus came back to the present, continuing to stare at the door in front of him.

Where his enigma of a roommate was possibly on the other side.

Was Alec like Jekyll and Hyde, where one wouldn’t know which personality was going to emerge at any given moment? Ugh, he wouldn’t want that type of situation...

Or even worse, was Alec the type who was absolutely amazing with everyone else, yet was still crappy when it was the two of them, alone –?

Magnus huffed, shaking his head, as he dug into his jacket pocket for his key.

Alec was definitely beautiful but too much of a wild card for his taste.

Yea, the last thing he needed was to be anywhere alone with this guy, ever --

Not finding his key, Magnus juggled his books as he fished deeper into his pockets, which caused his books to tumble out of his grasp. In an attempt to hold onto them, Magnus stumbled backward.

And then - he must have landed wrong upon his heel, because now he was on the way to the floor.

His books landed on the floor with a loud clatter, followed by him falling onto his butt.

“Damn!” Magnus cursed, his hand flying to his rear. That was not a soft fall by any means.

Although, Magnus thought ruefully, it was more that his pride was wounded as opposed to any real pain.

He was just glad no one had seen this happen, or he would never live it down.

Just great, he thought, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

Gingerly, he got up onto on one knee and proceeded to pick up his books.

What else could go wrong today?

“Hello?” came a muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Before Magnus could react or stand up, the door had opened ajar and a curious looking Alec Lightwood had poked his head out. He looked left and right, before his eyes went downward.

And now he was looking at Magnus, crouched on the floor, his books partially in hand, looking up at him.

Oh god, of all the people to see him like this…

Alec’s eyes widened. “Oh my god,” he gasped. “Did you trip and fall? Well, no wonder, those boots look like an accident waiting to happen, with those heels. I mean, they look really nice and all, but functional they totally aren’t…”

Alec’s cheeks had gone full on red as he spoke.

Was Alec…babbling? Magnus thought, confused. And…did he just say my boots looked…nice?

He reached out a hand toward Magnus, who just stared dumbly at the hand.

“Here, I’m trying to help you up,” Alec said gently.

“Thanks,” Magnus mumbled. “I did fall before. Sorry I’m like this…”

Magnus grasped Alec’s hand, which was fleshy and warm as his fingers closed around his, and allowed him to pull him up. He shifted his books in his arms so they were more orderly.

“Here, come inside and sit down,” Alec said. “I was just about to have some tea. Would you like some?”

“S-Sure,” Magnus said, feeling his cheeks burn as he followed Alec into the room. He was feeling very on edge, just like that other night – certainly not accustomed to this Alec Lightwood.

Someone who graciously helped him up after he had fallen…and who was now offering him tea?

As Magnus sat down on the couch, Alec excused himself to go get the tea.

Magnus set his books down, and suddenly he felt kinda weird, his hands flitting about. Finally, he settled for crossing his legs, and clasping his hands as he rested them on one knee.

Alec came back in the room just then, holding a very familiar mug by the handle. That was Magnus’s favorite cup.

Magnus just stared at him.

Alec seemed to recoil slightly under Magnus’s scrutiny.

“Ah,” he said in a hesitant tone of voice, his eyes going to the cup, “Don’t you always use this mug? I just assumed it was your go-to mug.”

“Ah, yes, it is. I just didn’t know you were aware of that,” Magnus said, surprised.

Alec handed the mug to Magnus, who took it in both hands.

“Thank you,” Magnus said breathily, suddenly feeling shy. He closed his eyes as he took in the aroma of the tea. Peppermint.

Then he realized that Alec was watching him closely, the corner of his lips slightly upturned.

“It’s my favorite type of tea to have, especially after a long day,” he said. “I even added a dollop of raw honey in yours, I’ve seen you use that from time to time in your drinks. I hope you don’t mind.”

And now…Alec’s cheeks had turned a slight pink.

“No, t-that’s fine,” Magnus said quietly. “I love it.” He sipped at the tea. Delicious, and totally hitting the spot.

“Long day, eh?” Alec said in a sympathetic tone of voice.

Magnus snorted, momentarily forgetting the awkwardness he was feeling just a moment ago. “You don’t know the half of it…”

And before he knew it, he was telling Alec about the crappy day he had had. Minutes turned into a half-hour. Then an hour. Then two…

It was so surreal, how much they were getting along.

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

Alec was having the most out of body experience he could ever recall having. And he could barely breathe.

Here he was, sitting across from his roommate, whom he had been at odds with for months, and here they were having tea, with Magnus talking animatedly in that musical voice of his. Which Alec could have listened to for hours on end.

Just as long as his gorgeous soft brown eyes, and warm smile were completely directed toward him as he threw his head back and laughed.

It was such a beautiful sight, he basked in it.

He no longer remembered why they were at odds with one another. In fact, perhaps it wasn’t that they were at odds with one another -- rather, it was more displaced, in terms of how he had reacted upon first seeing Magnus.

Magnus, who had completely upended Alec’s life in every way since he first stepped into the room.

Who had affected Alec like no other.

Alec hadn’t had much experience with these things – let alone meeting anyone he was ever interested in – to really know what that feeling was.

In fact, it had taken him a few months to figure out exactly why Magnus had affected him so. He had found Magnus attractive from day one – but didn’t know how to admit it to himself. So he had done the exact opposite thing that he should have done. He’d shut himself off from him, acted all distant, for fear that he would be read like an open book.

Then to see Magnus flirt with others, go out every night, and bring home different people every night – it had sent him into a tailspin. He had not been prepared for that, and it had wrecked him in all ways imaginable.

Then that had, in turn, caused him to close himself off further – even as he went deeper into despair. He hated the feeling. Jealousy was such a useless emotion. But yet it was there, wrapping its thorny vines around his heart, piercing different parts of his heart and psyche just that bit further with every different person that would pass through that door.

But by the time Alec decided that he wanted to try to turn things around, the animosity between them had already gone too far, and he couldn’t figure out a way around it.

Until that night, when he had mistakenly called out Magnus for throwing a get-together when it was just a study group.

Embarrassed at having made such a colossal error of judgment, he had fled to the security of his corner, determined never to show his face to Magnus again. But, Magnus, to his credit – had extended an olive branch to him, even though he hadn’t deserved it.

After that day, he had started to come to terms with his attraction and feelings for Magnus.

Which just seemed to be getting stronger, the more he was sitting here and talking to Magnus. God was he beautiful.

Then his insecurities started getting hold of him. What would Magnus ever see in someone like him? There was nothing special about Alec. He was the complete opposite of Magnus, who commanded a presence whenever he walked into a room.

It was something that Alec could never even begin to know about….

“Alexander?” God, it was that voice again…

Then Alec blinked, as he realized he had zoned out slightly, as Magnus was trying to get his attention.

He gulped, his eyes meeting seemingly curious brown eyes. Which were looking intensely at him.

Were there always gold glints in there? Or was that a trick of the light?

It unnerved him. He wasn’t used to having Magnus gaze upon him in that way.

….

Meanwhile, Magnus was definitely experiencing a moment here, upon seeing Alec with the most curious, doe-eyed look, his hazel eyes holding a hopeful yet apprehensive look.

Directed at him.

Magnus inhaled sharply. Magnus knew that look, from his prior experience with dating and first-meets.

Alec liked him.

Well, at the very least, Alec was attracted to him. Magnus was surprised. Up until now, he hadn’t picked up on it at all.

It was strangely comforting though, knowing that he wasn’t alone with his feelings….

Magnus laughed softly to himself, as he leaned forward in his seat.

This seemed to evoke a reaction in Alec, who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off him…

Magnus berated himself for being so uncertain about things. In other situations, he would have already been tossing off flirty one-liners galore, making the object of his attention blush fiercely.

But Magnus already knew – that was different from anything he had ever experienced before.

And thus demanded a different approach.

Magnus hummed as he thought about it for a moment.

Oh to hell with it, he thought. Totally going for broke.

After all, Magnus could have still read things wrong…and it wasn’t as if he was laying everything down on the line, like he had a huge crush or something.

And perhaps, that was what made his decision so easy in the end – that there wasn’t as much vested in this, just yet.

Still, though, his brain thought, rejection either way would still be less than desirable –

Magnus quickly pushed his pride and ego aside. Time to focus on the task at hand, before he lost his nerve…

“So, maybe I’m being a bit presumptuous,” Magnus said finally. “But I’m typically not one to mince words. Am I wrong to think that there’s something here?”

With a flourish of his hand, he gestured between them both.

……………………

Alec swallowed hard as Magnus’s question registered in his head.

He could only gaze at Magnus’s face – it was beautiful, and everything he’d ever wanted. And suddenly, there was only one answer he could really give.

The truth.

“No,” Alec said, choking slightly on his words. “You aren’t wrong in thinking that.” He paused, trying to figure out how to frame his words best. “I’m sorry I acted so horribly these past few months. I was going through a lot. I also never really dated before, or had someone I was interested in so quickly –”

Magnus held up a finger and Alec stopped talking. “Well,” he said. “There is one thing I want to know from you.”

“Yes?” At that moment, Alec would have agreed to anything Magnus was asking…

“How do you feel about us being roommates? Does that make this whole situation awkward to you?” Magnus asked seriously. “Because I understand if it does –”

Alec grimaced. “True, this could have been a less awkward arrangement,” he admitted. “But then again, perhaps this was probably for the best.”

At that, Magnus’s eyes lit up with interest. “Oh, really? How so?” he asked.

“Well,” Alec said, “I was supposed to dorm with my brother Jace, that’s why we signed up for a double. But then he left me at the last minute to go to school with his girlfriend, so there was a vacancy available. If I had no one else to room with, I would have probably applied for a single.” He then looked directly at Magnus. “This is going to be shocking, but I’m not really all that great with people,” he said to Magnus, with a straight face.

Immediately he saw Magnus’s eyes twinkle as he bit his lip.

“No, you don’t say,” Magnus said, shaking his head in denial, even as he attempted to keep from laughing.

“So,” Alec concluded, “If we hadn’t become roommates, who knows if I would have even met you. I mean, look at you. And look at me. You’re so outgoing and gorgeous, and I prefer to be alone with my books –”

“You think I’m gorgeous?” Magnus breathed, his eyes flying wide open as he looked at Alec.

Alec shrugged, as a smile crept upon his face.

“Yea, I do,” he said. “But you already knew that about yourself…”

Magnus appeared to ponder that statement for a moment, before a big smile appeared upon his face.

“Well, so I’ve been told,” he cracked, making Alec giggle.

Then his face grew serious. “But actually, it sounds wonderful, coming from you. Thank you,” he said softly.

Their gazes met and locked.

Feeling brave all of a sudden, Alec slowly reached over with his hand to entwine his fingers with Magnus’s. Magnus’s eyes sparkled as he beamed at Alec, which made him feel warm all over.

They looked at one another, for what seemed like the longest time.

“What comes next?” Alec wondered..

Magnus hummed. “How about a date?” he asked. “Would you go out on a date with me, Alexander Lightwood?”

Alec’s heart had never felt so full, ever…

“Yes,” he said. “I would love to go out on a date with you, Magnus Bane.

Suddenly, Alec realized that Magnus had steadily moved closer to him in the past few minutes.

And now there was a devilish look in his soft brown eyes. “Should we seal it with a kiss?” he asked softly, his voice nearly a purr.

It sent chills down Alec’s spine, he could barely think. And suddenly his palms were really sweaty.

”Uh, yea,” he gulped. “T-That sounds like a good idea. I- I actually never…”

Whatever he was going to say was lost as Magnus closed the distance between them, his soft lips pressing against his. Alec’s heart started beating wildly with butterflies going crazy at the bottom of his gut. And then he felt his tongue gently sweep over the top of his lip, and it was the most incredible feeling ever.

Magnus moaned slightly as his hands moved to the nape of Alec’s neck, entangling his fingers through his thick hair. That just felt so amazing, Alec moaned softly in return, as he did similarly with his lips and tongue.

When they disengaged from one another, both were breathing hard.

“Damn, that was awesome,” Alec breathed, laughing softly. “I hope that wasn’t too bad, on my part. I certainly don’t mind practicing more… especially if it’s with you.”

Magnus grinned widely.

“You weren’t too bad at all, pretty good, actually. But you know what the perfect thing is about all of this?” he asked, as he leaned his forehead in toward Alec’s.

Alec looked at him inquisitively, with a smile on his face.

“Since we are roommates, we have all the time and opportunity to practice. I have so much yet to show you,” he whispered.

“I certainly like the sound of that,” Alec said shyly.

Magnus only laughed as he leaned in to kiss him again.

#cor321 #malecsanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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notasiren21 · 5 years ago

Note

Lukanette 24, 86. First day at university/college?

Hell yea bud I gotchu (even tho I have classes in the morning and finished this af 4AM but lol idc)

Rootbeer Floats & Milkshakes

Rating: Teen basically

Pairing: Lukanette

Word count: 3,839

Prompt(s): (24) “Wanna go grab a drink?” & (86)”Don’t be scared, I’m right here.”

Characters: Luka Couffaine, Marinette Dupain Cheng, Ayla Cessaire

Description:

Marinette’s first day at university comes with a surprise planned by a certain quiet girl off somewhere else for school and her best friend/roommate Ayla. It’s been two years since Luka and Marinette last saw each other and inner thoughts get spilled and fluff takes place.

So many boxes.

That’s all there was to it. There were too many boxes she had carried up and unpacked between her and Ayla that filled their new university dorm room.

In fact, she was almost certain there was a god out there when a student happened by saying he was taking spare boxes to store away for a later time.

She collapsed onto her bed, black high waisted skirt spanning the mattress and covers, pink silk blouse hanging off one shoulder. An arm carefully draped across her face to avoid makeup, lips parting in an exaggerated moan of exhaustion.

“You alright there, girl?” Ayla snickered, folding her clothes and swatting Marinette’s thigh to get her to move.

“If by alright you mean, questioning my life choices and events that led me to here and disdain for being limited to colleges because of my other persona needing to be here for an akuma, then yes. I’m alright.”

Ayla whistled lowly, “Damn, bug. And here I was, worrying about that small thing called tuition and student loans.”

The bluenette sat up in a huff, leaning against the wall with eyes closed rubbing at her forehead.

“Right, that. God, the thought of starting university scared me, but being here is downright terrifying.”

And then she heard it.

“Aw, Mari, don’t be scared, I’m right here.” And there standing was the owner of the smooth and calming voice. Grinning with his perfect teeth and one snake bite piercing ring on the bottom left of his lip, hair more of his natural black roots and electric blue tips, and a few tattoos.

She was screaming excitedly and hurling her body into his for a hug before Ayla had the chance to turn around and the poor boy could blink.

“Luka!” She smushed her face against his middle ribs, feeling the muscles of his now matured figure and the soft cotton blend of his black hooded long sleeve.

Ayla still folded, more than pleased Juleka involved her in a scheme like old times and reunited the two after Luka left for university for those two years and spent breaks being Jagged Stone’s new protégé.

He placed a kiss to her hair, squeezing her tight and feeling his face burn from her presence altogether. “It’s nice to see you too, Ma-ma-Marinette.” He teased, watching as she pulled away and wiped some small flecks of glitter highlighter away from his shirt. “It’s fine, I don’t mind it.” He said, carefully grabbing her hand and bringing it down to rest between them.

“I didn’t know you went here.” God, her eyes were so blue.

“I could say the same. I came to visit because Ayla said she needed help with boxes and Juleka told her I attended the same school and lived in the same building.” He raised their hands, placing a kiss to her knuckles, “This is by far the greatest surprise though.”

Marinette blushes heavily from the gesture. She used to whenever Luka was sweet around her but the time spent apart seemed to reinforce her feelings. She smiled before a frown took over her features. She quickly whipped around to stare at the taller female.

“Why didn’t you just invite him over sooner? We would’ve finished forever ago.” Only receiving a huff and glance to her.

Luka blinked, “Oh, so you don’t need any help?” Great, now he was feeling like he was intruding and a possible nuisance hanging around.

He was about to offer to leave them so they wouldn’t be distracted when the small and petite girl he spent his last teenage years loving squeezed him into another hug.

“Oh my god, you being here is more than enough help. I think I can see the light, is this it? Seeing Luka has killed me with such peaceful serenity I’m able to leave this horrid place for a possible paradise?”

He gave an amused laugh that rushed out of him, staring wide eyed to his old friend with glasses.

“Don’t even bother. She spent a summer with Chloé having to serve punishment by working in her family’s bakery and everyday it was nonstop dramatic monologues until their shifts ended.” She smiled, “It was amusing and did get better as time went on though.”

He only nodded, hating when she let go and moved to put small and casual heals on, long hair falling over her shoulders as she lent to the side, finding solid balance along her bed post.

“Well since it’s a reunion and all, wanna go grab a drink?”

Luka only dimpled down at her in response, excited she wasn’t ready to part ways with him just yet.

“You even have to ask?”

~*~

There was no question about it in her mind; Luka had definitely gotten hotter in their time separated.

His hair was messy in his young rockstar way but still gravitated the urge for Marinette to play with from across the table. His eyes seemingly more of azure than just regular blue when he was younger. Eyelashes and brows black and more defined.

How in the hell did his features harden after two years?

Marinette played with the straw in her milkshake, glancing up frequently to catch a glimpse of Luka who was at the counter ordering a root beer float. She coward every time he looked to her like he felt her stare.

Ayla passed on the reunion trip, saying she was going to go visit Alix and then spend the rest of the day with Nino who attended the same school as them.

“Sorry I couldn’t take you to a bar or something to ease your nerves, I can’t drink.” He said, sitting down and alternating between a spoon and a straw for his drink.

“You can’t?” She was surprised, most university students would frequent shops and stores to buy out the liquor section back home.

He shook his head, the curve of the spoon sitting on his tongue before he spoke. “Nope, alcohol intolerant. Pass out the second it hits my system, I get sick and the worst hives ever.”

“That sounds awful, how did you find out?”

He laughed lightly, “My roommate was in charge of making punch for a party he was going to later when I would be out buying a new release of this one game. He asked me to try it and only told me of the fruit ingredients, wondered if it needed more sugar. Had no clue until I woke up in the campus’s infirmary.”

She grabbed his hand with hers, white nail polish tips visible to him on short nails of hers. “If it makes you feel any better, I had planned to order a Shirley temple or something had you taken me to a bar. Never like the idea of drinking anyways and I don’t have the luxury of freedom to.” She faltered before she smiled at him.

“Yeah, never know when one will need to run across the rooftops of Paris huh?”

She went impossibly still before he realized what he confessed.

“You knew?” Her voice was a mere whisper, eyes growing wide and beautiful mascara lashes blinking rapidly.

He let go of her hand quickly like he just hurt her, opting to lean on his elbows on the hard table and mess with his hair nervously, avoiding her gaze.

“I mean, I’ve always known since I first met Ladybug in person,” he was speaking quietly to avoid drawing attention. “The way you spoke was just, it was mesmerizing and like a song in itself. When she talked to me, all I could hear was you. And one day you approached me from behind and said my name in that way you do that gets to me and I turned around and saw her instead. And I just knew, I mean that day I was more sure than I had been the first meeting.”

The air suddenly turned thick and she didn’t know how to respond until she thought about certain things he said that she could focus on and giggled.

“And yet the people I spent everyday with in class never picked up on it. You truly are one of a kind, Couffaine.”

The hand that messed with his colored locks stilled, eyes meeting hers that were amused and he felt himself burning like mad. Clearing his throat and sipping the soda from the ice cream concoction.

“So, how’s Adrien?” He wouldn’t dare give himself hope like last time when he first fell for her.

“Adrien? He’s fine. Why do you ask?”

“Haven’t you guys hit like your third year yet? When was that anniversary?” He really didn’t want to know but it would provide him a slap of reality before getting hurt again by his own damn self.

She giggled again, head hanging low and bit her lip in a way that made his chest tighten. “I wouldn’t know. We broke up a few months into our first year because we just weren’t made for one another. We’re still great friends and that’s all we are to each other. Nothing more.”

Ah fuck...the hope is seeping in.

“Huh, didn’t see that coming.”

She added some sprinkles to her shake that sat on the ice cream parlor’s table besides the napkins. “We were younger, thinking everything made sense and it would work out. In reality, I just had some tween love obsession goggles on that inhibited my logic and real life objectives.”

He was smiling now, arms folded with one able to eat the soda flavored ice cream, “You really grew up, huh?”

“I could say the same to you. Wonder how a Viperion would look today than from two years ago? Sexier? More fitted? Definitely hotter no doubt.” She flashed a smile and her shoulders shook when he coughed harshly and choked on his spoonful, looking at the way the red traveled down to his neck and his eyes shook in panicked awe of her. “You okay there, Vipey?”

“Vipey?” He hit a fist to his chest, drinking the soda at the top again. Questioning that one little thing was far easier to draw attention to her teasing compliments.

She waved him off like that new nickname wasn’t twisting his heart in the most delicious pain he ever felt. “Always wanted to call you that but Chat was such a jealous and possessive thing back then, I was afraid he’d claw you to bits if I gave you your own pet name.”

Did she really not know what she was doing to him?

Wait.

“Okay, I get it. It’s a cute name.” He leaned towards her again, “On another note, is this you confessing that Chat Noir is Adrien? Because I kinda already figured.”

She gaped before smiling, “You’re just too good, aren’t you?”

“Not really. I mean, a socially repressed kid who lives by a set of rules and is made to be perfect all the time suddenly gains powers, and what is he expected to do? I would think look untamed and be unfiltered as much as possible. It wasn’t that big of a leap when I knew she was you. Well, a small fraction of you at least.”

Marinette ignored the last part. “You know, most people love to say her name. Ladybug’s. Why don’t you?”

His dark brows furrowed before he held a spoonful of his ice cream up to her lips, still leaning forwards and meeting her eyes. “I like your name better, Marinette. You’re what makes her, you’re always Marinette. Why call you by something else unless it’s required of me to do so?” She pretended like the hitch in her breath wasn’t obvious and ate the ice cream, noting the way his eyes didn’t dart down to watch her eat it like most boys would but instead held her gaze, and only dropped to grab more for her.

“What do you mean by that?”

He gave a sad smile, “You’re a smart girl, Mari. Ladybug isn’t who you are, it’s just a persona you created to ease the worries of an entire city that’s heavily populated. Someone you made real to stand up against someone with a power and lust for evil when I’m sure you wanted to hide away like the rest of us. Who you are behind the mask is so much more powerful than the one presented to us because you’re human. You made her to get through the challenging times and give a hero to a city when you wanted to be protected and safe just like them. I admire Ladybug for all she’s done, but I admire Marinette more for the sacrifices she’s made to help Paris and the victims of akumas.” He wiped the corner of her lips when the tinted ice cream caught his attention, his smile dropping. “Every time Ladybug got hurt, my heart didn’t break for her, it broke for you.”

“Me, what why?”

He chanced it and leaned his forehead to hers. “Because everyone saw you gain injuries throughout battle and they cried for Ladybug. Then your purification presumably took away the pain and injuries, but I always assumed some lingered. And that the memories in fact did stay and I wondered how many sleepless nights you had where you jolted awake in fear of getting hurt again, and I prayed to whatever deity there was that you didn’t cry alone in the dark.”

She wanted to cry now.

“People worry about the hero and then the fight is over, then worrying about themselves and the close calls. No one ever stops to worry about the person behind the mask though. I’ve always hated that.”

“No one but you, huh?” They had quieted down significantly and whatever had been flickering between the two had grown to sparks that remained unsettled inside them.

Luka glanced down at their hands that were close to one another’s, taking a deep breath before pulling back. “C’mon, I’ll take you back.”

The walk back was silent, Marinette holding onto his arm that was lazily available while his hand rested in his shirt pocket. He gave her a small smile when she took off her heals to walk through the carpeted dorm hallway, offering to carry the small shoes for her that now dangled from his free hand’s hooked fingers. He watched her step on the patterns in graceful ways, dancing around them to his humming in the near empty hallways.

He assumed there was a first day party raging on somewhere in the building.

They stopped at her dorm, finishing out keys and letting him walk inside to place her shoes down on the rack she brought with her from home. He looked up just in time to see a familiar bracelet presented to him, a snake kwami floating near it and a red one zipping in the back to eat baked goods from home.

He couldn’t find words for how surprised he was, looking between the little god and then her and the bracelet.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Sass won’t mind. I just felt like I would’ve had a great partner in Viperion if I was given the chance to work with him more.”

He willed himself back, “How do I know this isn’t some elaborate excuse to check me out in a skin right suit?” He nearly prided himself when she became equally as flustered.

“That’s only a quarter of the reason why I’m offering, Luka.” She pouted, avoiding his eyes and shifting her weight nervously. He smiled down at her, grabbing her arms and wrapping them around his waist as his crossed over her shoulders, cheek resting to her hair again.

God, this felt like home.

“When have I ever said no to you, Mari?” He could feel her excitement shoot through her and the small squeal of excitement reached his ears as he laughed. Letting her pull one arm from her shoulder and slip the bracelet on. “Hi, Sass. I’ve missed you.”

The snake smiled, glancing between Luka and the smaller girl in his arms that was beyond content with the turn of events for the night. “Not assssss much asssss her I presssssume?” Earning a snicker when he winked to the small god.

“Luka, the main reason I asked you?”

He pulled away, letting her sit on the bed on her knees, messing with her skirt in her hands.

“Yeah?”

“It’s because, I’m, um,”

“Take your time, Marinette. I don’t mind.”

She took a breath, “I’ve never trusted anyone with my inner thoughts and feelings like I do with you. You read me like an open book and try to keep it to yourself so I never become embarrassed. But you know the real me behind the mask that most others don’t even if they know my secret, and that counts for something.” She met just azure eyes, “Who better to protect me than the one who sees I’m just as weak as any civilian.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, instead walking closer to her and letting his right hand guide the back of her head to his lips as he placed a kiss to her forehead.

“Is that a yes?”

He nosed her hair, “Maybe I just want to hear you call me Vipey again.”

She giggled in kind, flicking his nose. “It’s a cute nickname for a cute boy who is a cute superhero.” She nudged the tip of his nose again, “With a cute, button nose.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me, Dupain Cheng.”

“It took me a few years to gain the courage for it, but yeah, I guess you could say I am.” She blinked up innocently at him. He crossed his arms with a smirk.

“You know it’s dangerous for cute and beautiful girls like you to make guys like me hopeful right?”

“Is it?” She tried matching his height, even with the extra inches of the bed she only reached to his chin while she stood on her knees. “You said I’m smart, meaning I’ve learned my lesson this second time around. It’s okay for you to be hopeful, right?”

“Marinette?” He couldn’t move, afraid he would scare her off and praying to those kwamis he knew what was happening next.

“Luka?” She nudges her nose to his chin, giggling lightly when he shifted down to meet her nose like she wanted. He couldn’t and wouldn’t make the first move, she knew that. He respected her too much to read too far into things she did. “You know I always had this crush on you, right?”

“You what?”

She frowned, tears glistening around the blue hues of her eyes. “I really did miss you while you were away.” He forced a swallow, ignoring the matter that no one has ever spoken those words to him before and the weight they carried to him. “I’m not messing up this time, Luka.”

She pulled at the collar of his hood, bringing him down to her lips as her name died on his tongue and his hands slipped out of the pocket of his shirt to find support from her waist. His eyes screwed shut in fear of it all not being real or worse, her realizing it was a mistake to take with him.

But she still let her hands travel to his hair, giving a small happy noise with the ability to now play with it and feel it between her fingers. That alone coaxed him out of his potential nightmare slowly and encouraged him to move his lips against hers , feeling her smile when he found the bed to sit on so she wouldn’t have to lean up and felt her legs draped over his lap sideways.

He couldn’t bring himself to do anything when she broke the kiss, scared she’ll kick him out or express regret. Instead she gave a shy smile and then pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, hands framing his face before she hugged him with enough force to send Luka tipping backwards into her pillows with her on top of him.

She didn’t move off of him, only brought her face up to rest on her arms on top his chest while he refused to look at her. She held his face again, feeling the heat of the blood rushing to his face.

“Is it my turn to say how cute you look when you’re a blushing mess?” Her impish smile widened when the depths of his blues met hers, his jaw hardening in response to let her know he was at a loss for words. She ran a hand through his hair, noting the way he couldn’t stop the hum from escaping his throat. “You always were the one who got away, I didn’t want to risk it this time around and knew it the moment I saw you step into the university dorm that it had to be.”

He swallowed nervously, fingers twitching on her back. “Does this mean you want to be-,”

“Boyfriend and girlfriend for the time being? Absolutely.” She gave a firm nod, lips pressed in a straight line to make him laugh finally. He tried not to think about the her response and what the “time being” could lead to, hopefully a future together like he always wished for.

“Okay. I want that too.” She grinned, resting her chin on her arms again and staring up at him with an awed look. “What?”

She shook her head, leaning up to peck his lips before darting down to his chest and resting her cheek against his heart, “Nothing, you’re just really cute, Luka.”

“Oh my god, you’re going to kill me.” He muttered, arms leaving her and covering his red face.

“You okay?”

He whimpered, “Peachy. I meet up with the girl I’ve had a crush on forever and have a date with her and she ends up being my girlfriend before the night is over. And she’s the type to shower me in compliments. I’ve sighed my own death wish.”

“While you’re dealing with that, you mind if I turn the television on and catch up on an anime I’m watching?”

He uncovered his face to look at her then the tv across her bed, “Does this mean we have to move?”

She shook her head, moving to grab the remote and he noted he recognized the show already from some posts and expressed interest to himself of it before.

“No, I’m too affectionate to pass up on cuddling.” She sat up to grab a blanket before resting on his chest again, tangling her legs with his and giving a happy wiggle when he hugged her close. “You smell nice, I like it.”

“Fuck, you’re really too adorable, Marinette.” Luka sighed, forever grateful the university he didn’t care much about had one thing he would give the world to and she wanted nothing but him instead.

“You’re adorable too, Vipey.” Giggling when he squeezed her in retaliation and muttered to just watch her show and cuddled him.

#luka couffaine #miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #miraculous luka #luka x marinette #mlb luka #marinette dupain cheng #marinette dupain cheng x luka couffaine #love #lukanette fic #lukanette fanfic #prompt #fluff #mentions of viperion #answered ask #i need sleep #lukanette

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darnloveablecharacters · 5 years ago

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Universal, Part Six: Peace

Series Summary: Simply a multi-part, self indulgent reader insert with John Wick universe kinda plumbed in. Fair warning…. SLOWWW BURN. Ignore canon and timing and crap, that’s not important…. Gifs and recognizable characters are not mine, but the story and all of the mistakes are!

The Universal - Masterlist

Chapter Notes: So.... I know I posted the previous chapter like just a few hours ago, but as I kept adding on to this I got more and more excited. If you’re cool with little context, this could be the one-shot I had kinda imagined. (not really, this was actually no where near where I thought this fic was going but I’m going to say it’s my personal favorite lol)

Without further ado: Here it is! The conclusion to the Universal. Thank you all for your amazing support and love <3

Warnings for this chapter: Angst, NSFW (not quite smut but there is little left to the imagination.)

Ben wasn’t supposed to ever see Y/N again. He didn’t have the right. Nevertheless, she was there, watching him warily when he had entered the Mos Eisley markets. His moment of joy at seeing her immediately crashed into a sea of despair as his thoughts consumed him and he turned away from her. She deserves more than I can ever give her. He thought numbly as he moved to leave the market. He thought he could hear her calling to him, but he knew it was simply a trick of the dwindling hope in his heart.

He didn’t stop until he felt a strong grip pull him toward a shadowy alley, just outside of the space port. “What are you doing, Kenobi?” She said, clearly flustered.

He didn’t answer her, he just watched and waited. He waited for her to leave, as she should. They all left him.

She narrowed her eyes at him but kept a firm grip on his arm. “Obi Wan? Are you with me?”

I should have been, I should never have left you. Perhaps all of this could have been avoided He thought bitterly. His inner monologue was all that had kept him company since he arrived on Tatooine. He wasn’t even sure he could speak anymore.

She slapped him.

“Stop that.” She scolded, glaring at him.

“What was that for?” He croaked in surprise, raising his hand to rub his jaw.

“There’s that lovely voice.” She said with a smirk before falling serious again. “Your mind is screaming. Everything that you’re beating yourself up over, it’s not worth torturing yourself like this.”

He scoffed at her and she rolled her eyes. “You don’t know, so how could you know what I deserve.” Ben countered.

She raised her eyebrow and tapped a finger against her temple.

Oh.

Their connection. It was still there, a feathery brush against his mind that had convinced him to keep going in his moments of deepest agony. It had faded somewhat when they parted, but it was still strong. He gazed at her with glassy eyes as he realized that he had nearly forgotten.

She sighed and grabbed his arm again, pulling him toward a hangar. “We’re leaving.”

“I can’t leave, Y/L/N.” He protested weakly.

“Yes, you can, and you will.” She said forcefully.

He heaved a heavy sigh but allowed her to pull him into the hanger toward a ship he didn’t recognize. “You have a new ship?” He said admiringly.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up at that. “You really thought that after all this time I wouldn’t? I couldn’t exactly fly my old one anymore.” Ben chuckled despite himself. “Oh, I’m even graced with a polite laugh. How kind of you Kenobi.” She said with a mocking bow. “Now, are you going to come in on your own free will or will I have to continue dragging you?” She said gesturing toward the open door.

Ben shook his head, amused. “I’m coming, but I really will have to return.”

She dismissed him with a wave. “Fine, fine. I suppose that means we will have to get moving so you have more time to enjoy yourself!”

He rolled his eyes, but followed her into the ship and buckled in. She took off quickly and entered the coordinates without another word.

“Where are we going?” He asked when she turned the screen away from him.

She finished tapping on the panel and the ship moved into hyperspace before she finally turned to him, grinning. “The only place where two people with unfortunate bounties on their heads can relax.”

They arrived at The Universal not long after and missed the glum exchange of gold coins under the table as Y/N requested a single room. Winston had naturally won the bet, much to Charon and John’s chagrin. They were delighted, of course. Not only had a regular patron at The Universal found happiness, but two natural enemies overcame their differences and found peace together.

The door to their room closed and Ben took a deep breath as he watched Y/N walk around flicking on lamps. He closed his eyes contentedly, feeling her energy. The longer he was by her side, the more open the connection became and the distance brought from time apart was already nearly non-existent.

He smiled as he felt her approach. She was calm, but there was an undercurrent of nervous energy laced with it.

He opened his eyes as she gently pushed his robe off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. “What would you like to do now?” She asked breathily, sliding her hands down his shoulders and resting them on his chest.

Ben wrapped his arms around her waist but made no other move as he suddenly warred with himself. He wanted this, he wanted her but had spent his entire life trying to follow the code to the best of his ability. He knew that if he allowed himself this moment, there would be no coming back from it. He looked deeply into Y/N eyes and felt her patience and compassion. He knew that if he stepped away, she would understand.

It struck him then. The Order had been destroyed, all that was left was the will of the Force. As if to confirm his train of thought, their connection suddenly surged brightly.

“Y/N.” Ben groaned finally pulling her into a passionate kiss. She let out a surprised hum against him, but she quickly was consumed by her own desire and reciprocated gladly. She grabbed fistfuls of his tunic and began to pull him toward the bed as Ben deepened the kiss. Trails of clothing were quickly left behind as they moved and Ben pushed her unceremoniously onto the bed. Y/N gasped lustfully when he used the Force to hold her in place as he allowed his most carnal instincts take over. His eyes raked over her naked body with appreciation and he crawled over her like a hungry predator over his prey. “Beautiful.” He said huskily as he traced his fingers on her soft skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps from the caress. She was breathless as she watched him through lidded eyes, trembling with anticipation. He smirked and leaned forward, placing a kiss to her lips that was so tender she whimpered with need. “Now, what would you like me to do?” He whispered, trailing light kisses down her jaw.

The Jedi was gone.

All that remained was the man and woman moaning in pleasure as they finally let go and gave themselves fully to each other.

The sound of her crying out his name danced in his mind as he lay with her in his arms, rubbing her back softly.

“Do you really have to return to Tatooine?” Y/N murmured, tracing her fingers lightly across his chest.

Ben let out a sad sigh and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before answering. “Not immediately, but yes. I made a promise.”

“Foolish Jedi.” She said with a scoff.

Ben smirked. “Who is the bigger fool?”

Y/N smiled and shifted to place a gentle kiss to his cheek. “That’s my line.” She said with a small giggle before turning serious again. “I’ll come with you.”

Ben’s arms tightened around her as yet, another war of emotion began inside him. He felt pure joy at her offer, but guilt at what it could cost her. He would not let her lose her freedom to him, not again. “No.” He finally said sitting up and pulling her with him. She watched him with a carefully blank expression, but he could feel her confusion and pain at the rejection. He gripped her hands tightly. “My life is one of exile Y/N.” He explained quickly, pleading for her to understand. “I could never ask that of you. Your own freedom is more important than that.”

Ben felt his heart constrict as she pulled out of his grip, but she framed his face with her hands to ensure he would keep eye contact. “What greater freedom could there be than to be able to spend the rest of my life with the person I love?” She asked him with conviction.

Ben sucked in a breath as he slowly registered what she had just said. “The… rest of your life?” He asked in wonder.

Y/N tilted her head to the side with a smirk. “That’s what you’re choosing to focus on right now?”

“Yes.” He said breathlessly.

She shook her head, amused, before looking him directly. “I pledge myself to you, Obi Wan Kenobi. I love you and am yours if you will have me.”

Ben’s breath hitched as felt her feelings confirm her words.

Maker. He thought as tears of joy filled his eyes. He cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb gently on her skin. It was a few moments before he could finally speak with a steady voice. “I pledge myself to you Y/N Y/L/N. I love…”

He was interrupted when Y/N’s crashed against his, wrapping her arms around his neck. He closed his eyes, smiling, as he happily returned the kiss. They broke apart breathlessly and Y/N flashed him a sheepish grin. “I’m actually really sorry for interrupting that. I just… couldn’t stop myself.”

Ben pushed her back down onto the bed and rolled on top of her, placing a chaste kiss to her lips. “I do not think I will ever complain about being interrupted by you in a such a way; however, can you contain yourself for a moment so I can finish? I have wanted to tell you this for a long time.”

“How long?” Y/N questioned gazing at him through lidded eyes.

Ben glared at her and she muttered an embarrassed apology. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear gently and allowed everything he felt for her to surround them. “I love you, Y/N. I am, and always will be, yours.” He said softly.

She smiled up at him with tears shining in her eyes and raised her hand to trace her fingers through his beard. A sudden thought crossed her mind and she furrowed her eyebrows. “Do I have to call you Ben?” She asked uncertainly.

His eyes widened, and he collapsed on top of her shaking with laughter. She wrapped her arms around him and pecked his cheek, succumbing to her own fit of giggles.

They made love again, this time with less desperation. It was slow, passionate, and full of every emotion they had not been allowed to share until now. As he cried out her name with his release, he knew that they were truly one. They were connected in a way that Obi Wan hadn’t thought would be possible in his life as a Jedi.

He held her tightly as she fell asleep against him, finally at peace. He placed a gentle kiss to her head and, for the first time in longer than he could remember, he genuinely believed he could be happy.

The End

Authors Notes: Okay take it or leave it, you can assume they follow the path of canon and Vader kills Obi Wan later and Y/N dies before or after or…. whatever…. OR! You can choose to believe Obi Wan and Y/N lived a happily ever after, had like hundreds of children and died at a ridiculously old age (like older than Yoda, old). I’m personally going with the latter. 😊 Eff canon and all the heartbreak. (I actually really love Star Wars canon but damn…. So much sad)

Thank you for reading! Much love <3 <3

Oh yeah, almost forgot…. THE VOICE. Now that the story is finished, I can tell you that the voice I heard for the reader while writing this is Trilla from Jedi: Fallen Order… voiced by the gorgeous Elizabeth Grullon… yup. If you don’t know her, GOOGLE HER or play the dang game. SO worth it! Her and her voice are so sexy and if I had a choice for someone to play me in the overly boring movie that is my life, it would be her. Maybe with Morgan Freeman as a narrator but I digress… 😊 (I literally look absolutely nothing like that beautiful human being but that’s why we’re here… to dream)

#obi wan x reader #obi wan imagine #obi wan kenobi #Obi wan x dark jedi!reader #obi wan

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eldritch-araneae · 5 years ago

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Stagnation

“Moonjumper has returned and took Hat Kid under his control, using her against Snatcher. The Ghost of Subcon emerged victorious, but aftermath showed how little he knew about himself as Hat Kid is desperately trying to save him!”

Thank you Nox ( i forgot to ask you username, I’ll add it later!) for beta reading and editing! <3

Warning: This story contains illness depiction, display of severe pain and suffering.

-----

You are worried.

You step into dark woods, looking for your best friend. As you walked, images of the serious fight with him that happened two days ago are still lingering in your mind.

It wasn’t even your fault. You don't know exactly how it happened, but before you could react, you felt strings wrapping around you, taking you under control. That part of the memory is hard to recall, like a hazy dream—like you were watching the fight through tissue paper. Then suddenly something woke you up, and you found yourself fighting Snatcher. Your body moved against your will, throwing attacks you never knew you could use!

You were able to stand on thin air—you were able to teleport! You were summoning bright arrow projectiles that moved incredibly fast and homed in on your shadowy friend. He managed to dodge most of them, but some left nasty cuts all over his body. One arrow even went right through his abdomen! Snatcher was covered in yellow wounds as his inner energy seeped through them.

You wince at the memory, but it wasn't even the worst part.

The worst part was when you unleashed a truly devastating attack that unleashed a massive explosion in the space near him. Snatcher saw it coming, but he was too slow to get out of explosion range in time and got hit. Screams of intense pain shook the air; his right arm and side were cracked badly.

You come to a slow halt in the woods, sniffing as your eyes start filling with tears.

It was a miracle both of you emerged alive and victorious. A combination of Snatcher’s determination and you warning him about the upcoming attacks managed to keep him from dying (again). Eventually, Snatcher managed to sever all the red strings that controlled your body, ending the terrible fight. The attacker, someone who Snatcher referred to later as “Moonjumper,” suffered a rebound from the power he expended and was forced to retreat.

The aftermath was, to put it delicately, unpleasant. The entire area where you were fighting was destroyed; the trees were broken, and great furrows were gouged in the soil. Thankfully, it was just a small section of the forest; still, the damage was likely irreversible.

Snatcher was in awful shape—in fact, he looked absolutely terrible. You were afraid to touch him for fear of adding more pain to what he was experiencing already. Somehow, he still managed to smile, relieved that you were no longer under his enemy’s control.

You helped Snatcher to get to his tree, and after flopping into his chair, he assured you that he’d be okay. You’ve seen him healing while he sleeps, but something told you that he would need more than that this time.

Despite your initial relief at the fight being over and Snatcher not being dead (again?), the guilt that later consumed you was terrible. Even though it wasn’t you fighting him, even though you were being controlled against your will by that “Moonjumper” person, you couldn’t help but feel that this was all your fault.

You had tried to sleep earlier, but sleep was impossible. You were so caught up in feelings of guilt and worry that you ended up getting out of bed after a few hours to go check on your friend. But on your way to his tree, you passed the area where you had fought and...everything came rushing back.

So now you’re just standing in the middle of the clearing, biting your lip and trying to pretend that there aren’t tears streaming down your face.

“Kid! Please help!” A Subconite’s voice shocks you out of your thoughts. Their voice sounds desperate. You get a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach—you can already tell what’s wrong. The minion crashes into the clearing, landing on their face. They pop up instantly, looking panicked.

“Boss is not getting better!”

You knew it!

You give them a curt nod to show you heard them and activate the sprint hat, heading off in the direction of Snatcher’s tree, running as fast as you can.

Soon you reach his tree and bolt inside. You see Snatcher, still in his chair. He seems to be asleep, with his eyes closed tightly, but his pained expression suggests otherwise. You take a careful step towards him and peer at the dark wounds scattered across his spectral form.

Wait...dark?

Upon closer inspection, many of the shallower cuts healed, including the big stab wound in his abdomen. But the cracks from the big explosion… they don’t have his yellow glow anymore. Instead, they’re a necrotic black and oozing along the ghost’s damaged arm and side.

For some reason, you reach out and lightly brush a hand over one of the cracks, which you instantly regret. Snatcher jolts, letting out a pained whine.

“I’m so sorry!” you apologize instantly. Why did you think that was a good idea? He looks like he’s in even more pain than he was two days ago!

He cracks open his tired eyes to look at you.

“Hey, kiddo...” he breathes weakly. “Looks like it’s taking more time than usual.”

“Snatcher, this is really bad!” you exclaim, motioning to his wounds. Something about it is familiar. You could swear you’ve seen this black rot somewhere before.

“Ugh, tell me about it…” he winces, letting out a shuddering sigh. ”I can’t feel my right side, or move my arm. The pain got so much worse...”

You stare at him for a few moments, then you reach out and take his good hand.

“We are going to my ship.” You gently pull his hand.

Snatcher opens his mouth to protest, but quickly closes it. You can tell that he knows it’s not just a regular injury. It’s hurting him a lot more than he’s letting on. It’s clear that he has no idea what are you going to do, but a silent understanding passes between the two of you: it’s better than nothing.

So Snatcher slowly rises from his chair, wincing and gasping from the pain, and giving you a nod.

You nod back and activate the magic that connects you to your ship, and, in a few seconds, you are standing in the main room. You carefully lead him to your bedroom. Upon entering, you drop his hand and look around, trying to deduce where he can rest until you notice him on the floor. He’s laying on his back, completely still.

The floor is covered in soft carpet, but it’s not the best place for a sick person to rest. You might at least try to move him onto the pillow mound.

“That’s better.” he croaks, relaxing for a bit before you could say anything. It seems like being in this position hurts him a great deal less. You walk over the mound, grabbing a few pillows and carefully placing him under his head.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “Do you know what's happening to me?”

“Not exactly, but I have an idea!” you jump into the pillow mound and squirm into your secret fort. Your gaze falls onto the small bookcase stuffed with your favorite books. Quickly scanning though titles, you find what you’re looking for, grabbing the book and emerging back to your room.

Snatcher stares at the book. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“‘How to Treat Injuries and Sickness of Energoids,’” you reply, opening the book as you settle near him.

“Energoid?” Snatcher tilts his head.

“That’s what you are!” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe. Well, it is obvious for you; for him, though…

“Kid, I’m a gh—”

“Yes, and ghosts are energoids, scientifically speaking. You are made of energy! And what’s more, you are an energoid with an inner core!” you interrupt him, pointing at the middle of his chest, where you can feel his warm core pulsing when he hugs you. Snatcher stares at you in surprise, while idly drawing circles on his chest with his good hand. He sighs, not arguing with you about it.

“I think I saw something is this book before that looks like the black rot that you’ve got.” You flip through the pages, scanning for symptoms matching Snatcher’s. In few minutes you finally stumble upon something that looks similar.

As you read carefully, your heart drops.

“Kid, don't leave me in the dark, yeah?” Snatcher's voice startles you. You look at him worriedly. Right, he must have at least some idea of what's going on.

“A-alright...it’s called Stagnation.” You pause, looking at him again. He frowns, and yes, this sounds like nothing good. You take a deep breath and proceed to read the information presented in the book.

“Stagnation is a condition that prevents inner energy from circulating inside an energoid’s body. It’s usually caused by massive damage that destroys the connection between injured areas and the core.

“When this happens, the energy exchange between the affected area and the core ceases, forcing the remaining inner energy near wound become stagnated. In this scenario affected wounds cannot be healed. The stagnated energy begins oozing thought the wound, “rotting” outer energy layers (that still responds to the core) in the process and causing intense pain.”

You stare at the book, than look at Snatcher. Now you can see that cracks are indeed bigger than before...and they’re spreading, albeit slowly. Now properly horrified, you continue to read.

“If Stagnation is left untreated, the best-case scenario is that the energoid’s core will shed stagnated body parts. It’ll stop illness from spreading, but the patient won’t regenerate those lost parts. In the worst-case scenario, the Stagnation will spread, taking over the entire body. The core will decay, resulting in...in death.”

Your eyes are wide with shock and horror. You turn to Snatcher; his expression matches yours for a moment before he winces in pain, shutting his eyes. You grab his left hand, holding it tight.

This is awful! If you won’t do something, Snatcher either will lose his arm and side permanently, or die!

“I’m so sorry, Snatcher, it’s all my fault!” you are crying, feeling like the worst person alive for hurting your best friend so badly.

“Stop!” he hisses. “It wasn’t your fault! You were under HIS control!”

Snatcher lifts his arm you are holding and pulls you to his chest, then places it onto your back, rubbing comforting circles. You feel his core racing under you—he’s as scared as you are.

You sigh heavily. You know you were under someone’s control, but you still feel guilty. You had no idea you were capable of such destruction! If only you had known...

“Is there a treatment?” Snatcher sounds almost calm despite the pain and the urgent situation. You sniff, wiping your tears with your sleeve, and look into the book once more.

Thankfully, the treatment is written right there!

“Treat—” a sob interrupted you. You muffle it into the back of your hand and keep it there until you’ve composed yourself. ”Treatment for Stagnation includes using Beacon Needles and rest. It’s advised for the patient to not move too much as the needles repair their inner energy network.”

“Beacon Needles...” you repeat, this sounds so familiar.

A memory surfaces in your mind.

Between your visits to Earth, you went to other planets to collect scattered Timepieces. One planet was inhabited by advanced water based energoid species. They were very nice, giving you Timepieces without fight or bargain. One of them was curious about you, asking about your adventures and places you’ve been as they were intergalactic adventurer themself.

At some point you told them about Subcon and Snatcher.

“Wow, this guy seem reckless if you ask me.” they hummed.” I hope he has Beacon Needles in case of bad situations.”

“Beacon Needles?” you tilted your head, curious what they're talking about.

“Yes! Like these!” they pulled out the case their inventory and open it. Inside was a set of needles: one is big, resting in the middle, surrounded by ten smaller ones. Each one had a small panel on top with white crystal inserted into it. The middle one had few small buttons. You assumed this is how you turn on the device.

“No, I never seen anything like it when I visited him.”

“I see.” they said, closing the case and suddenly handling it to you.

“What?” you look surprised as you took it.

“Your friend must have a set of those, or he’ll die very easily.” they sounded dead serious. You stare at the case for a moment. Well, it won’t hurt. But...

“What about you?”

“Oh don’t worry, child. Those needles are common, it’s not a problem for me to get another set.” They winked at you. “Now, let me explain to you how they work!”

“Thank you!” you smiled.

You reach into your pocket dimension and pull out the case. You open it and see the same set of needles. You can’t believe you forgot about them! You were going to give the case to Snatcher as soon as you arrived, but then you got caught in this accident and well…

You shake your head, no time for moping!

You take the biggest one into your hand and push the button. You hear a sound and the crystal top lights up, signaling that device is turned on.

Hopeful smile appear on your face - Snatcher has a chance!

“Whoa, kiddo, slow down! Do you know how to use them? What they even do?! ” Snatcher rumbled nervously about unknown device in your hand.

“Of course! The person who gave me this explained everything.” you moved closer to Snatcher, showing him the needle. “Those needles beacons the inner energy from the core to areas where your core cannot access anymore.”

Snatcher looks closely at the device, his face is partly suspicious, party curious.

“So, what are you going to do?” he asks, concern filling his voice.

“This one is main needle, it receives the energy from the core and redirected it to smaller ones. It need to insert it close to your core as possible.”

“And by “inserting” you mean piecing it through my body?” Snatcher points out, wincing again.

“Oh…!” you didn't realise it, even though those things are literally big needles! You have you poke them through his outer energy layers. It’s gonna hurt! Unless…

You grab the book and flip through the pages to find anything about energoid’s anesthesia. Peck, you probably should have looked this up first to elevate his pain!

Soon you stumble across it.

“Anesthesia can be performed with various methods: using electromagnetic pulse, using any sense based magic spells or the patient themself can reach out for their core and temporarily shut down their senses.” you read it out loud.

You frown, you don’t have anything to produce EMP or know any magic spells...

“Snatcher, can you do it? I don't have anything else!”

“I have no idea!” he hissed again, both at pain and frustration.” I didn’t know I could do something like it,... but I guess I could try.”

He closed his eyes and concentrated. You sit in silence for a few minutes that seems like an eternity. Then Snatcher sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“You know what, do it now!” he suddenly said with resolve in his voice.

“What?!” you yelled, surprised by the volume of your voice.”But it’s gonna hurt! You are in pain already! Can you try aga—”

“We have no time, kid!” he interrupted you.” By the time I’ll figure this out, I’ll probably lose my arm or worse!”

You sniff as new tears are gathering in your eyes. You don’t wanna bring him any more pain, but you have no choice.

Snatcher moves his left hand, then places index finger on his chest, right below his mane. “Here.”

You’re holding the needle with both hands, gently placing it’s sharp tip on the spot and getting ready to push it inside. You look at Snatcher one more time. He slowly nods, bracing himself.

You took a deep breath and push...The needle didn’t go inside. You try a couple more times, but for unknown reason you don’t have enough strength to break thought surface tension. You growl in frustration as you keep trying. Snatcher moved his arm, hovering it close to the needle.

“Let me hel—AUGH!” he yelps.

“AGH!” you squeak.

The needle suddenly went inside, startling both of you. Only the crystal part remains outside. In second later it picked up onto Snatcher’s core energy, now the crystal is burning with blue flame.

“Snatcher, how are you?” we placed your hand on his forehead in an attempt to comfort him.

“I..well, I expected it to hurt a lot more to be honest.” Snatcher said with relief. The blue flame dancing on his chest, it looks so pretty! Curious, you carefully reached toward the flame, it’s so warm and it doesn't burn?!

“Yeah, the soul flame doesn't burn anything on it’s own. I need to will it into destruction.” he explained, noticing your puzzled expression.

You smile again, no wonder Snatcher’s hugs are so warm and nice.

Sadly, you are not done. You reach for the case, taking smaller needle into your hands.

“Now I need to insert small ones into your wounded parts…” you winced, looks at his oozing injuries.”It’s gonna hurt... a lot! ”

Your expression somber as you move to his right arm. Like before, you gently place it’s tip in top on wounded surface, but this time Snatcher gasped in pain. Again, you look at him in silent question if he’s ready.

“Do it kid.” he grimaces, bracing himself for the worst.

“I’m sorry, I will be quick!” you said and pushed the needle into his palm. It went inside much easier...But scream of pain shook the air in the bedroom. You turn around to see Snatcher squirming in pain, gasping for air. His tail hitting the floor with such force you feel it might break you if you’ll be in its way.

You quickly get up and rush to the left side, then you sat and hugged his head. He’s trembling like leaf in the wind, breathing heavily as you try your best to comfort him. In a minute he calmed down a bit, but his expression was filled with pain.

Peck, peck, peck! It was only one, but you have nine to go! This is gonna be absolue torture. You nuzzle his face, repeating “sorry” over and over.

“Ke...p goin…” he breathes, his voice shaking.

You stand up and take the entire case, walking to the right side again. You set case on the floor, taking the next one. You set it above where his wrist would be. Then push. You try your best to not listening to Snatcher's agonized wails and his tails smacking the floor. You wait for him to calm down before inserting another one. You kept repeating the same process, until you reached his shoulder. The next needle does in. Suddenly, you noticed how silent room was.

You eyes widened in fear, panic is filling your mind.

Did he died?!

No, if he died his body would disintegrate, leaving the empty core behind. You place your hand onto his chest to check the pulse. His core still beating, so he must have passed out from all this pain.

Poor Snatcher...but at least he won’t feel anything now.

With that you proceed to his right side, inserting remaining needles. When you finished, you stood up to take look at the whole thing. You can see the main needle burning bright. Small ones started to picking up the signal from it as well

Looks like it’s working! Now you have to wait, but for how long?

You walked to the book and open it again. Maybe there’s something you can do to speed the healing up.

The book says you can make it easier if you put the patient near their element or provide the right temperature.

Snatcher is fire based energoid. While you can’t put him in fire, you can surround him with warmth!

In few minutes, Snatcher was covered in multiple layers of warm blankets, only the top of his head and closed eyes are poking out of them.

That’s all you can do right now. Hoping for the best, you collapse into your bed, completely exhausted.

In the next two days, you kept checking on his arm. Healing is slow, but you can see that most of stagnated energy were renewed, filling cracked surface with yellow glow again. The cracks closest to the main needle are almost healed.

“Kid?” muffled voice got your attention. Snatcher was looking at you with sleepy eyes.

“Hey,” you said softly, moving closer to him.” How are you?”

“Better, it’s not hurting so much anymore.” he lets out a content sigh.

Yes, he is getting better, you can't help but smile widely

“That’s great!” you barely can hold your excitement, but do it anyway. You don’t want to overwhelm your friend.”You probably should go back to sleep.”

He sinks into blankets, then look at you again.

“I‘m hungry…” he mumbled, sounding embarrassed.

Oh...oh right, Snatcher needs energy from outside sources, especially now as he recovers from heavy damage. Yes, energy beings have to eat too. He eats souls right? But how you will get one? You don't want to go around and kill people to be honest, but what can you do?!

A sudden realization hits you...Snatcher used to be an organic lifeform before he become what he is now! You rush towards the table and spot another book, “Classification of Energoids”. Soon you’ve found an info that confirms your thoughts.

There is a specific type of energy beings, that used to be different lifeforms until they went into conversion. This process can be triggered by various reasons, mostly in order to survive.

Now to think about it, Snatcher, scientifically speaking , didn’t die in the cellar, but “evolved” or something like this. Same goes to other ghosts in Subcon: dwellers, who are energoids with outer cores; Snatcher’s minions - energoids wearing material shells; Vaneesa is like Snatcher as it seems.

All of them used to be different lifeforms!

One of the distinctive traits that those guys have is the fact they can keep relying on previous energy source after the conversion, despite being made of energy themselves.

That makes things much, much easier!

You close the book and run to the kitchen. You look for a pie that Cooking Cat made you for today in the morning. Quickly you take it and return to the bedroom. You offer it to Snatcher. Confused, his gaze darts between the pie and you.

“You can consume food!” you exclaimed happily!

“What? No way!” he looks at pie in disbelief, it smells delicious.” Is your smart alien books says so?”

“Yep. Try it!” you’re insist.

With a groan, he wiggles from the blankets and takes the pie from you. He hesitates for a bit before taking a bite. His eyes widen in surprise.

“Fhat’s delifious!” he spoke with mouthful of pie. You giggle at his reaction, looks like can feel it’s taste as well. Then he swallowed it and froze in place.

“Okay, that was weird!” he said, staring at the pie like it about to reveal all the secrets of the Universe.”It felt like it just turned into energy immediately...”

“Yeah, it’s because energy and matter are the same thing and convert into one another.” you explained.”So it’s totally normal!”

Snatcher shrugged and continued eating the pie.

“Isn’t this amazing, you don’t have to eat souls anymore!” you can’t resist but comment on this. That made Snatcher choke, even thought you have no idea how, but it happened!

“Is this what you planning, huh?! To turn me in your friendly neighborhood ghost?” he sounded irritated, but you can hear mirth in his voice. You start giggling, he’s such “soon-deh-ray”!

“First you infect me with morals, making me soft, now this!” he keeps complaining as he devours the rest of the pie while you’re laughing on the floor. You missed those interactions so much, you are glad he’s getting better.

After finishing the pie he falls back to sleep.

You keep repeating the same cycle for a week now. Once in two days Snatcher wakes up and eat the food you bring him, then falls asleep. He finally had bacon in centuries, that actually made him cry for a bit. Then he ate some of your food, surprisingly liking the tentacle burger. You brought him some food from the Metro as well.

Needless to say, when he discovered he can consume normal food, he became excited to taste something new! You can tell how much he missed eating normal food.

Even though now Snatcher don't know what to do with intruders. The food is more satisfying, he says he doesn't want to eat souls anymore. But still he doesn want intruders to walk around Subcon like they own a place!

“Oh, I know! You can make you contractors to bring you new food~!” you grinned at him, this plan sounds perfect to you!

“Of course, what if they’ll try to poison me?” he huffed in annoyance.

“Psssh, come on, Snatcher, anything converts inside you, even poison. It won’t affect you at all.” you’re giggling again. You can’t help, but his ignorance on this subject is so amusing sometimes.” Peck, you can even drink acid and you’ll be totally fine!””

“Language, young lady!” he said in stern fatherly tone. He is acting more like guardian rather than friend lately. That makes you happy, you don't have anyone to take care of you after all.

After a short pause he spoke again.“You know that’s actually good...even though I’m not sure if I ever be willing to find out what acid tastes like.”

You both burst into laughter.

You also didn't forget to drop in Subcon; making sure that this Moonjumper person isn’t tyrin to take over the forest, telling Snatcher’s minions that their boss is recovering and will be back soon. They were so happy to hear good news!

You woke up and stretch.

It’s been two more days after this fun acid conversation. Still in pajamas, you want to check on Snatcher. You have a feeling he’s gonna be fully healed soon.

You get up and see something that instantly wakes you up.

Snatcher is sitting on the floor, stretching his right arm! You don’t see any cracks anymore as he moves it freely. You noticed Beacon Needles being placed back into case- Snatcher must pulled them out himself.

Noticing your footsteps, he turned around to see you. His grinning at you.

“Hey, kiddo, check this out!” with those words he ignites his hand, brilliant blue soul fire is burning bright. He can use magic with this hand as well!

Snatcher is officially recovered from Stagnation!

You jump into his arms, he catches you and cradling you close to his chest. You both are hugging each other tight, relieved that this nightmare was finally over!

“Thank you so much!” he whispers into your ear as he affectionately caressed the back of your head.”I don’t know what I would do without you!”

“I’m so happy you’re okay!” you’re almost crying, nuzzling his neck.

You both sat like this for a while, then Snatcher pulled away bit. Then he pickled up “How to Treat Injuries and Sickness of Energoinds” from the floor.

“Can I borrow this book?” he asks, waving the book in his hand. “Looks like there is a lot of things I need to learn about myself.”

“Of course! And I can give you “Classification of Energoids” as well!” you beamed at him. Good thing you taught him your language.“Alright, let’s get some breakfast!”

“Yep.” he responded and placed the book on the table. Then he floated, still holding you in his hands, towards the kitchen.

Finally, both of you can relax.

#a hat in time #au of convergence #au of au yes #lol #my fanfics #snatcher #hat kid

107 notes · View notes

kpophours · 6 years ago

Text

A Walk Home (M)

➵ SF9: Rowoon x fem. reader / one shot, college AU / fluff, smut

➵ warnings: explicit mentions of sex (oral: giving, fingering), mentions of alcohol, slight cursing

➵ word count: 5.3k

A heartfelt laugh and shining eyes.

That’s what he notices the first time Rowoon sees you.

Tousled hair being impatiently pushed back over one shoulder and out of an open, attractive face.

Fluttering hands gesturing widely, more laughs until you throw your head back, giggling uncontrollably.

You're vibrant and energetic.

Warm and open.

You feel like a breath of fresh air on the stuffy afternoon Rowoon meets you for the first time.

Rowoon’s tall frame is the first thing you see out of the corner of your eye.

Tall and dangly, arms and legs that seem too long to fit anywhere properly.

A jawline sharper than any blade, dark smoldering eyes – and a smile so inviting and open that you can’t help but immediately feel at ease around him.

He uses one hand to push his black hair away from the forehead, a hint of impatience to that gesture. When he sees you looking, he grins - he knows he’s handsome, but doesn’t seem to care about it.

“There they are!”, Jaeyoon says when he spots his two friends just entering the café, “Late as always.”

“Punctuality is a virtue.”, you sigh, taking a careful sip of your steaming coffee.

“One we do not own, I’m afraid.”, Rowoon says, having overheard the last bits of conversation and grinning apologetically at you and Jaeyoon.

“Yeah, I’m sure we make an amazing first impression.”, Youngbin sighs, slipping onto the bench beside you, the chair opposite you now the only available space left for Rowoon.

You just grin. “Don’t worry, I have a lot of friends who hold other virtues, too.”

"Well without further ado, let me finally introduce these two – Rowoon and Youngbin, two of my closest friends and roommates. Guys, this is Y/N.”

Both men smile at the you and you respond in kind.

“Nice to finally meet you.”, Youngbin says, while Rowoon nods in agreement.

“Likewise – Jaeyoon has told me a lot about you. So.... You will help us with our genius idea?”, you ask, propping your chin onto one hand and regarding both, curiosity sparkling in your eyes.

“Well, we will try.”, Youngbin quickly dampens your excitement, “We’re no geniuses on the programming side.”

“Speak for yourself.”, Rowoon jumps in, raising one eyebrow in a silent challenge.

“Are you telling me you’ve become a programming genius over night now?”, the older man with the bright red hair asks, grinning a bit condescending.

“Who knows - I have many hidden talents.”

“Dancing the Macarena while balancing a glass of beer on top of your head does not count as a hidden talent, just so you know.”, Jaeyoon intercepts, making you laugh.

“Oh, I’ve definitely got to see that!”, you say brightly, dimples showing.

“Well, we’re having a party at our place this weekend, come over and you might get to see it.”, Youngbin proposes.

“Sounds good. Is it alright if I bring my best friend along with me?”

“No need - I live there too, so I’m already invited.”, Jaeyoon says confidently, making you roll your eyes.

“You are not my best friend, Yoon.”

He fake gasps. “I’m not?! But what about us, what about everything we’ve been throu-”

“I swear to god, you need to stop watching High School Musical.”, you whine, punching him lightly on the arm and making him pout.

“But they are cinematic masterpieces!”

“They are not. Seriously, you are so weird!”

“That’s why you love me."

"I most certainly do not.”

“I know you do and I love you, too. So, back to business then.” And with that, he looks at his two friends, who observe your bantering with amused faces.

The jokes continue through the whole afternoon, which marks the beginning of a new, blossoming friendship.

The four of you manage to plan quite a few things for the app you and Jaeyoon envision for your university project. If everything works out (which it will) you will get a high, if not the highest grade for this.

You come with your roommate/best friend to the party.

There, you show off your skills at beer-pong, destroying the youngest of the bunch of men living together named Hwiyoung and Chani with the help of Zuho, another of Jayeoon’s roommates; you can’t help but laugh at their shocked faces.

After that, Dawon calls for a round of shots, making you even more drunk which finally results in you showing off your (non-existent) dancing skills. Taeyang and Youngbin rescue you from the dance floor before you can hurt yourself (or someone else) with your flailing arms and legs. Rowoon and Jaeyoon have tears in their eyes from laughing too much at you, but you don't even mind. You obviously already know about your poor dancing skills, but are way too drunk to care.

When the night is old – or the morning young? – you sit outside with Inseong, having dreamy talks about politics and a better society. By then, you have finally begun to drink water; thanks to that, the alcohol is beginning to wear off. Your best friend is already back home, having drunken a little too much too fast and therefore decided to sleep it off.

After the party, you quickly become a regular at the young men’s house: many game as well as movie nights are spent cuddled together on mattresses and under blankets with popcorn and wine, even more are spent with Rowoon in the kitchen trying to improve your cooking skills or with Inseong on the porch discussing politics; sometimes you just sit in their living room, quietly reading one of your novels beside Youngbin - and once in a blue moon you even try to play some computer games with Hwiyoung and Chani (you're really bad at those, making them laugh at you).

It takes a few weeks before the men begin to notice that they don’t seem to remember a time before you. Especially Rowoon, who - along with Jaeyoon and Inseong - is closest to you, doesn’t want to imagine his life without you anymore. He doesn’t know it yet (or maybe he doesn’t want to acknowledge it) but he’s falling for you, ever day (and night) a bit more.

It’s movie night again and you're currently in the kitchen, helping Rowoon to prepare different dips for the ridiculous amount of chips already waiting with the others in the living room.

“Something’s still missing.”, Rowoon complains, tasting the guacamole he’s trying to make again.

You chuckle. “That’s just because you’re a perfectionist. The others won’t notice anything missing, I promise you that. Their taste is not… refined enough for that.”

He grumbles something unintelligible, scooping some guacamole onto his finger to taste it yet again, but before he can put it in his own mouth, you beat him to it, quickly licking his finger clean.

His heart stops and you giggle at his shocked expression. “Some more garlic, that’s what’s missing.”

With that, you playfully wink at him, take some of the already finished dips and leave the kitchen – Rowoon still standing shell-shocked in the same position, not having moved a single muscle.

When you’re gone, he takes a deep, shaky breath.

This is not good.

He should not feel his heart beating this fast – shouldn’t feel the lust spreading through his whole body, making him ache for more, leaving him hot and needy.

”Hyung, are you coming or not?”, Hwiyoung yells, breaking the spell a bit. Rowoon quickly drowns a cold glass of water, before taking the now finished guacamole and entering the living room, where everyone else is already assembled.

“There you are. We’ve already decided on a movie without you, by the way.”, Chani says, already munching on some chips. Rowoon ruffles his hair, making the younger man flinch and complain: “Hyung, don’t!”

He just grins, plopping down beside you onto one of the mattresses laid out on the floor – it’s the only available space left, a fact that makes him frown. Jaeyoon sports a shit-eating grin and Zuho shoots him a wink, so he knows they did this on purpose.

So… they know.

Just to prove them wrong, Rowoon scoots as far away from you as possible without falling off the mattress.

You don't even seem to notice, too involved into a banter over who gets the last blanket with Dawon. After everyone’s finally settled (you having gotten the blanket from Dawon, who’s now fake-sulking beside you with his arms crossed), Youngbin shuts off the lights and hits play on the first movie.

All you can hear besides the munching of chips and popcorn is the opening music of “The Nun”.

“Why are we watching a horror movie again?”, Zuho finally mutters, blanket already pulled up to his nose with only his eyes left visible.

Hwiyoung snorts. “Because we voted for it, hyung. You know, democratically.”

“Starting tonight, I’m completely against democracy. Can I quickly install a regime of monarchy with me as King? And change the movie?”

“Nope.”

A deep sigh follows the denial of his request, but after that, Zuho is silent. You gently pat his leg (the only limb you're able reach as he’s sitting directly above you on one of the sofas). “Just close your eyes when it’s getting too silent during the movie. That’s where they always place some jump scares.”

“Wow, thanks. What great advice!”

You just grin and shrug. “Always happy to help.”

After that, no one talks, everyone silently enjoying the movie (or not completely silent in case of Zuho and Dawon, who seem to scream during every jump scare); all are happily munching on the snacks.

During the second movie (this one another genre thanks to Zuho threatening to leave the movie night early otherwise), the first ones begin to fall asleep; first Youngbin, then Jaeyoon and finally Inseong and Zuho. Chani and Hwiyoung complain about the older ones, making fun of their inner grandpas, but Rowoon shushes them with one look. Dawon is the first one to leave, having gotten a call from another friend inviting him to a spontaneous party only a few blocks away. Chani and Hwiyoung finally retreat to their shared room as well, preferring to play some video games over watching a third movie.

When the next movie begins, you and Rowoon are the only ones left - not counting the sleeping ones still sprawled on the mattresses and sofas.

A third of the movie has gone by when your eyes begin to droop, too. By then, Rowoon has long given up on keeping some space between you as you have offered him half the blanket to share. Your legs are pressed against each other, hands touching too often to still call it accidental.

When your head drops down onto Rowoon’s shoulder, he uses his chance and slides one arm around you. Your response is immediate: you sigh, cuddling even closer and burrowing both hands into his soft cotton shirt.

Your eyes are still closed, but Rowoon feels your fast beating heart thanks to your body being closely pressed to his.

You're not sleeping but are too shy to open your eyes, the closeness to Rowoon so thrilling and exciting – and so new. You don’t want to ruin this moment, afraid to shatter it with confessing you being actually awake. But when you feel Rowoon’s lips on your forehead, you can’t keep pretending anymore. You lift your head and look at him with curious eyes, noticing the soft, loving expression on his face. Time seems frozen with you gazing at each other, hearts beating fast, hands becoming clammy.

Then, Rowoon’s gaze drops to your lips.

Your breathing stops for a second, your heart beginning to hammer uncontrollably, making you dizzy. It’s been too long since you've felt like this, like a teenage girl being in love for the first time.

Weeks of stolen glances, not so accidental touches, casual nearly-dates (sometimes with, sometimes without the other men) and many stupid inside jokes have cumulated to this moment – Rowoon face slowly nearing yours.

Thoughts run through his head that this, THIS is the moment he’s been waiting and hoping for - for so, so long, for weeks – months really…

He sees you close your eyes, hands loosening the hold on his shirt and wandering upwards to curl into the hair at the base of his neck, but before he can close his eyes as well and finally kiss you – he hears someone yawning, blankets begin to rustle and limbs to move.

Both of you immediately jump away from one another, Rowoon quickly snatching his arm back from around your smaller frame and you taking both hands back into your lap, interlacing your trembling fingers.

Cheeks burning, breaths halting, both of you plaster your eyes to the screen in front of you, hearts hammering fast and unsteady.

“What year is it?”, Jaeyoon groans from above you, sitting up.

When Rowoon and you turn around to look at him, you can’t stop a giggle coming from you – he looks too adorable with his hair sticking out in every direction, remains of sleep and dreams still evident in his eyes.

“It’s 2050, welcome to the future.”, you answer, making your friend groan again.

“Don’t make fun of me. I hate drifting off during movie nights.”

“Shouldn’t have stayed up all night playing Overwatch with the maknaes, then.”, Rowoon chides his roommate, one eyebrow raised.

“Thanks, mom.”, Jaeyoon grumbles, flinging a pillow towards the tall man. Rowoon quickly ducks, giggling at his friend’s antics.

“Just go to bed, Yoon.”, you simply say, but he shakes his head.

“And leave you two alone? Who knows what you’ll be doing! No, I can’t be that irresponsible.”, he counters, smile wicked when he observes you two, noticing your red cheeks and not so subtle looks towards each other. Jaeyoon knows you two are head over heels for each other, but he also knows neither has done anything about the more than obvious crush (obvious to him and the others at least). He loves teasing you, so he stays where he is - wouldn’t make it too easy for either of you.

You just sigh, turn around and gaze at the screen again. “I think I’ll head home after this movie.”, you finally murmur, eyelids getting heavy again.

“I’ll walk you home.”, Rowoon immediately offers.

You smile sleepily at him. “Thanks.”

With that, silence falls over the room again, but this time it feels heavy – both Rowoon and you are way too aware of Jaeyoon watching you.

The kiss that hasn’t happened is hanging above you like the sword of Damocles.

Half an hour later, the movie ends and you immediately stand up – a bit too quickly apparently, as your head begins to spin. “Oof.”, you huff, trying to find something to hold onto and finding it in Rowoon’s arm.

“Careful.”, he murmurs in a teasing undertone, eyes sparkling with humor.

“Oh, shut up.”, you counter weakly, dampening your words with a soft smile. Jaeyoon stands up as well, stretching both arms above his head and yawns. Inseong, Zuho and Youngbin are still out like a light and you three are intending to keep it that way, tiptoeing out of the living room and into the dark hallway. You quickly grab your shoes and leather jacket and are almost out of the door, when two arms cage around you.

“Not so fast.”, Jaeyoon says playfully, hugging you tightly to himself, “You can’t just leave without saying goodbye to your best friend.”

You giggle. “You’re not my best friend, Yoon.”

You both know it’s a blatant lie by now, but it’s a game you both like to play.

“I know I am. Love you, sleep well, have sweet dreams and I’ll probably see you tomorrow.” With that, he releases you again, but this time you turn around and smile. “Same, same, same and yes.” You kiss his cheek and leave the house – Rowoon already waiting for you on the street, also clad in a leather jacket.

He looks way too good in a leather jacket, you conclude, burying both hands in your pockets so they don’t go wandering in search of others to hold.

Rowoon smiles sleepily at you, pushing his dark hair back from his forehead.

He looks way too good with his hair like this, you think again and groan inwardly. He looks way too good in every aspect, you're tired of lying to yourself – you're hopelessly in love with the tall, dorky man.

You walk in silence towards the apartment you're sharing with your (other) best friend, who's currently out of town visiting some relatives this weekend. You curse her for it; you could’ve really used her to talk about what happened but didn’t happen with Rowoon tonight. And you would rather eat a broomstick than talk to Jaeyoon about this – you can already imagine his smug expression. You know he knows about your crush. You have the feeling all the other men know about it – but Rowoon is too oblivious apparently.

Or maybe he does know about your crush as well, but doesn’t want to acknowledge it – because he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship.

Or because he’s just not into you.

Or because-

“What are you thinking about?”, Rowoon asks, voice laced with amusement, “It looks like hard work.” He points at the lines forming on your forehead thanks to the frown you're currently sporting.

You're silent, unusually so. Normally, your walks are filled with bantering or deep talks or - well, anything, really. You have a connection like this, where you always have something to talk about. Now though, you don't really seem to be here with him – and you’ve almost reached your apartment.

“Sorry, I’m just tired.”, Rowoon hears you murmur, smiling at him, but he sees right through it.

“Mhm.”, he just makes, continuing to look at you out of the corner of his eye.

Five minutes later, you’ve arrived at your doorstep. The sky is still pitch-black, only a few stars twinkle lazily down at you. It’s cold enough for your breaths to form tiny white clouds in front of you.

Rowoon looks at you, but you’re pointedly not looking at him. “Y/N.”, he says softly and you finally gaze up at him. Uncertainty fills your eyes, something uncommon for one of the most confident people he knows.

“Thanks for walking me home.”, you finally answer, the corner of your mouth curling upwards into the tiniest of smiles. As if he hasn’t walked you home hundreds of times by now - but you still continue to always thank him.

“Well, you can walk me home again now. And then I’ll walk you home again. And so on and so on - that way we can spend more time together.”, Rowoon suggests jokingly, making you smile in earnest this time. And that does it for him – that beautiful smile he came to love weeks (months, really) ago, with the dimples in your cheeks and the small creases around your sparkling eyes.

He steps forward, arms sliding around your smaller frame, head lowering towards yours and then – finally – his lips are on yours.

You have thought about this moment for days, weeks – months by now. And when Rowoon’s soft, plush lips are finally on yours, your heart just stops for a few seconds before beginning to hammer inside your chest.

It’s a sweet, soft, chaste kiss.

... At first.

Because the months of build-up it had taken for you both to finally admit to this, apparently have an impact: you slide both arms around Rowoon’s neck, pressing your body even closer to his, moaning softly against this lips. That does it for him, his teeth sink into your lower lip, gently biting down and when you gasp a bit, his tongue slips into your mouth. Desire shoots through your body, hot and needy and you can’t suppress the shudder and louder moan this time. Rowoon groans at this, pressing you even harder against him and grinding against you.

At this, you break away from him, breathing heavily. “I-”, he already wants to apologize, but you don’t even let him finish: “We should take this inside.”

He stutters and looks at you with comically big eyes, before beginning to grin wickedly. “After you, then.”

Your hands tremble slightly while you search for your keys – why did you choose a bag this large for today?! – and Rowoon pressing himself against your backside, hands roaming your sides while his breath tickles your exposed neck, isn't helping at all.

Finally, you manage to find the keys, slip them inside the keyhole and then, you’re inside the house.

You somehow make it into the elevator without getting rid of your clothes, but as soon as the apartment door falls shut behind you both, your mouths are on one another again, teeth and tongues clashing, months of pent-up desire making your moves hurried and sloppy. Your hands slip under Rowoon’s shirt (his and your leather jacket are already on the floor beside your shoes), trembling fingers dance over his abs, making him groan and grind against you again, erection already hard and pressing into your hip.

“Bedroom.”, you just say, dragging the taller man with you into your room. Out of habit, you close the door even though your best friend/roommate isn't even here. When you turn around and gaze with hooded, lust-filled eyes at Rowoon, you see the same expression mirrored on his face, eyes roaming your body, teeth digging into his lower lip.

Lust shoots through your entire body and you feel too hot and needy to take your time. You simply grab him again - just when he pulls you back into his arms.

"You're still wearing way too many clothes.", Rowoon murmurs against your lips, making you smile.

"I could say the same.", you answer cockily, hands slipping under his shirt again and dragging it upwards. He quickly pulls it over his head and flings it into the darkness of your room, not caring where it lands.

"Your turn."

You release a deep breath at this, taking the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head. Rowoon groans when he sees your bra - black lace, nearly see-through.

"Fuck.", he mutters, hands already reaching for you to press your body against his again. He kisses you, slow and deep this time.

Your knees get weak and all you can do is hold onto Rowoon's biceps, so you don't slip to the floor.

"Still too many clothes.", the tall man finally says, when he ends the kiss, a small smirk forming on his lips.

You giggle. "Well, we should definitely change that, then." With that, you open your belt, then the button of your jeans, wriggling free and stepping out of them. Only left in your black panties and bra, you look at Rowoon, a silent challenge in your eyes. He follows it, quickly getting rid of his pants as well. His dark briefs are stretched thanks to his erection pressing almost painfully against them and when your gaze begins to wander towards them, you suck in a breath, teeth digging into your lower lip. Then, you reach for the fastening of your bra, opening it and letting the piece of clothing fall to the ground.

Rowoon swallows thickly, eyes getting even darker with desire when he sees your breasts, nipples already erect. Quickly, his lips are on yours again, arms curling around you.

You're trembling slightly, a fact that makes him hesitate. "You're okay?", he murmurs against your lips, a silent question in his eyes - do you really want this?

But you smile quickly, nodding forcefully. "More than okay, actually. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this.", you confess quietly, kissing him once.

He groans. "Thank God, me too."

With that, he takes a few steps backwards towards the bed, pulling you with him and sitting on the edge of your mattress, your body between his legs. His hands wander over your stomach, making you tremble even more. Soft kisses follow the paths of his hands, before his mouths closes over one nipple, his fingers brushing over the other one.

You moan at this, hands coming to rest on Rowoon's broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Your breathing gets louder and choppy, the waves of desire making you feel dizzy. More wetness pools between your legs and when Rowoon's free hand brushes the edge of your panties, you curse softly.

His dark eyes gaze up at you, hidden humor sparkling in them at his own teasing. This does it for you, you push him on the bed, his mouth releasing your nipple in the process. You shivers at the sudden lack of contact, but quickly begin to straddle Rowoon, kissing him deeply and grinding against his erection. He moans at this, hands digging into your hips. "Don't tease.", he murmurs, voice dark and rough, making you grin at him. "Says the right one.", you just answer, but quickly lower herself, pulling his briefs down and freeing his erection.

Seeing his length for the first time makes you gulp - his body seems to be... very proportional. He smirks at your reaction, but it quickly dies down when you take his length into your mouth.

Incoherent words leave his mouth and he closes his eyes, hands fisting into your white bedding. You're apparently very good at what you’re doing, his heavy breathing and moans telling you he's more than enjoying this. Finally, he grabs your shoulders, heaving you towards himself and kissing you hungrily. He's panting when he breaks away from you, lips swollen and hair a mess. "I- you... Jesus Christ."

You laugh at this, a mistake apparently - one second he's under you and then he's flipped you over, his tall frame hovering over you.

He kisses your neck, slowly making his way down, only stopping at your breasts for a short amount of time before pulling down your panties.

He teases the edges of your heat, before sinking one long digit inside you, making you mewl at the sensation. When his thumb lands on your swollen clit, you begin to pant, one arm thrown over your eyes, your other hand fisting into the pillow beside you. Rowoon grins wickedly at the sight in front of him, enjoying teasing you a bit too much.

"P- please.", you finally whimper, looking at him with hooded eyes, teeth digging into your own lower lip.

"Condom?", he answers almost immediately, just as impatient as you.

You open the drawer of your nightstand and seconds later, he has already rolled the condom over his length, positioning himself in front of you.

"You're sure?", he murmurs, one eyebrow raised, making you roll your eyes at him. That does it for him - he grins, rolling his hips once and entering you swiftly.

You moan at the sudden sensation of him filling you, nails digging into his biceps until he's bottoming out. He stays still for some seconds, letting you adjust to his length buried deep inside of you.

"Okay?", he whispers gently against your lips and you nod forcefully, kissing him hungrily. He begins to set a slow pace at first, but you quickly demand him to move faster.

Pounding into you, one hand slipping between your flushed bodies to rub your clit, he makes both of you moan in pleasure.

It doesn't take long for you to begin to shake and clench around him, making it harder for him to hold back, his movements becoming sloppier with every second. You’re both breathing hard and when you finally cry out in complete pleasure, he releases the hold on him as well, groaning and moving a few last times, before coming to a halt.

Face buried in your neck, Rowoon is panting, eyes closed and heart beating frantically.

You slide your arms around his broad frame, gently caressing his bare back and kissing his exposed shoulder.

"That was amazing.", you finally murmur, voice tired but pleased.

Rowoon grins at that, gently pulling out of you and rolling off the bed. "More than amazing.", he confirms, standing up and tossing the condom into the trash bin.

You wrap the blanket around your naked body, eyes heavy and hair spilling over the white pillows. He smiles at you, gaze soft.

"You're staying?", you ask in a small voice, one hand reaching for him.

"Yes.", he simply says, slipping back between the covers, gently pulling you against him.

You fall asleep like this - legs entangled, Rowoon's hand softly stroking your back, your nose pressed into his neck.

You sleep deeply and dreamlessly.

The pale morning light filtering through the blinds and into your room wakes Rowoon the next day; you’re still soundly asleep beside him.

Your eyelids flutter from time to time and you mumble something incoherent, but otherwise it's completely silent inside the apartment - time seems frozen.

The dark-haired man continues to gaze at you, eyes soft, a small smile playing on his lips.

He can't believe that last night really happened, but his and your naked body as well as the still fresh memory in his mind are more than proof of it.

You shift slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around your body.

Your hair is fanning over the white pillows and you look so breathtakingly beautiful, so vulnerable, that Rowoon wants to take a picture to treasure this moment forever - he doesn't though.

Instead, he silently slips out of bed and pulls on his dark briefs and white shirt, before stepping into the hallway. He quickly makes his way towards the kitchen and drinks some water straight from the tab, before going to the bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror, noticing the smile he simply can't seem to suppress. He hasn't been that happy in a long time.

When you wake up, you're alone in bed. Still half asleep, you reach over to touch the other side of the mattress, noticing the still lingering warmth.

So Rowoon can't be gone for long.

You groan slightly, reaching for the water bottle you always keep beside your bed and take a few deep gulps of cold water. After you've satisfied your thirst, you tousle your hair and stretch both arms above your head with a deep yawn. You're still naked and shiver in the cold room, quickly pulling the thick blanket around your body again. At that moment, your door opens and Rowoon steps through; hair mussed but eyes bright and awake.

He smiles breathtakingly at you and you answer it a bit shyly.

"Morning.", he says, voice still rough from sleep.

"Morning.", you reply, stretching both arms towards the tall man, "Come back to bed?"

He doesn't even hesitate, quickly crossing the room with two large steps and slipping between the covers with you, pulling you against his own body. You shiver a bit, moaning slightly at the heat radiating from him.

"Slept well?", you ask, your breath tickling his neck.

"Like a rock. And you?"

"Same. I haven't had such a good night's sleep in a really long time."

"Well, you were pretty exhausted."

You hear the smirk in Rowoon's voice and decide to tease him a bit: "Oh yeah, three movies are a lot to take in."

He tickles your sides, making you giggle - the most beautiful sound in the world to him.

You gaze up at him, eyes sparkling with humor. He can't hold himself back anymore and presses his lips against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth.

A few minutes later, both of you are breathless.

"I had the most amazing night.", Rowoon finally says, the corners of his mouth curling into a soft smile.

"Me too.", you answer, giving him another quick kiss.

"I... Just so I'm clear - I don't want this to be a one-time-only-thing.", the young man confesses, holding his breath until you're grinning widely at him.

"Oh thank god, me neither."

He laughs at that, pulling you even closer and pressing his lips against your forehead. "So... can I take you out on a date tonight?"

You smile. "I thought you'd never ask."

[masterlist] | [requests]

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peachyteabuck · 6 years ago

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ceo chronicles. pt ii ~ loki

series summary: a set of fics based off of the main au of sugar baby/mommy or daddy dynamics and ceo aus. each fic involves a separate universe wherein each charcter is the ceo of a different company and you’re their sugar baby. sexy times ensue.

fic summary: after treachery within his company leads to a major dip in stock prices, loki's not exactly in the mood to “make love”

pairing: ceo!loki x sugar baby!reader

words: 1,745

trigger warnings: i talk about economics which is terrifying in and of itself, lack of foreplay, angry fucking, squirting, cum play.

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Loki isn’t happy, but he never truly is when he first comes home from work.

Every day he comes in seething about this person in accounting and that person in marketing, grumbling about this thing that went wrong and that thing that went wrong. Every day he steps into the house with fevered steps, ready to fuck you over the surface closest to wherever he finds you in his large penthouse. You’re what he looks forward to at the end of each grueling day, why he hasn’t forced himself into early retirement. If he stepped down he’d receive quite a pretty retirement package, but he still wouldn’t be able to hunt for you in your home at the end of a long work day.

Wherever he finds you, he’ll fuck you then and there. Sometimes it’s the kitchen counter, the bathroom next to the sink, your bed, the couch, the floor. Loki does not like to mince words, doesn’t like to prolong the inevitable. He’s short, to the point, both in business and in pleasure.

Despite this, Loki’s never harsh (or, never stays harsh), when he fucks you. No, he holds you like you’re made of precious porcelain, something unique and valuable and breakable; like you’re some museum piece kept in archives for fear of sun damage.

There are rare times he lets go, just takes you in some feral, wolfish way. These are his even scarcer days off, or those particularly serious times when really fucks up. It’s then, on those notable, raw occasions that Loki holds you down, props you face-down ass-up in the middle of your California king on your perfect one-thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and pounds into your dripping cunt until you’re bruised and screaming and begging for something – whether it be for him to cease immediately to continue until the end of time unknown.

As Loki steps into the door with his teeth barred, slamming it behind him before throwing off his coat, it’s obvious that tonight is one of those times. It’s regular that you’re caught off guard by this change of pace, but this time you saw it coming. The last few nights you’d woken up at two, three in the morning to the other side of the bed void of warmth and the sound of Loki’s strained voice on the phone with his CFO coming from his desk on the other side of the room.

You’d seen it on the news, too, unable to turn off the alerts fast enough to hear the news: there’d been a leak in the product manufacturing department, and a prototype had been leaked to a company rival. A mere days later, what Laufeyson Co. was known for they’d now become second best. They were now an underdog in a world where they’d previously held a monopoly, a long way to fall for such a successful startup.

This tumble down the Fortune 500 latter meant many, many things, including the plummeting of stock prices. This loss of money, especially due to such a heinous act as treachery, puts Loki on an edge you’ve never seen him before.

He finds you in the kitchen, carving a chicken you roasted yourself. As the sliced bits fall down onto the large, dark brown cutting board, it becomes obvious to Loki that they’re meant to be plated with the with potatoes and asparagus resting in the pure white bowls to your right.

No matter, he thinks as he unbuttons the top of his pristine white button-up and unzipping his pants. That’s what ovens are for.

The second your lover comes into view, you understand; you understand what you are to do and what you are to do.

Wordlessly, you wipe your hands on your apron before untying it, running to the closest item of furniture as you peel away the t-shirt of Loki’s you had been wearing. The deep oak dining room table, sans its centerpiece and any cutlery, provides the place for what will surely be the beginning of an eventful night.

Loki’s the first one to speak, moaning as he spreads your folds with his thumb. “Oh God, baby,” you mewl as he avoids the most sensitive parts of you, instead basking in the heat of your soaked center. “You’re so soaked for me, aren’t you?”

You whine out something that vaguely resembles a yes, and Loki grins. He loves seeing you like this, all desperate and dripping and all so quickly, as if seeing him triggers some Pavlovian response in your pussy.

Loki’s, never being one for prolonging his own pleasure, quickly shoving two fingers into your already-soaking cunt. The sharp inhale of break turns into a deep moan as his other hand moves to your clit, rubbing expert circles over the sensitive nub.

“Loki-“you gasp, and immediately your cheeks warm at the sound of the desperate, high-pitched sound. Before it was just a whisper, but now your cries sound so much more pathetic.

He catches on immediately, understanding what you want; what you need. “Oh, my little girl…you’re already so desperate, aren’t you? I’ve barely touched you and you’re already whining like the little cock slut you are, begging for me to be inside of you”

You can feel your wetness drip down onto your inner thighs as you hear Loki undo his belt and free his aching cock. He just barely teases the tip of it against your entrance, an unexpected action that nearly has you tearing your own hair out from the tenderness.

But before you can push back, he’s got a hand wrapped in your hair and is pulling you against his front. His crisp, shirt acts as a frustrating barrier between your bodies, your skin, and you near beg for him to take it off to feel his skin against yours, to feel him so close in such a moment.

But, before you can even open your mouth, Loki shoves his entire cock into your pussy.

“F-fuck,” you moan. You can feel your hands go numb as you grab at the edge of the table, partially for leverage and partially to give yourself something to cling to – as your nails fail to find purchase on the smooth wood.

Loki just smirks, wide and wicked as he pounds into you. “You like that, baby?” He bites at your neck, his hips snapping into your violently. “You like it when I fuck you this hard?” He waits several beats for you to respond, but nothing but gaspy breathes leave your unpainted lips. Loki, angry at your disobedience, slaps your ass so hard tears immediately begin to flow down your cheeks. “Answer me.”

“Yes, daddy,” you cry out, hoping your lack of following orders doesn’t make him stop. “Yes, I love the way you fuck me.”

Still, Loki isn’t satisfied with this minor retribution. He pulls out of you, ignoring your incessant whining as he flips you over. He then slips three fingers into you and wraps his other hand around your throat. You’re so close you can feel the buttons on his shirt, the necklace he insists on wearing with both of your initials carved onto a sleep bit of silver. “Speak, you little slut,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Tell me how well I fuck you.”

You’ve got both palms grabbing at the arm threatening to restrict your breathing, anchoring him to you. Quickly, words tumble like rocks down a steep cliff. “I love the way you make me feel, Daddy, I fucking love how I can’t walk or think or talk after you fuck me, love how your cock feels in my pussy and throat and ass and hands. Loving feeling you come in me, on me- “

Loki growls. “Tell me you worship my cock, tell me you worship me.”

The pad of his thumb circles your neglected clit, and you cry out as his fingers crook into the spot that always makes you see stars. It makes all the breath leaves your body as you try and obey. “I worship you, Daddy!” You cry out. “I worship your cock, I worship the ground you walk on! I worship your every word!” Your eyes roll back in your head as the coil low in your abdomen tightens like a python stealing the oxygen from your organs and muscles. “Please, please let me come, daddy, please I’ll do anything!”

Loki just smiles and bites at the shell of your ear. “It’s okay, baby girl, let go.”

And so you do, liquid gushing out of you and onto the table. It drips onto the floor, the sound of it puddling erotic as you collapse on the wood – warmed from your body and breath. Air fills and escapes your lungs as a pace your heart nearly can’t keep up with, and you’re left to recover on your own as Loki quickly brings himself to release over your ass.

He collapses next to you on the table, pulling you into his chest and maneuvering you around so that you’re laying lengthwise on the large tabletop. It’s uncomfortable, especially with Loki’s cum still smeared on your ass and your slick still gathering between your legs. Still, it’s hard for your eyelids not to flutter at the sound of your lover’s beating heart and the smells from dinner still wafting from the kitchen counter where you left it.

It’s silent for a while, both of you quiet as you catch your breath and reality settles over you both like a fire blanket. For a moment you’re tempted to move, tempted to fix him a plate or make a sly comment about buying a new table, but it soon passes as Loki’s familiar ringtone blasts from the device’s place on the marble countertop next to your bowl of asparagus ends. You think he’s going to answer it, but instead he allows it to go to voicemail – a rare occasion.

“Aren’t you going to-“ you begin, worried that something truly heinous had happened.

“Nah,” Loki says, eyes shut and breathing even. “I’ll let my assistant handle it when whoever’s calling eventually phones them. For now, I just want to lay with you on this uncomfortable table.”

And so that is what you do, falling asleep on your kitchen table, in the middle of your penthouse, with him still in his dress shirt and you completely naked. It’s nice, you think. To spend time with him alone. Wishing to savor the precious moment, you remain quiet, hoping the peace never ends.

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson x reader #lukis writes stuff #ceo chronicles: loki #ceo chronicles

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dvp95 · 6 years ago

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can't breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 1

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e (eventually)

warnings: none

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

word count: 5,384 (this chapter & total)

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

read on ao3 or here!

“You’re gonna need to do this one alone, dude, our flight’s been delayed again.”

At least Dan’s costar seems somewhat put out. She looks all chagrined and her accent has slipped back into a drawl since they’d finished filming. The FaceTime call is grainy, but he can tell she’s tired from being in the airport all day.

“It’s fine, Jaime,” Dan lies through his teeth, because there’s nothing she can fucking do about it anyway. He sighs and looks at himself in the mirror, where he’d paused in fixing his eyebrows to take her call. “Does Patrick even care, or is he just sleeping on his luggage again?”

“The latter, of course,” Jaime laughs. She turns the camera briefly so Dan can see the star of their show lounging across his bags with a blanket over his face.

Dan laughs, too, but there’s panic in it. “So you guys are really, like. Stuck in Atlanta.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “But it’s just one interview.”

Just one interview. The amount of damage Dan knows he can do with just one interview makes him consider calling out sick.

“It’s an interview with BBC Radio One,” he reminds her. Jaime’s only reaction is to blink at him. This is why he regrets spending all of his time in America, with Americans. They’re fine and all, he loves his job, they just don’t understand the sort of ramifications that could come from Dan fucking up this interview. Ramifications like, his grandma might hear it.

“It’s fine, you’re talking to a YouTuber,” says Jaime. “You’re better with them.”

“That’s because they’re more like people.”

“Jimmy Kimmel is people, Daniel.”

“He’s not,” Dan says, adamant. “And Jimmy Kimmel saw me do a fucking nosedive on my way offstage, didn’t he.”

It’s their second year doing press tours, the first they’re doing any kind of international coverage, and it’s already become a widespread joke that Daniel Howell sucks in interviews.

Give him a script, he’s fine. Ask him questions he can riff off, he’s fine. But he’s easily distracted, gets starstruck in ways his coworkers have managed to suppress, and his limbs aren’t friends with his brain. He’s spilled iced coffee on many a PA, said BuzzFeed no less than five times during the Wired autocomplete interview, turned into an actual fucking tomato when Lilly Singh complimented him.

He always thought, hey, at least it’s mostly online coverage. Not the fucking BBC. He’s more comfortable in an online space. And he’s happy with it all, since being in a well-liked Netflix original means that he’s more or less living the dream.

If only he could stop making a fucking fool of himself in interviews. It’s basically a meme at this point.

“You’ll be fine,” Jaime says.

“I’m going to offend them and/or fall on my ass,” says Dan.

Jaime’s lips twitch, lagging a bit with the shitty airport wifi. “Yeah, maybe.”

–

It’s a very close call, but Dan doesn’t roll into the BBC late. His hair might be a fucking disaster and he might have almost left the house without his left shoe on, but he got here and that’s what counts.

“Hey,” he says at the desk, trying to act like he didn’t just run here after getting off on the wrong Tube stop. He’s never spent a lot of time in London, has barely been back from America in a few years, and he might have overestimated his navigation abilities. “Hi, um, I’m -”

“Daniel Howell,” the receptionist says, looking for all the world like he hasn’t done anything strange. “Sure, yeah, you’re just going to go down that hall there, it’s the third door. The toilets are on the way if you want to freshen up.”

Dan is fairly sure he looks like a mess, so he thanks the kind person profusely before running off to the bathroom to check.

Yeah, alright. He’s looked worse. He’s also looked a lot better, but he didn’t pack any straighteners or concealer in his jeans, so it’ll just have to fucking do. He fixes his hair as best as he can and dries the sweat off his face. After that, all he can really do is make sure his flies are zipped before he makes his way to the room he’d been pointed to.

It’s small and sparse, clearly not part of the radio behind-the-scenes. In front of a plain white backdrop, there’s just a couple dark loveseats and a coffee table with glasses of water that Dan is already having a premonition of knocking over.

A guy is setting up one of the two cameras, hasn’t heard Dan enter, and now Dan is wracked with the certainty that anything he says or does at this point will come out awkward.

“Uh,” is what he goes with, wincing when the guy almost knocks the camera off its axis as he jumps. “Sorry. For - that. And for almost being late.”

“You can’t be almost late, can you? You’re fine, sorry, just let me get this…”

“I thought this was a radio interview?”

“No, I mean, I do have a radio show, but I’m not hosting today. This is just for the website and YouTube.”

The voice sounds irritatingly familiar, like it’s on the tip of Dan’s tongue, but that doesn’t surprise him. He’s probably heard most of the people here on the radio at some point, even with how little he’s on this side of the pond.

He’s immeasurably relieved by this not being a live radio interview that his grandma might hear, but he’s still feeling weird without his costars.

“Sorry,” Dan says again, for lack of anything else to say.

“It’s seriously okay,” the guy laughs, finally securing the camera on its tripod properly and spinning to greet Dan. “Hi! You’re Daniel, right? I hear it’s just us today.”

Dan’s brain takes an entire second to place the eyes, the smile, when they aren’t half hidden by a long fringe and bad webcam quality; to place that voice when it isn’t accompanied by some kind of weird animal noise. He makes a weird noise of his own once the lightbulb clicks, and he finds himself blinking rather more than a regular human does.

“Holy shit,” says Dan. “You’re AmazingPhil.”

AmazingPhil smiles with his tongue between his teeth. “Last time I checked. You can just call me Phil, though.”

He’s got glasses on his nose, his hair pushed off his forehead, a corgi on his jumper, and Dan would be lying if he said he wasn’t considering just turning around and walking out.

AmazingPhil - Phil - looks good. The last time Dan had the time to sit down and watch one of his videos was back in uni, and he’d thought Phil looked good then, too. Really good. Like, put Phil’s videos on whenever he was sad and think about that stupid Britney lipsync whenever he was showering kind of good.

Now he’s got to sit down with him for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the guy he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

“Daniel,” Phil says when Dan doesn’t say anything, his smile softening. “You alright over there?”

“Yes,” says Dan, feeling his face heat up. “I - yes. Sorry. I just - I didn’t expect you.”

“I’m guessing you’ve seen one or two of my videos,” Phil jokes, gesturing for Dan to sit down. “Get comfortable, I’ll grab your mic.”

Get comfortable. Is Phil having a laugh? Dan doesn’t think he’s been this high strung in months, and he sits stiffly on the sofa with his hands clasped in his lap.

Fucking hell. Dan had embarrassed himself on nearly every stop on their press tour last summer, still new to the whole process, and the interviews in L.A. and New York earlier this year weren’t much better. He’s just a massively awkward person, not aware enough of his own body or of the things coming out of his mouth.

He can’t even imagine how he’s going to fuck this one up.

Phil laughs when he approaches Dan, fixing the mic to Dan’s shirt with long, fumbling fingers. Dan’s heart does something acrobatic. “I don’t bite. Y'know, more people have seen your face than they have mine.”

“Probably,” Dan concedes in a mumble, hyperaware of his gaze while Phil gets comfortable on the other sofa. He doesn’t know where to look. He wants to try and match this calm man to the guy in his memory who’d once put makeup on and meowed at a camera for twenty seconds. “It’s not the same, though.”

“Why not?” Phil asks, crossing one of his ankles over the other.

“Well, you’re, like,” says Dan. He gestures vaguely at Phil, and then again at himself. “And I’m, like.”

“Very informative,” says Phil.

“I’m better at talking about the show,” says Dan, feeling the very stupid need to try and prove himself to someone he’s only just met, really. Phil smirks at him a little.

“Well, you’d have to be.”

As much as it makes Dan flush red, he finds himself honking a laugh at the same time. Phil’s smirk widens into a grin.

“Don’t look so fucking pleased with yourself,” Dan says, trying to let the banter relax him a bit. He hasn’t fallen on his face or accidentally said something horrendous yet. He leans back into the sofa and smiles at Phil. “Okay, alright. Moment over. No longer starstruck.”

“Still seems silly to me, I’m really not that big.” Phil laughs. Dan has to bite back roughly a dozen inappropriate comments. “Not compared to some people on the platform, anyway, but that’s fine. I like where I’m at.”

“I understand that,” Dan says, surprised that he’s not lying to sound empathetic. “Like, I love making Heatwave, it’s fine that we aren’t going to be the next Stranger Things.”

“Do you mind if I turn on the camera?” Phil asks, those eyes focused on Dan in a way that makes him feel warm all over. “It’s just, you’re actually speaking. About relevant stuff. So I feel like I should be capturing this on film for some kind of posterity.”

“Fuck off,” Dan says, and then immediately freezes. Phil only laughs and gets up to switch on the cameras and lights.

Okay, good. Still hasn’t mortally offended his teen idol yet.

Phil sits back down and rambles an intro to the lens, looking somehow even more comfortable now that it’s on. Something about being filmed makes him sit up straighter and his eyes go a bit wider. He gestures at Dan with a smile, says, “As you can see, I’m here with Daniel Howell to talk about Netflix’s Heatwave! This is your first time doing an interview by yourself, isn’t it?”

Not a hundred percent sure how Phil knows that, but it’s probably obvious in everything Dan has said and done since getting here.

“Er, yeah,” says Dan eloquently. He scratches the back of his neck and gives his closeup camera a sheepish grin. “That obvious, huh? Jaime and Patrick hide a lot of my awkwardness, they’re good at this bit.”

“You’re doing just fine,” Phil says, encouraging and warm. He ruins it by adding, “At least you haven’t asked me when the baby is due or elbowed me in the face.”

“Oh my god,” Dan groans. He plays it up, throws his head back with it, but the blush is all real.

“I have to ask,” Phil says, and his voice changes slightly. It takes Dan a moment to figure it out, but then he realises that Phil is using his off-camera voice now. Deeper, less enthusiastic. “Is the whole awkward klutz thing a marketing ploy? Like, you’ve been at the center of so many memes.”

“I wish it were a marketing thing.” He blinks over at Phil and mournfully admits, “I got my head stuck in the doors of the Tube last time I came to London. Luckily nobody was filming.”

Phil laughs. It’s a really good sound. Dan wants to make it happen over and over, and he has to stamp down on the urge before it turns into a class clown act. “How did you even manage that? I thought I was clumsy.”

“I tripped,” Dan says, a little more whiny than he really meant to sound. Oh, well, seeming cool in front of Phil is a lost cause by now.

“I trip a lot, too,” says Phil. He’s back in his camera voice. Dan likes this voice, too, more familiar with it, but he already misses being spoken to in that deeper, calmer tone. “Probably a good thing we’re sat down for this, or we’d have to take a trip to A&E.”

“Touch wood, mate,” Dan says dryly.

He’s surprised and charmed when Phil actually does, reaches out and taps on the coffee table.

The conversation flows more easily, then, because Phil starts asking questions about the show and Dan is finally in his element. He knows the show back to front and he’s experienced in the art of holding back spoilers from two decades of finishing video games before his friends did. He tells the same story he’s told in three other interviews, about how he didn’t know he was supposed to do an American accent for the audition and the character got Britishized for him.

Phil laughs like it’s his first time hearing it, even though he’s clearly done his research.

“But you still do a slight accent,” Phil says.

“I do,” says Dan, mildly surprised. He shouldn’t be, but he’s so used to people not noticing or just not commenting on it that Phil bringing it up is strange. “I didn’t think it made sense for Warren to be, like, posh.”

“It doesn’t,” says Phil, “that was a good call.”

“Not that I’m posh,” Dan says, because it’s important to him that Phil know this.

“Really,” says Phil, dryly.

“Oh, fuck off,” says Dan. He regrets swearing on camera, but figures someone will edit it out. “It’s not my fault Winnie the Pooh raised me.”

The grin Phil turns on him makes Dan briefly forget where he is and what he’s talking about. Luckily, one of them is a professional, and Phil gets the interview back on track easily. Dan even manages to make him laugh a couple of times. When he dies, he wants someone to stand up at his funeral and tell everyone that he made AmazingPhil laugh.

Dan even manages not to embarrass himself on camera. He thinks he’s gotten off scot-free, actually, until they’re saying goodbye and Phil goes in for a hug at the same time Dan goes for a handshake.

“Oh,” Dan says eloquently, his knuckles just sort of pressed to Phil’s stomach.

“Sorry,” Phil laughs. He goes for it anyway, wrapping his arms around Dan’s shoulders and not letting go until Dan steps back, feeling so extremely awkward with his hand just kind of crushed between them. Phil doesn’t look awkward. Phil is smirking. “I always give my fans a hug.”

“Shut up,” says Dan. He’s aware of exactly how whiny he sounds, and he wishes he could suck the noise back in and sound cool, unruffled.

“What?” Phil grins. “I’m flattered.”

“I’ll have you know,” says Dan, “I haven’t even, like, watched you since 2011, so.”

Phil’s smile falters. Dan wants to punch himself in the face.

“Just because I got really busy,” Dan rushes to assure him, like Phil actually cares what one bloke thinks of him. “Like, I actually started working my ass off, and couldn’t keep spending fourteen hours a day on YouTube, and then it just stopped being a habit, and I got a new Twitter for professionalism so I fell out of the loop with a lot of people, and -”

“Dan, breathe,” Phil says, but he looks pleased.

Professional people don’t call him Dan very much anymore, not since some other idiot called Dan Howell joined the same union as him. Daniel was a better option than James, and Dan had been going through a pretentious phase that hasn’t quite ended yet, so.

He’s reminded people at work to call him Daniel before, when they try to get overly familiar with him, but. He doesn’t really mind when it’s Phil.

“Okay,” he says, a beat too late for it to sound natural. Well, self-deprecation hasn’t failed him yet. “I’m just walking a very fine line here between seeming cool and also telling you I used to reply to everything you ever tweeted.”

“Aw, Dan,” says Phil. He holds a hand up to his chest like he’s touched. “You couldn’t seem cool if you tried.”

“Shut up,” Dan huffs, shoving lightly at Phil’s shoulder.

Phil’s tongue pokes between his teeth again when he laughs. Dan wishes he could stop noticing that. “It’s nice. I like meeting someone just as weird and awkward as me.”

“I’m way more weird and awkward,” says Dan. “If I didn’t already know the shit you get up to in your bedroom, I’d think you were normal.”

Both of Phil’s eyebrows raise, and it takes Dan about half a second to realise what he’s said and promptly turn crimson.

“I’m alright at acting normal around celebrities,” Phil says, blessedly not drawing attention to Dan wanting something to strike him down where he stands.

“I’m not really a celebrity,” says Dan.

“Sure,” says Phil.

“So you don’t have to, like, act normal around me.”

“Alright.” Phil grins, shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, rocks back and forth on his feet in what Dan recognizes as a nervous tic. “Did you know that caterpillars don’t just grow wings in their cocoons? They turn into caterpillar soup and then reform.”

Dan blinks. “Why the fuck would I know that?” He blinks again. “Oh, god, why would you tell me that? You mean they just fucking dissolve into liquid before becoming an adult? How fucked up would that be?”

“I know,” Phil says, very earnestly. “It keeps me up at night, Dan.”

Not a fluke. ‘Dan’ still sounds good coming from Phil. Although, if Dan’s going to be perfectly honest with himself, he thinks Phil could call him anything and he’d like the sound of it. He likes Phil’s voice and he really, really likes Phil’s voice when it’s just for him to hear. There’s a part of Dan’s mind that exists purely to remind him he’s attracted to men, and it’s currently clanging pots and pans together as if he couldn’t figure it out on his own.

“Now it’s going to keep me up at night,” Dan groans.

“At least I’ll have company,” says Phil. His voice lilts a bit on the last word, like he wants to make it a question but changes his mind at the last second.

That part of Dan’s mind that he usually tries to forget about, that part he keeps locked up tight unless it’s relevant, is now adding operatic singing to the percussion. It yells, This is flirting! The hot guy is flirting with you!

But he can’t trust it, not when the stakes are as high as having another conversation with AmazingPhil, so he stamps that voice down.

“Yeah, you can DM me,” Dan offers, putting that ball firmly in Phil’s court. “Like. When you can’t sleep. Or whenever, really, I’m jetlagged as fuck right now.”

Phil smiles. “Okay. I will.”

��

Dan doesn’t actually believe him. When his phone dings with a Twitter notification at one in the morning, he gets a sharp neck pain doing a double take at his screen.

Okay, cool. Actual AmazingPhil has sent him a caterpillar emoji. It’s stupid how fast that makes his heart race.

He’d followed Phil’s Twitter while he waited at the Tube station and had been pleased to see that Phil already followed him, too. He hadn’t had time to snoop on his profile or anything before the train came and then he’d gotten distracted when he got back to the hotel, but he’s got nothing but time and insomnia right now.

Dan opens his laptop and clicks on Phil’s Twitter profile to get a good look. He opens the Instagram and YouTube links in new tabs, since it’s not like Phil will know Dan is stalking every page.

youre really still thinking about that, Dan sends from his phone before he settles in to scroll mindlessly.

Phil’s not very good at taking pictures of himself, is the first thing Dan notices. He checks Instagram quickly to confirm it, and, yeah, what the hell? Phil either doesn’t know or doesn’t care what his angles are, because he looks more or less average in every single photo he’s posted in the past few months. He’s not an average-looking guy.

Twitter is kinda boring; Phil doesn’t tweet a lot and when he does it’s either video promotion or an anecdote that doesn’t sound fully true. Dan closes the tab and focuses his stalking on Instagram for a bit.

It’s a good choice. Phil’s selfies are still mediocre, but he’s got good photos with his friends, other YouTubers, some musicians. There’s about a dozen with Nick Grimshaw in some capacity over the past year, but that makes sense to Dan - he’s pretty sure they work together.

Lots of food pictures, which Dan can appreciate. Scenic views of Los Angeles, Orlando, somewhere by the sea that looks like Scotland or the Isle of Man. It doesn’t seem like Phil travels to many places, but those three locations pop up over and over again. And, of course, London. Dan wonders how long Phil has lived here, if he knows the city like the back of his hand the way Dan used to wish he could be rich and famous enough to do.

London used to be The Dream. Still is, really.

His phone vibrates again. I wasn’t joking, it drives me mad. I’ll just be minding my own business and all of a sudden I remember caterpillar soup and I start to spiral. Did you know they retain memories from being a caterpillar? How????????????? They’re SOUP. Then, after a couple seconds, Sorry. Hi., with a string of emojis.

Dan laughs quietly to himself. He’s still a bit starstruck, but he’s also just… charmed. Phil is a charming person.

that’s fucked up and i will be thinking about it for the rest of my short and meaningless existence, Dan replies, because if Phil can’t handle his humour then what are they even doing here.

Remember me when you’re soup, is what Phil says.

Dan decides to save his YouTube stalking for tomorrow night, closing his laptop so he can focus completely on the fact that he’s DMing with AmazingPhil right now. He bites his lip and starts one sentence about four times before he goes with, will do. soup will be soon, im gonna die of embarrassment tomorrow for sure.

What’s tomorrow??

buzzfeed uk. i hate doing buzzfeed interviews bc its like theyre waiting for me to fuck up. theyve got whole listicles on my messy ass

BRB looking up any and all listicles about your ass.

Dan feels warmth curl in his gut. He still can’t be sure if Phil is flirting with him or if this is just what he’s like, and he’s also not really sure what he’d want to do about it if Phil is flirting.

It’s not that Dan doesn’t know he likes guys. He’s known that for a long time. But aside from a few fumbling encounters during secondary and uni - and more than a few during his gap year, when he truly felt like nothing mattered - he hasn’t let himself explore that. It’s fucking terrifying just to think about, and that was before he had millions of people looking at his every move.

He pushes all that back into the box to deal with later, because Phil is messaging him again.

You could invest in a belt.

they dont help!!!! flat ass problems amirite? Dan tries to change the topic immediately after sending that, because the last thing his overthinking needs is to talk about ass with Phil. im also mad at buzzfeed bc they never let me play w the puppies. patrick got to last month and i almost cried i was so jealous

That’s not even a joke. Dan and Jaime had been stuck taking Buzzfeed quizzes on camera while Patrick got to roll around on the floor and play with dogs. When Dan heard, he’d literally started tearing up.

Patrick hadn’t even appreciated it properly. Fucking cat people.

Well, Thor isn’t a puppy anymore, but you can play with him while you’re in town if you want to!

Then, Phil sends him a photo, and Dan makes an embarrassing squeal of a noise, because, what the fuck, why didn’t Phil have any fucking dog photos from the past three years on Instagram? The cutest Welsh Corgi Dan has ever seen is curled up on a familiar duvet cover with one of its eyes peeking open at the camera, curious.

HOLY SHIT

PHIL

HOW IS THIS THE FIRST IM SEEING OF THJS DOG IM GONNA CRY

Haha, you weren’t kidding that you haven’t kept up with me! Thor is the most popular guest star on my channel.

Well, now Dan regrets starting with Instagram, but he doesn’t want to stop talking to Phil long enough to watch a video. He’ll enjoy that personal hell when he can’t sleep tomorrow.

WHY ISNT HE ON YOUR INSTA

Cos he’s got his own! Go follow him @AmazingThorgi if you wanna see! Dan immediately exits the app to do that, swiping up at the notification when Phil double-messages. You’re Insta-stalking me? :)

AmazingThorgi is Dan’s new favourite Instagram account. Thor is ridiculously cute, and Phil seems to have a habit of dressing him up and making him sit in front of plants.

Somehow, Phil takes incredible photos of his dog. Dan would like to know where that composition and lighting knowledge is in his selfies. He doesn’t even know how he’d bring that up, because how do you tell someone they’re smoking hot but have some kind of block when it comes to using a front camera?

When he’s scrolled back to puppy pictures and his eyes are in legitimate danger of watering, Dan goes back to Twitter.

amazingphil who i only know thorgi

He’s the best!!!!!! I’m slightly allergic to him but that’s ok he’s worth all the benadryl in the world!!

Jesus. Dan isn’t sure his heart is physically capable of handling all this new information about a guy he used to know everything about. There’s something so endearing to Dan about that, about a man who loves dogs so much that he’ll take allergy medication every day instead of not owning one. That’s just. Something Dan thinks is very cute.

They tell you not to meet your heroes for a fucking reason, and that reason isn’t 'because they’re somehow even better in person.’ Dan has met a few people in the acting sphere that he was disappointed by, to be honest, but.

Every new message he gets from Phil just makes him sound more and more like someone Dan really wants to hang out with.

And Phil had, in a way, offered that. Dan isn’t sure if it was just a lead-in to showing off cute photos of Thor, but he’s just sleep-deprived enough to take it as an invitation.

im in town for 3 wks what is thors schedule like

Phil responds with a couple of barely comprehensible, excited emojis, and Dan has to bite his lip so he doesn’t smile at his phone like a goofball. Not that anyone is here to see him, but. It’s the principle of the thing. He’s helping me film sometime tomorrow but he’s free all week after that!!

Swallowing down the minor uncertainty of whether or not this is flirting, if this is a date they’re setting up, Dan figures out a time and place to hang out. He’s got a day off between interviews this week that he’d originally planned to spend in bed recharging from all the social interaction, but being given the opportunity to get coffee and go to a dog park with Actual AmazingPhil is a gift from a higher power that he won’t ignore.

Phil gets sleepy and Dan finds it sweet that he can tell by the way Phil types, his grammar slipping by the wayside and his emoji use becoming a hundred percent incoherent.

we should both sleep mate but send me pics of thor to get me through buzzfeed hell

One comes in immediately, a somewhat blurry shot of Thor’s nose buried into Phil’s thigh, and Dan curses under his breath. He puts his phone on the nightstand and struggles to fall asleep when all he can think about is how cozy that photo looked, how much he wants to crawl into it and live there forever.

Dan may or may not be fucked.

–

It’s a relief to have Patrick and Jaime with him again, all three of them subject to the repetitive questions and whatever weird, unique tasks are thrown their way by entertainment news sources, but Dan can’t wait to get away from them once they’re back at the hotel.

He gets himself set up with a beer and some Dominos in bed before he opens the AmazingPhil channel on his laptop. Hotel wifi isn’t the best, but it’ll have to do.

There’s a lot of content and links, and every title is as clickbait-y as the last. Dan could probably scroll down Phil’s page for eternity without making a decision, so he sorts the uploads by most popular.

A video of Thor as a puppy takes the number one spot, which Dan isn’t sure he’s emotionally prepared for, and not far behind it in views is just a video thumbnail of Phil looking bemused and titled 7 SECOND CHALLENGE! (BONUS). It really is only seven seconds long.

Dan can’t help but be curious about that one. He clicks it, makes it full screen even though it’s a short video.

The shot opens on a closet door and it folds open, revealing a grinning Phil. His fringe is soft over his forehead and he’s wearing a shirt with a roaring bear on it - this was a couple of years ago.

“Hi,” video Phil says, jolting Dan back to the present. Phil giggles. “I’m gay.”

It’s not all that much of a shock, really, but Dan’s heart still picks up speed as he watches Phil laugh again, close the door, yelp as he knocks into something.

Something else starts autoplaying, and Dan lets it. A younger Phil talks to the camera about a bad gym experience, and Dan finds himself zoning out for half of the video.

Phil’s been out as a gay man since… when was that video posted? 2014? 2015? Dan doesn’t have the wherewithal to check right this second. For a few years, in any case, and he’d said it so casually that he must have known for ages before that, and Dan.

Well. Dan can’t quite shake the feeling that, if he had kept up with Phil all these years, he might have had to examine that box in his mind a lot closer by now. The word gay rolls off Phil’s tongue like it belongs there, like it’s second nature, like it has never been a weapon. Dan wants to hear him say it over and over like a personal calming ritual.

A cursory Google tells Dan that Phil’s coming out video was posted in 2014 accompanying a collaboration with Phil’s friend PJ, and that he has never spoken about his romantic life since.

That’s a blessing and a curse.

Dan sighs heavily and thinks, not for the first time, that he should really invest in therapy. Then, he lets himself become untethered from reality as he watches Phil talk and joke about silly things in the autoplaying videos. The pizza tastes like cardboard.

As if he’s looking at his own body from the perspective of an outsider, Dan takes the figurative locked box in his figurative hands and lets it fall open to sort through some things. Just for a little bit.

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

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