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mochibrokenheart · 3 years ago

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SVSSS: Guardian of the Museum

Mobei Jun x Shang Qinghua

Word Count: 2,756

Summary: Of course there's ominous growling and destruction to the building on Shang Qinghua's first night as a museum curator. Of course there is! Besides being desperate to keep the job, he's not sure what possesses him to actually walk toward the dangerous situation. His survival instincts were better trained that! Except...wait a minute...the terrifying creature causing all the ruckus is actually the hottest thing he's ever seen???

My first contribution for Moshang Monsterfucking Month (and my first fic for the fandom in general!) Heavy on the monster part as the nsfw is not explicit. Who knew that it would be hard to write something short. Inspired by the Day 2 prompt: horny.

Also posted on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34305571

A nearby bell tolled at midnight just as Shang Qinghua locked up the museum for the night, which meant that he was officially off for the weekend. Being a party of one, he celebrated with a groovy victory dance while turning the key over in the lock.

There was a little click and he rattled the knob, checking that the door was properly locked—if anything was stolen or vandalized during the night, he would most definitely be blamed as the recent hire!

The job was an important stepping stone in his career path plan to being a rare artifacts curator. He really needed the experience. It was hard enough to land the job, so he wasn’t above looking neurotic by double, and triple, and quadruple checking everything before he left.

A chilly breeze tussled his hair and raised goosebumps down his neck. It was October, he supposed while drawing up his hood to block the chill, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to complain.

He was much to delicate for cold temperatures and would exercise his right to curse out the changing seasons. Of course, he could move somewhere further south, so that he wouldn’t have to put up with it anymore, but still!

The only good thing about the loss of summer was the bugs, he decided.

Clearly, Shang Qinghua was irresistible because bugs treated his blood like an all-you-can buffet. If only hot men thought the same. But alas.

Sighing, he turned up to admire the full moon, who seemed to sympathize with the sad state of his romantic affairs, being the moon and all. Something about it’s pale gray-white color naturally emoted a sad, longing reflection.

It was as he was looking up that he heard a growl, loud not because of its pitch—it was actually quite low and gravelly—but because it vibrated the very air around him.

Shit. Shit. He wasn’t equipped to deal with some beast! He had no weapons and there was no way his body was going to get the job done either. He was a delicate flower, just ask the bugs who always feasted on him!

He rummaged through his bag frantically for his phone. That was what the authorities were for.

Opening his phone, his mind was racing. Who did you call when there was a potentially wild animal on the loose? The police? Animal control?

Gasp! What if it turned out to be a demon?

…!!!

He didn’t have any shamans or priests on speed dial. There had never been a reason to until then but if it would save him, he’d buy up every type of religious necklace he could and wear them around his neck daily. It was like insurance—it never hurt to cover all of his bases.

While he was wasting time on the sidewalk, what appeared to be small bits of gravel drifted down from what seemed like the roof. Scurrying to get closer to the streetlight, which casted a circular light on the steps of the museum, Shang Qinghua bent down to get a closer look.

It felt dusty when he rubbed his pointer finger against his thumb and did match the shade of stone the building was…The new evidence presented a bit of dilemma. Yes, he was still itching to call somebody have them do the dangerous work, but at the same time, his boss might fire him if something happened to the museum under his watch.

“Well, if there’s more damage, I guess I’ll take a look,” he muttered. He clasped his hands together. “But please, take mercy on me, moon! I promise that if you get me out of this that my next erotica will be dedicated solely to you, and in very large print, so that my readers know the reach of your mystical power!”

His hands remained clasped high above his head as he waited. So far so good.

There was still the scary growls, of course, but those didn’t count because he wasn’t going to investigate that. It was absolutely common knowledge that people who investigated weird sounds always ended up dead, at least in horror movies, and that was all the proof he needed to wash his hands of it.

No, the only thing that could sway him from his crouch on the front steps was…was…

Tears shimmered in his eyes as more rubble was knocked off from the roof, the fine particles irritating his nose and causing him to sneeze.

Thoroughly betrayed, he used his sleeve to wipe at his nose. Forget the moon. Clearly the bond he felt had only been one-sided, and now he was obligated to actually suck it up and put himself in harms way.

The Shang Qinghua of five minutes ago would’ve screamed and called himself a fool. Why ignore those highly honed flight instincts?! Even the Shang Qinghua of the present was screaming and calling himself a fool when he took the first hesitant step inside.

It was deceptively quiet in the stairwell but that wasn’t enough to calm him. As the saying went, it was the calm before the shit storm and he was about to be right in the middle of it. How careless of him.

Just in case this was the end, he started to draft an epitaph—it’s not like anyone else would put in the same amount of effort.

His minor following would be too busy wailing about the permanent book hiatus; his boss would have their hands full dealing with insurance over the architectural damage; and that hot-and-cold cucumber bro of his would still be nagging him in the afterlife, criticizing him for his stupid plan when it ‘clearly would’ve been better to do such and such’. But back to him.

We are gathered here to mourn the passing of one Shang Qinghua, a bright hamster that was taken from Earth far too soon. His exhibit work was flawless, his knack for collections cataloging unrivaled. There was never a day without bountiful office supplies with him around. We thank him for his singular brave—foolish?—sacrifice in the name of historical value. Shang Qinghua is survived by several dying houseplants and the stray dog he usually fed on his way home from work.

There. That sounded as good as he was likely to get. Wait. No. He almost left out the most important part: the secret letter of last words meant only for cucumber bro’s eyes. Bro, if you’re reading this it’s because I died a terrible and scary death. Please take pity and wipe all of my search history. It was all for research, honest! It’s bad taste to judge a dead man.

The access door to the roof was large and imposing in front of him, even though there was still no noise coming from the other side. He was going to be mad and then relieved, in that exact order, if this turned out to be nothing.

He inhaled. Exhaled. Jumped around and shook his hands where they hung down beside the length of his body. He’d watched enough athletes—for research!—throughout his short life and getting loose always seemed to pump them up for competition. The same principle should apply here.

The door gave with a loud screech and he suspected that it wasn’t in regular use. Not that there was probably much to see up there anyway. Just roosting pigeons, stone slabs, and—

His mind went blank.

Crouching in the corner, so close to the edge that all it would take was a gust of wind to send him tumbling down, was some sort of winged creature. And the wings were massive things that arched up before curving downward completely over it’s back, the tips draped on the ground. Judging by how large they were, they had to be functional, which nearly caused him to wet himself.

He didn’t want to imagine that thing taking flight after him. Not that he would be exciting prey. Gods, this probably how a mouse felt when a hawk was flying overhead.

But it was the horns that really caught his attention. They were hulking black spirals and the sharp points were pointed right at him. Even in the poor light, it was obvious that they were pure black. Any other time, he might comment on how cool they actually were, how they were a cosplayer’s dream, but it wasn’t cool when it was a matter of life and death.

And he would most certainly die if those menacing horns and wings were any indication.

Trying to keep the element of surprise, he slowly let the door swing shut. Until a little bat started flew over squeaking, which caused him to squeak as well. The door hit the frame with a loud rattle. His body went heavy with fear and his eyes snapped shut, a natural prey response. He had never, ever been this scared.

Not patient enough for Shang Qinghua to turn around on his own, the creature flung him around to face it with an aggressive growl. And he had thought it was loud when he was on the sidewalk. Which wasn’t true at all. It was much louder and more intimidating when it was right in his face.

“Trespasser!” it growled, teeth clicking.

…Okay, so it could talk. Maybe this was a good thing. Now could grovel with it to spare him!

Blinking rapidly, he opened his eyes and looked up, up, up. It didn’t look as horrific from the front as it did the back. In fact, it had a humanoid appearance and was distinctly male. He was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, a total fantasy come to life. How the hell was he real?

His was incredibly tall, his huge wings proportional to his size now that he was standing up. Now that he saw them up close, Shang Qinghua noticed that they were a beautiful shade of blue that started out dark but lightened to pale blue once it reached the tips, which also had sharp spikes—Nails? Claws? He wasn’t well versed in anatomy—attached.

The top of his ears were pointy, too, just like the tops of the wings. Oh, and the horns! There were two of them, both pure, glossy obsidian, that sprouted out on either side of his temple, the bases thick and ridged as they spiraled like a ram’s. The only difference was that his horns were much larger. He could maul someone with those along if he wasn’t careful.

But now that he considered it more—even in times of crisis, he could multi-task when it really counted—the horns only added more to his attractiveness. They were intimating, sure, but also sexy, in a monsterfucking type of way. He gasped as a clawed hand wrapped around his throat. Yep, he could definitely get into the horns and claws. Mark him down as scared and horny.

The growling died down but sharp teeth were still on display, and there was a stylized tattoo-looking mark on his forehead. Despite the snarl, Shang Qinghua instinctively knew that his face was insanely attractive; it had to be to match the rest of him. Speaking of the rest of him…

He dropped down in front of him, making sure to drag his hands down that ripped physique and gave his massive pectorals a quick squeeze before he landed on his knees in a kneeling position.

His face was right in front of the creature’s impressive package, covered only by a flimsy loin cloth. It fluttered in the night breeze and he had to bite down on his finger to stop his depraved moaning. “Ff-forgive me, my good-demon-sir, but I swear I’m not trespassing. I’m a humble worker here at this museum.”

He quickly took out his employee badge to offer it up to the demon who barely gave it a glance. “Gargoyle,” it said in reply.

“Oh. I’m sorry but I don’t really know what you mean by that.” Wait, why did he say that? He didn’t want to get further in the demon’s bad side than he already was! “I mean no offense, of course. I’m sure gargoyles are absolutely lovely—”

“No,” he interrupted, his face smoothed out into blank slate. It made it harder to read him but Shang Qinghua quickly decided that it was alright. “I am a gargoyle, human. You may address me as Mobei Jun.”

Ohhh. Now that he mentioned it, his wings and horns could belong to a gargoyle. He knew that they were popular parts historical buildings that had a strong Western influence, which the museum did.

“And I am a king. Not a sir.”

Curse his authority kink. He was sure that any new fantasies he conjured up would be staring this particular king and Shang Qinghua as his servant.

“Of course, my king! You’re reeking of kingly handsomeness. As a lowly human, my apologies for the obvious mistake.” The gargoyle king didn’t make any move to acknowledge his words other than a slow blink, so he figured that it was all good. “Excuse me if this sounds rude, but what are you doing up here? And what was all the noise about?”

“Guardian. I was charged with the safety of this place by a war lord.” Jeez. So he’d been with the building for centuries at least, maybe even millennia.

There was a pause and he realized that he wasn’t going to answer the second question. It also seemed like the gargoyle king was waiting on him and a light bulb went off. “S-sorry again my king. I am Shang Qinghua. I am in charge of the rare artifacts inside of the building, so you may see me closing up most nights.”

The gargoyle king nodded sagely and he figured that the role must be acceptable to him. A loud sigh left him and his muscles relaxed just in the slightest way. He might survive this encounter yet. Ever better, survive and be able to go home and break out that new bottle of lube that he bought last week. There was plenty of new material to work with, that was for sure.

Then the gargoyle stepped back, giving him more space, which was actually the opposite of what he wanted. Feel free to punish him for earlier transgressions, king, especially if they were rough in a sexy way!

Unaware of his inner pleadings, he continued walking away to crouch back near the edge of the roof.

“Umm, be careful, king. It’s dangerous to be that close—”

“I am a king. Concerns such as that are not applicable,” he said, puffing up his chest. Those pecs! He might have to put in a request tomorrow to do more work on the roof. It was a crime that no one was admiring that body on a regular basis. “Leave. Return home. The circles under your eyes are hideous.”

He gasped, touching his bags. Rude! He had just finished a long shift and definitely wasn’t at his best. He was going to have to step up his game if he was going to tempt this gargoyle in the future. Trying his best not to show embarrassment, or disappointment, he agreed to leave.

“Whatever you want, my king. I’ll leave for now but if you need anything, I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after as well. In fact, every night, in case you need me.” Screw his weekend off. Who needed one of those when there was a hot gargoyle of legend serving as the guardian of the museum. Not him, that’s who.

He scrambled to his feet and bowed again for good measure. The door was open and he was across the threshold when his dream gargoyle muttered something. “Did you say something, my king?”

He cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. “The pigeons pooped in my hair.”

Suddenly, the growling from earlier made sense. No matter if you were human or gargoyle, having birds shit in your hair, especially hair as luscious as Mobei Jun’s, was bound to make anyone furious.

Determined to keep his laughs to himself if it was the last thing he did, he merely replied, “Yes, my king. I will make sure to chase them away from you next time.”

“See that you do.”

On cloud nine, Shang Qinghua grinned as he bounded down the stairwell. The gargoyle’s comment implied that there would be a next time. And he intended to romance the loincloth off (literally) of the serious gargoyle king.

Hope you all enjoyed! So happy to share this with everyone. Thanks for reading :)

#svsss #svsss fanfic #mobei jun #shang qinghua #moshang

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haikyuuwaifu · 4 years ago

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Rockabye

Genre: Angst, Drama, Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, TW Child Abuse, TW Neglect, TW Alcoholism, TW Drug Use

Bakugo x F Reader x Shinsou Poly

Masterlist

The Return of Rei Todoroki| The Return 2| The Return 3

The Return 2

Y/N parked her car, unclicked her seat belt, and opened the door stepping out into the cool night air. Pulling her jacket around her, she pulled her phone out to text Katsuki; simply informing him of her location. Sliding her phone back in her pocket, she pushed the key fob walking towards the cafe, her car beeping locked behind her. Peering through the window, she scanned her eyes around the building until she noticed a familiar head of dark midnight hair huddle in the corner. Wrenching the door open, she stepped in.

Sliding her jacket off, Y/N slide into the booth across from Nemuri. The woman in front of her hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge her presence, and that was fine. She was fine with waiting until Nemuri was ready to talk. For the next hour, the two women sat in complete silence.

*A/N: This section will be written out in manuscript conversation form*

Nemuri: Sighing softly, she spoke; “I think...I think I’m ready to talk about it.” she whispered, eyes trained on the table in front of her.

Y/N: “What exactly happened Nem?” she asked, tracing her fingers softly over Nemuri’s interlocked fingers.

Nemuri: “I had planned to leave work early, and surprise Enji. I left at noon; got my hair done...I even stopped at the store to buy his favorites to make him something nice for dinner...It had been a while since we had any one on one time.” she mumbled. Taking a sip of her coffee she continued on, “I knew he would be in the office, until at least 6. I called his secretary to confirm that he was in meetings and made my way over to his place.” her lips trembled now as the memories moved to the front of her eyelids. “When I got there, I was met with noises, which was odd; because I knew the maids were always gone by 1130 on thursdays...” she squeezed her fists tightly, knuckles turning white. “I made my way further into the house, only to hear a voice to the left of me...there was a woman draped across the couch...i-in nothing but Enji’s robe...the robe t-that I a-always...”

Unable to finish her sentence, Nemuri’s body shook as she sobbed finally, letting the emotions spill over. Y/N slid out of her seat and over to her side pulling her into a hug. Stroking her hair she cooed softly, as she let Nemuri cry out her frustrations.

Y/N: “What happened next Nem?” she murmured softly.

Nemuri: sniffling, she continued on, “She asked me who I was...and what I was doing in her husbands home. I told her that I was his girlfriend and that they had been divorced for years...She just...she laughed at me Y/N. She laughed in my face and told me, that I was a fool and that she and Enji had still been fucking around for years...years!” at this point, Nemuri’s sobbing had ceased, but her body still shook slightly. “I was so angry, becuase god could he really do something like that to me? After everything we’ve been through together?” she asked burying her face in Y/N’s hair.

Y/N: Next to her, Y/N’s mind was running through every possible scenario of how she was going to beat Rei’s ass. Still stroking Nemuri’s hair she asked softly, “What exactly did Enji tell you about Rei Nem?”

Nemuri: “ He didn’t go into much detail about her, jus that she wasn’t the best parent and they had stuck things out for the sake of the kids...at least until Sho turned 18.” she answered, dabbing her cheeks with the napkin in front of her. “Why? Is...Is there something I don’t know?” she asked.

Y/N: “There’s a lot of things you don’t know Nem, and it’s probably best if I tell you, but let me get it all out before you ask your questions.” Y/N murmured moving back to her side of the booth...tapping her fingers against the table she spoke. “ I grew up in an orphanage, and as shitty as it was; I got lucky when I won the scholarship to attend school at Shoto’s school...I met Shoto when I beat these kids up for making fun of his scar...That scar was the result of Rei pouring hot water over him because he looked too much like his father.” she murmured eyes cast down towards the table. “I didn’t really know the extent of Rei’s abuse before I met Shoto, but after meeting him and his siblings; I could see the signs...Growing up in an orphanage full of kids who no one wanted, you knew what to look out for; and you knew you had to protect yourself...The Todoroki kids didn’t know those kind of life lessons.”

Y/N: “The first time I stayed over, Shoto was a little worried, I’d never want to go back. At the time Enji, spent a lot of time at work...he didn’t know how to deal with what was going on at home; so Dabi was the one who took the brunt of the responsibility before I came along.” she said, waving her hand towards the waitress. Pointing at what she wanted to order she continued; “Everything had been fine when I got there, and I had gotten a long pretty well with the siblings...and then the door slammed open and a drunk Rei had come home...Shoto tried to apologize, but I had told him it was fine. I wanted to see what was happening, so I could better understand my new friend.” “She was so drunk, she didn’t even know I was there; but I watched as the good mood quickly disappeared. Natsuo had shrunken into a corner of the room, attempting to make himself practically invisible, and Dabi had made his way towards his mother ready to reign her in. Shoto stood in front of me, trying to hide me from her scrutunizing gaze, but her eyes were focused on Fuyumi.”

Nemuri sat across from Y/N, her fists clenched as she listened to Y/N tell her about Rei.

Y/N: “She poked at her slight rolls, and called her a pig. She tugged at her hair and told her it was a rats nest...she said awful things to her child with a voice full of absolute hatred.” she declared fist clenched and her knuckles white. “That was the first of many times I was bared witness to Rei Todoroki treating her kids like shit...I would come over and she would be drunk or strung out on whatever drug she had gotten her hands on that day...There wasn’t a lot I thought I could do, I didn’t want to lose my best friend or the siblings I had grown to love...When something bad happened, I just convinced Dabi that we should leave the house for the day. Enji would give us his credit card and we’d go and find something fun to do...One day when I was 11...I wasn’t able to come over, there was an adoption event at the orphanage and I didn’t have a choice but to go. I wish I had skipped it.” she mumbled. “Maybe if I had, then things would have been different...I went to school the next day, only to be met by the principle and Enji...there had been an accident at the house the night before and Dabi was in the hospital...I had been informed on the way there, that Rei had come home high on LSD and hallucinating. She thought Dabi was a burglar and had thrown the pan he was using to cook at him. He had been knocked unconscious when she knocked over cooking oil, resulting in the kitchen bursting into flames...Fuyumi and Natsuo had been at the library and Shoto was at anger management therapy...”

Nemuri gripped Y/N’s hands tightly as tears started streaming down her cheeks.

Y/N: “Rei...She ran out of the house in a panic, as the fire continued to spread throughout the house...she left her child behind...to die in that stupid fucking fire.” she whispered voice laced with hatred. “It was by some fucking miracle, that someone saw and called the fire department right away...Dabi ended up suffering severe burns all over his body; and was attached to a breathing tube for months...I don’t think I’d ever been as angry as I was when Rei showed up to his hospital room, sober and unassuming as to how her son ended up there.”...

Y/N: “It took Enji and three security officers to get me off of her. I couldn’t tell you how it happened, but I couldn’t see anything clearly but Dabi’s bandaged body and the woman responsible for it.”

Nemuri: “Jesus, Y/N... that’s so awful!” she whispered, hands over her mouth; shock adorning her features.

Y/N: “Yeah well, not a lot could be done. As Enji’s wife she was entitled to half his shit...and her family had tons of money before the marriage...Enji only stayed on because the agreement said she’d get everything if he left her before the last child turned 18...she never even wanted kids...she just had them to trap Enji.” she murmured, taking a bite form the food set in front of her. “After the hospital, Rei made her dislike for me known strongly, but she didn’t abuse her kids anymore on the days I was around; which I tried really hard to do daily; but some things couldn’t be helped.”

Nemuri: “So what happened after that?”

Y/N: “For the next 7 years I looked after the Todoroki’s as best as I could. I convinced them to find things to do that would keep them out of the house, and I helped Enji learn how to talk to his kids...I suggested they attend family therapy without Rei...she was hardly ever home after a long discussion with Enji resulting in a tentative agreement that she would get whatever she wanted so long as she stayed away from them...and she had agreed. The older I got, the stronger I got and we had our run-ins from time to time. When I was 16 she found out Fuyumi was a lesbian and before she could go in on her for being an “abomination” I had her by the hair and out the door. I was bigger than I was at 11, so it hurt more...Rei made sure she and I were never in the same vicinity together so she could attempt to torture her children in peace; but I always found out.” “She would rat me out to the orphanage, but at that point they didn’t care what I did. I had my own job, I paid for my own things...I hardly even lived there anymore...”

Nemuri: “They must have gotten the divorce right?” she asked fingers playing with the thread of her jacket sleeve, remembering how she had met Enji a few days after Shoto’s 19th birthday, 6 years before.

Y/N: She nodded her head, “Enji had the papers drawn up and ready to push through the day Shoto turned 18...Rei must have forgotten her agreement, because she was absolutely livid; but it didn’t matter...with the threat of legal action and physical violence she signed them and she’s been gone ever since.”

Nemuri: “Then what the fuck is she doing here now? Six years later?” she hissed, fists clenched, anger for the Todoroki’s and anger for Y/N present. “How could she do something like that to her kids? How could you take on that kind of burden Y/N?”

Y/N: “The Todoroki’s are the only family I have Nem...and I would do absolutely anything for them. Anything at all...Without hesitation I would do anything for them, and in that moment they needed me. They were also there for me...when I was 17 and pregnant and I needed them. She came back, because she must have heard that Enji had plans to make YOU the next Mrs. Todoroki and wanted to scare you off, but I’m not going to let that happen.” she murmured waving down the waitress. “I’m gonna pay this check, and we’re gonna take you home.”

Nemuri: “He was going to propose to me?” she asked. Y/N nodded as she put the money on the table. “Take me with you...If you’re going to Enji’s I want to be there...to see how you handle things.” she whispered. Nodding again, Y/N stood up. “Let’s go then, Shouta and Hizashi are already there; but I doubt they’ve been much help in calming Enji down.” Y/N muttered, putting her jacket on and making her way out of the cafe.

-The Todoroki siblings had a pretty harsh life before Y/N. But as she said; they were family and she’d do anything for her family.

@dabilove27 @abyssmium @amarillyis @mushimoon14 @shikiry @therealwalmartjesus @bbymilkbread @kac-chowsballs @pepper-elaine @wineandionysus @loverofallthingsfoxy

#katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugō #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #shinsou hitoshi #bnha shinsou #shinsou x reader #shinsou imagine #bnha smau #bnha #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #smau

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

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Journal Entries

Request: Hello! :3 Would you mind writing a harry x reader where y/n is a shy and soft Ravenclaw that has a crush on him and she's always carrying a notebook where she writes/draws random stuff she likes and has a special section for Harry where she writes little things about him and puts some photos that she takes out from the daily prophet or that y/n herself takes of him with her Polaroid camera? and turns out that Harry reciprocates her feelings? (Sorry if is too specific, I love your writing btw)💕

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting this! I loved writing it! I hope I have done it justice. I’m sorry it’s so short!!

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: accidental invasion of privacy

Word count: 1.7k

As an early seventeenth birthday present, your parents gifted you with a gorgeous brown leather journal for the safekeeping of your thoughts and dreams. This journal was not your first, nor would it be your last. Your parents felt that as a Ravenclaw who struggled to get their point across, the journal would help push your ideas from your mind and onto a page where they could be formed into something with more substance.

The journal was your security blanket, your safe haven. Everything went into your journal, and you wouldn’t be found without it. It was like an extension of your arm. Over time, it had become worn – a show of your love for whatever was inside. Spine broken and pages worn. It was the one place your inner most thoughts were safe.

Everything you felt; everything you thought went into your journal.

It turns out most of your thoughts and feelings revolved around The Boy Who Lived.

A crush, that’s all what this is. A simple crush.

It had started in third year, and now three years later, the crush was still very much alive.

At this point, it could be strongly argued that it was past the point of being a simple crush.

Harry Potter had captured your attention, and then captured your heart. There was something about how fiercely loyal he was to his friends; how he fought for his principles as well as remaining uncommonly kind. All of this went into your notebook; among the clippings from The Daily Prophet that covered the Triwizard Tournament and the polaroid’s of the Quidditch teams; among the sappy quotes about love and hopeless wonderings.

----------

Your journal sits on your desk, right next to your pot of black ink and quill.

Transfiguration was spent with the Gryffindor’s. It was in this class that you were able to spend four hours a week admiring your crush from afar. Three years into your crush; three years into your hopeless daydreams and being too shy to approach him – but you always had this class.

Your friend Margot elbows your side gently, “He’s watching you; you know.”

“Who is?”

“Who else? Harry!”

You frown, “I doubt it.”

“Well don’t! He’s still staring,” Margot giggles.

You glance out of the corner of your eye and sure enough, Harry is staring at you though he quickly looks away with a deep blush. A blush so bright and deep, his friend Ron makes no effort to cover his laugh at.

Ducking your eyes, you shift your attention back to the front of the classroom where Professor McGonagall has taken her place of pride and begins her lecture.

And you try to focus on the lesson at hand; try to take notes and seem interested in what’s being said.

But your mind keeps relaying Margot’s words as well as flashing back to Harry’s face – to the blush as he turned away from you. Your heart races as your mind runs through every possibility for why Harry could be looking at you. The logical side of you tells you that was probably caught off guard, staring into space until zoning back in to find both Margot and you watching him. But the side of you that hopes and dreams tells you that there could be a chance of him feeling the same as you.

The bell rings startling you from your daydream; you throw everything into your bag, rushing to join Margot at the door before rushing to your next lesson.

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

Sitting in the Ravenclaw common room, you fight back the tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks. You chide yourself repeatedly – how could I be so stupid? In the three years you had been filling journal after journal with your thoughts and dreams, you had never misplaced one. You snort; this isn’t very Ravenclaw of you.

You go through your bag again and again; the contents already spread across the common room floor. Going through the checklist verbally, you note that your journal was still missing.

It seemed that no amount of wishing was going to bring it back either.

You could have sworn on Merlin himself that you put your journal in your bag; that you had it with you at every part of the day, but with the way your eyes dance around the floor, gazing at the contents of your bag, your hope of finding your journal was dwindling fast.

Biting your lip, you let the overwhelming sense of dread wash over you – the clippings, the photos. If your journal fell into the wrong hands, that was it. The entire school would know and Ravenclaw would be descend into humiliation.

You hang your head in your hands; the humiliation already washing over you.

“(Y/N)?” A voice sounds. Looking up you find Margot watching you with a concerned look on her face. “Is everything okay?”

You smile a watery smile, “Yeah, it will be.”

“I’m here if you need me – you know that, but I came over to tell you that you have a visitor.” Margot smiles smally but her eyes show the excitement she feels about this visitor.

“Who is it?” You sniffle.

“Harry Potter.” Margot sounds; pronouncing each syllable of his name.

Your stomach falls to the floor. “Harry Potter,” you whisper, “He’s here?”

Margot nods wildly; her curls bouncing with each nod of her head. “Right outside the common room door.”

You throw yourself off the couch; bounding over to the mirror where you scrub at your face and flatten your hair. Returning back to the couch, you throw everything back into your bag – double checking the floor to make sure you don’t repeat your earlier mistake. You throw your bag at Margot, asking her to take it to your shared room as you run out of the room.

The last thing you hear before the common room door closes behind you is the sound of Margot’s laughter.

Someone clearing their throat has you turning to the right.

Where you come face to face with Harry Potter.

“(Y/N).” He greets.

“Harry,” You whisper, breathless.

Harry kicks at the ground; scuffing his shoe against the stone. “I found something of yours earlier.”

Your heart is in your throat. He’s found it.

Harry was the one to find your journal.

You want to hide away because from the look on his face, you know he’s looked through it.

Harry brings the worn, brown journal out from behind his back, “I found this after Transfiguration.”

You take it from his hands; already feeling comforted at the feel of it back in your hands. You flip through the pages absentmindedly, going through the pages of quotes, thoughts and feelings – the majority related to the teenager now stood in front of you.

“I hope you don’t mind but I peeked at it.”

You close your eyes, “You did?”

“I did.”

You scrunch your eyes closed further, feeling nauseous, “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“(Y/N), will you look at me?”

You shake your head, “I can’t.”

Hands take yours, “Will you please look at me?”

Again, you shake your head. Harry sighs, tugging on your hands gently, “Come on, follow me – you’ll need your eyes open for this bit.”

You blink against the light in the corridor, following Harry’s lead as he fetches you to a lesser walked corridor. Harry pauses by a statue, not letting go of your hand. “Will you talk to me now?”

You focus your gaze onto the floor, not wanting to meet his eyes for fear of seeing the rejection… or disgust.

A finger under your chin pulls your eyes to his, and for a moment, you’re dazzled by the blue of his eyes – seemingly burning brighter from the candlelight in the corridor.

“Please?” He whispers.

You take a deep breath, “I put everything in my journal – all of my thoughts and feelings.”

“And the pages about me?”

It’s at this moment you desire nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow you whole. “I’m really sorry you had to see those.”

“So you keep saying but I don’t know why they’re there.”

“I like you, that’s why the pages are there.”

“You like me?”

You nod, “I have for a while. You weren’t ever meant to see those pages.”

“I can’t say I’m not happy I found your journal because I am.”

“You are?”

Harry nods, “I’m sorry for the invasion of privacy but you can’t imagine how it feels to know that the person I have been crushing on feels the same.”

“The person… you’ve been crushing on?”

Harry ducks his head, blushing, “Yeah. Ron thinks it’s hilarious, but that’s because he won’t admit his feelings for Hermione.”

“You have a crush on me?” You ask, double checking that what you heard him say is true.

“Yeah, since Fourth Year when you visited me out of the blue in the hospital wing after the Triwizard Tournament.”

“I had to know you were okay,” You whisper.

You remember that day; you were driving yourself to the brink of madness, pacing outside the hospital wing, arguing with yourself all evening before eventually pushing the door to the wing open a crack. You found his bed easily; a large black dog curled up on the bottom and Mrs Weasley asleep in the chair next to him – a hand protectively placed on Harry’s blanket. Harry was awake when you made it to the end of his bed; words weren’t spoken, but smiles exchanged and that was that. Life returned to normal after that; or as normal as it could be.

“That was when I started to have feelings for you.”

“I wasn’t long before you.”

Harry smiles; he beams at you. He brings a hand up to your cheek, his thumb rubbing across the bone. You grin up at him, leaning into his touch. Happiness and bliss runs through your veins; a feeling you could become addicted to. The same is reflected in Harry’s eyes as he starts to lean in.

You tilt your face up to his; giving silent permission. In a single, silent movement, Harry presses his lips to yours. It’s chaste and sweet; everything a first kiss should be.

“Thank you for bringing me my journal,” You whisper, lips moving on his.

Harry smiles against your mouth, “You’ll have to misplace it more often if it leads to this.”

“Only if it’s you that finds it.”

******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes

#harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter x ravenclaw!reader #harry james potter #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp fandom #harry potter imagines #harry potter oneshot #harry potter drabble #the lightning era #the golden trio

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captainjanegay · 4 years ago

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in the lane, snow is glistening | Stucky | Canon Divergent, Winter Fluff, Pre-War, but also Post Endgame | 2.3k words | Ao3

Summary:

Two times Steve and Bucky take a walk through the snowy park.

based on a one-line holiday prompt - "if you throw that snowball, you’re declaring war"

A/N: It’s funny you said you’re in the mood for some winter fluff cause this one is specifically for you. Thank you so much for the prompt, my love @its-tortle ♥ The summary it's basically what the fic is about lmao You just need to add two dumb boys in love, loads of fluff and bickering and a good helping of emotions.

Also - my seventh fill for the @stuckybingo2020 ♥

The Prospect Park looks beautiful covered in a thick layer of white fluff, sparkling in the morning sun. It only started snowing last afternoon but there's a good two inches of snow everywhere. The park is relatively empty. The hour is late enough for most people to be at work or whenever they need to be but also cold enough for most people to stay at home if they don’t need to be anywhere. Bucky has no idea why he and Steve are outside. It was probably one of Steve's stupid ideas that Bucky has agreed to because there are only a few things he is able to deny when it is Steve who does the asking.

So here they are. Strolling through the snowy, almost completely deserted park on a Wednesday morning. Both shaking slightly in their worn coats, too thin for such weather. Bucky curses himself in his mind. He shouldn’t have agreed to this. What if Steve catches another cold? Even a light one always completely wears him out, tying him to bed for days. At least he agreed to take Bucky's scarf in addition to his own. He didn't go down without a fight. It took almost half an hour of arguing before Steve finally gave up and took the scarf.

So what if Bucky is now trying not to shake too visibly. At least Steve is warm. Ish, considering the temperature, but it's still comforting.

"Steve, come on," Bucky sways to the right, nudging Steve lightly. "We should head back."

Steve nudges him back, pressing his arm into Bucky's for a bit too long. The alley is wide enough and yet they still walk with barely an inch of space between them.

"Just a minute," Steve looks up at him. "It's the first snow of the year, let's enjoy it without your nagging, shall we?"

Bucky rolls his eyes, annoyed. But he doesn't press any further. Damn Steve Rogers and his stupid ideas. And damn his stupid, beautiful blue eyes. Just one look into them and all of Bucky’s common sense flies out of the window.

“I wonder if you still will be such a punk if you get sick again,” Bucky mumbles. Still, instead of taking the left turn that’ll take them home, he goes right, to take another leap around the park.

“Probably,” Steve grins.

His smile is as bright as the sun. Bucky feels warmer already, just looking at Steve’s happy face. Steve’s eyes are sparkling and he looks content and healthy and Bucky really hopes it’ll stay this way for the rest of the winter. Or forever, preferably. And maybe Steve’s right. The times they live in aren’t the easiest and it’s important to cherish all the little joys they’re able to find.

“I don’t know why I still put up with you. You’re horrible,” Bucky says. The way he looks at Steve says something entirely different, though.

“You’re horrible, too,” Steve points out. “So we’re even.”

A fond smile still in place, Bucky only rolls his eyes and quickens his pace, just a bit to get ahead of Steve in pretend annoyance. After just a few seconds he glances over his shoulder and sees that Steve is crouching down. At first Bucky thinks he’s just tying his shoe but he’s proven wrong soon enough.

“Oh no. Don’t you dare,” Bucky says as he turns around quickly. “If you throw that snowball, you’re declaring war.”

Steve cocks one of his eyebrows up as if Bucky just challenged him. Which Bucky didn’t, he’s not stupid enough to challenge Steven Grant Rogers. But that’s probably what Steve thinks has happened.

So — of course — before Bucky can say anything else, a snowball hits him right in the chest. After a second the hurriedly-made soft missiles are criss-crossing over the park alley. Steve’s not bad but he’s no match for Bucky and his perfect aim. In the last heroic and desperate measure, Steve runs across the alley with a fierce scream and tackles Bucky. Completely surprised by this sudden course of action, Bucky tumbles to the ground and a surprised laugh is knocked out of his chest as he falls.

Steve hovers over him. He has his arms braced on both sides of Bucky’s face. His bony knees are pressing gently into Bucky’s sides.

Bucky looks up. He looks at the joyous sparkles in Steve's eyes, at the satisfied grin, the dishevelled hair and cheeks reddened by the cold and exertion. The midday sun is right behind him, making it look like there’s a bright halo surrounding him. He’s the most beautiful sight and for a moment Bucky feels like he can’t breathe. This is the sight he wants to store carefully in his memory and take to his grave when his time comes.

In a split second something around them changes. The world turns, a minute ticks by but the atmosphere changes from joyful to something heavier. Bucky’s perfectly aware of Steve’s gaze that flicks to his lips once, twice, before skipping back up to his eyes. It makes Bucky go crazy. There’s nothing that he wants more than to lean on his elbows and kiss the remnants of Steve’s cocky grin off his face. But he doesn’t. The cold ground under his body, the distant voices of the city make him regain control.

“We should—,” Bucky starts, his voice hoarse all of sudden. “There’s people— We should head back home, yeah?”

Steve lets out a small sigh but he nods shortly before scrambling to his feet. When he pulls Bucky back up, their fingers remain intertwined for a moment longer than necessary.

***

The Prospect Park looks beautiful, covered in a thick layer of white fluff, sparkling in the morning sun. It’s the middle of the winter but only recently it got cold enough for the snow to stick for longer, instead of melting the moment it hit the ground. Despite it being almost midday, there are many people hanging around the park.

It was Steve’s idea to go outside and wander aimlessly through the city. His ideas of fun are a bit different than Bucky’s. If it was up to him, they’d stay in their warm flat and do things that didn’t require getting cold. But after all this time, he still has a hard time saying no to Steve.

Bucky is not a big fan of the cold these days. Sam always laughs that he’s just a big, mean cat that will hiss and scratch everyone who looks at him the wrong way. He calls him the Winter Panther and actually asked T’Challa to adopt him at one point. Sam is ridiculous sometimes. It’s not Bucky’s fault that he doesn’t like to be around people sometimes and that he really enjoys having his hair pet — but only by Steve and Nat. And maybe Clint. Or Sam, but he’s rarely willing to do that. And Bucky does tend to pick the warmest, sunniest part in any place he’s at.

After everything, Bucky just has a pretty bad associations with cold.

Today is fine, though. He doesn’t mind wandering arm in arm with Steve. Bucky’s safely tucked up in his long, warm coat and he has two scarves wrapped around his neck. When they left home he had only one but after walking for a while he confiscated Steve’s. The idiot had it hanging loosely around his neck anyway, didn’t even bother to wrap it once. It’s a miracle that his coat is buttoned up. This man has turned into a walking furnace after the serum. Bucky is convinced Steve’s leeching his warmth to fuel it.

"You want to head home, already?" Steve asks, looking at Bucky with a soft smile.

There's a tiny hint of concern in his eyes. It's easy to miss but after all those years and everything they've been through, there's almost nothing about Steve that gets by Bucky.

"I'll be fine," Bucky grumbles. They both know it's more on principle. "We can freeze my butt off for a bit longer, no problem."

Steve only rolls his eyes at Bucky, shoving him to the side but doesn't loosen his grip on Bucky's elbow.

"Ah, you're incredibly cheerful today, my love," Steve says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"How could I not be? My partner always has such splendid ideas for our daily activities," Bucky answers, with an overly sweet smile.

"You're such a jerk," Steve laughs.

After a moment, he extracts his hand from under Bucky's elbow and crouches. Assuming that he needs to tie his shoe, Bucky doesn't stop. When he looks over his shoulder a moment later, he audibly gasps and turns around.

"Fuck off, Steve! Don’t! If you throw that snowball, you're declaring war!"

As soon as those words escape his mouth, Bucky frowns. He looks to the side, trying to decipher that weird feeling of deja vu. A memory appears in his head.

It's a memory from a life long gone, from a park much like this one, from a winter that ended ages ago.

"Bucky?" Steve asks, dropping the snowball and taking a step closer. "You're OK?"

"Yes, it's just—," Bucky hesitates and when he looks back up at Steve, he sees that the concern in his eyes is as clear as a day now. "I've just remembered something. An old memory," he clarifies and smiles fondly. "I believe it was about a snow fight I've had with some little punk in this park. I said the very same thing to him back then. It's not a very detailed memory. And who knows if it actually happened?"

The smile on Steve's face grows gradually with every word Bucky says.

"Oh, it did happen. I actually might know the punk you're talking about," Steve jokes. His hands come to rest at Bucky's waist as he continues. "I'm pretty sure it was him that persuaded you to take a walk and since you've always been lazy, you've had a lot of complaining to do before you agreed."

"Oh, of course. It's not like I tried to keep the little punk from dying of pneumonia or something," Bucky rolls his eyes but he's smiling.

Steve completely ignores his comment. "The two of you walked for a while, didn't talk much but enjoyed the day. At some point he made a snowball and you said the same thing you did a moment ago. It didn’t make an impression on him, though.”

"Because he was a little shit," Bucky smiles softly, pressing the palm of his hand to Steve's chest.

"Maybe," Steve says with a chuckle. "The snow fight took some time and even though you weren't kids anymore it was the most fun you had in awhile. And then he took you by surprise and did this."

Before Bucky properly registers Steve's words, his legs are swept from under him and he tumbles to the ground. Steve goes with him, an arm behind Bucky's back cushions his fall. If it wasn't for Steve Bucky’s habits, both the Winter Soldier and the army ones would already kick in. But Steve is and always has been a calming presence for him. His anchor. So the only thing Bucky feels right now is surprise and a bit of annoyance, probably. No sight of feeling unsafe so he is able to remain calm.

Steve's face hovers over him, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

"He easily knocked you down. You stayed like this for a bit, just staring at each other," Steve's hand comes to brush against Bucky's cheek.

The look in Steve's eyes is both tender and heated and it makes Bucky forget all about the people around them, about the cold ground underneath him.

"He couldn't stop thinking about how badly he wanted to kiss you, right there and then. Just for a moment he wanted not to care about the people who could see you and how dangerous that could be. It would have taken so little effort to do so," Steve's voice is down to almost a whisper.

As if to prove a point, he leans down and presses a sweet, chaste kiss to Bucky's lips. Bucky smiles into it, feeling the tell-tale prickle of tears in his eyes.

"Who knows if he managed to do that after you'd gone back home."

"I think he might have," Bucky says quietly, swiping his thumb across Steve's jaw.

Steve's face is soft and filled with pure happiness. Bucky's heart feels like it's about to burst simply from looking at him, from all the emotions he tries to store inside. Steve’s beautiful blue eyes crinkle at the corners, his lips spread in a big smile. The December sun is shining high on the sky behind Steve, surrounding his body in a bright embrace. He's beautiful. Even after all those years, Bucky still thinks Steve is the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. Breathtaking. And when Bucky's time comes again, he knows that that is the memory he is going to take with him.

Since the mere sight of Steve is enough to have saved him from desolation once already.

"Come on, Buck," Steve says, getting to his feet. "Let's go home."

Feeling a bit hazy from the sudden tide of emotions, Bucky let's Steve pull him up. He leans forward, pressing another kiss to Steve's mouth. Even if no words are exchanged, they both know what the other thinks.

I’m yours and you’re mine and there’s nothing that could make me stop loving you.

After shaking the snow off of each other, they head back to the same part of Brooklyn where they used to live in the previous life they shared.

Their fingers stay entwined the entire walk home.

Title: in the line snow is glistening Creator(s): niallhoranbitches Card number: 065 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27844513/ Square filled: A4 - New York Rating: Teen and Up Archive warnings: None Major tags: Canon Divergent, Winter Fluff, Pre-War, but also Post-Endgame Summary: Two times Steve and Bucky take a walk through the snowy park. based on a one-line holiday prompt - "if you throw that snowball, you’re declaring war" Word count: 2287

#stucky #stevebucky #stuckybingo2020 #stucky fic #stuckyfic #stevebucky fic #stevebucky fanfiction #winter fluff #canon divergent #i hope you'll like it #♥♥#i finished it at 3.30 a.m. last night lmao #cause i was sure i'll lose it if i stopped writing #hope i've catched all the typos dsjaj

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alder-reid · 3 years ago

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Part II.

Thomas.

They let him out of the room only after he was quiet for a few consecutive hours and malleable with the devastation he was soaking in.

He was led to a small room at the back of the Peacekeeper station, occupied only by two chairs and a table between them. There was a single, long fluorescent light overhead, coloring the room with a clinical, harsh white glow. He was given orders, something he was getting used to. Stay calm. Stay put. Drink this.

His attention only returned when Felix walked into the room. Alder had always respected him. Felix had every trait he envied-- even keeled, principled, certain in his decisions. Alder often wondered if he even had it in him to stay as calm as Felix did in the face of crisis, and often thought to himself he’d make a far better Games mentor than Alder could ever be. He was practical right down to his close-cropped haircut, and something about his graying hair and lines around his eyes inclined Alder to trust his experience.

Today, however, not even Felix’s usual steady presence was calming the storm raging in him. “Why aren’t we going after him?” he demanded immediately, standing so suddenly the water in his glass sloshed over the sides and onto his hands.

“Alder--”

“They took him!”

“They took several--” “So we have to get them back!”

“I know you’re ang--”

“Hell yes I’m angry!”

A terse moment of silence stretched between them, only broken by the dull thud of Alder’s heart in his ears and his quick breaths filling the space between them.

Felix then sat, slowly, gesturing for Alder to do the same. When it became evident Alder wouldn’t do that, he continued with a sigh.

“I’m sorry about what happened to Maverick. We all are. We have every reason to believe that he’s alive, but it’s because he has information and they can keep him hostage. For you. It’s to walk you into a trap.” Felix sternly peered over his nose at him.

Alder stared back, mouth open to rebuke this, but he was right, wasn’t he? Suddenly, he felt stupid. He was reacting exactly how they wanted him to, and hell, he was still pissed enough about it that he wasn’t even sure he cared that he was playing into their hands.

“Great, so we can use that to our advantage. What the fuck are we going to do about it?” he snapped back finally, unsatisfied with Felix’s sympathies and logic.

“Sit,” Felix insisted again.

“I’m not going to fucking--”

“-- Please sit, and we’ll talk.”

With a huff, Alder dropped down into the chair to appease him. Only because he prioritized knowing how they were getting Maverick back more than proving a point by standing.

“Like I said, he was certainly taken alive. Someone like Maverick they’d be far too careful to let die, at least not in such a… pedestrian way.”

Alders stomach clenched into tight knots, knowing fully the preferred method for that avenue would be public execution. He had to close his eyes for a moment at the roll of nausea accompanying an intrusive vision of Maverick on the steps of the Tower, just like last summer.

“But,” Felix said, trying to catch Alder’s gaze again. “But it means we have time. It means that we can continue with our mission, and doubtless he’s in the Capitol as we move through the plans here. We have intel on where high profile rebels are being held. His best chance is our success here, in Two, in the next days and weeks.”

Alder blinked in disbelief. “You’re suggesting we leave him there,” he realized in horror, eyes wide. “You’re suggesting we let them all stay there.”

“Yes,” he replied patiently, though with no joy. “I am. Anything else is suicide. To us and to the cause. We’re so close.”

“How can you can fucking live with this?” Alder spat back. “They’ll torture them. Kill some of them. You know that.”

Felix’s expression fell almost imperceptibly, just enough for a glimmer of sadness to glint behind his eyes before returning to normal. “We have all made sacrifices. I’m sorry. Maverick knew this was a possibility when he joined, just as you did. You need to accept that we can’t help him. He wouldn’t want you to.”

“You’re wrong,” Alder snarled. He stood very suddenly, slamming the glass down on the table beside him. It landed on its edge, tipping and spilling its contents before tumbling to the ground and shattering at their feet. Cold water soaked into his shoes. “You don’t know a single fucking thing about Maverick, and you’re wrong.”

“Maybe. However, I’m the commander, so it’s my decision, and my risk to assume” said Felix, unperturbed. “It’s not a bloodless process. But this is how we win. This is how we end all of this. This is how you get justice for what happened to your family, for what happened to you, Alder.”

The evenness in his voice, his cool logic only grated more at Alder’s nerves. He wanted Felix to scream back at him, give him the fight he wanted. “Fuck you. Whatever,” he muttered, tearing open the door and storming down the hallway, leaving Felix alone with a shattered glass and wet tile floor.

***

Felix must have permitted his release, because from there he was allowed to freely move about the Peacekeeper station with the rest of the rebels. Maybe he thought some routine would soothe him. Maybe he thought if he socialized, he might feel better. Maybe the idea was that limiting his privileges would only piss him off more.

Whatever the reasoning, when they rationed dinner in what looked like a staff kitchen, he took a spot alone in the corner of the room.

Without Maverick there, he felt like a ghost. All he could think about was where he was now, what they might be doing to him. Whether he was still alive for any of that to matter at all.

There were other ghosts in the room too, picking at their meals, isolated from the conversations around them. To the rest of the group they were invisible, but to Alder it was as if they were spotlighted. Their expressions shared the pain of loss and unknown that was scooping out his insides until there was seemingly nothing left, except it dug and dug and dug for more.

Appetite something near nonexistent, he wordlessly gave his tray of food to the nearest table and left.

Thoughts of Maverick tortured, captive, hurt kept gnawing at him as he was given a bedroll and free range to claim his corner during first watch. As ridiculous as it was, he missed Trouble horribly as he lay there in the dark, trying to grapple with the fact that his worst nightmare had manifested. He had, in fact, ruined Maverick’s life too. Trouble felt like the only being in this world that might not judge him for all of the missteps that had allowed this to happen, if only for being too stupid to know. He suspected if Trouble could count his sins, he’d leave him too. He closed his eyes and tried to find sleep. His body and mind were exhausted, but the pain in his chest and the vision of Maverick on the Tower steps behind a firing squad of Peacekeepers kept him awake. When the time came for his shift for watch, he was relieved.

Ten days dragged on to the cadence of fighting, meals, watch shifts, terrible sleep. The Captiol tried to bomb out the building twice, but it did little more than shake it-- it seemed that it was fortified against that very kind of attack, and infiltration had never been considered. As the days marched on, Alder became more and more restless, itching for forward momentum. He spent his free time trying to force his mind to invent solutions, ways he could get to wherever Maverick was and break him out. They all seemed to dead end at Felix’s words: You need to accept that we can’t help him. He wouldn’t want you to.”

Strategy meetings occurred daily, continued to wander into territories he felt conflicted about. They needed to take this hospital through violent force, yes. But it was crucial to breaking a central Capitol communication network and saving their own injured. Or there might be casualties in a residential area if the timing worked out wrong, but it would separate Capitol and Thirteen forces to double their chances of success. It was a game of weakening the Capitol by cutting off the lines that fed them, clothed them, defended them one by one by one, and in Two it was more important than anywhere else, meaning there was less room for moral questioning. He told himself, over and over again, what Maverick had said to him on the bathroom floor when he confessed about what had happened to Olympia’s mother. We live in a bad world and you’re trying to make it better. Success wouldn’t come without some destruction and death, not when the Capitol dealt in guns and soldiers. They’d only keep killing more children in the Games if they didn’t stop them, quitting now wasn’t bloodless either.

So he tried to not question. Not hesitate. Follow commands. He helped take the streets, the hospital. He tried to not remember the terrified look in the eyes of doctors, nurses, civilians as they stared at him, wide eyed and hands high as he stepped into rooms over the bodies of the innocent. Alder wasn’t used to being looked at with so much fear, it made him want to drop the weapon and rip his mask off and scream It’s only me, it’s just me, I won’t hurt anyone, I could never.

But that wasn’t really true, was it?

He’d been summoned the morning after the hospital’s capture for another strategy talk. He’d expected it to be the routine debrief but when he entered the room it was occupied with the appointed heads of each squad rather than his peers. Immediately suspicious, he hovered in the doorway as if preparing to run, eyes flitting face to face, eventually landing on Felix. “What is this?” he asked. “A promotion.” Felix gestured to the empty seat at the table. “Join us.”

#part ii. thomas #126 #self para #ft. maverick #at-home #ah126

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inspired-by-the-music · 4 years ago

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For You: Stand By Me

Taglist: @jineunwootrash

If you would like to be added to the taglist of any of this blog’s works, please ask!

Note: special thanks to @teahyungangel for beta reading this! your support with 4 O’Clock and Stand By Me is such an inspiration!

Recommended Reading: For You: 4 O’Clock; these works have separate, independent, but deeply interwoven timelines.

Chapter 1: The Girl with the Gappy Smile

Sehun’s POV She was weird from the very beginning, but I guess I always liked her.

She was always sitting there at that table by the vending machine outside of the dance studio. As a trainee, I passed by her every day on the way to and from practice. The first time I caught her looking up at me from her little book, I pretended not to notice. I didn’t say anything. After buying my chips, I dashed back to practice because— really— what could I have said to this kid?

I could have asked who she was and what she was doing there. I did, eventually, after weeks passed and she hadn’t budged from her place at the table.

“I’m Lei.” Her smile was too big for her face, and it made her look much younger than her solemn studying expression. Before I saw her, I didn’t know that kids could have laugh lines. She spoke through the gap in her front teeth, “I’m Super Junior’s kid!”

Because I was still new to the agency, I didn’t know then that Super Junior was managed by the idol who never debuted. I didn’t understand that I was talking to a controversial kid who would grow up to be something like royalty at S.M.

To tell you the truth, I almost didn’t expect her to understand me; I had never really talked to a foreigner before. Eventually, I would learn that she was American, and that’s why she spoke with a funny accent. That’s why she spoke to me without considering our age difference like every other person in Korea.

At first, it was startling— talking to somebody so different— but it didn’t offend me or anything. Because I finished practice for the day, and I had nothing better to do, I sat across from her and dropped my backpack at my feet.

If she was Super Junior’s kid, I thought, it was pretty irresponsible for them to leave her alone so often. “Do you just sit here by yourself all day?” I felt my eyebrows pinching together in concern. Maybe that’s why I liked her. She was the first person I ever looked after. “Don’t you go to school or something?”

“I’m not by myself,” she responded brightly. Just as I was about to ask if she had an imaginary friend or something, she pulled from the seat next to her a doll with dark hair, brown eyes, and warm-toned skin. From a glance, I knew it was expensive— one of those porcelain dolls that adults collect. It looked like her, just without the gap between the teeth because it’s red-painted lips were pressed into a closed-mouth smile. “Marisol is studying Mandarin with me.”

It’s normal for little kids to cling to their toys and live in their imaginations, I guess. I don’t know if they usually understand the difference between dreams and reality, but I'm almost certain Lei didn't. She spoke as if her doll were a real girl sitting and reading with her. Remembering this is kind of weird because I now understand that Lei never had friends her age because she didn’t go to a real school. At the time, I guess, that doll was as close as she could get to a real friend.

I say that I understand, but I guess I don’t. It’s more like I can imagine. Nothing about Lei ever made sense to me at first, so I could only blink at her because I didn’t know what to say. She didn’t act like other kids (not that I knew anybody else her age) so I didn’t know whether to talk to her as a kid or as an equal. It was weird. Uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” she nodded suddenly as if answering a question I hadn’t asked. “You’re the handsomest.”

“What?” I raised my eyebrows at her. My mouth fell open. Were all kids so direct?

She closed her book and told me, “I’ve seen a lot of people come through here—” she must have meant the S.M. building— “and most of them are pretty cute, but there has never been anyone as handsome as you.”

It was weird. I was only about fourteen years old, and I kind of had this embarrassing habit of stuttering around girls, so I avoided them. so nobody had ever said anything like that to me before. So it was weird because it was my first time receiving a compliment like that, and it was weird because she was a kid, and it was weird because she spoke matter-of-factly— without a blush, a bashful smile, any hesitation, and any expectation that I would return her praise.

“How old are you?” I asked, but maybe it didn’t really matter. She was obviously younger than me, so it’s not like her answer would have made me feel less uncomfortable.

“Technically,” she said, pronouncing every syllable carefully, “I’m nine years old, but I’ll be ten in April.”

‘When in April?’ I almost asked, thinking that it would have been kind of funny to share a birthday. I shook the question from my mind once I decided that somebody had to teach this innocent little kid not to be so forward with boys. “Isn’t nine a little young to call boys handsome?”

At that, her face burned red, and I felt kind of bad. “No,” she argued instead of quietly accepting the criticism. “Heechul said that if you think something about somebody, you should tell them. I think you’re the handsomest, and that’s why I told you.” To her, it was as simple as that.

It was embarrassing to be around somebody so honest. I hoped that she would grow out of that habit of saying things so bluntly; it made me squirm. “Heechul gave you dangerous advice,” I told her mostly because I didn’t want to hear everything she thought about me. This concern was secondary: “You can’t tell everyone everything you think. That can get you hurt.”

She blinked at me, uncomprehending. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Why couldn’t she just accept that I was right? I didn’t want her to understand; I just wanted her to obey. “Don’t tell every boy you meet that they’re the handsomest.”

“I don’t!” She scowled at me. “You’re the only person I’ve ever said that to!” I guess I could have thanked her and let the compliment slide once, but I was too stubborn to abandon the principle of the argument. “You can’t just flirt with boys like that— especially boys who are older than you.”

“I’m not flirting. I’m only saying what I think.”

“Well,” I bossed, “stop it.”

Glaring, she asked, “Why?”

And I squirmed because I didn’t know how to answer. ‘Why?’ is the worst question because no answer is ever good enough; ‘Why?’ happened to be Lei’s favorite question. I didn’t really want to tell her about the kind of people who would take advantage of her pure admiration. I didn’t want her to keep looking at me like that, and I didn’t want to keep wasting my breath telling her what to do.

Deciding with the roll of my eyes that if I couldn’t keep her from saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, I would have to stand by to protect her, I huffed, “It’s just not proper.”

Frowning, she positioned the doll between us on the table, I guess, to act as a sort of barrier. She flung open the cover of her book and, maybe to hide what little bit of her face I could still see, she raised the book to be her shield. Apparently, she didn’t want to look at me anymore.

I shouldn’t have cared. It would have been easy to stand up and walk out the door were it not for the sudden sinking weight in my stomach. There’s nothing worse than upsetting a kid— especially one who hadn’t meant any harm. Even before I turned into a stupid teenager, I didn’t know how to apologize, so I just sat there, drumming my fingers on the table and wishing that she would say something or smile that gappy smile again so I wouldn’t have to say sorry.

I might have sat there all night had two members of Super Junior not shown up to return the stars to her eyes. “Donghae! Yesung!” She dropped the book flat onto the table to reach for their embrace.

“Here’s lunch!” Yesung grinned as he placed a McDonald’s bag before her. “And here’s your strawberry milkshake!” Donghae set before her a cup that was far too large for a child.

They were pretty doting, I guess, ruffling her hair and asking about her day, which she spent studying. This must have been a part of her daily routine that I had never seen before. When she smiled at them— the people she claimed as her family— she didn’t look so lonely, but there was something about Lei— there was something about that everyday image of her sitting alone with her doll and learning from some book— that made me wish someone could be with her always.

It wasn’t my place to tell anyone how to take care of her. At fourteen years old, I was practically a kid myself even if I didn’t want to believe it. Still, I thought that Lei deserved to be playing outside in the sun. She deserved to meet people with the same gappy smile. She deserved to have the joys of a normal nine-year-old even if she was extraordinary. I don’t know why I cared so much, but I did. Yesung noticed me staring at their scene first. He eyed me curiously— almost suspiciously— before Donghae noticed me and asked Lei with a smile, “Did you make a friend today?”

Without looking at me, her face turned red. “No,” she mumbled, the corners of her mouth twitching downward. So quietly that I shouldn’t have been able to hear, she said, “I don’t think Sehun likes me very much.”

I shifted in my seat, reacting partially to the shock that she knew my name although I hadn’t given it to her, but reacting mostly to Yesung’s and Donghae’s stares sharpened to pierce through me. Obviously, because I was a trainee, being the target of glares from senior artists was a nightmare, but I didn’t speak up merely to lessen their grudge against me. I spoke up because it was kind of heartbreaking— the way she hid her face in the crook of her elbow after she crossed her arms on the table.

It was never a mystery: Lei had a crush on me for whatever reason. While I didn’t know what to do with her nine-year-old feelings, I knew that I didn’t want to crush them. I wasn’t the most sensitive guy on earth or anything, but I didn’t want to hurt her. I never wanted to hurt her.

Pain is inevitable when you care too much about what somebody says, so I crossed my fingers and prayed that she would grow out of listening to me. Resolving to use my power over her emotions for good— just once— I said, “I do like you.”

It was true. There’s no point in acknowledging that we didn’t like each other the same way. I don’t think any two people ever feel the same way at the same time, so that idea of ‘mutual feelings’ never appealed to me. I don’t know why people make such a big fuss about feelings when they rarely have any rhyme or reason. Don’t think I’m intentionally insensitive; I just don’t get it.

“Really?” Lei looked up at me skeptically.

Was there any way to satisfy this kid? Had I said the wrong thing again? I hated situations like that. The longer she looked at me to say what she wanted to hear, the longer I would disappoint her. I couldn’t tell her to look away, though. She wouldn’t have obeyed me anyway.

Still aware of Yesung’s and Donghae’s eyes fixed on me, I nodded. “Yeah. We’re friends, so stop—” I had an epiphany: if she wouldn’t look away from me, I could look away from her. I did. “Stop looking at me like that.”

I didn’t have to look at her to see the return of her bright smile. It was blinding. Somehow, I could feel it. Maybe this is selfish, but I remember just feeling glad that I could breathe again.

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bgn846 · 4 years ago

Text

One Giant Warp - FFXV Promtis

Summary:

Noct wants to show Prompto how he warps, how hard could it be? Very hard, like the wall he just threw himself into attempting to demonstrate. However, the one nice side effect of his miscalculation is Prompto fawning over him. Maybe he should throw himself into walls more often. a.k.a. Noct likes Prompto and doesn't know how to tell him.

It turns out the old adage of keeping your eye on the ball wasn’t just meant for sports. The same reasoning applied to warping. This fact made itself known when Noct decided to risk a quick glance over at Prompto. The prince had wanted to ensure his friend could see the feat he was about to perform. Sure, his best friend was paying attention, and subsequently got to watch as Noct slammed himself into the wall of the training room. One small note of comfort being, no one else had been there.

The feeling of pain was first and foremost in his brain as he writhed on the floor. Thank the six, the walls were covered in mats. Though he was pretty sure they weren’t meant for warping into. Noct was dimly aware of the floor vibrating as Prompto ran over. His frantic shouts also helped clue Noct into his approach.

“Noct! Buddy! Oh em gee please tell me you’re alright?!” Prompto yelped in a panic.

Only able to manage some sort of guttural sound in acknowledgment, Noct reached out his hand to grab Prompto’s arm. Squeezing firmly he held on in hopes the gesture would calm his friend. Typical to Prompto, it didn’t work.

“Dude, shit, are you dying or something? Why are you holding me like that? Say something I don’t know what t--.”

“M’fine!” Noct blurted. “Hurts, give me a minute.”

“Did you break anything? If you did then you shouldn’t move. How’s your neck feel? What about your back?” Prompto rapidly fired as his blue eyes darted to and fro. “When you said you wanted to show me how you warped, I didn’t think you’d do it so forcefully!” he finished with a wince.

The shock of literally throwing his body at an immovable object was wearing off, and Noct attempted to roll on his side, albeit slowly. Thankfully, nothing twinged and the only part of his body that was starting to throb was his head. A headache he could handle. Having to explain why a potion was missing later due to a broken bone wasn’t something he’d been looking forward to.

He knew he’d never be able to say the real reason why due to certain people like Ignis being able to see through him in a heartbeat. That was the only issue with practically growing up with someone, they knew all your tells. Fibbing to Prompto, on the other hand, was easy. Not that admitting he’d merely been trying to show off for his secret crush would work well either.

Noct simply had to survive this moment and move on, or rather move up. The floor was very comfortable right now, and the idea of even attempting to walk wasn’t sounding promising. Fighting gravity combined with relearning how to balance was the least of his worries. He already knew he’d need Prompto’s help getting back home. The prospect of having to hang onto the blond was proving to be a worrying thought.

He didn’t mind being close to Prompto, quite the opposite, he wanted nothing more than to stay close. Having a crush on your best friend was fun and torturous all at the same time. Resigned to keeping his fantasies in dreamland Noct focused on trying to sit up. No need in delaying this process any longer. He needed to rest and forget this ever happened. However, when Noct did sit up the room spun. Guess he’d hit his head harder than he thought. Muttering a curse under his breath Noct clamped his eyes shut and reached out for the nearest thing to steady his movements. Prompto’s warm and slightly clammy hand enveloped his a second later. Right, he forgot, Prompto was the nearest thing.

Laughing nervously to detract from his now equally sweaty hands, Noct began rambling. “I’m fine, really, it’s all good,” he lied opening his eyes once more. Big mistake. Prompto’s blue eyes were right there, brilliant and bright, staring straight at him.

“You don’t look so fine, buddy. You sorta look ill.”

“You try throwing yourself at a wall and see how you fair.”

“Not funny, you didn’t see it from my perspective, or hear the noise either.”

“What noise?” Noct asked bewildered. “Did I yell?”

Prompto huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. “No, dude, the noise I’m talking about is when your body hit the wall. It sounded like a sack of potatoes dropping.”

“Oh, yeah it wasn’t supposed to go like that.”

“We should get you to the clinic or something, just in case.”

“Huh? Clinic? Six, no, I’m not going to the doctor. I’m fine,” Noct defended while attempting to stand and promptly grabbing his friend for support. Stupid head, spinning around and making the simple act of standing an issue.

“Whoa, I gotcha,” Prompto supplied as he slung Noct’s arm over his shoulder. “I know I just started crownsguard training but I’ve already learned about first aid,” he beamed proudly. “Which means we need to go to the clinic.”

“Seriously Prompto, I’m good, I’m not gonna go,” Noct tried again as they hobbled along to the door.

“I’m not going to be responsible for killing the crown prince of Lucis because I let him bully me.”

Noct scoffed, “I’m not dying, my head hurts I need to sleep it off.” This statement got Prompto even more animated.

“Your head hurts? Shit, dude, that’s worse. You shouldn’t go to sleep.”

Noct was about to tell Prompto that he was perfectly capable of reading his own injuries when an idea struck. If he needed to stay awake then this was a perfect excuse for them to spend the rest of the afternoon and night together. Prompto slept over all the time but always used the guest room if he hadn’t already fallen asleep on the couch. This time Noct had a valid reason for him to share his bed.

Impressed by his own cleverness Noct voiced his brilliant idea without pause. “Why don’t you keep an eye on me then, make sure I don’t pass out or something worse.”

“I’m already doing that dummy, and I’m going the extra mile by taking you to the doctor.”

Thinking fast Noct remembered that Cor might still be around. “What if Cor clears me? Would you accept that instead of the doctor? He’s got a medic certification too, remember?”

Prompto pouted but eventually nodded. “I trust his judgment, but I still think you’re being a baby.”

Noct waved Prompto off with his free hand motioned for them to go in the direction of Cor’s office. Needless to say, Cor was not amused by his appearance five minutes later. The man took one look at the pair of them and scowled. “Noctis, why do you have a rather painful looking bump developing on your forehead?”

“I hit the wall with my head, but that’s not what’s important right now. Can you make sure I’m not going to die so Prompto won’t make me go to the clinic?”

Taking a deep breath Cor stood from his desk and sauntered over. “I warned you not to take your eye off the ball.”

This time Noct scowled and gave Cor a look that he hoped would stop the older man from pressing further. “You can’t even warp,” he grumbled.

Cor hummed in agreement, “I still saw your father do plenty of stupid shit, so I know the principle behind the magic.”

“Yeah, yeah, am I okay? You’ve seen real dead people before so you’ll know what to look for.”

“Noct, shut up,” Prompto whispered. “He’s the immortal for six sake.”

“Yes, I know,” Noct hissed. “That’s why we are here.”

Cor took all their comments in stride and if Noct was being honest he would swear Cor had a slight smile on his face. After some cursory questions about how he was feeling and Cor examining his head, he was given the clear to go home. A stern warning to call if anything changed was given out as Prompto steered them out of office once more.

The next challenge on the long, terrible journey home was transportation. Noct knew he shouldn’t drive, and he was not going to call Ignis for a lift. If he could keep this little accident a secret it’d be even better. Ignis wasn’t even scheduled to visit later. If Noct played his cards right he’d have Prompto all to himself for the whole night.

Convincing Prompto to drive the car back to his condo was tricky. Noct laid out how terrible it would be if Ignis showed up, and how degrading it would be if Gladio found out. They were best friends this was a moment between them, and them alone. Noct was babbling and he knew it, but it worked. Prompto finally took the driver’s seat and slowly navigated them to his place. Noting to never ask Prompto to drive again Noct focused on staying upright on the walk to the elevator. Having someone to lean on was immensely helpful; otherwise, he was sure he’d have fallen over in the parking garage.

Curse living on the ninth floor, the elevator made his head throb painfully and he wasn’t about to take the stairs. Prompto noticed immediately when he sucked in a labored breath once the elevator began moving.

“You’re still feeling awful aren’t you?”

“I’m not in pain if that makes you feel better. My head still hurts, but not anything unbearable,” he added quickly. Prompto might take this admission as a sign of weakness and decide to call Ignis or something worse.

“Cor said to make sure you ate and to take it easy, let’s focus on that for now.”

“We can order pizza!” Noct exclaimed making them list sideways. This using his crush as a crutch was great. Maybe he would stay ‘dizzy’ for a little longer. He was starting to enjoy this moment for all the wrong reasons. Noct wasn’t even sure if Prompto liked him back that way. Asking that question of his friend though was another matter entirely. Noct didn’t want to risk losing one of the best things that had happened to him. Prompto’s friendship had been a relief from the mounting daily pressures he faced.

Ignis and Gladio always had his back but this was different, Prompto didn’t come from their world. He wasn’t familiar with all the pomp and circumstance of being a royal. They were friends because they got along and had fun together, nothing more and nothing less. Noct was loath to ruin such a great thing by offering up his true feelings. Something about ‘hey I like, like you’ felt like a good way to seriously rock the boat. Things were smoothly humming along; there was no need to destroy a perfectly good friendship.

Lost in his own thoughts about how nice Prompto’s body felt Noct didn’t notice they’d reached his front door. It wasn’t until a hand began patting his pockets did he realize the issue. Prompto wanted his keys to get in. “Huh, sorry, they are in my other pocket,” he offered sheepishly.

“Well then, we gotta switch sides for me to reach them,” Prompto announced right before ducking out from under his arm and moving. The sound of jingling keys erupted soon after.

Noct was about to whine at being jostled until Prompto’s body pressed up against him once more. Smiling like an idiot he leaned further into his friend. Unfortunately, his timing was terrible, and Noct merely made them both fall forward. The newly unlocked door swung open forcefully, and Prompto barely had the strength to keep them both upright.

“Dude, warn me when you’re gonna do that!”

“Sorry, you feel really good,” Noct murmured sleepily. It wasn’t until a healthy blush developed on Prompto’s cheeks did Noct pick up on what he’d said. Shit. This was bad. “Ya know like ah, um--,” he trailed off completely at a loss for words. There wasn’t really a good way to explain away what he’d just said.

“You should sit down, I’ll order food,” Prompto quickly cut in as he looked everywhere but Noct’s face.

The walk to the sofa was deathly quiet as Noct desperately tried to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind. Prompto eased him down gently a minute later and then disappeared like his butt was on fire. Groaning at his own inability to function like a normal human Noct leaned back and stared at the ceiling, resigned to drown in his own insecurities.

Prompto’s hands were shaking by the time he made it into the bathroom. Noct’s apartment was open in the main living area so he couldn’t seek refuge in the kitchen. He also knew he couldn’t stay in here forever. He needed to keep an eye on Noct and hiding in here wasn’t the way to do it. His mind was still reeling from the simple comment his friend had made.

‘You feel really good’ was a benign statement in of itself, but combined with all the soft smiles and other things Prompto had noticed recently, it took on a whole new life. Maybe he hadn’t been imagining all of it before. Maybe Noct liked him as more than a friend.

Pulling his phone out he called the one person who might be able to give him some advice. Prompto had wanted to let someone else know what had happened, just in case they needed help later, despite Noct’s protests. He wasn’t about to put his friend in harm’s way. Suddenly worried he opened the bathroom door and looked down the hallway. Noct’s fluffy head of hair was still visible over the couch.

He was about to wander closer to really check when Noct’s hand came up and touched his fresh bruise. Thank the six, he was still okay. Going back to his little haven, Prompto hit the call button and waited.

Gladio picked up on the third ring. “Hey Prompto, what’s up?” he asked jovially. “We didn’t have a training session today, did we? I thought it was on Monday.”

“No, no, you’re good I uh just need to tell you something real quick.”

The shield must have picked up on the stress in his voice due to his next reaction. “What’s wrong? Are you alright? Where’s Noct? Is he hurt? Are you hurt?”

“Whoa big guy, calm down, I’m fine. Noct’s mostly fine. Cor checked him out if it makes you feel better.”

“What do you mean Cor checked him out?”

Prompto had to cover the speaker on his phone for fear Noct might heard Gladio hysterically laughing. The tale of Noct’s great warp strike to the training room wall was very funny to him. After Gladio had quieted down again he continued. “So yeah, I wanted you and Ignis to know, so you could like be prepared if something else happens. I felt like it was the wise thing to do considering the circumstances, and the fact that he refuses to go to the doctor.”

“Okay blondie, I’ll alert Ignis and make sure he promises to keep his mouth shut. I appreciate you callin’ You’re a good friend to Noct, he needs more people like you in his life.”

Gladio’s comment made Prompto remember the other reason he’d called. “Uh, so you were also right about the other thing.”

“Huh, what other thing?”

“The thing you relentlessly tease me about when I miss a move in training. The thing about Noct like, liking me and being to chocobo to admit it.”

“Seriously?! What’d he say?”

“Nothing much but I think hitting his head has made him a little loopy. He’s super relaxed and saying things and hanging on me.”

“You gonna tell you like him back?” Gladio asked.

“Should I? I don’t want to ruin things.”

“You’re not gonna ruin anything. Noct likes you, just tell him and see how it goes. I’d suggest you not try to ya know do anything tonight, he’s injured after all but talking about stuff is fine.”

“Oh em gee too much info Gladio, I’m not gonna jump him tonight, he needs to rest.”

Gladio laughed again but there was no malice behind it. “Go back and sit with him. You’re hiding in the bathroom, aren’t you? I can tell by the echo.”

“Yes!” Prompto hissed. “I got nervous, shit, I still need to order pizza.”

“Hey, calm down. Go sit with him and I’ll order for you. I can use his account to pay and then you can focus on making sure he’s alright.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Sure kiddo, you’re my friend too. Besides, I know what you two like to eat. Go check on him; make sure he’s not passed out or somethin’.”

“Okay thanks, Gladio.”

“No problem, call me straight away if anything changes. It sounds like he needs to rest and take it easy for the weekend. I’ll let Ignis know so don’t worry about that either.”

“Alright, I’ll keep you posted. Thanks big guy.”

Pocketing his phone once more Prompto opened the door to check on Noct. His friend was still in the same spot and moving his arms around like he was having a conversation. Expect no one was there. Wondering if he’d gone temporarily insane Prompto slipped out into the hallway and listened. Sure enough, Noct was talking, but after a second Prompto figured out he was simply talking to himself.

The dialog was all over the place. Noct was berating himself for being stupid and messing everything up. What in the hell was his friend going on about? Not wanting to see Noct act so self-deprecating Prompto ran back into the room. “Hey you didn’t mess anything up,” he chided while coming to a stop next to the sofa.

“You’re still here?” Noct exclaimed with a pained look. “I thought maybe I’d messed up so bad you’d snuck out.”

“You’re such a dork, I’m not gonna leave. I told you I’d take care of you and I meant it.”

“Oh, you’re not mad at me?”

“Dude, how hard did you hit your head? No, I’m not mad at you.”

‘Sorry,” Noct mumbled as he looked away and stared at the floor.

“Sorry for what? Pizza is on its way and we get to hang out for the rest of the night and watch movies and like uh, you know be idiots together.” Prompto offered with a smile.

“What kind of pizza did you get?” Noct asked with a pout. “I’m hungry.”

Unable to stop the burst of nervous laughter from escaping his mouth, Prompto blurted the first thing that came to mind, “It’s a surprise buddy. You’ll love it don’t worry.”

“Okay, I trust you.”

“So ah, how’s your head feel now? Is it still pounding?”

“It’s getting better, but I think I’ll be glued to the sofa for the rest of the night.”

Sitting down next to Noct, Prompto gathered his thoughts. He wanted to talk to Noct about how he felt, but he wasn’t sure right now was the best time. Gladio’s words flashed through his mind at that moment. Prompto should try and talk about stuff. He didn’t think he was reading the signs wrong, Noct sure seemed like he was interested in him.

“Um, what did you think you’d messed up?” he asked finally.

“Huh?” Noct whispered as he settled down into the cushions further.

“You were saying something earlier about messing up, what did you mean?” Prompto was sure Noct’s face was turning pink. That had to be a good sign. No one would blush if they didn’t have feelings to admit. Noct looked stricken; he clearly wanted to speak but couldn’t seem to find the energy. Time dragged on as Noct stalled. Gladio has been right, Noct was never going to say anything first. Prompto couldn’t believe he was about to do this but his friend needed him, now more than ever. Taking a deep breath he voiced his own feelings in hopes it would prompt Noct into revealing his own.

“You--you felt good too,” he managed through the lump in his throat. Noct didn’t immediately react. Prompto watched as various emotions played across his friend's face. Noct was confused at first; it was an odd statement to make when they weren’t actually touching. It was understandable that he’d be wondering about the context. Then, in a flash Noct turned his head and looked at him with wide eyes. He’d figured it out, hopefully.

“Say it again,” he demanded, but not in a condescending way.

Licking his lips Prompto gathered what little bravery he had left and repeated his comment, “you felt good too.”

“You mean it?” Noct checked as he leaned forward and gripped Prompto’s arm. “I didn’t destroy our friendship?”

“Is that what you thought would happen?” Prompto exclaimed. “I’m always gonna be your friend. I don’t know what life would be like without you buddy.”

Noct instantly relaxed and flopped back into the sofa, “I was so worried I messed everything up.”

“What? By telling me how you really feel about me?” Prompto asking hoping this might bait Noct into saying more.

“I’ve had a crush on you for soooo long, I just didn’t know how to tell you,” Noct admitted with a relieved look.

“Were you trying to impress me with your warping abilities?” Prompto queried with a smirk.

“Maybe, but don’t tell anyone else that! I don’t wanna get yelled at for abusing my magic just to impress someone I like.”

“You’d already won me over the moment we met.” Smiling at how that made Noct blush even harder Prompto continued on. “I’m flattered that you were willing to risk life and limb to impress me, but next time, tell me how you feel.”

Noct laughed and winced immediately afterward, “Shit, oh man I gotta take it easy tonight. That sucks.”

“Sounds kinda nice actually.”

“We could be trying out so many different things tonight, but I can’t even stand up without the room spinning.”

The true meaning behind what Noct had said, sunk in a second later. Oh, damn he was referring to those kinds of other things. One idea did come to mind that they could do. “So, we can always cuddle until you feel better,” Prompto suggested slyly. “Ya know, and then later we can do some other uh, stuff.”

Prompto didn’t have much warning before Noct slumped to the side and tackled him in a hug. “Thanks, buddy, falling asleep against you sounds really good.”

“Hey, no sleeping yet, you need to eat.” The sound that came as a response didn’t sound like the English language. Had Noct already zonked out? “Dude, no come on wake up!”

“Sleeeeep nowwwwww, pizza laterrrr.” Noct mumbled as he began to rearrange them on the sofa.

Prompto patiently waited until Noct was fully sprawled across his chest before he pulled out his phone again. He needed to send a text to Gladio but he was waiting for the inevitable. Noct falling asleep.

However, once Noct had stilled he took a breath to speak. “Why is your heart racing?”

That was an easy one to answer. “We just confessed that we like each other more than friends and now you’re lying on top of me. Why do you think my heart is racing?” He questioned jokingly. “I’m excited and nervous, and happy all at the same time.”

“Sorry, my macho display delayed our fun.”

“Honestly, I’m okay taking things a little slow. I like what we are doing right now and maybe later after dinner, we can uh, you know, try kissing?”

Noct giggled like a freaking two-year-old once he’d finished talking. “We can kiss now if you want.”

“Nope, gonna make you wait since you laughed at me.”

“Hey, I can’t help it, you sounded really cute.”

“I’m not cute bro, I’m manly just like you.”

Noct laughed again even moved his arm to hit him in the shoulder. “Fine, you sounded really handsome and strong. How chivalrous of you to wait on my account, so as not to spoil my virgin body.”

“If you weren’t injured right now I’d have shoved you off on the floor already. You should thank me for being so nice to you.”

Snorting and groaning in pain Noct stilled again. “Stop making me laugh. I gotta take it easy remember?”

“Sure, buddy,” Prompto drawled out. “You’re taking it easy, and picking on me at the same time. I don’t think that should be allowed.”

“Okay, truce, I’ll stop until I feel better.”

“Deal, but I’m gonna fight back once you get better too, don’t forget.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Noct asked indignantly.

“If you pick on me I’ll retaliate.”

“How? You can’t hurt me I’m the crown prince.” He offered haughtily but Prompto could tell Noct was teasing.

“I have my ways. I know someone who’d be more than willing to tell me where you’re ticklish.”

“Iggy wouldn’t betray me like that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Shhh, enough talk about that, lets enjoy this moment before the food gets here.” Noct went so far as to cover Prompto’s mouth with his hand to silence him. One well-placed lick of his tongue had Noct crying out in disgust. “Not fair, no licking.”

“Ever?” Prompto asked coolly.

“Never!” Noct replied but he seemed to realize what that might imply and quickly changed his tune. “Licking s’okay,” he nearly whispered a second later.

“I thought so, but that’s for later remember.”

“M’sleep nowww.” Noct hummed.

Prompto let Noct rest this time. Once his friend's breath had evened out, he texted Gladio to get an ETA on the food. For once the Friday night rush meant the hour-long time was actually welcomed, considering his current situation. Gladio had of course asked how it went and Prompto was happy to reply that they’d confessed their feeling to each other. He was graced with a thumbs-up emoticon and a smiley face.

Putting his phone down Prompto hugged Noct closer and rubbed his back. He was going to make sure they had the best weekend ever! Happy to simply be with Noct and hold him Prompto drifted off until the door buzzed. The night was just beginning as was their new relationship. Prompto couldn’t wait to have more adventures with Noct. So long as he didn’t throw himself into a wall again!

AO3 Link

#ffxv #fanfic #promtis #prompto #noctis

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headoverjojo · 5 years ago

Note

(same anon who submitted the blind ask for bruno's team) now how would la squadra react to/help a blind s/o?

Hi there again, darling! Ah, second part!! I loved it and I hope to have written something that you may like :3 Here we go!

Here there’s the Bucci gang version!

La Squadra di Esecuzione with a blind s/o

(Under the cut for length!)

Risotto Nero

Risotto met his s/o in the garden where he’s used to go when he wants to relax when everything becomes too much. He usually just sat here, in silence, enjoying the calmness and peace, as the garden is almost always empty. The other person who seemed to be a usual goer was a person who sat a bench away, a book in their hands. They too enjoyed the silence and peace of the garden and they both grew used to each other. A thing he noticed after a little, however, was that their book wasn’t a common one: it was in Braille. They were blind, so… this, however, didn’t stop Risotto to talk with them, when they started a conversations with him. They were nice… and they had no problems in describing how they approached the world without their sight. Risotto was fascinated by them and their way to move around… it was inspiring. He learned so much from them…

He adjusted everything in his house to make it more comfortable for them. He knew they were independent and he never tried to help them when they didn’t want it or when they were clearly doing fine alone, but, if he could at least make their life a bit easier, he was all for it. He made sure they were used to the position of the various objects in their home and he always paid attention to put them back where they were, in order to help them to find what they needed always on the place they had memorized. His home also had a small courtyard with an orange tree -it was already here, but thanks to Risotto’s cares it became a wonderful tree- and here he placed a small table and a couple of chairs, so his s/o can go here and enjoy the breeze, the good smell of leaves and oranges, when it’s time, and relax.

He doesn’t think of their disability as a possible obstacle in their relationship. He knows that their strength is immense and it’s what he appreciates, what he loves about them. They feel the world in a different way, but this is not bad; he had learned so much from them, things useful for his job but also things that helped him to grow internally, as person. He likes to help them as much as he could every time he’s at home, softly telling them about his day -of course not about murders and such-, he describes them smells, textures, sounds… if they ask him so, he reads for them, while their head rests on his chest, and it’s like hearing a big, dangerous panther reading while purring. With him, his s/o will never feel coddled like a baby or disrespected; in fact, they never felt so loved as who they were, blind and everything else.

Prosciutto

Prosciutto, with Illuso, was the one in charge of groceries -they were the most reliable in such mundane tasks, both for their look and attitude-; Prosciutto met for the first time his s/o right when he was buying groceries. They were a bit disoriented, ‘cause the supermarked had just been renewed, so all the isles had been changed; seeing them so lost, Prosciutto told himself that helping them wouldn’t have been a problem -and, being them blind, they wouldn’t have recognized them, so it was a win-win- and he did so. It had been nice, for once, doing something good and so mundane and not killing someone… he thought, frankly, it would have been their first and last meeting. He was wrong: some days later, they recognized his voice while he was again buying groceries and approached him. It happened again and again, until Prosciutto started to feel longing for their meeting…

Prosciutto had what could be defined “Big brother syndrome”; he tends to be protective, in his way, to everyone he cares about. He did so with his s/o too; in a different way from how he did with Pesci, but the principle was the same. He thought that their disability wasn’t an obstacle, that it wasn’t something who could have stopped them from doing what they wanted and he told them so again and again, always encouraging them and consoling them when they were upset or when they thought it was too much. Prosciutto was their first and most fierce supporter, he sincerely believed in their strength and ability. They could move around in a different way from everyone else; this wasn’t a flaw, but an advantage. He helped them to better themselves and they helped him to better himself too; in this sense, it was a very healthy relationship.

Even if he’s really supportive, Prosciutto doesn’t coddle them. He believes they can do their things alone and he doesn’t interfere; he does just when they ask him for help. A thing he loves a lot is their touch. It’s curious, it’s methodic; they don’t simply touch his face or hair, they explore it, they study him, as to impress his shape in their mind. He loves the soft smile that bends their lips when they do so… it makes him feel loved in a totally different way than before. He’s used to be liked or wanted for his good looking, but with them it’s not so. They can’t see him; they can judge him just by how he behaves, by how he is for real. With them he feels alive, he feels appreciated for real and he wants to make them feel the same. They deserve this and much more.

Pesci

When he had a moment for himself, between missions and training with Prosciutto, Pesci loved to go to the docks. He found relaxing to watch ships and small boats coming and going, in an endless circle… it reminded him of his childhood, when he came to the docks with his father and grandpa, to buy some fish for the day. Here, by the sea, surrounded by the strong sea smell and the screams of seagulls and fishermen, he met his s/o. They were, like him, just leaning on the railing; they seemed a tourist like everyone else, a hat, sunglasses… but, when they took them off, Pesci could finally see they were blind. As they felt his surprise, they smiled, telling him that the sound of the waves and the constant coming and going of fishermen is comforting, isn’t it? They loved it even when they still could see. They both started to talk, first a bit shyly, from Pesci’s side, then more and more loosen…

Pesci needed a bit to adjust to the fact that they didn’t need help for everything they did. Of course there were things they couldn’t do alone, where help was good, but they were more than capable to walk around alone! They had a cane and a service dog right for it. Even when he became used to it, Pesci was still worried, but now for different reasons; not for them -as, by now, he knew they were able to do things he didn’t imagine they could do- but for the others. He knows how dark the world can be, and he’s worried that someone could take advantage of their blindness to hurt them or to steal their purse and such. If something like this happens, he’d not stop until he has taken back their belongings and punished the thief as they deserve. No one can touch his s/o!

Pesci is really sweet with them. He loves to describe them their surrounding, trying to include every detail he can see, to give them a complete picture, with smells and sounds. Even if at the beginning he was worried that their blindness could have been something that could keep them apart, after a while, it wasn’t so; it brought them closer. Pesci had the opposite problem to Prosciutto’s: few people wanted to know him because he wasn’t conventionally attractive. His s/o, however, fell in love with his personality, with his kindness and strength, with his determination and sweetness. When they touched him, they felt, under their fingers, the man they loved, not who everyone else saw. They loved the Pesci they had the luck to know and no one can dare to say something to him! Pesci is not the only one able to hurt others, if he wants… they have a good right jab!

Formaggio

Formaggio had noticed them a bit of time ago. They were sitting at the corner of the counter, sipping their beer or liquor in quiet silence, just listening to the other customers. They were blind and they didn’t hide it, and Formaggio appreciated their honesty. Why hiding something like this? It wasn’t something bad. Was he sorry for them? No. He felt they wouldn’t have liked to be pitied. He observed them for a while, he studied that usual customer of his favourite bar, until he finally decided to talk to them. He sat near them, welcomed with a smile and a “Ah, finally you’ve decided to come here, eh?” that made him chuckle. He never started to chat with someone with so much easiness and intimacy…

Even if they were independent, Formaggio had to make some changes in his home. It was too disorganized and messy and, before they came to live with him, he cleared everything up, putting everything in a precise place, to make their life easy. He can’t control his cats, they jump and run where they want, but at least he can do something to ease their daily life! He’s not one who breathes on their neck at every step they take, he’s pretty laid back on this; if they need help, they have no qualms to ask for help, he knows it. If they don’t, it’s because they don’t need it. Their blindness means nothing to Formaggio; he knows he would have fallen in love with them in any case. They were strong and beautiful and kind and funny; he loved everything about them. Their blindness makes their life a bit different from usual, but who cares? He’d love leave them just because they’re blind. He’s not stupid!

If they ask to, he’d describe them what he can see. He likes to add funny details, making them laugh and poke him with a muttered “Formi, insomma!!” especially if he’s describing someone. He just loves to make them laugh, to make their life fun and enjoyable! He also loves how touchy-feely they are, how they always search for his hand or arm, how they touch his face… it’s reassuring, for him. It makes him feel loved and appreciated in a totally new way, as he was never loved before… he never thought to meet someone like them. They’re just… perfect. He’d not change anything about them, from their character to their appearance and even their blindness. He’d not exchange them for anything in the world.

Melone

Melone, when he wasn’t on mission, was studying and doing his experiments or, more rarely, was at the graveyard. His family wasn’t from Naples, but, like him, some of his siblings literally ran away from home when his mother died; one of them is buried in one of Naples’ graveyard. Every time he can, he goes to put some flowers on their gravestone; no one knows about it, just Risotto and Illuso. Here he met his future s/o; they too were here to visit a passed relative. They had been the one who approached him, asking him to please guide them to the fountain where they could fill watering can. Melone guided them, filled and carried it for them and, meanwhile, they were quietly talking about the people they had lost. It had been bittersweet… but comforting, in a certain way. They had lost their sibling too; they could understand him. Melone felt at ease, understood in a deeper way. And he still feels like this…

Melone takes almost a teacher-like attitude when he has to deal with their blindness. He’s fascinated by the way they had adapted to their disability, by the little solutions they had found to make their life easy… He’s absolutely in love with their smartness and ability to adapt and overcome their disability. It’s admirable! He never thought of them as weak or dependant; of course he helped them when they needed, but, mostly, he studied them and the solutions they could think of when a problem was in front of them. He had learned so much from them! They were so strong, so determined… they made him want to do his best, to do even more than what he already did. They brought light in his life!

Melone is totally over the moon with their touchy approach. He loves it so much!! He’s always ready to hold their hand and to let them explore his face, when they feel like it, smiling when they softly explore his traits. He also loves to describe them what he sees, trying to convey all the feelings, the beauty and the majesty that a landscape could bring. What he loves more, however, is to describe them; he could spend hours describing their face, every single little expression they make, every different way they furrow their brow, how radiant their smile is, how cute they are when they wrinkle their nose… there’s so much love and adoration in his words, that, once, they made them cry. He thinks that they’re the most beautiful being in the whole world and he wants them to know it!

Illuso

Illuso’s secret hobby, that he carefully hid from everyone, was to collect small glass figurines. He found them beautiful and, also, it reminded him of his childhood, or, better, of the good part of his childhood. He was from Venice, from the small island of Murano, where glass is shaped in exquisite ways. His one was a family of glass artisans; his grandparents and parents made tons of those small glass figurines. Every time he got paid, he went to buy a new figurine; and here, one day, he met the owner’s grandchild. The first thing he noticed, of course, was that they were blind. Even so, they could admirably stand their ground, while talking about glass and glass work! It was evident that they, as him, grew among glass workers. Even if they had lost their sight in a terrible accident, they still perfectly remembered the sheen of glass, its vibrant color, all the fantastic kaleidoscope of colors that formed the wonderful sculptures that made Murano famous… Illuso felt at home, while talking with them. And it’s still like this…

Illuso is fascinated by their ability to adapt and overcome. Losing their sight had been traumatic, they’re the first to say it, but they also say that crying on what was happened wouldn’t have given them their sight, so… they just had to work hard to find some ways to overcome their disability. He’s amazed by their immense strength and determination, it’s like a fire that burns everything it meets! He’d not coddle them or put them under a glass dome just to keep them safe… he has his ways to watch over them. He knows that they value immensely their freedom and he doesn’t want in any way to mine it. They have already lost so much… he doesn’t want to make them lose their freedom too. They had showed him that their blindness isn’t something that could stop them, oh no; they worked hard to overcome it, to learn again how to live without seeing, and they’re not going to lose it all!

Illuso is not ecstatic about their touchy-feely approach like Melone, but he doesn’t dislike it. It’s intimate, and he likes it. He likes when they run their fingers on his face, memorizing his traits, when they softly pet his hair, enjoying its soft and silky texture… he also likes to help them to touch what they want to touch, from a dog to a cat, from a smooth wooden table to sink their hand in a sack of rice or beans, enjoying the small grains and beans’ texture. He’s amazed by their way to see the world, to see life… he, who mostly relied on his sight, learned, from them, to rely on his other senses, to enjoy the world in other ways. Before them it was just work and work, he just observed around with analytical eyes; now he can finally feel the wonder he felt when he was a child. A sunset wasn’t anymore just the moment when evening was starting, but an ineffable event to describe to his s/o; they brought back the wonder and the amazement in his life.

Ghiaccio

In winter, Ghiaccio’s beloved hobby -and way to vent off his frustration- was to skate at the local ice skating track. One day, before he could slide on the track, a voice called him; turning around, Ghiaccio saw it came from a clearly blind person. They said that their companion dumped them last second, and they couldn’t clearly skate alone. Could he skate with them, for that day? Ghiaccio grumbled, mostly to their dumb companion than to them, before sharply agreeing and stiffly offering his arm to them. He was boiling, at the start, while he had to skate slowly, to keep their pace, but, soon, they started to talk. Their voice was soothing and soft, and what they were saying was interesting, more interesting than what Ghiaccio would have like to admit… soon, he found himself enraptured in their conversation and even skating so slowly wasn’t bothering him anymore. He was too busy chatting with them…

Ghiaccio definitely doesn’t coddle them. He’s not an ass as usual, but he’s not and he’ll never be one who pampers his s/o. They’re sweet and soft, but they’re not weak! They can perfectly stand their ground and blindness can’t stop them from doing what they want. There’s almost nothing to rearrange in his home, as it’s already clean and tidy, so his s/o can have an easy life when they move around. He knows firsthand how much sight is important, as his sight is severely poor, but being totally blind… he finds it terrifying. Not being able to see the sky, to see the world, seeing just darkness… he feels a cold shiver just at the thought. They, however, teached him that their world isn’t just darkness; it’s full of smells and sounds! Smells are their colors, sounds are their shapes; with them, they can imagine and build the world in their mind. Maybe it’s not like how it’s in reality, but it’s here, it’s beautiful and colorful as the real world, and for them it’s fine like this. Ghiaccio, usually one who doesn’t like such fantasies, can’t help but to admire them. Even with their disability, they can still be so bright and positive…

In the beginning, Ghiaccio, more than being uncomfortable, is a bit embarrassed by how touchy they are. He’s fine in letting them hold his arm when they’re around, but when they touch and softly explore his face, murmuring that he has beautiful traits, he furiously blushes! He’s not used to compliments, more to “shut up” or “stop it!”… and, when he grumbles to stop, they just chuckles, saying that he’s so cute! He’s completely meek in their hands, they can calm and soothe his soul… they don’t see an endless angry bean, in him, but the man behind his continuous bursts of anger and frustration. Of course they can’t reveal it to everyone; he has a reputation to keep!

#jjba #vento aureo #la squadra di esecuzione #risotto nero #prosciutto #pesci #formaggio #melone #illuso #ghiaccio #neutral s/o #blind s/o #headcanons #sfw #anon ask

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fckdiosmio · 6 years ago

Text

Girls, girls, girls ✧ Douglas!Nikki Sixx x Reader

SUMMARY ✧ a oneshot of this request by anon – “an imagine where reader is a super feminist singer who’s conquering her space on the ultra manly 80’s rock music scenario and is getting super famous and douglas!nikki sixx falls hard for her but she’s playing hard to get because she’s not one of his groupies and he’ll need to treat her like the valuable woman she is to get to stay with her and Nikki starts to change his way of thinking about women because of her!!!”

NOTE ✧ Feedbacks are always welcome! Anyway, requests are ALWAYS open, meet me in my ask box! I personally liked this request because while watching The Dirt I caught myself thinking about what the figure of women meant on this 80′s rock scenario with all the groupie things, cheating, and everything. We see to always be into a dark era, don’t we? I know that the real Nikki has some controversial things about all this question that I involved into the fic, so I like to imagine Douglas’s character played by the actor here.

WORDS ✧ 2.3k +

WARNINGS ✧ trigger of mild sexual harassment, cursing

______________________________________________________________

You yelled to the public once more before the fires started to blow up in every inch of the stage. There were the last chords before you disappeared to the backstage just hyperventilating after one of the biggest shows of your life. The public kept shouting your name in a choir and you smiled to yourself. You made it. You were the headliner of one of the biggest music festivals of the United States and you were the only woman in it. It was so hard since the beginning to conquer your space in music and yet there you were! Deal with male chauvinists was not easy, much less being hypersexualized when you just wanted to dress the way you felt good and sell your art, but you fought every day for women's rights and for your own being on a daily basis dealing with men.

“Hey, (y/n)” you heard someone saying behind you while you were still hearing the public scream for you, drinking a bottle of water to regain your breath so you could make way to your dressing room again. You turned around and found Nikki, the bassist of the band that divided the headline with your name on the festival, Mötley Crüe. “You totally rocked tonight. What do you think about reconsidering my proposal to come to my dressing room?“

“C’ mon Sixx, you’re better than that.” You threw your white towel over your shoulder before stopping Nikki from lay his arm on it. You two knew each other for a considering time now. You always met at parties, concerts, and festivals, and Nikki always tried to make out with you, but you were always clear that you two were just friends. He was a nice guy, and pretty handsome too, but he didn’t know how to treat women properly. It was not fair with your principles. “What about being a little decent just one single time in your life?”

“Ouch, (y/n).” Nikki smiled while started to walk behind you, since your managers were screaming for you get to the backstage. You nodded to Tommy Lee who was drinking a beer at the hall, winking at you. “I’m sorry for being such a horrible man, your highness.”

“It’s okay, everyone can learn how to be better.” you jerked your head in his direction, while Nikki offered the water bottle he was holding when you drank the last drop of water from the one you had. You took it from him, distrustfully. He looked so good on stage clothes that you could tell you may be attracted to him. “I would say for you to come back to your groupies, but there are a lot of drunk ones and others who are confused in the middle of those who know and want what they are doing.”

“I thought you hated groupies.” Nikki said, laying on the hall’s white wall while looking at you with full interest. You laughed and stopped in front of him, playing with the white towel on your shoulder.

“Why would I hate other women?” you raised your eyebrows. “I hate what you guys do to groupies. There are the ones who know and want what they are doing and that’s okay, but there are a few that are drunk or doing something by impulse. It’s not right.”

“Okay, you have a good point. You’ve got me thinking.” Nikki crossed his arms over his chest. You blinked in disbelief because the boy really seemed to be paying attention to what you were saying. And Nikki really was. He liked you since the first time he saw you on the highlights, you seemed to be different from the frivolous girls he knew but now you looked like someone who could turn every girl in those type of girl power that you carried with yourself just with the power of your words. He still wanted to have you, but every time that he spent talking to you, his interest in your words grew more and more. You were so intelligent. “What about we just drink something and continue this talk of ours?” He smiled at you. “You can talk more about what's going on your mind.”

“Okay, sounds fair.” You opened your dressing room’s door, revealing the collection of Jack Daniel’s that were on your amenities table. It was always pleasurable to see a man being interested in some feminist guidelines. Even if he seemed to be doing that just to try something with you, you could really try to change his mind. And then... you could kiss him. Who knows? Why not? Your knees always seemed to fail on his presence. Oh shit. Why did he have to have such an inviting mouth?

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You had just dropped your new single and you were extremely excited with everything which was about to happen after you release your new art to the public. You were always being very controversial because you were conquering a very difficult space, but you liked it. On this day you were going to do your first big interview for the single in this big broadcaster and was fortunate enough to record on the same day that Mötley Crüe, meeting them on the set backstage.

“Hey (y/n), you look beautiful.” Nikki smiled while walked on your direction, and you smiled back, trying to not to question the nature of this compliment. Since your single was for the girls to feel sexy and good with themselves, you were with such a sexy look with tight leather skirts, low-cut sweaters, and high-heeled boots.

“Thank you Sixx, you look good too.” You nodded to him allowing the makeup artist to do a few more adjusts on your face before you start the interview. Nikki and the band were with makeup too, which you found pretty cool, Mötley Crüe really didn’t care about this manly things.

“I heard your new music. The lyrics say a lot.” Nikki whispered on your ear, causing you to shudder.

“Do you mind if we stay here watching your interview, (y/n)?” Vince interrupted your little flirting moment with Sixx, smiling to you. You saw the interviewer sitting in the front of the cameras and starting to say a lot of things about you and your new single, which made Nikki look at you with a proud smile.

“Sure, Vince.” You smiled at him before entering the set scenario when the interviewed invited you to sit by his side.

You were feeling very good with yourself, but since the moment you sat on the interviewer’s side, you didn’t feel comfortable anymore. He started to look at you on a weird way while introduced you to the cameras, and then you started to try to push your skirt lower on your legs so he couldn’t look at them anymore. You shot a fast glance in Nikki’s direction just to see that he took a step forward, but you couldn’t do anything in front of the cameras. Then you just took a fake smile and tried not to look bothered while the man looked at you.

“So, (y/n), let’s talk about this new music of yours. Did you made all this sexy thing to make men want you more?” You arched your eyebrows hearing him saying something just so stupid like that.

“No. I make my music to make women feel free, beautiful and sexy with themselves. There’s nothing to do with men.”

“And you don’t fear that people stop to pay attention to your lyrics to look at your body since you are dressed like that?” You were feeling completely uncomfortable.

“No... no, this is not the point.”

“And your makeup, what you’re up to nowadays? They are part of this predator look of your new single?”

“My makeup? Excuse me, what?”

“Yes, your look. All these things of being free, beautiful and sexy you said.” the interviewer arched his back a little, so he was able to touch your uncovered leg. You freeze on the exact same moment, looking at his hand touching your skin. He said something more, bringing his hand a little up on your legs, but you didn’t listen because you were trying to struggle with the tears that were trying to escape from your eyes.

“I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry. Stop.” You said, looking at him. “I’M DONE! Stop touching me!” You yelled. “Stop. Don’t ever touch me again. I’M DONE WITH ALL OF THIS BULLSHIT!” You got up from the chair while the man was looking at you pretending that he did nothing like he wasn’t in front of a fucking camera. You felt a bunch of tears start to run through your face while you ran out of that set, nobody of the team came after you.

“(y/n), hey! Wait!” you felt your body collide with someone and then you noticed you were just pressed against Nikki’s chest. He saw everything. He tried to hold you, but you didn’t want anyone touching you, so you struggled for him to let you go.

“Let me go! Don’t fucking touch me!” You pushed Nikki on his chest causing him to take a few steps back while watching you, worried, You didn't know where to go, but finally, a girl from the team felt sorry for you and then came with some water while the gross man pretended that anything happened, talking with some people of the crew that were acting like everything was fine.

You looked at Nikki again but felt a little disappointment on seeing that the band still continued to prepare themselves for being interviewed, so you just drank your water while Nikki looked at you for the last time, making sure you were okay. You weren’t. How could a man do this type of harassment with a woman in front of everyone and everyone do nothing?! You were feeling gross, suddenly you didn’t want to be with those clothes again. You just wanted to isolate yourself and go home. Nobody was doing nothing!

“(y/n) let’s get out of here, breathe some fresh air, right?” this only girl from the crew said to you, caressing your shoulders while you still cried in silence. You looked at Nikki and the boys getting their microphones on their clothes and then you felt angry. You remembered the night that you spend chatting with Nikki, it meant nothing? He was still there. You wanted to go, but you preferred to stay just to stare at him while he gave audience to this gross interviewer.

“This is fucking Mötley Crüe, guys!” The interviewer said to the camera. He was talking in such a different way than he talked to you. You took a step forward while you stared at Nikki. You were feeling so incredibly disappointed with him. You didn’t know why you were feeling so sad about him. Maybe you had hope. Maybe you wanted you two to work together.

“Man, first of all, I want you to shut the fuck up.” Nikki said, surprising everyone who was on the set, except Tommy, who started to laugh. Vince and Mick smiled. “How could you do something like that with (y/n)? In front of a fucking camera? Who do you think you are?” the interviewer felt intimidated. “She’s an artist, just like me, Vince, Tommy or Mick. Why don’t you try to put your hand on my damn legs?”

You smiled to yourself, getting a little closer.

“Why don’t you ask me about my makeup? Do my tight pants make your fucking dick get hard? I think not, right?” He was almost screaming, leaning forward on the direction of the interviewer, who couldn’t barely answer him. “So why don’t you respect her and the fucking music she’s trying to do? Doesn’t matter her clothes, or her makeup, or whatever she sings on her lyrics. It doesn’t give you the rights to say fucking ANYTHING. Did you understand me? She’s an artist, so talk about her art instead of being an asshole. And don’t ever try to touch her again. Or any other women without her consent.” He seemed very angry, and you just pressed the bottle of water on your hands while your heart was almost exploding. this shit was better than any demonstration of love.

“Yeah man.” Tommy just murmured, looking down.

“Asshole. You’re such a piece of shit.” Nikki said while getting up from the chair. The whole band did the same, and, before he walked to behind the cameras, he took one water bottle that was on a little table on their side and threw all the water on the interviewer, causing all the crew to run over him.

Nikki just pushed everyone and ran for your direction. You were just standing there, just processing everything that happened. You didn’t even pay attention to what the interviewer did or what all those people that were running through all the set were doing. You just watched Nikki getting closer while you were frozen on the same place. He smiled a lit bit concerned with everything, standing right at your front. You regret pushing him moments ago, so you just hugged him tightly, feeling his warm arms wrapping around your body. You rested your head on his chest for a while, closing your eyes and just concentrating on his breath.

“Thank you.” You said, letting him go and staring at his face. He was super worried about you, studying your face.

“Well, you said everyone can learn how to be better.” He smiled.

“Yeah, maybe I’m right.” You smiled back, getting on tiptoe so you could kiss him quickly, just touching his lips for a moment. He deserved that, and so do you, after torturing yourself for so long not allowing yourself of falling for him. You realized that he arched against you in search of more, so you pulled away. “One step at a time.” you whispered, smiling.

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wildcard47 · 6 years ago

Text

green pastures (pg); fitzier

prompt: James proposes to Francis; Francis misunderstands and thinks he’s being officially asked to marry James to someone else a la that scene in The Vicar of Dibley.

I promised @full-of-terrors this adorable little prompt fill ages ago and finally get to post it! Hope you enjoy!

When the knock sounded at his front door just after three bells, Francis could find no reason to avoid answering it, even if he had meant to go to bed within the next few minutes.

He’d been so damn dispirited since James’s stupid bloody boyfriend came into town. Not that he would have admitted this to another soul.

Not as if Le Vesconte was actually James’s boyfriend, either. By all accounts they were only mates; Henry never seemed like the type to go bi all of the sudden, given how much harping on he’d done about his on-again, off-again girlfriend.

But James did keep mentioning all these hot bumbly dates he’d had while he was down in London – whatever that meant – and since Francis did not drink anymore, the only way anyone could find out he was depressed about this turn in events was if they came to his living room and stopped him eating bagfuls of crisps while watching a bunch of old Frasier episodes.

What did it matter if his ex-boyfriend was going on other dates? They’d only gone out six and a half times, more than three years ago. And now he’d moved back to town all of the sudden. The man was free to go anywhere he liked.

Expecting it was Jane Franklin come to complain about Neptune, Francis was startled to see James standing there when he opened the door.

“Hi.”

James smiled at him; it looked strained and unnatural. “Hello.”

“So, er.” Francis’s mind was full of questions it was probably rude to voice, especially to someone you’d been avoiding for nearly a week. “How – how are things?”

“Actually,” James did not even hang up his coat, just turned by the rack, one hand now tracing over the spine of a closed umbrella. “Can I – I’ve something important to ask you, if you don’t mind. Well. Obviously I can ask you questions without you minding them, only this pertains to the type of question rather than the principle of the thing.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Not here to give a lecture on forms of the interrogative.”

“Er. Yeah, obviously. You can talk to me about whatever you like.” Francis narrowed his eyes. “Are you all right?”

You seem…. anxious, he wanted to point out.

“Me? Fine. A bit jumpy, you know, but had a lot of caffeine today, so that’s understandable. Four flat whites. Can you believe – sorry. I’m rambling now. Suppose I may as well ask this right out. Francis, have you ever thought about, er, marrying anyone?”

“Oh.” Francis could not have said why this question left him so disappointed. He didn’t think topics as boring as Naval protocol would bring James to his front door at eleven thirty at night. “Well, yeah. I mean, strictly hypothetical, mind. Not had reason to yet.”

Most of the people he’d served with so far were already married or far too young to try. And barring that, none of them had wanted to be married on the ship. Or by Francis.

“Yes. Not as if you’re imagining it daily. You’ve always been a practical sort. Aren’t given to flights of fancy.”

“No,” agreed Francis.

“No.” James swallowed hard, bit his lip. “Anyway, you’ll remember from – I mean, the conversations we had – that I have always admired marriage. As an institution. Even before I actually aspired to be part of it. You know? It’s a, ah, very good thing to my mind. Or it should be, given the many benefits.”

“Time can change even the most stubborn man, I suppose.” Francis tried to smile. “So, you’re, ah, ready to take the plunge at last, hm?”

“Yeah. Yes.” James seemed to steel himself. “I mean. Not just for the sake of it. I want to. Have wanted to, really. For a long time.”

“Makes sense,” said Francis, in an attempt at being neutral.

“Does to me, as well.” That brief, strained smile was back.

“Well, that’s – great news.”

He had not decided what the rest of his sentence would be, but it apparently didn’t matter, because James blurted out something very loudly.

“Francis, would you – do me the honor of marrying me?”

Francis’s heart sped up, and his stomach twisted with distress, but he tried not to showcase any of these feelings to James. Can’t hurt him.

“You… want me to marry you?”

Christ, he could picture it now: James blindingly handsome in his dress blues, in the local church or outside in the park or even aboard Battalion, standing hand-in-hand on the quarterdeck with some stupid blonde blockhead while Francis stood between them, a borrowed, well-worn Bible in his hands, thumbing through the chaplain’s notes on love and honour and duty and wanting to pitch himself off the crow’s nest instead.

“Can’t imagine asking anyone else,” said James, voice hitching slightly.

Oh. Damn it.

“Well, ah – I don’t mean to make you wait for an answer, obviously, it’s just – I’m a bit – surprised, is all. No one’s ever – asked me before.”

“Really?”

Why was James looking at him like that, as if he were afraid taking his eyes off of Francis for even a second meant he might disappear? The man seemed to be one sentence away from a total nervous breakdown.

“And it’s been a long time since we’ve. Er. I mean, of course it would be – wonderful – ”

“Yeah.”

“Let me just have a look at my diary,” Francis said, by way of stalling, hoping against hope that James had his heart set on a specific date and time and that he was going to be out of the country on that blessed morning. Or perhaps dead. Dying would get you out of marrying your ex-boyfriend to his new boyfriend, wouldn’t it? “Knowing you, you’ve already got your heart set on a specific month.”

“God, no,” answered James in a rush. “Honestly, Francis, if it helps, you can pick any day of the year you damn well please.”

“Right.” Francis turned another page, then another, with no clue as to what he was bloody reading. “Well. Er. That’s….a lot to choose from. Plenty of options.”

He meant to say something about how most people liked summer weddings, or that all the good reception places would be booked years in advance so James shouldn’t get his heart set on having it done anytime soon – the sort of vapid, oddly-prophetic comments Sophia used to say to him all the time when she was turning him down. Course, Francis was actually asking her to be his wife, then, so it was different.

When James spoke again, after a long, agonizing silence, it was in the quietest voice Francis had ever heard. As if he might weep.

“You don’t want to do it, do you?”

“What?” At James’s raised eyebrow, Francis deflated. “James, it isn’t – obviously, I don’t want to rush into an answer if it’s the wrong one. You – well, you’re important to me.”

“I know that.”

“And I’m really touched that you’d ask me after all this time. Truly I am. But I – should probably think about it, before I answer one way or the other.”

James’s expression slammed closed, then, almost as suddenly as it used to whenever Admiral Franklin walked aboard.

“Don’t tiptoe around it. Not with me.” He cleared his throat, gave Francis a jerky nod. “It – if that’s what you feel, then your answer’s already no. Which is all right. Erm. Silly of me to have thought…”

It was as if Francis were reliving the day they broke up, three years before; he could not understand why saying I’ll think about it would provoke such a fierce reaction.

“I should go,” murmured James.

Oh, god, why was he going so soon? Was he angry? James couldn’t be angry when the words he was saying were so kind and understanding.

“You don’t have to.”

“I do. I really do.”

They had reached the door; James opened it, clearly ready to step out without another word. He’d leave forever and it would be all Francis’s fault. Fucking hell, why could he not agree to put his own bloody pride aside when it came right down to it?

“Stop – bloody walking, damn it!” Francis squeezed his eyes closed, summoned every last ounce of strength. “I’ll do it, all right? James, I’ll – if you want me to perform a ceremony, I can do. For you. I – owe you that much. I want you to have that.”

A terrible silence settled over the room as James turned away from the open door.

“Perform the ceremony?”

“Yeah.” Francis opened his eyes, tried to tamp down the avalanche of curse words that were building in the back of his mind. He would not stutter. He would not weep. “Ship’s captain, powers that be, whatever. I’ll do it, you’ll be married, and then you’ll – well. Be happy.”

Without me.

“Francis, no.” James opened and closed his mouth, threaded the distance between them before taking Francis’s hand in both of his. “No, no, no. That’s not what I meant at all. I – good god, man. Who the bloody hell else am I in love with? I’m saying I want to marry you. I’m asking for your hand, Francis.”

“Mine,” was all Francis whispered.

James peered closely at his baffled expression. “I – you know how I feel about you. Don’t you?”

Francis was now so shocked he couldn’t speak.

“Why d’you think I’d come here in the middle of the night and ramble on about marriage if I didn’t want to propose? For Christ’s sake, I’ve not stopped thinking about us for three years. Every day I wanted to call you. Write to you. Just – see you getting coffee on the way to work. And then we end up living in the same town again, going to all the same events, and it – I mean, you’ve no idea how terrified I was, to think you’d moved on with your life. And now….Francis, I honestly can’t imagine being anywhere without you at my side. I want to marry you. I want us to get – old and fat and weird together. Think we’d be rather good at that last bit, actually.”

“So you,” Francis could hardly draw air into his lungs. “You mean you’re – ”

“Marry me, Francis.” James squeezed his fingers, encouraging. “Please.”

Unable to say anything else, Francis sat right down on the carpet, because his knees would no longer hold him up, and covered his mouth with a shaking hand to suppress the high-pitched squeak trying to claw its way from his throat.

“I’m all right,” he kept whispering, although he was not: he was swiping big fat tears from his face with the back of one hand, and James was hovering at his side, still babbling away although Francis couldn’t hear any of the words; meanwhile, Neptune was barking like a bloody demon dog, rushing in and out of the open door in obvious confusion, wagging his tail and licking Francis’s salt-damp fingers every so often, and Jesus bloody Christ.

James wanted to marry him.

“Francis.”

Glancing up with a very unromantic snort, trying to swallow the knot of tears in his throat, Francis met James’s concerned gaze and finally – finally – managed to say something.

“Okay.”

James’s face brightened. His grip on Francis’s shoulders tightened. “Oh my god. Really?”

“Yeah.” Francis was grinning now. “I’ll marry you, James.”

Squealing in delight, now peppering Francis’s face with kisses and hugging him tightly, James eventually pulled away and let out a victorious howl of a cheer. Hearing this, Neptune decided to join in, baying joyously at the open front door before trotting forward to see what was going on on the front stoop.

James had already jumped to his feet to join him, calling out to the entire neighborhood with his hands cupped around his mouth. “Francis is gonna marry me!”

“Jesus Christ. I have neighbors!”

“Francis is gonna marry m – oh, Neptune, no!” A black blur darted out of the doorway, running pell mell toward the street. Cursing, James took off after him, now sounding much less cheerful. “Come back here this instant – no! Right – now!”

Judging by how fast James was now sprinting down the driveway and toward the curb, as well as the yowling, Neptune was probably after Mrs. Franklin’s tomcat again.

Laughing hysterically as James tried and failed to capture a boisterous Newfie with nothing more than his bare hands, Francis watched with faint pride as his fiancé – a romantic, dashing hero of a man – stumbled and fell into the side of next door’s recycling bin, knocking it backwards onto the lawn. A delighted Neptune stopped his mischief to come back and run circles around James and all the now-visible rubbish, occasionally stopping to look back at Francis and bark loudly.

“Well, he’s killed me,” James called theatrically from his prone position, as a very happy dog decided the best thing to do was sit in James’s lap. With a huff, Neptune sat down, then flopped sideways, draping his chest directly over James’s ribs. Four enormous paws splayed out around James’s middle. James groaned and winced as he absorbed the full weight of this gift. “I might die before we get to celebrate.”

“Yeah, you’re stuck now,” offered Francis as he walked closer. On an impulse, he tossed the jacket in his hand onto the damp ground and lay down next to them.

“Nnngh,” whined James, but he was grinning.

Francis leaned over, pressed a kiss to James’ forehead. “See? Completely stuck.”

#prompt fill #full-of-terrors #fitzier #francis crozier/james fitzjames #this is the small-town vicar of dibley AU of our dreams

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sanjisock · 6 years ago

Text

Fuck, Marry, Kill (or, how Usopp becomes the best matchmaker of the sea without really trying)

ao3

It’s a classic , Usopp said. Any pirate worth their salt would play this at least once , he said.

Sanji would say he’s around eighty-percent sure Usopp just made this game up, but Sanji is always eighty-percent sure Usopp made something up just by principle alone. It certainly doesn’t help Usopp’s case that Nami is grinning wide beside him, notepad and quill in hands.

“So,” Nami echoes Usopp’s earlier question cheerfully, and her smile is way too beautiful and magnificent for the words that come out of her mouth next: “fuck, marry, kill. Who’s your pick?”

There are rules to this stupid game. Actual fucking rules . Not even the world government kind, the ones they break on a daily basis anyways because, hey, pirates. These rules are the kind that forces you to pay Nami a hefty amount of Berries if you break them, which, on the deck of Sunny, means nothing short of Serious Business.

Nami had taken to the game with surprising interest as soon as Usopp told her about it, but then again, she talked about it with the same tone she uses when she’s going to swindle a lot of money from an unsuspecting poor fellow (read: Zoro), so maybe this isn’t much of a surprise at all.

The rules, pinned next to the spice cupboard and right under the dishwashing duty roster, are as follows:

A crew member must be picked whenever possible.

Only one name is to be given for each category.

If, and only if, one has come up with a legitimate reason not to pick a crew member, it has to be someone they’ve met, known, or at the very least, heard.

Choices are based on pure objective reasoning and any FUCK/MARRY shall not be interpreted as anything resembling interest or, worse, intention to pursue. This means you, Sanji.

The same applies to KILL. This means you, Zoro.

Individual answers are confidential and worth B500,000/answer, or 10% of your last loot, whichever is higher.*

*) Payments are to be made in cash to Nami.

Really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise at all. Sanji thinks he saw her eyes turn Berries-shaped. He personally thinks she still looks beautiful, and tells her as much.

She tells him this doesn’t excuse him from the game, and expects his answer by the end of the week.

Sanji is the first victim by elimination — Chopper is out of the game because he is young, innocent and, ultimately, not human, Zoro is sleeping like the oaf he is, Luffy doesn’t seem to have figured out that the thing below his belt is useful for something other than peeing, and the others have left the ship to explore the newest island they’ve just docked at.

Sanji silently wishes the marines would start attacking them just so they could distract Nami and Usopp from the shitty game.

It’s not that Sanji wants to ruin what is — Nami’s expensive fine notwithstanding — ultimately some harmless fun. Sanji has never had problems going along with the crew’s antics, and between declaring war on the World Government and punching a royalty so hard they call a marine admiral after you, this one is far from outrageous by any means. He doesn’t think it’s physically possible for him to give Nami a no for an answer, either.

It’s just that... he doesn’t actually have an answer.

He’s a romantic person by nature. He likes to make everyone happy, and when that doesn’t work out, he likes to make everyone he gives a shit about happy. He does preen from the more... feminine attention, but between the bustling customers of Baratie, entering and leaving as they please, he never learned how to pick favorites.

Nami points at rule number two.

Usopp suggests he should just pick Zoro for MARRY, because they already fight like an old married couple anyways.

Sanji threatens to put Usopp under KILL and break the fifth rule, exactly in that order. Usopp has enough self preservation instinct to shut up really fast after that.

Brook has never heard of the game, which gives more credibility to the Usopp-Made-This-Game-Up Theory, but it’s not like there’s stopping them at this point, so Sanji fumes and glares, but in silence. Usopp smartly stays quiet.

Brook asks if Nami would show him her panties if he puts her under MARRY. Nami clocks him in the skull.

He settles on Zoro for MARRY.

“What,” Sanji says, stunned.

“Well, Zoro-san is a disciplined, reputable swordsman,” Brook explains, “and any decent swordsman would make a responsible husband.”

That...probably makes sense in Swordsman-Speak, or whatever language people like Zoro, who substitutes normal greeting with stabbing and slashing, speak in. Whatever. Sanji is civilized , and will not bother to even try to understand.

Brook can’t name anyone under KILL. He is, however, curious if anyone wants to pick him, considering he’s already dead, yohoho, skull joke!

Nami groans and hits his skull, again.

Franky has heard of the game, but he can’t pinpoint where he’s exactly heard it from, and Sanji suspects it’s from Usopp.

Franky also puts Zoro under MARRY. Franky is so not on Sanji’s list of favorite people today.

“Not you too,” Sanji groans, scandalized, because Brook is approximately a billion years old and therefore would understandably consider Zoro’s neanderthal values desirable, but Franky is, like, the future . Cyborgs are essentially sentient robots.

Franky shrugs. “He’s a super dude, his fights make great shanties, he can help me carry the ship materials —”

“ I can help you carry the ship materials,” Sanji interrupts, and wonders how his life has gotten to a point where he’s trying to compete with Zoro for Franky’s hand in marriage.

“ And ,” Franky presses, “he won’t chew me out for burping on the table after dinner.”

Sanji’s eyes twitch at that. Well. In sickness and health, sure, but that? That’s just barbaric.

“He’s a great dude who breaks the Sunny’s railings once a week,” Sanji points out, switching his strategy. If he can’t win, at least Zoro should lose, too.

His strategy backfires as Franky raises his eyebrow at him and asks, “Speaking of, didn’t you break the front railing yesterday?”

Franky puts Sanji on KILL for that.

Sanji considers smashing his feet through the railing again, just because he can.

Robin immediately picks Zoro for MARRY, because blah yadda blah bushido code, something something gentlemanly, yeah, yeah. Sanji mentally apologizes for tuning her out, but if he has to listen to beautiful Robin-chan talking about Zoro being a good husband, Sanji won’t be able to resist arguing, and that just won’t do. He isn’t about to question a lady’s decision, however irrational. Nobody’s perfect after all — not even Robin.

She also puts Zoro under KILL for ruining her flower bed last week when he accidentally dropped his oversized training weight (which is unnecessarily huge and totally an overcompensation for something ), and he falls for her all over again. Robin really is perfect.

She then tries to clarify whether normal Franky and Cyborg Franky count as one.

“Uh,” Nami says, confused, “would it even make a difference?”

“Nami,” Robin says as she leans forward, chin in hand and a mysterious smile playing on her lips, “the hands make all the difference.”

Robin puts Cyborg Franky under FUCK. Sanji blinks.

Usopp grimaces.

Nami has a distant look on her face, the kind of expression that guys wear when they witness other guys get hit in the nuts.

They pointedly don’t ask , and back away from the room slowly.

The final tally is:

Sanji gets one flattering FUCK (he hasn’t found out from whom, and honestly, considering the available options of Usopp, Luffy and Nami, doesn’t want to take his chances), Robin gets two (Nami shiftily avoids everyone’s eyes for this one), Cyborg Franky gets one (Franky opens his mouth to question the specificity, turns beet red by his own realization, and promptly closes it), and Zoro gets one ( ew , is what Sanji would like to say, but Sanji is man enough to admit that Zoro can get it, considering those abs and deltoids he keeps flashing due to his unexplainable aversions to clothing. Fucking caveman).

Zoro gets a whopping five for MARRY.

That’s literally all the strawhats, minus Luffy (who probably doesn’t even know what marriage is), Chopper, Zoro himself, and Sanji.

What the actual fuck .

Sanji succumbs to curiosity and pays Nami his ten percent.

Zoro put Sanji under KILL, he finds out.

It’s not a surprise. Hell, it’s the most predictable thing coming out of this game—the sky is blue, water is wet, and Zoro puts Sanji under KILL. Whatever. Sanji still hasn’t decided on his list quite yet, but he is certain he’d put Zoro under KILL, too.

Nami asks him if he wants to know what Zoro’s FUCK and MARRY are, and Sanji politely declines because he just doesn’t care which random chick Zoro wants to do the deed with and not because the way his stomach clenches oddly at the thought, really . It’s probably that beautiful marine lady that always tags along with Smoker — Tashigi-chan or something. Zoro always acts funny around her, even when the others never noticed. He’s an open book to Sanji like that.

Sanji walks away and doesn’t give it a second thought.

Bastard.

He gave it a second thought.

And a third. And a fourth. And damn his shitty traitorous brain to hell, a fifth.

By the time lunch rolls around Zoro and Tashigi are married with a quaint little dojo at the foot of a mountain and blessed with three bespectacled, green-haired children Sanji can’t even bring himself to hate because they’d smile just so when their Uncle Sanji makes their favorite apple pie.

Not that there’s anything to hate. About Zoro and Tashigi-chan, that is. Well, there’s always something to hate about Zoro because he’s Zoro , and Sanji would probably nag him a little for receiving the affections from such a beautiful lady like Tashigi, but there’s absolutely nothing deplorable about the idea in general. They’d get along swimmingly anyways, probably spending hours and hours just talking about shitty swords and other sharp, pointy things as their three children play in their backyard overlooking a beautiful deep blue sea, the setting sun painting a warm backdrop on the wooden walls of their dojo.

He blinks as his train of thought crashes and derails into a nearby mental chasm.

He blinks again, just for good measure.

Holy fucking shit, he has a problem .

“Marines!” Usopp yells from the crow’s nest, and Sanji wakes up, eyes still bleary, to three marine ships surrounding Sunny, cannons loaded and aimed towards the deck.

Be careful what you wish for, he feels like telling his past self.

He rushes to the deck to get a clearer view on their enemies, and hell , he’s convinced the universe finds pleasure in finding new ways to fuck him over because he sees Smoker on the helm of the largest marine ship.

And if there’s Smoker, there’s —

“Shit,” Zoro mutters from beside him, and Sanji only needs to follow his gaze to see Tashigi walk up towards the helm to stand beside Smoker. Because of course Zoro would notice her immediately. There are roughly a thousand marines on three of these galleons and she’s the first person Zoro sees. Great. Awesome. That would make a romantic story to tell their three green-haired children.

God damn it. His brain really needs to stop with the children already. He considers going for a check up with Chopper just for this.

A thousand bloodthirsty marines prove to be a good enough distraction from Zoro and Tashigi’s imaginary children, and soon Sanji is lost in the rhythm of the fight, almost enjoying it. He kicks a marine on the back of the head, does a spinning kick to immobilize another ten, and jumps aside to avoid a gunshot —

Only to find himself face to face with Tashigi.

“Black Leg —” Tashigi says, immediately taking a fighting stance, but Sanji is faster.

Before he knows it, he finds himself kicking the two guys guarding her, lifts and drives his right leg on her sword and into the cabin wall right beside her head, effectively pinning her to the wall. Sanji doesn’t kick women, would never harm a woman, but anything around her is fair game and he feels almost guilty for trying to wrestle a loophole in his own principle.

He needs to do this, though. He has to. She’s a marine, his enemy, a threat. And… there’s something he needs to know.

He blurts without thinking, “fuck, marry, kill. Who would you pick?”

Tashigi starts. “What?”

He thinks he’s blushing, but he figures if he wants to avoid embarrassment the ship has sailed a long time ago so he says, “out of the strawhats. If you had to choose, who would you fuck, marry and kill?”

Tashigi narrows her eyes and pulls harder on her sword. “Are you joking, pirate?!”

Sanji is stronger, though. He pushes her sword deeper into the wall. “I’m sorry, mademoiselle, but I don’t joke about this.”

Tashigi wears the expression of someone who wonders what kind of life decisions she’s made that has led her into this situation, which is something Sanji can relate with. “Well, fuck you , pirate. I’d kill you .”

That’s fair, Sanji supposes. “And marry?”

She opens her mouth, stops herself from saying at least three other different curses before turning an interesting shade of red.

She mumbles her answer.

“Yes, Tashigi-chan?”

“Don’t call me Tashigi- chan ,” she snarls, much louder, before muttering again, though Sanji can hear it this time, a low, shy, “well, that swordsman of yours did save my life back in Punk Hazard.”

Tashigi blushes brighter, and Sanji knows a lost cause when he sees one.

Zoro and Tashigi have four children this time in his head, three girls and one boy, and it sucks, so fucking unfair that everyone wants to marry Zoro, with his stupid hair and stupid face and stupid everything. What’s so good about him anyways? The moron doesn’t even have depth perception . He doesn’t deserve all these beautiful girls, wouldn’t even be able to cherish them and treat them with love like Sanji would.

Who’s to say that they would know him either? Zoro’s a moron , after all, and he probably only has, like, three sets of expressions. Sure, Sanji can read his tics, knows the way Zoro clenches and unclenches his left hand when he sees a potentially strong opponents, the way Zoro would rub the back of his neck when he’s embarrassed — but these girls don’t know that. He doesn’t think anyone knows that, and without knowing the real Zoro, how could they make him happy? Would they know how to find him when he gets lost? Would they cook him his favorite food every day? Would they love him as much Sanji does —

Wait.

Sanji pauses.

And.

Breathes.

Tashigi has started protesting now, demanding her swords to be returned now that she’s gone along with his ridiculous demands, but it all sounds so distant now, because.

He loves. Zoro.

Sanji inhales. Then exhales.

He loves Zoro .

He sees it again, the dojo at the foot of a hill overlooking the beautiful blue sea, but this time the dojo belongs to Zoro and him , and two of the four children have blonde hair, and the sea outside is All Blue. The imagination seems so vivid because somewhere along the line that has become his dream , a future he envisioned as clearly as finding All Blue and witnessing Luffy become a Pirate King.

Fuck, he’s in love with Zoro.

“Shit,” he says heartily. “I’m in love with Zoro.”

“What?” Tashigi says, perplexed. Sanji hopes it’s because she can’t hear him amidst the cacophony of gunfire, swords, and bodies hitting the floor.

He lowers his leg and steps back, still in shock by the revelation.

Tashigi is looking at him in confusion, or at least he assumes she does, because he’s no longer paying much attention to his surroundings. How could he, when he’s just come to such a huge revelation about himself, holy fucking hell he’s in love with Zoro —

A passing marine takes the chance and stabs a sword through his lungs.

The last thing he remembers is choking on air, mentally laughing at the fucked up irony of living on a ship surrounded by endless seas just to meet his end by drowning on dry land. He thinks he saw flashes of metal, of Zoro’s stupid green hair and stupider face, torn apart between anger and concern, Sanji’s name for once stumbled out of his lips — but Sanji is pretty sure he imagined this last part up. He is a romantic fool like that.

He blinks himself awake to the familiar smell of Chopper’s infirmary, the oddly soothing mix of medicine and sweets. He tries to sit up as far as his bandaged torso would allow, and when he catches the orange of Nami’s hair his heart warms but doesn’t flutter. It hasn’t been, he realizes, for quite some time.

He really is in love with Zoro. God damn it.

“Sanji?” Nami says when their eyes finally meet, and she hurriedly stands up, “oh my god, you’re awake, I need to wake Chopper up, Chopper —”

“Don’t worry, Nami-san,” he says, catching her wrist just in time before she rushes out of his reach, “I’m fine. Let our doctor sleep for some time.”

“But,” she says, but it’s a token resistance at best, as she’s already sitting down again. She tugs his grip lightly at that — a small, playful movement — but he feels the pull reverberate through his arm and to his chest, jarring him into a coughing fit.

He thinks he’s coughed up both of his lungs before a glass of water touches his lips. It takes him a few gulps and a couple more deep breaths before he realizes Nami is rambling a guilty “oh my god, Sanji-kun, oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

He clears his throat and tries to give her his best smile, “please don’t apologize, Nami-san! A beautiful face like yours shall not be marred with unnecessary worries.”

Nami sighs, but it’s fond. “You were unconscious for a whole week,” she says, squeezing his shoulder, “let me fuss over you for a while.”

Sanji whips his head towards her in shock, mouth hanging open

“A week,” he echoes. No wonder he feels so sluggish. He thought it might have been the medicine, but apparently he danced far too near to the grim reaper than he was comfortable with.

His gaze drifts to take in more of the infirmary, afraid that he’s missed more important details like not remembering an entire week of his life . For the most part everything seems to be in place, large shelves filled with Chopper’s neatly-arranged medical books beside his work table, with complicated looking medical appliances situated more at the corner of the room, near the door. His gaze eventually falls on the small bedside table and he does a double take.

Zoro’s katanas — all three of them — are leaning against the foot of the table. Sanji frowns; it’s rare to see them without their owner, and rarer still to see them being parted with so voluntarily, away from the swordsman's sight.

“Yeah, Zoro was here,” Nami answers the unvoiced question as she notices what he’s been staring at, “been by your bedside all week, actually. We had a roster, just in case you —” Nami pauses at that, looks away and — did her voice waver at the end there? “You know. Anyway, didn’t even need the whole roster thing in the end because Zoro just wouldn’t leave. Stubborn man. Just his luck you woke up when he took a bathroom break; serves him right for growling at me when I offered him to switch on the first day. He looked like he was ready to gouge his remaining eye out and leave it in the infirmary if it meant keeping an eye on you, science be damned.”

Sanji blinks, again, at the story. There’s a weird tug at this chest. He lifts his hand up to touch it, and it feels warm, from the inside.

“It’s frankly kind of cute, how he’s been acting like a mother hen,” Nami continues, and her smile gains a mischievous edge as she adds, “or, you know, like a worried husband.”

Sanji wants to say something to that, but Chopper probably gave him some strong stuff because his tongue feels heavy and he can feel the strong pull of sleep dragging him back to unconsciousness.

He sees darkness at the edges of his vision, and doesn’t think at all as he says, “yeah, he would make a good husband,” and eyes already closed, he sees the house at the foot of the hill and mumbles, “I’d marry him.”

Chopper’s medicine really is strong.

The next time Sanji opens his eyes, there’s a cottony rasp on the inside of his mouth and dread looming at the back of his mind. It’s reminiscent of days when they partied too hard and he drank one too many glasses of liquor, but worse , because he remembers every single word he said to Nami.

He considers asking Chopper on his stance on euthanasia.

It doesn’t help that the person sitting beside his bed is not the ever-beautiful, ever-wonderful Nami, but the last person he’d rather see after his accidental confession. He has no doubt that Nami has told Zoro everything — has told everyone everything — and while his body has mostly recovered from the injuries, he’s pretty sure he could still die from embarrassment.

He sits up on the bed, scrambling for an excuse, “Zoro —”

“You almost died,” Zoro interrupts before Sanji could even finish his sentence, and takes Sanji’s hand in his. “Don’t you dare do that again, Shit Cook.”

Sanji stares at their hands, and wonders if Chopper’s medicine is even stronger than he thought. “What does it mean to you?”

Zoro shrugs. “You know what,” he answers vaguely.

Sanji doesn’t , though. Zoro shifts in his seat, looking away, seemingly embarrassed by his own words, and Sanji is left wondering what the fuck is happening. Zoro is the type of person who gives brutally honest and oftentimes insensitive answers. He doesn’t give cryptic, vague answers — that’s more of Sanji’s department. “What?”

Zoro pulls his hand away, and Sanji hates how his own hand feels very cold all of a sudden. “You know. Our answers for Usopp’s stupid game.”

Sanji would rather take another sword to the chest than to continue with this conversation, so he does the cowardly thing and practically leaps out of the bed. “I’m not in the mood to talk about that.”

Zoro is faster, though — Sanji is blaming all the medicines in his bloodstream for his slow reaction — and manages to catch Sanji by the wrist. “Where are you going?”

“Away. Out.” He pats his pockets with his free hand, but doesn’t find his cigarettes, unsurprisingly. Fuck, he needs a smoke. “In case you forgot, I haven’t been out for a week from this shitty room.”

“Seriously?” Zoro growls in reply, tightening his grip. “That’s all you got to say? Didn’t you pay for my answers? Nami told me you — if that sea witch is lying again —”

“I told you not to call Nami-san like that,” he replies, almost instinctively, feeling more and more agitated by the turn of the conversation. “What the fuck are you talking about, brainless mosshead.”

Zoro glowers at him, face oddly serious. “Did you or did you not get my answers for the stupid game?”

Sanji is going to lose it. Is Zoro seriously trying to rub this whole thing in his face? The fact that Sanji wants to marry him, even after knowing Zoro only puts him under kill? Knowing that Zoro doesn’t find him desirable in any way, that he’d prefer having three wonderful well-mannered kids with a beautiful marine lady?

“You put me under KILL!” He yells, unable to stop himself. “If this is your way of telling me you want to kill me, drop it. Way too roundabout for your style, Marimo. And just in case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t bother to find out who you want to fuck. Or marry.” He looks away, trying not to choke on his own heart. “Happy?”

Zoro’s eyes widen comically at that, and he loosens his grip on Sanj’s wrist in surprise; Sanji doesn’t miss the chance and kicks him on the chest.

Zoro flies out of the infirmary through the door with a satisfying bang , and Sanji relishes his victory for a moment before growing reluctantly concerned as Zoro doesn’t get up from that. Surely he didn’t kick him that hard, did he? He jogs towards the dust-covered body on the deck, and finds Zoro with his head in his hand, mouth twisting into a hysterical laughter.

“Stupid cook,” Zoro says as soon as Sanji’s close enough to hear him, “are you jealous?”

Sanji growls, and pointedly doesn’t blush. “I’m going to kill you.”

When Zoro drops his hand and looks up, he doesn’t look like he’s making fun of Sanji, though. He looks surprised, and even almost… hopeful? “You are jealous.”

Sanji has about a thousand retorts to that, but all of them die in his lips as Zoro tugs him down by the hand, pulling him to crouch right in front of Zoro. Their faces are really close like this, and Sanji can’t look away.

“Cook,” Zoro says when Sanji doesn’t say anything, “Nami said you put me under your MARRY. Is that true?”

Sanji refuses to answer, but the way he looks away and blushes like a fourteen-year-old is probably a good enough answer for Zoro. Zoro laughs, tightens his grip on Sanji’s wrist and pulls him into a kiss.

Sanji’s life needs to have fewer twists before he dies from heart attack at the tender age of twenty-one.

When they part, Zoro doesn’t lean away; presses their foreheads together instead, his hand large and warm on the nape of Sanji’s neck. There’s a big grin plastered across Zoro’s flushed face, the kind that Sanji only sees whenever the swordsman comes across an alcohol he likes, or wins a particularly hard fight, or — as Sanji begins to understand, heart hammering in his chest like it’s trying to escape — whenever Zoro is really, really happy, apparently. And to think that Sanji is the one who puts that smile on Zoro’s face —

“I put you under MARRY, you dumbass,” Zoro says, though his insult doesn’t carry much weight, considering the stupid grin still wouldn’t leave his face. “Put you under everything , Cook. Kill, fuck, marry — the whole deal. Because that’s how far you’ve messed me up — you idiot, stupid, annoying, oblivious Shit Cook,” he presses another kiss, chaste and light and all too quick, leaving tingling sensations on Sanji’s lips. “I am in love with you.”

The words rattle against Sanji’s ribcage, his heart threatening to burst from his chest. His face feels warm all over, and he’d look away, except for the fact that Zoro’s hands are gently cupping his face, thumb rubbing absentmindedly against Sanji’s cheek.

“You’d make the shittiest husband ever,” Sanji tells him, because Zoro might be the love of his life — and ain’t that a thought that could make his heart miss a couple of beats — but he still wouldn’t miss a chance to tease Zoro.

“Yeah.” Zoro simply agrees at that, laughing softly. “I’d be your shittiest husband, though.”

Sanji doesn’t find a reason to argue with that, heart jackrabbiting against his chest, and simply leans for another kiss.

10.

By unanimous decision, and with some heavy censorship by replacing FUCK with SLEEP, they decided that Chopper is at least old and human enough to know what’s going on with the game.

“I’m not happy at all that you decided to finally include me in the game, bastard!” Chopper said with a happy wiggle, his hooves clapping together excitedly.

He puts Zoro under SLEEP. Literally. Chopper thinks Zoro makes a great pillow, and a great sleeping partner because he doesn’t move around.

Chopper purses his lips at MARRY.

“The idea of human marriage is still foreign to me,” he says, explaining his silence, “there are too many factors involved in human marriage. For us reindeers, all we look for in a mate is one who can provide us food.”

As if on cue, Zoro throws a large fish onto the deck. There are three large slashes on its belly, crossing through its gills.

Chopper picks Zoro for MARRY.

Sanji resists the urge to bash his head repeatedly on the ship mast, and doesn’t go through with it only because Zoro leans in and steals a kiss from him, effectively blocking his path.

Bastard. Shittiest husband ever .

#opfanfic #zosan #roronoa zoro #sanji #one piece #easily the longest fic on this account. please take it AWAY from my hands

201 notes · View notes

prblynvr · 6 years ago

Note

hey hey hey hey so like..... “great. perfect. nice. Fuck this” for the 5 word prompts??? eldonado preferably???? I loved ur last fic and like.......... angst please 💛💛

dretfgyui okay so i totally failed at angst, but have a kind of broken down version of this prompt! i wanted to try an exercise in recognizing jealousy in different ways and i sorta maybe did it? idk, but i hope you enjoy! read it here on ao3

feel free to send me more 5 word prompts!

It wasn’t very often- and there was usually a catalyst- but Sam realized that sometimes Peter was incredibly selfish.

It was never in an obvious ‘hoards wealth and resources from the less fortunate’ way, but rather in a utterly human and teenage way. And Sam knows he’s shouldn’t be one to scorn others- lest he become a complete hypocrite- but Peter has always been an oddball. So naturally, the ways his selfishness showed up wouldn’t be that of a Typical Teenager.

The first thing Sam noticed was that Peter was selfish with his time. He would turn down Sam for an after school hang out because he had a test the next day he needed to study for and No, Sam. You’ll just distract me so you can’t help me study. Even if he knew Sam had actually understood Macbeth, he still wouldn’t let him help.

He would spend time on what he wanted, feeding his drive to be successful at video making by losing countless hours of sleep over edits that don’t need to be done for days. He knew that he had to manage himself, and a lot of the time Sam felt like Peter was isolating himself because of it.

Next Sam noticed how selfish Peter was with his belongings- especially with others. He was selfish with his electronics- rarely letting people touch his laptop, phone, or camera. Sam was one of the few who had an all access pass to Peter’s stuff. Maybe it was part of the Gen Z/Millenial need for privacy in an extremely public era, but Peter seemed to take it up a notch. Sometimes, he would get huffy if Sam so much as turned the volume up when they were editing together, reaching around Peter to touch the keyboard himself.

Most important of all, Sam realized Peter was selfish with his feelings. His resting bitch face was widely known and those that interacted with him on a daily basis knew that Peter was not one to emote in blatant ways. Sure, he was defensive of his insecurities and could be provoked by outside sources, but his robot-esque exterior was hard to crack if the response wasn’t anger or rage. Peter hoarded his emotions and bottled them up tight, waiting for a day he could explode and blame it on something that happened, rather than deep seated repression and the hormonal imbalances of a 16 year old body.

It was one particular afternoon that Sam realized jealousy in Peter could be monstrous. In that moment, Sam thought Peter was being extremely unfair. He knew better than most what mood Peter was in at every given moment- it comes with the best friend territory- but he had rarely seen Peter like this, and never directed at Sam. There were targets of this sort of passive-aggression in the past, but Sam has never been on the receiving end. It seemed insane to Sam once he finally figured out what new emotion he was picking up from Peter.

What would drive someone into an almost manic state, enough so that he would make an exposé on his best friend? Of course Sam understood the principle of the situation- evaluating your own bias- but why did he have to bring Gabi into this? Why did he have to act so smug when presenting the video, like he had placed the final piece of the puzzle that was Sam? Why did he have to smirk at Sam while he presented it, driving Sam up a wall in absolute frustration?

He’s jealous, Sam thought later that night. Not ‘he’s just jealous’- writing the interaction off as a petty emotion, but rather a full statement of truth. Sam had come to realize that something in Peter was deeply bothered by his friendship with Gabi. And now it was in the doc- for all to see and assume from.

And the kicker of it all was that Sam wasn’t in love with Gabi, not at all. He was in love with Peter.

Great.

—-

Eventually- meaning several days later after Peter reached the end of his rope and made a breakthrough on the video from Nana’s party- Sam and Peter were talking again. They were talking to each other about the case. About the dicks. And that was it. There was only one aborted apology between the two which helped ease them back into casual conversation, but the thrill of the mystery was a good jumping off point.

Then the mystery was over. The case had been finished, albeit not completely solved. Dylan had still proven to be an idiot, even though his friendly and sweet nature had grown on Sam, just not as much as it had grown on Peter. Netflix had swooped in and suddenly Peter and Sam were expected to be actual professionals who do things for their productions, rather than pass out after finally finishing edits at 3 A.M. and just posting the damn thing.

The Netflix party was swanky, if Sam’s standards were anything to go by. Sam had always assumed his first suit would have been for prom, yet here he was, summer between Sophomore and Junior year, decked out in formal wear. Peter was fidgeting next to him looking unfairly good. His suit wasn’t as fashionable as Sam’s, but it didn’t matter. Sam was attracted to Peter when he was awake in the middle of the night, decked in sweatpants and a whole day’s worth of face grease. So when Peter put in the effort, Sam’s heart beat just a little bit faster.

Peter kept biting his lip and it was driving Sam kind of crazy. His hair wasn’t flopping in his face like usual, courtesy of a small bit of product, his eyebrows were actually contained and his stupid long-

“…eyelashes.”

“Sorry, what?” Peter asked leaning into Sam’s space and asking loudly in his ear.

“What?” Sam replied.

Did I really say that outloud?

“You just said something but I missed it.”

“Oh, yeah I- just uhhh said…. uh…. there’s a lot of flashes.”

Good save.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of cameras here tonight.” Peter commented, leaning further into Sam. He slipped his arm over Sam’s shoulder as they continued their circuit around the room. “Are you okay? Not too nervous?”

“Oh, my dude,” Sam said jostling back into Peter, “I am living it up! Look at what we’ve created!”

“It’s crazy to think that 27 dicks could have done this.”

Sam laughed, leaning into Peter further.

Even if I can’t tell him, at least I still have this.

Although Sam was an extrovert who enjoyed meeting new people and being around many at once, tonight felt different. This wasn’t just a party, it was a professional party- one that seemed to drain him with every passing minute instead of fill him with excitement.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” Sam said slipping out of Peter’s arm. “Want anything?”

“No, I’m good. I’ll find you in a bit.”

Sam walked away, shooting Peter a set of finger guns accompanied by a grin before scooting towards the bar. The line wasn’t too long, but all he wanted at that moment was some water and a place to sit down. Sam was taking stock of the three people in front of him in line, patiently waiting to get refreshments as well, when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me? Are you Sam Ecklund?” A voice from behind him asked.

He turned his head and shoulders just enough to see a blonde, vaguely familiar girl. She was dressed as if she had a reason to be at the party and maybe she did. Sam only really knew Peter and a handful of the Netflix representatives there. Besides that, he had no idea what the guest list was.

“Oh, uh- yeah that’s me.” He said, finding her eyes. In a split second he schooled himself into standing up straighter and faking a little enthusiasm. The night had been incredibly long so far, but he and Peter had stayed up later.

Just half an hour, he promised himself, half an hour then you can probably convince Peter to leave.

“Oh, awesome! I just wanted to tell you how much I loved your work on the doc. Like Peter was always so serious but you really stole the show with the comedy aspect!”

“Yeah he seems that way, but Peter’s really just a big jokester too.” Sam said, feeling a little hurt that she would think insulting Peter would gain her favor with him.

“Hah okay, I mean sure, but you really did a great job. Like, without you I don’t think Peter would have ever solved the case.”

Some part of Sam agreed with her- he and Peter were a partnership. But there was something about the way she just kept dismissing Peter that almost pushed Sam over the edge. If he were in a cartoon, you would see his eye twitching in annoyance as this girl continued to talk.

“Nah, Pete’s brilliant. He could have gotten it himself- eventually.”

The girl laughed loudly and brightly, like Sam had said some hysterical joke rather than just a plain comment. Her hand came to rest on his elbow as she continued to giggle. His insides were suddenly knotting up as his eyes flit around the room. Finally, they landed on Peter, who was milling about on his own.

“You’re too funny Sam. Guys with humor are so attractive. Like, there’s just something about you that’s drawing me in. Y’know?”

Peter still wasn’t looking at him so Sam looked back at the girl. The line moved and Sam was able to politely shrug off her hand as he stepped forward. Instead of taking the hint, she simply stepped closer.

“Uh…,” he said, eyes moving and finally connecting with Peter. He widened his eyes and put on a nervous smile. He hoped Peter would come over and interrupt the conversation with some emergency so he could make a quick get away, or at least text him a meme to cheer him up. The line moved again, causing him to have to look away from Peter for a moment

“So, what are your plans for the rest of the night,” she pressed. He stepped further away. “Any cool after party or fun events a girl looking for a good time should know about?”

Saying ‘falling asleep in the same room as my best friend/crush’ probably wasn’t the best way to respond to her question and Sam was a bit stuck.

“Well-”

“Hey Sammy! Thanks for holding our spot.” Suddenly Peter was right next to him, sliding into the space between this girl and Sam.

“Perfect timing.” Sam hoped Peter could feel the waves of gratitude he was trying to beam straight into his psyche.

“Yeah, I forgot to ask for a water before you left. I don’t think I should be having anymore caffeine tonight.” He joked. Sam took a moment to study Peter’s face as a smile carefully graced his lips. It was a publicity smile, one Sam knew he practiced in the mirror as to not look like a murderer when he was in the press. It was one Peter used when trying to be polite without offending anyone.

But, his eyes were crinkled just slightly- something Peter’s public smile never had. That was a private smile, one reserved for his mother or for when he discovered a clue he had been trying to track for days. It was a movement that happened only in the close vicinity to those he trusted. It was just another thing Sam loved about Peter.

“Hi.” A voice cut in- and just like that, Sam’s internal monologue that was about to categorize everything about Peter that drove him crazy was cut short.

“Oh sorry,” Peter said, extending his hand to the girl, “Peter Maldonado.”

“Pleasure,” she said, quickly shaking his hand before stepping back. Sam slung his arm around Peter’s shoulder as he dropped her hand.

“My friend here was just asking about if I knew of any good after parties.” Sam said. “I didn’t quite know how to tell her our boring plans for the night.”

“Well, you are the stars of the show tonight,” she laughed, “And my name is Allison. Allison Keller. But you can call me Alli.” She scooted away from Peter and seemed to gravitate back towards Sam.

“Well Allison, we’d love to help you,” Peter said. Sam watched Allison’s face flit through a range of emotions before landing on a passive smile. “But Sam and I have to get ready for an early flight tomorrow so we’re going to head out soon anyway.”

Suddenly it was their turn at the bar. Peter turned them around enough to ask for two waters before slipping his arm around Sam’s waist and whispering in Sam’s ear, “You okay to leave now?”

Please don’t be blushing right now. Please don’t be blushing right now. Please don’t be blushing right now.

Sam grabbed the two water bottles before turning back to Allison to say, “It was great talking to you but we’re going to head out. Enjoy the rest of your night!”

They walked away without waiting for a response. Sam dropped his arm from Peter’s shoulder, but Peter’s stayed put around his waist until they were near the door. Once they were clear of the room, Peter finally dropped his arm. They chatted a bit about the party as they left and made their way back to their hotel for the night, but not about Allison. Sam wasn’t sure if Peter wanted to avoid the topic all together and didn’t want to be the one to bring it up.

Peter’s mom was in the adjoining room to theirs as they made their way in.

“Hi boys, how was the rest of the event?”

“It was great, Mom,” Peter said, poking his head through the door to her room.

“Yeah, it was crazy how many people were there,” Sam added, shucking off his tie and jacket as he moved into the room.

“Any crazy things happen after I left?”

“No-”

“Sammy got hit on by some girl.”

“Hey! Why is that so crazy?” Sam responded as he heard Ms. Maldonado’s laughter coming from the other room.

“Not crazy that it happened, Sam,” she said, “Peter, be nice.”

“Yeah Pete, be nice,” Sam joked knocking Peter through the doorway. “I’m a catch, dontcha know?”

Peter laughed small but bright. His polite public smile was shed for a real one, lips slightly turned up as he giggled. His eyes were locked with Sam’s as they stood in the doorway, each leaning against the opposite jam. Peter’s nose crinkled for a second as he used it to move his glasses up his face. Sam’s traitorous heart began beating way too fast.

“Well, I think I’m going to turn in. I am beat! Night, Ms. Maldonado.” He finally turned away from Peter to look at his mother. He waved at her as she said “Good night!”

Sam bumped Peter again on his way back into their room, the contact sending a spark through his shoulder. Peter walked all the way into his mom’s room as Sam went about changing into his pajamas. By the time Sam was ready for bed and back out into the room, Peter had changed and was lounging on his bed. The door between the two rooms was shut, leaving Peter and Sam alone again. Sam turned off the lights flopped down on his own bed. The TV softly hummed in the background, casting Peter in soft light as he turned and faced Peter.

“Thanks for doing that, by the way,” Sam said, “That girl was driving me up the wall.”

“Yeah, of course dude.”

Sam laughed. “Like usually I’m okay with talking to girls, but she was just terrible! I didn’t expect you to get so… possessive though. She probably thinks we’re like dating now.” Sam’s brain to mouth filter had apparently taken an eternal holiday, since it would have never let him actually turn his honest to god feelings into the butt of his own joke. An intense sense of dread sent a rock to the bottom of his stomach as he clenched his jaw.

Luckily, Peter just laughed. “Yeah, well, she was getting a little too friendly with you.” The end of his sentence was more of a mumble than anything.

Sam hadn’t missed it, but being one never to let Peter off the hook he said, “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”

Peter huffed before he spoke, “I mean, she was touching your arm and being all… I don’t know. It’s dumb.” He rolled back over facing away from Sam.

“Dude, it’s not dumb. She wasn’t even being very nice about you so I don’t know why you’d be nice about her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was all, ‘Oh Sam, you’re so funny. You’re way better than Peter!’” He could feel Peter rolling his eyes from across the room.

“Yeah, okay whatever, I get it. You didn’t need me.” Peter pulled the blanket more over himself and turned onto his back.

“Hey,” Sam called out, “I’m serious. She tried to compliment me by insulting you. Like, what kind of plan is that? You’re my best friend. Bros before hoes, dude.”

“Aww, dude.”

“And I thanked you for your help. I was too tired to come up with an excuse. So like, if you were jealous of her you have no reason to be.”

Just the thought of Peter being jealous over some girl drove Sam a bit wild. But Peter just hummed in response and the conversation was over. It hadn’t gone perfectly, but things rarely did with Peter. Sam had said his piece, and maybe Peter believed him, maybe he didn’t. But Sam knew that Peter had been jealous. He knew that even if Peter didn’t reciprocate his exact feelings, he was still feeling strongly enough to react so fiercely. He even pulled out his press smile just to help Sam out of a sticky situation.

So it wasn’t perfect, but Sam thought it was nice.

Perfect. Nice. What’s the difference?

—

Sam had been content to let it sit. He had been fine with Peter and him living out their lives as film partners/best friends until they retired rich and powerful. All throughout their second season, living with Peter was driving him wild. They weren’t just some weird sort of hometown heroes anymore, they were certifiable documentarians, and with that came a very different sense of self.

They had been out of practice for almost 2 years. The schedule and filming and equipment were different, but when they lights went out, it was just Peter, Sam, and their subject. Watching Peter light up the room and run down an interview like it was a sneaky interrogation drove a spike in Sam’s resolve. It had been a long time since he realized his feelings for Peter. It had been a long time since he realized that maybe- just maybe- there was a chance Peter liked him back. So why was he so scared?

It all came to a head one night when planning for the next day’s shoot. They were going to return to St. Bernardine’s the next day to do some more interviews of the students there and finish out the afternoon by returning to Kevin’s. It was going to be a typical shooting day, nothing out of the ordinary - if you think documenting poop crimes wasn’t out of the ordinary.

They had mapped out their route, let the crew know of the plan, then gotten ready to eat. So far, they had mostly made it on pre-cooked meals or take out, but tonight was different. Tonight, Peter Maldonado decided he was going to cook dinner. For Sam. (Well, for them both, but it was only them.)

Oh fuck.

Sam caught a glimpse of him in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove as he listened to a podcast playing from his phone. He had told Sam he was going to cook, which recently meant either Ramen, Kraft Mac & Cheese, or frozen chicken nuggets, but tonight meant some pasta dish that wasn’t recognizable. Peter was cooking chicken in one pan while boiling pasta in a pot.

“What’s this?” Sam asked from where he was lurking in the doorway.

Peter jumped a bit before turning to meet Sam’s eye, “I was tired of the packaged stuff and asked my mom for some suggestions.”

Sam smiled at him before asking, “Need any help?” He was quickly swept up in Peter’s instructions to cut up some vegetables to be cooked after the chicken. They carefully moved around each other as they prepared the meal, commenting on the podcast playing as they went, and in what felt like no time at all, they were done. Sam moved to plate the pasta and set it on the counter by Peter who then added the sauce, chicken, and vegetables. It was all extremely domestic, and far too much for Sam’s traitorous brain to handle.

‘What if-’s began flooding his mind with unplanned scenarios of a life he didn’t feel like could ever truly be his. Lives unattainable, yet so powerful to him, he was jealous over his fictional self for living them.

What if we were already dating and I could grab his hand right now as we ate? What if we lived together and cooked dinner together every night? What if the documentary never happened? What if I never talked to him that first day in middle school?

With every question he would imagine a scenario with the same ending. He and Peter would still be together, still a dynamic duo that could accomplish anything. They would spend as much time together and were dedicated to each other. The journey would be different, but the ending the same.

What if I told him?

The last one stuck with Sam the most. In all seriousness, he wasn’t sure the answer to the question, and he couldn’t exactly predict what Peter’s response would be, but he was falling deeper down the rabbit hole trying to be realistic. All through dinner, Sam’s mind kept wandering to how that night could go. How maybe he could just grab Peter’s hand and tell him. Maybe he could. Maybe.

They finished up and began cleaning- back to domestic chores. Peter collected the dishes as Sam rolled up his sleeves to get to work scrubbing the pots and pans used. As he finished, Peter moved to taking them from Sam and drying them off. Sam had two more pots to go and his heart was beating- hungry for some sort of emotional resolution.

Fuck this.

“Hey Pete?”

He hummed a response.

“I…” Sam lost his resolve. He had been so ready to finally come clean, but this wasn’t a fantasy. This was real life and once he said his piece, there was no going back.

Then Peter’s eyes met his and he asked, “What’s up, Sammy?”

“I like you, Peter. Like, in a more than friends way- and not a ‘bro, I like you, no homo’ like- I mean- a full homo- a full homo way.” The words tumbled out of his mouth and he watched as Peter’s expression turned from something soft and open, to something charged.

His eyes squinted just a bit as his mouth opened ever so slightly. Sam waited for Peter to respond, to say something- anything - but he didn’t. All Peter did was set down the pot he was drying off, wipe his hands on his jeans, push his glasses up his face, and kiss Sam in one swift movement.

Wait - what?

He had missed slightly, lips landing closer to the corner of Sam’s mouth rather than square on, but with his mouth came his hands. They cradled Sam’s face, adjusting the angle so that they met perfectly this time. Sam’s brain finally caught up to the situation, causing him to drop the pan into the sink and splash them both with soapy water.

His hands clutched at Peter’s waist as he responded in full. They pulled back a second later, wet and soapy. Peter’s shirt has wet splotches and wrinkles where Sam’s hands had been, as well as an assortment of other spots resulting from Sam’s poor reflexes.

“So… like…do you-”

“I full homo you too, Sammy.” Peter said, laughing his way through the end.

Sam just smiled back and pulled him in again - wet shirt and dished be damned.

#eldonado #american vandal #my writing #sam ecklund #peter maldonado #grasslandgirl #AV fic

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 2 years ago

Text

A lot of interesting stuff has been happening in the rationalist world these last few weeks, and I've wanted to write about it, but I've been really tired a lot recently and felt like there was little point.

But I've had thoughts about the ideas and arguments going around (I think?), and I've wanted to write them up, because I think they might be worth looking into if you have time for it, even if you don't share many of the interests or preoccupations of the tumblr rationalist community.

Some of what I've been thinking about follows. Note: I'm not an expert on any of this, I'm just sort of thinking about it, and I have a few caveats about what I'm about to say, so be prepared for that. (I'm going to focus on the world-building/fictional-setting aspects of this discussion, but it applies to the ideas as well.)

----

So, I think the sort of project you see around a lot in the rationalist world is a project of creating a world where the sort of arguments in question can be made without the sorts of difficulties they typically have.

I don't think this is a silly project -- the sort of thing you might say about, say, "let's come up with a hypothetical world in which the things in question could make sense." You could come up with a world on the basis of any principle, if you want. But this project seems different -- it involves building an actual world, rather than a hypothetical one.

A good reason for doing that is that the standard set of assumptions we use to prove things about the world does not guarantee that all the arguments we use to make them about the world will always work. "I don't like X," say, may well be well-founded, but if you want to say "X isn't good," then you have to actually come up with an argument about why not. You have to be willing to do a lot of careful empirical, sociological, psychological, and other work, and present a case against X.

And that's fine, if you don't have anything else you need to do. But if you want to endorse certain hypotheses, you need to be willing to back them up. You need to be willing to put in the work and stand up to the criticisms that can come your way (especially from people who really do like X), even if you think doing so will be a waste of your time.

It's hard to get a good sense of what works like this. But I've been reading a lot of essays that describe the kind of problems one has with the social sciences (especially sociology), and what's striking is how often they come from fictional worlds. I'm not saying that you can't find this sort of thing in reality -- but what strikes me is how easy it is to do it without even trying, while writing about this sort of project for non-fiction publication. You can say, "okay, imagine people are stupid because I'm a stupid writer." But if you're writing a social science paper, this has the same kind of implications as writing a fantasy story with the premise that some fantasy element is real.

----

A good example of this is a post by Scott called Are You a Caffeinated Person? (or "You Just Don't Know About It Yet"):

I often wonder if people really are like this. I'm not sure why, but a theory occurs to me: I suspect that the average human is not yet conscious that there is a level at which caffeine alters perception, cognition, and behavior. The fact that so many people take so little notice of the subtle effects of caffeine in their daily lives is a symptom of a much wider, more troubling phenomenon. I call this the Caffeine Anomaly, and my suspicion is that most people will need to be confronted with it before they begin to understand just how important caffeine is as a drug.

Here are three small instances from my recent life that strongly support this hypothesis.

Last Sunday morning I left the house for a walk in the woods. It was a clear, cool day; everything was beautiful and quiet. I've gone on a lot of walks like that in the past several months, and every time I thought about it I felt great, like I had discovered a real source of joy in the world. Something clicked into place: I suddenly realized I knew how it feels to enjoy coffee—and in that moment I felt a great sense of relief. For years I have been struggling to understand the subtle effects of caffeine. I've struggled to define a way to relate to other people that wouldn't be so tainted with anxiety and dread. And that morning I felt, for the first time, like a part of myself had been finally found.

Yesterday, while reading my sister's blog, I came across the essay "The Doom is Wrong". I was struck immediately by how familiar it felt (even as I was reading a totally new text). One of the author's recurring themes is the way people misunderstand each other. He asks, "How do people understand their own bodies? How do people relate to each other? What exactly do people mean when they say things like 'the world needs more love'?" All of these are questions that had been weighing heavily on my mind for years. I felt like I was finally on the path to understanding them—and then the second I started reading the essay the light went out of my eyes and my heart sank. In that moment I realized that every time I thought about those questions, I had been missing the answers to something as important and obvious as this:

DINNER. I don't mean the meal that fills your belly and soothes your soul after a hard day's work. I don't mean the meal that tells a story and brings you back to happy memories. I don't mean the food that lets you feel that you belong in this world. For me, the food of life is a hearty and nutritious meal of coffee, cheese, and apples. "This stuff is great," I say, "but who eats it?" And sometimes people do, but more often people do not. It's sad and frustrating that I have had to learn this the hard way—but the hard way must be learned, or we'd never have gotten here in the first place.

Readers don't know about the Caffeine Anomaly? I don't know how many people can be assured "Yes, reader, there is a way of thinking and relating to things that works without the need for empirical work, without the need for sociological study, and without the risk of the sort of thing-of-the-mind-that-could-endanger-your-lives." This is a pretty good reason to believe in the Caffeine Anomaly, and one that I'm not even aware of!

But Scott is not writing about this Caffeine Anomaly, he's writing about the Caffeine Hypothesis, which postulates (for reasons just discussed) a relationship between caffeine and cognition, caffeine and behavior, and other phenomena. He doesn't actually believe in the caffeine hypothesis (as far as I can tell). But he's writing about it nonetheless, because he wants it to work, he wants it to stand up to empirical criticism and the sort of criticism that has to be endured if one wants to endorse X.

It's hard to get a sense of the problems in

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thoseofgreatambition · 7 years ago

Text

Ten Months

warnings: pg-13 sexual tones. swearing, angst if you squint.

wordcount: 1.6K

description: emma looks after fred when he gets back from the hospital after the final battle, and is worried as he seemingly begins to strain himself. however fred’s more focused on returning to normal-- and ending this damned dry spell you two had imposed on you.

a/n: this is for @nosebleednougats who won my new years contest! emma won a her x canon character fic, that was about 1.5-2K in length. i hope you like it wife <3 also bc this is sexual i’m not tagging the ppl i know are under age.

again-- no actual hanky panky and is still fairly tame i think

but still

PERM TAG LIST: ( - ppl i know are underage) @whyarentyoulaughingj @rexster10 @oh-the-snowinthemoonlight @geeksareunique @phantomhive-shadow @thephelpstwins @notstandingstill-imlyinginwait @siriuslyimmoony @yourslytherinprincess @bloomweasley @gobletofweasley @stillwater20-blog @dramatic-and-young @starlitmoony @blusnowflakee @l-am-tired @lovelaughlivesmilebright @wizardingworldwaitforme @imaginethis-st

FRED WEASLEY TAG LIST: @slytherinsouldetective @wildfire-whizbangs

(if u are a minor and i still tagged you let me know please)

You moved in with the twins, right after they returned to their flat. Or-- to phrase it better, while Fred was still recovering from being almost smushed by a wall, you moved in with George because you knew that it'd take the two of you to give him a proper team when he was able to come home.

Molly had offered to let all three of you stay at the burrow, and there was no doubt in your mind that she meant it, but also-- you wanted space. Or as much space as living with your boyfriend and his brother would allow.

Thankfully the twins seemed to be on your same page.

Fred had told you time after time that you didn’t need to move in to take care of him.

Hell, he’d even told George that he didn’t need to, but both of you had promptly shut that idea of his down.

It was an easy choice for both of you-- being there for someone you loved.

So here you were-- fretting about while George finally got some sleep. The poor man hardly got any of that anymore. Fred watched you with a small frown as you walked around the flat, waving your wand to clean up the mess that everyone had made through the day. His eyes didn’t leave you.

Things were getting better for him. He’d been out of the hospital for almost three weeks-- he could walk on his own. He was getting less and less shaky as time went on. Fred could manage most daily activities by himself.

All in all, he would say that he was about seventy percent independent. Able to do his own thing. Which made this just a tad annoying.

“Let me help you, Emma.”

Instinctively, you shook your head as you nudged the small pile of shoes into a line, “No Freddie-- you’ve gotta rest.” you didn’t hear him get up behind you, and jolted a bit as his arms wrapped around your waist and his lips pressed against the nape of your neck.

“I’m feeling a lot better.”

“You are?” there’s a little bit of nervousness in your voice-- it’s all you can think about sometimes, how small and broken he looked after the battle. How worried you were when he was in St. Mungo’s. You suck in a deep breath as he presses a few more kisses to the area of skin before inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

It makes him grin a bit-- you’ve been knicking his shampoo since you moved in. While he loved the one you used to use, there’s something oddly wonderful about smelling himself so literally on you. “I do. So stop fretting so much. I can help clean. I can walk for a bit. I know my limits.”

He was Fred Weasley for Merlin’s sake-- since when did he like people treating him like a glass vase? He’d gone back to class three days after almost having his skull cracked in by a bludger.

Then again he wasn’t stupid-- he knew that was a lot different than what had happened to him, but the principle still stood.

He was rather tough. He could handle this.

For as much as he felt his personality changing and becoming in some ways a person he didn’t always recognize-- so full of nerves and fear-- he wanted to reclaim what little of his old life that he could.

That meant normality.

That meant getting you and his brother to stop treating him like an invalid.

Your hands drifted to his as they clasped your waist, fingertips dancing over his knuckles as you closed your eyes and took in his warmth.

Really, you’d never thought that you’d taken him for granted-- you had always gone on and on about how wonderful he was. But it wasn’t until Fred had almost been torn away from you so suddenly that you realized you hadn’t taken in every detail of him nearly enough. Little things like this could have been forgotten. How much larger his hands were than yours. The way he applied just enough pressure that when his hand removed you knew there’d be a mark on your skin for a moment or so.

“I love you Fred.”

“I love you too. Now let me make you dinner.”

There was a pause from you, as you considered his words. “Only if you let me help.” you giggled a little at the small huff of indignation from Fred, only to laugh a full fledged laugh when he pecked your cheek and relented.

“Alright-- but I do most of the cooking.”

“Deal.”

Things felt back to normal. So much so that you were able to relent just a bit and forget about everything that had happened.

There was just Fred.

Laughter, and Fred.

The way you always preferred it, if you were to be truthful.

You two chatted over dinner-- pasta that was surprisingly good despite him not having cooked in several months. You reckoned it was a family recipe he’d memorized long ago. When it came time to clear your plates Fred was first to stand up and tutted when you tried to gather everything. With a wave of his wand he got the kitchen in motion to clean itself. “Rest, love. You’ve been on your feet all day.”

“Shouldn’t I be telling you something like that?”

You were met with a smacking kiss on your cheek-- laughing just a bit as Fred pulled you up from your chair and towards the couch. “I’ve been resting for about a month and a half now. I think I can manage to upright for a little bit.”

As he pulled you into his lap, sitting down first and hooking his arms around you. His lips immediately found your neck, quite eager. This was the first time in a while that you’d treated him like you used to, like he wasn’t fragile, and all it did was get him excited about other things you two used to do.

“Fred what are you--” you laughed a bit as you felt his hand rest on your knee before slowly and gently making its way up your thigh. “Aren’t you eager?” It was pretty easy to tell where he was getting at with this.

“In my defense love-- we haven’t had sex since before the war.”

That made you think for a moment. Obviously it was factual, but the proper amount of time hadn’t hit you.

It was late April now so--

Ten months.

Holy shit.

Understandable-- seeing as War and not being within fifty miles of each other until right before Fred almost died could do wonders on a couples sex life, but still.

A lot.

It was a rather rough nip on your neck that brought you back to focus, and you tried to stifle your groan as it was soothed with flicks of his tongue and more presses of his soft lips against the delicate skin of your neck.

“Are you sure--”

“Yes.” his hands became more rushed as you tilted your head towards him and closed the distance between your lips. Quickly, he tried to work you out of your top-- patience long forgotten as the buttons began to pop off. His lips seperated from yours with a soft smaking sound, and he swiftly repositioned you two so you were straddling his lap instead of simply sitting on him. “That work for you Emma?”

He was Fred Weasley.

It’d been ten months.

You were the love of his life.

Honestly, as long as you wanted to have sex with him, this was going to happen.

He would see to it.

Very quickly you nodded, grabbing him by the collar of his sweater and tugging him towards you once more as your lips crashed against his. It was like all the time you’d missed was hitting you all once, and you found yourself getting more and more eager even though you two had hardly started yet.

You heard him start to chuckle into your lips as you let out a rather pathetic whine. Immediately you wished you had stayed quiet. You knew that laugh.

That laugh meant that despite how impatient he was, Fred Weasley was going to take his sweet ass time with you.

“Freddie no teasing tonight.”

He acquired the tone of mock offense, “Do you think I’m going to call you names?” his hands drifted up your sides, “Am I really that mean of a boyfriend? I’d always hoped that I was nicer than that.”

You tried to scowl the best you could at him, but found yourself failing because of him and his damned wandering hands. You choked down a loud moan halfway through, red faced as Fred repeated his ministrations with his hands. “George--”

With a glare, Fred looked up at you, “I was hoping we could do this without talking about him, actually.” when you smacked his arm, he let out a rather indignant ‘Hey!’.

“We’ll wake up George if we stay out here you numpty! Do you want your brother to walk in on you eating m-”

Quickly, Fred had you scooped up in his arms and was carrying you into the room you now shared. “Well spotted, thank you Emma.”

“Freddie my shirt--”

“He’ll just have to deal with seeing that, George will understand.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #my writing #my imagines #requested #pg-13 #tease fic

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