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blowflyfag · 7 months

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Wrestling World : FEBRUARY 1995

A NIGHT OUT WITH THE BAD GUY

You’ve seen what he can do in the ring. Now, Wrestling World shows you what he’s like outside the ropes! Get ready for a night on the town with Razor Ramon.

By Jose Padua

THIS IS A story about good versus evil, money versus poverty, knowledge versus ignorance. It’s a story about the subtle power of poetry versus the blunt force of a closed fist, the seductive charm of a beautiful woman versus the explosive temper of a maniacal beast. But it’s mostly a story about a guy with a toothpick in his mouth whose perpetual five o’clock shadow bespeaks of street fights, hard times, and a distaste for proper grooming-though not necessarily in that order.

We’re referring, of course, to “The Bad Guy,” Razor Ramon, that hairy behemoth of a man who since bursting onto the scene in the WWF a few years ago has made an impression on wrestling fans all over the world. That it’s a “bad” impression is, as wrestling fans have learned, no reason to shun him. On the contrary, it is the very reason we have all embraced his aura and taken him for what he truly is-a man who has weathered “the dark night of the soul” and come out on top to server as both inspiration for us working stiffs, and as a role model for today’s youth culture.

Indeed, Razor’s influence has extended well beyond the world of wrestling to the point that he’s become something of a hero to fans of the alternative music scene. Nowadays it’s just as common for hip twentysomethings to identify themselves by purchasing a block of tickets to a Pearl Jam concert as it is for them to sport a Razor Ramon tee shirt complete with paint stains and strategically placed rips in the cloth. And one recent Friday night found “The Bad Guy” in the company of some of that very same crowd.

Celebrating his recent victory over Diesel for the Intercontinental title, Razor was having dinner at a Mexican restaurant on the corner of Amsterdam Avenue and 89th St. in Manhattan. Although he’s been known to frequent such posh restaurants as Alla Sera on the Upper East Side, this was a much more modest place.

“I like it here,” Razor explains. “Though sometimes I go to them fancy restaurants, I always have a better time at places like this. Places where real people go to have a good time.”

Success, it seems, has not gone to Razor’s head: He’s the people’s bad guy. But that wasn’t always the case.

“When I first started out. I was just like Shawn Michaels,” he continued, bringing up the source of his major feuds. “I was bad for the wrong reasons, Chico, stepping all over my people, people who had it rough like me…who came from the streets like me. But I learned to have respect for my roots, man.”

Among his entourage this evening are a couple of kids sporting the grunge look, some pals from the old neighborhood, and a former centerfold model named Lisa. When the waiter comes to take everyone’s order we hear requests for standard Mexican fare-dishes such as enchiladas, tacos, chimichangas- until it’s Razor’s turn to order. Pulling the toothpick from his mouth, Razor looks intently at the waiter and says, “I’d like a special order, Chico. Fried chicken.” It seemed an odd choice, but no one’s going to argue with Razor about what he wants to eat. If he were to order spaghetti and meatballs at a Chinese restaurant he’d undoubtedly be obliged.

While waiting for dinner the subject of The 1-2-3 Kid comes up. Razor’s unexpected defeat the the hands of The 1-2-3 Kid was the turning point in his career, the darkness merged-where the void and the bad kicked out the ugly to create a force Razor never imagined could exist.

“My Main Man,” Razor says, referring to The Kid. “He took me by surprise, Chico. Here was this little guy who could wrestle with the biggest dudes, man. He showed me that you could be ‘good’ too.”

“So now you’re The Good Guy?” we ask.

“No, I’m The Bad Guy. But now I understand what’s good. See why I’m sayin’?”

Whatever the case may be, Razor’s style is, to say the least, different from that of The 1-2-3 Kid. Where The Kid is all finesse and dazzling acrobatics, Razor is brute force and methodical determination. In fact, if football announcer John Madden were to open his “All-Madden” team to professional wrestlers, Razor Ramon would be first on his list. Not necessarily the most skilled or scientific, Madden’s team is made up of real “tough guys,” the ones who are most willing to get down in the dirt and do whatever it takes to win-which is as good a description as any of Razor Ramon’s “bad” style.

[Razor Ramon cuts a striking figure in, or out, of the ring!]

When dinner is served Razor immediately digs in with his hands. Picking up a drumstick, he devours it in a single sloppy bite, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand: Like his wrestling style, his table manners aren’t all that elegant. But what matters most is that they get the job done. “Anyone want to try some of this chicken?” he asks, looking around at his guests. “It’s good.”

After dinner Razor and his friends pile into a couple of cabs and head downtown to the East Village. Getting off on Avenue B, they gather in front of a grimy performance space that goes by the name of Chez Rollo where down-and-out writers congregate to spit out words of rage and wisdom. It seems that although Razor is known for a lot of things, one thing that never gets much attention is the fact that he is something of a patron of the arts-especially those arts that speak of the street, of that world from whence he came. On entering, Razor is immediately recognized by a number of people, including a couple of the poets.

“Hey Razor!” says one of them. The poet walks up to Razor and introduces himself. “I’m Carl Watson; I’m a big fan of yours.”

“Oh yeah,” says Razor nodding. “I know your work. I like it…it’s good stuff, Chico.”

While waiting for the reading to begin Carl explains how he became a fan of “The Bad Guy.” “I got into wrestling when I got an assignment to do a story on Lucha Libre for the Village Voice,” he says. “After going to some the Lucha Libre matches in Brooklyn I started to watch the WWF or get some perspective on how the Luca Libre scene differs from other wrestling promotions, and of all the wrestlers there the one who really stood out the most was Razor Ramon-‘The Bad Guy.’ He’s got the good, Chico.”

Soon the reading starts. First is Ron Kolm, who reads a series of short, insightful poems on such diverse topics as getting drunk and going to war.

“He’s bad,” Razor comments.

“You mean you don’t like him?” Lisa asks.

“No, I mean he’s bad. Like me.” Later on Carl gets up and reads a story about the seedy side of the city and life spent in dingy bars and transient hotels.

“He’s been there, man,” Razor comments nodding his head appreciatively.

Last is a guy named Bob wearing a pork pie hat, a polka dot shirt, and baggy black trousers. Like Razor he also sports a good amount of stubble on his cheeks, but on seeing him Razor starts to sneer. “Something ain’t right with this dude,” he says shaking his head.

Bob commences his portion of the reading with an attempt at rap style poetry. Watching Bob perform, Razor gets agitated, shifting in his seat and clenching his fists. “He don’t know what he’s talking about,” Razor mumbles.

“He’s acting like he’s down, but it ain’t no way, Chico. He’s a poseur just like Shawn Michaels.” A few poems later Razor stands up in anger and is about to approach the stage when Lisa stops him.

“Hey, Razor, it’s okay,” she says. “He’s harmless.”

“Yeah, but someone needs to make this gringo shut up.”

Luckily for Bob it’s the last poem of the night, but before he steps down Razor yells a warning toward the stage: “It’s all right for now. But I’ll be back, Chico.”

In need of a nightcap, Razor leads his entourage, which at this point includes Ron and Carl, to The International Bar on First Avenue. Taking a nip from a bottle of Dos Equis, he begins to relax again. Later in the evening, at that point when most people take to reminiscing about the past, Razor Ramon (always one to do things his own way), looks instead toward the future.

“I’m the Intercontinental champion now,” he tells Ron, who hangs on the Razor’s every word, “and it feels good, Chico. But pretty soon I’m going to get a shot at the big title. And you know, to have me go against Bret Hart will be one of the greatest matches of all time. The two baddest guys in the WWF. But first there are some people who need to be taught a lesson. People like the Million Dollar Man. Bam Bam Bigelow, and Jeff Jarrett. They make me mad, Chico.”

“And don’t forget Bob, the bad poet,” Ron suggests.

“Bad? He ain’t bad, Chico,” Razor says raising his voice.

“Well…I mean Bob the good poet.”

“He ain’t good either.”

“Well, you know what I mean…” Ron says nervously. Then adds. “I better shut up.”

“Hey, Chico, it’s cool, man. Don’t sweat the small stuff.”

Razor picks the tab up from the bar, lays down a couple of hundred dollar bills, then lifts his bottle and extends it towards Ron and the rest of the group.

“To all my good friends.”

And so ends a night out with The Bad Guy. A night which despite the occasional misunderstanding, turned out to be a good one. Or should we say a bad one. Whatever the proper word is, it’s a distinction that Razor Ramon understands very well, and perhaps one day when the time is right he’ll teach us all a lesson.

[Inspired by the work of Ron Kolm and Carl Watson, Razor tries his hand at writing some poetry!]

#wwf #world wrestling federation #razor Ramon #I loved this article #it was so fun! I might try to get more of these wrestling world just for these articles #magazine scan #magazine transcript

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inevitablysomber-dark · 1 year

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Shackled (Chapter 1)

Dark! Rafe Cameron x Pogue! Reader

Warning: There are some intense, dubiously consenting and nonconsensual sexual themes in this series. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. MINORS DNI.

Summary: You hate Outer Banks with a passion and are working hard to get out despite all the obstacles in your way. Rafe himself eventually becomes one of those obstacles after a night of low impulse control. Will you be able to overcome him or will you have no choice but to submit. Slow Burn

Series Masterlist

You were tired and sore, your body trudging through the trailer park, following a familiar path. You almost thought to turn back around and go home to rest, maybe returning later in the day to get your supply, but you thought better of it. You had a system and followed it to a Tee, never straying for fear of what might happen.

Every action you took held a purpose, and each purpose aimed to ensure you got what you needed without compromising yourself.

You usually spent the weekends entertaining gentlemen at the Misty Lounge on the mainland. Unfortunately, no matter how much effort you put into performing, the tips were dry, at least for this weekend. You didn't let it sweat you, it wasn't the first time, and it won't be the last.

As fatigue slowly creeps over you, you glance up to find the trailer you were looking for.

Your supplier sat up front next to a familiar body; he glances towards you when he sees movement in his peripherals.

"Is that my little sweetheart comin' down here" Barry yelled as he got up from his seat in front of the unlit fire pit, walking over to you with open arms.

"BARRY!" you muster enough energy to run up and jump into his arms as he lifts you and spins you around once. Barry loved you about as much as an employer loved their best employee. It was all conditional, and you didn't mind his affections because you considered Barry somewhat of a friend.

You were 16 and in a bad place mentally. Your professional relationship with Barry was only meant to be temporary. You had already known about him through your father and purchased some coke from him in severe desperation.

You intended to use it yourself, but you couldn't go home because you knew your dad would try to take it for himself if he found it. Hence, you went to one of the many kook parties held in figure 8 that night and snuck into the basement.

You had 4 lines ready to go before some randos interrupted your session. Just as they were about to turn around, one noticed the powder on the table and offered to pay to snort two lines. They offered twice as much as what you paid for the entire baggie.

At that moment, you realized that you could make this work. The next day you asked your father about his more youthful days and how he managed to make money through his more illegal methods.

He had a hangover and was in no mood to talk, but a few shots in his system proved very effective in getting him to talk. You realized if you were going to do this needed to do it right.

First, you had to outline your plans and goals. That night, you drafted a mock business profile, finding free templates online.

Then, you set a few rules for yourself:

-Don't Spend Profits before the supply is gone -Don't partake in the supply -Keep both supply and money under lock and key

You took the money you made that night and ordered a larger baggie.

You spent your days looking for parties and people to sell to, and slowly but surely, business started picking up.

Unfortunately, when you reached the $5000 mark, your father eventually found where you were keeping your cash in your room and spent it all at the bar. You were livid, but you had no choice but to accept those developments. A part of you wished he had died of alcohol poisoning. Still, you knew if anything happened to this man before you could set your plan in motion, you would really be in a lot of trouble.

In one of his many drunken late-night rambles, he admitted to using your social security as a child to open up a bunch of credit cards. After spending all the money decided he wasn't paying for shit. This little hustle you had going was meant to help you increase your funds. Now, your credit was shot to hell; you could leave this town, but if you wanted to, you would have to buy everything in cash. And you just needed more money. This hustle you had going was an attempt to get enough money to leave, but you would need a lot.

You had to build up your income again, stashing your cash below a floorboard underneath your bed; it was a slow and arduous process.

As soon as Barry realized you were raking in coins, he decided you and him had to have a more comfortable relationship, and you followed along. He loved to tell people you were his little sister, and whenever he saw you in public, he approached you warmly.

To avoid any conflict, you allowed it, even playing along. But being associated with him was hurting your reputation at the cut, and you were positive that he would be unreliable when push came to shove.

He gestures toward the person next to him when he puts you down.

"You know Rafe?" he asks.

"Yea," you nod with a quick wave of your hand in his direction. You turn back to Barry." I'm here to pick up my supply?"

Before Barry could open his mouth, you pulled out a thick roll of cash and handed it to him.

He smirked, his gold tooth peeking past his lips.

"You so dependable, sweetheart" he grabbed your head with both hands and planted a kiss on your forehead "unlike some people," he glanced at Rafe before disappearing into his trailer.

'How affectionate,' you thought as you tried to stretch out the exhaustion from your spine. A yawn escaped your mouth, trying not to react at the man dead-staring into your soul.

You had no personal strife with Rafe, but you knew who he was and where his values were established. His reputation on the island had little more to do with all the chaos and mayhem he's invoked on the pogues, a group he and anyone else within his tax bracket in figure 8 deemed subclass residents of Outerbanks, and he was well known as the Kook prince of OBX. You tried to avoid him as much as possible to prevent any trouble from coming your way.

He's not as rabid as he used to be, but he can find any reason to mess with someone less fortunate than him.

Unfortunately, you couldn't say the same thing for Mary and Ether, two girls classified as your close friends throughout the island. However, you would be hard-pressed to call them that.

You'd met them at a random kegger at the beach a few years ago, Tourons were harassing them, and for a moment, you could break out of your shell and help with the conflict. You were chubbier back then and had a more intimidating appearance despite your tame personality.

All 3 of you had hung out and danced the entire night, and since then, they insisted that you join them at every excursion. At first, you thought you made genuine friends. And you were so excited and happy to be around that you did whatever they asked.

They never introduced you to their own families. Whenever they saw you in public outside of a party setting, they acted like they didn't know you. After hanging out with them a few more times, it turned out that they just needed a bodyguard that would simultaneously make them look good.

They were fake friends, and you couldn't find it in your heart to shake them off. Even after you got your job on the mainland, grew into your body, and attempted to push them away. They still came around with expectations adorning their faces.

They would never ask for money or clothes; God forbid they get help from THE help. But They weren't the most popular in kooktown despite being kooks themselves. So as a reaction to feeling inadequate, they've developed superiority complexes towards you.

Having you around bulked up their confidence and kept them from having to feel so mediocre because, in their own heads, they were better than you.

Yet, you couldn't find it yourself to drop them; maybe it was the loneliness. The fear of having no one but your dad on this God-forsaken island.

Outer Banks was a small place, so most people knew who you were, who you associated with, and most annoyingly, who you came from. Despite never actually doing anything wrong and not getting into trouble, other kids were advised to stay away from you.

It only served as another reason for you to hate Outerbanks. Not only in how small-minded the town was but where they allowed their biases to take hold.

Why did Rafe get a free pass in creating his path of destruction, but you were automatically outcasted for your own proceedings?

You were both at Barry's trailer, and you couldn't help but think how if anyone saw you, you'd be labeled a rotten apple, and he'd be the misguided young man.

You quickly glance at Rafe to find that he is still staring at you. A blank expression on his face as if he were plotting.

You turn your head back away when you see Barry come out with a bag. Scrunching your eyebrows together, you take it and look inside.

"It's all there, sweet-" he could barely finish his sentence before you interrupt

"This isn't my usual order, Barry; I'm short" You move to look back at him, "I paid for a full order of products, and I can already see that I'm missing a few things without taking anything out," you whined doing your best not to stomp your foot, you were tired and the longer you stayed here, the less time you had to rest.

"Look, sweetheart, I still need to get my new orders. You gon' need to work with what you got" You look at Rafe again, this time really seeing his face, and you notice his eyes are glazed over.

He was high. Of course, Barry must have given him something; the question was, did he actually pay for it?

When you look back at Barry, you give a frustrated sigh.

"I paid you the full price, and I can't just short my customers."

"How about I give you a discount for your next order and add 30% more product?" He raises his eyebrows, giving you puppy dog eyes, grabbing your shoulders, and giving you a light squeeze.

You give him an exasperated look, vexation creeping down your spine and a migraine forming behind your eyes. It seems that you have no choice.

"Ok, but I want it written."

"You don't trust me, sweetheart?" he has a full-blown smile adorning his lips when he asks.

"Of I course do," you lie, "but there's nothing wrong with a bit of peace of mind,"

"Alright, alright," he says, holding his hands up in defeat.

When Barry set you up, you said your goodbyes and headed home.

As soon as you got there, you stashed your products and money in their appropriate hiding places and washed the weekend off your body.

Once you did your little self-care routine, you pulled your blackout curtains close, and exhaustion took over as soon as you laid your head on your pillow. – When you turned 18, the hiding spot for your money started getting a little tight, so you decided to head to the mainland and open up a bank account. You figured it would be insufficient to open one using any of the banks in Outerbanks because the island was already so small. There were too many familiar faces, and you realized it might end up being more trouble than it's worth.

When you got to the mainland, you decided what bank you wanted to do business with, and that's when you met Kelly. And Kelly had some things to teach you about the financial world and its ticks.

She let you know that you couldn't just deposit large sums of cash every time you went to the bank, especially when you didn't have an official job. She didn't ask questions about where you got your money and let you deposit 12k on a one-time conditional basis. Because of this, every time you got to the mainland, you only ever went to that specific bank and worked with only Kelly.

After a while, you and Kelly developed a more amicable relationship. And Kelly gave you an opportunity on one of your deposit days, which were usually Mondays because the bank was less occupied on that day.

"You know what?" While pulling up your account, she asks, "You're a pretty girl. Have you ever thought about exotic dancing?"

You shook your head no, not exactly sure what she meant.

As she set you up, she took a scrap of paper and wrote an address with a number.

"If you want to make a bit more money, Mistys Lounge is setting up an amateur night this Friday to scout for more dancers; check it out."

She handed you the scrap, and you put it in your pocket with no intention of heeding her advice. Though as the week progressed, the unconventional opportunity wouldn't leave the back of your mind. By Friday, you found yourself dressed in your cutest two-pieced bathing suit you owned, ready to perform onstage for amateur hour.

When your set came, you could feel the awkwardness on the stage; your body felt weird and unnatural as you attempted to mimic the girls before you.

You knew the amateur night was a bust, but it all worked out in the end.

You didn't even know why they bothered with the amateur night because they offered everyone who auditioned a gig. When you get the job, They let you know you worked for tips for a 200 dollar fee and when it's time for your set to be there or don't come back.

You made a little money at first, and after the 3rd day of dry tips, you decided to step up.

You bought cuter outfits, ensured your hair and nails were done and started doing your makeup. It helped, but it wasn't enough. Then the facials and self-care days were initiated, and you started meeting Kelly so she could teach you routines and give you lessons on seduction since she used to be a dancer.

When you started wearing wigs and adhering to theme days, things started looking up. Then one day, you got brave, you waxed your entire body and stripped butt naked during a few of your private shows, and that's when it started raining bills.

There were girls who would have sex with the patrons, but you couldn't find it in you to go that far.

You were known as Bunny Dee.

And despite the unwarranted groping, Misty's had to be your favorite gig. However, Kelly insisted that despite being a job, you still needed to be careful when depositing cash from Mistys.

As you started getting more comfortable, Grizzly, one of your coworkers, invited you to a party for a Fraternity from Chapel Hill.

That's when you found it, your golden city. Hundreds and thousands of college kids by the mile. Buying, selling, and buying, needing to get high for the night. You remember being disappointed that you didn't have your stash available to sell to the crowds.

The next time, you went by yourself and got into 4-digit numbers in one night. That's when your new rule had been established: No selling to Outerbanks residents.

Tourons would be at your discretion, but Island residents were a no-go.

You always hated selling to anyone on the island. Your reputation was already the bottom barrel. So when you started selling, it seemed to tank even further. The only time anyone ever wanted you around was at a party. If you were seen outside of that setting, there was an aversion towards you.

Mary and Ether were the same, but even recently, they started keeping you at the distance of a 10ft pole. You didn't particularly care what anyone thought, but your apparent disgust with your existence sometimes got to you.

Your OBX clients weren't too happy with your decision, but at the end of the day, it wasn't your problem. You made 3 times as much on the mainland during the weekend than you did on the weekdays on the island.

You started making goals to reach and coming up with plans to achieve them.

And on the Top of the list:

Get Out of Outer banks

#Dark! Rafe Cameron #Dark! Rafe Cameron x Reader #Dark! Rafe Cameron x Pogue! Reader #Dark OBX #Pogue! Reader #Pogue Reader #dark fics #Rafe Canerib x Reader #Outer Banks #series #Shackled #Shackled Series #dubcon #dubious consent

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suckmysupernatural · 4 years

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Sunshine - Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1655

Pairing: Sam x OC Sunny

Series Summary: The Winchesters meet a cheerful hunter named Sunny, who quickly captures Sam’s attention. Little do any of them know what lies in store when Sunny gets invited to join the brothers. Who can say how Sam, Dean, and Sunny will be some training days, a handful of hunts, romantic dates, a kidnapping, and one vengeful demon later.

Chapter Summary: Sunny and Sam go on their first date

Warnings: language, fluff

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The three had decided to wait to start training, giving Sunny a chance to get settled into life at the bunker. She adjusted smoothly and it soon felt like she had always been with them. It was only a few days after Sam had asked her out that the date was planned. Sam had been ruminating over what the plans should be. He didn’t want something bland but he also worried about overdoing it. He just wanted everything to be perfect for her.

It was finally the night of the big date and Sam was feeling pretty confident about the plans he had formed. He went over them with Dean earlier to make sure it sounded good. The only note Dean gave was adding ‘sexy times’ to the itinerary, to which Sam smacked his brother on the back of the head. He wasn’t trying to seduce her, but woo her.

He had instructed Sunny to wear a dress, heels optional. She was glad to hear that, as she had plenty of dresses that she knew would work well. After about 20 minutes of contemplation, she decided on a satin wrap dress. It was beautiful jade green, with a slight ruffle along the bottom. It landed mid-thigh, with a faux slit where the dress folded over itself to wrap around. The dress had thin straps and showed off just the right amount of cleavage. Sunny paired the dress with a deep grey pair of chunky heels. They were much more comfortable than pumps but still gave her a height boost.

Sam had let her know that he would ‘pick her up’ in the War Room at 7. It was cute, especially because their rooms were right across from one another. As Sunny made her way through the library, she bumped into Dean.

“Wow, Sunny. Sam isn’t gonna know what hit him,” Dean said upon seeing her. It was the first time the boys had seen her all dolled-up. Dean’s reaction boosted Sunny’s confidence in her outfit choice. She thanked Dean before leaving him to go meet Sam. Upon walking into the War Room, her jaw almost dropped right off of her face.

Sam was standing there in dark grey slacks, a white button-up, and a dark grey blazer. He was the perfect mix between casual and formal, the blazer unbuttoned and a tie nowhere to be seen. Sunny found a well-dressed man incredibly sexy, especially when that man was Sam.

Sam looked up at the sound of Sunny’s heels and almost passed out at the sight of her. She was fucking gorgeous. Her dress showed off a bit of skin, revealing the toned legs that he had yet to see. And of course, she was wearing the smile that took his breath away every time he saw it.

“Wow, you look stunning,” Sam exhaled as Sunny got closer to him. She couldn’t help but blush at the compliment.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she responded, giving him a smirk. Sam couldn’t help but lick his lips, his eyes raking over her. He did his best to focus, knowing that if he kept staring he may never stop.

“So, you ready?” Sam offered his hand, to which Sunny gladly took. The two of them walked to the bunker’s garage. Sam led her to a deep red classic Mustang convertible. Guiding her to the passenger side, he opened the door for her. He made his way back around the driver’s seat, getting behind the wheel of the car. Soon they were pulling out of the garage and into the night.

The car’s top was down, which went perfectly with the warm summer night. The radio began to play “My Girl” by The Temptations and the two couldn’t help but share a smile. Sam didn’t say it out loud, but it was exactly how he felt about Sunny. She made him feel amazing every time the two were together. The last week with her felt like the best he had ever had. Sam was already falling hard for her. It was frightening and exciting all at the same time.

It wasn’t long before Sam was pulling the car into a restaurant’s parking lot. He had done plenty of research before choosing this one. It was more upscale than he was used to, which made it the perfect date spot. After parking, Sam was quick to the other side of the car to open the door for Sunny once again. She couldn’t help but feel her heart swoon. Sure, she was a strong, independent woman but she also adored the effort Sam was putting in to make her feel special.

The two entered the restaurant, Sam informing the hostess of his reservation. A second later, they were being ushered into the depths of the dining area. It was a gorgeous place, the lighting low giving it an intimate feel. Tables surrounded a large dance floor, where Sunny could see couples swaying along to slow songs. She had a feeling that she would be out on the floor soon enough.

Sitting, they began to glance over the menu. Sunny couldn’t help but be shocked by the prices of each item. Sure, hunters lived off of credit card scams, but even so, she tended to live life on a budget.

“Hello, can I get you two started on anything to drink?” A waiter asked, appearing a few minutes after they sat. Sam looked over at Sunny.

“Want to share a bottle of wine? You’re choice, I enjoy all kinds,” He offered. She smiled before looking back at the waiter.

“We’ll have a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc,” Sunny ordered. The waiter nodded before leaving to go fetch the wine.

“So, a white wine drinker?” Sam asked.

“Red is too bitter for my taste, I have a bit of sweet tooth,” Sunny admitted.

“Why am I not surprised?” Sam chuckled. Her personality seemed to match her tastes almost to a tee.

The conversation continued to flow between the two, each sharing bits about themselves that the other might not know. Sam told her what it was like growing up in the hunting life, while Sunny explained how boring normal life could be. They both slightly envied what the other had. Sam wanted the predictability while Sunny preferred the freedom that he had in youth.

They both shared about their family and friends who they had lost, laughed over embarrassing stories, and flirted relentlessly. If anyone had looked in on the two, they would have thought that they had been a couple for years. Time flew by for the two, dinner finished before they knew it. Once the bill was paid, Sam stood and offered a hand to Sunny.

“May I have this dance?” Sam asked with a smile. It was cheesy and Sunny loved it.

“You may,” she giggled, taking his hand. He led them onto the dance floor as the song “The Way You Look Tonight” by Tony Bennett began to play. Sam wrapped his arms around Sunny’s waist, her wrists hooking together behind his neck. The two began to sway along to the music.

You're lovely, with your smile so warm

And your cheeks so soft

There is nothing for me but to love you

And the way you look tonight

Sam felt as if each word of this song was for her. He was mesmerized by her. Not just her beauty but her intelligence, compassion, and kindness. As they danced, their eyes couldn’t seem to stray from the other’s. It was as if they were drowning in one another, not wanting to breathe again.

Lovely, never, ever change

Keep that breathless charm

Won't you please arrange it?

'Cause I love you

Just the way you look tonight

If someone had looked close enough, they may have seen it. Right then, on this dance floor, as they held one another, both Sam and Sunny began to fall in love. As the song ended, another began. It was “At Last,” by Etta James.

At last, my love has come along

My lonely days are over and life is like a song, oh yeah

Yet another song that fits perfectly for the couple. Honestly, most love songs would speak to them at that moment. As they swayed together, it was as if Sam and Sunny were the only ones in existence. There were no monsters, no demons or angels, nothing. Only the two of them, holding one another.

Leaning his head down, Sam closed the gap between the two. If sparks were ever to fly, now would be the time. The kiss was perfect, soft, and slow. It left both parties breathless.

You smiled, you smiled oh and then the spell was cast

And here we are in Heaven

For you are mine at last

Sunny leaned into Sam’s chest, letting him hold her tight as they continued to dance. Neither could tell how many songs had passed when Sam whispered into her ear.

“Be mine?” his voice was tentative. Sam felt vulnerable as if he was offering for Sunny to take his heart in her hands. She leaned back to look into his eyes once more. The look they shared was passionate.

“I’m yours,” she whispered back. It wasn’t long until they were sharing another kiss. This one was even better than the last. It was saying everything that was currently being left unsaid. It told Sunny how Sam was constantly in awe of her strength and resilience. It told Sam that Sunny may be a happy person, but had never felt happier than when she was with him.

It said the fear of falling for someone so fast. It said that the fear was worth it. It said how it was as if they had been waiting for one another all of their lives. It said that they felt complete when together. It said joy, passion, excitement, hope.

It said love.

Chapter 4 ->

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jimjamthehorrorman · 4 years

Note

-will put others before myself, especially people I care about. I often struggle to express my emotions properly. I enjoy horror (duh), rock and metal, psychology, art and games (any sort, really, as long as I don't need to run too much because my knee's BUSTED). I'm also a real life gremlin and need to feel protected otherwise I get s(m)ad U_U (sorry this is so long kjsljfsfjl) (2/2)

Honestly, you sound adorable!

I was between Jason and Thomas, -the big protector types- but in the end I decided this fella was your best choice:

Thomas Brown Hewitt, a man of few words but a mad amount of love for his family and maybe... you.

How you met may have been strange. Perhaps through Sheriff Hoyt or the lovely older woman at the little shoppe up the road.. Or you could have been a victim that he couldn't bring himself to hurt.

•Tommy loves that you're shorter than him and he thinks that your curves speak for themselves! Gorgeous!

•Your eyes are spectacular to him. He spends countless hours falling to your gaze. Like a young boy with a crush, he'll do anything to make you smile, even if it means acting like a fool to make you laugh. He's putty in your hands.

•He's bad about picking you up when you're being a REAL GREMLIN, and just pulling you away from your chaotic deeds when he knows you could cause yourself to be hurt. He wants nothing but to protect you, and maybe he just likes holding you every now and then 😉

•He sees you as a youthful woman, not a child. He loves your voice because he's used to gruff angry voices bossing him around and to hear something so soft and high, it's like an angel has fallen into his grasp. He feels #blessed

•Fun Fact: Because Thomas has long hair himself you'll catch him pulling his hair into a braid or a bun when he's getting cleaned up. You know what that means. He's CONSTANTLY running his fingers through your hair, twirling it around into complex braids and admiring the dirty blonde pool of hair he's made into a beautiful arrangement. Not only are you impressed, but he is SO GENTLE! Soft movements, never pulling or tugging (unless you want him to, but that's a whole different story) and smiling wide under his mask when you turn to the mirror and see it.

•You're hyper and wild? He loves it. There's hardly any energy here that isn't bad or menacing, so to see someone having a blast and jumping around, he's ecstatic.

•You need space? He understands. He gives you his room and workshop to yourself while he deals with his family. You're NEVER bothered by family because if there's one thing Thomas is, it's a loyal guard.

•He can't convey emotions easily either. When he gets mad but he can't get it through with words, he cries. He hates that and doesn't want you to feel like that. So anytime you need to convey an emotion to him he is overly patient and a wonderful active listener. He's weird with crying but he will comfort you in any way possible if it makes you feel better.

•Unbeknownst to his family, Tommy has more than one outfit. He's snagged countless band shirts from.... "visitors" so he has an overabundance! And luckily they're his size so you know what that means. Baggy, comfy metal tees for the babe.

•You two rock out in the kitchen while he makes you dinner. When Hoyt and the others are gone, you may see a softer side of him. He might even start dancing with you. He might even kiss you by a nice candlelit dinner.

•Thomas has no idea why his family is so crazy, but he'd love for you to find out 😂 he's more than willing to "find" you books on psychology and he might sneak one off to read himself.

•He loves games more than the next guy. Thomas has worked his entire life and had nothing but work to look forward to, so to be able to play... that's a gift he could never repay you for. He might "find" a console or an old board game for you two to play and if so, he will hold you tight while playing a video game. Not super competitive unless he's playing against Monty or Hoyt, he's very happy to see you win against him. Mortal Kombat may or may not be his favorite, and Clue may be a close second.

•You and Hoyt start fighting? He thinks not. You'd never seen such a big man run so fast! He practically knocked Hoyt down the stairs to jump in front of you. He's not about to let anything happen to you. You're the one gift that he holds dear to his heart and he's not going to lose you to his asshole family.

•In time, once they realize you aren't some phase Thomas is going through and you're actually going to stick around, Hoyt and the others warm up to you. When you need something from the next town over, what other girl can say she had a Sheriff's Escort to get tee shirts from Hot Topic with your boyfriend? Monty let's you both go through the abandoned cars and take what you want out, and you best believe "Mama" would LOVE you. She's never had a girl to care for and now she has a girl around the house to have tea with, the big tea lady comes over sometimes just to sit and talk with you. Thank goodness they finally got air conditioning! 😥

•Lastly, Thomas tends to hide things for you throughout the house. He's done it since you've met. Once you've been together long enough, maybe you'll find a ring he's tucked away in the grandfather clock down the hall. When you turn around to ask where he got it, he would be standing behind you with a bouquet of flowers he picked from the back garden. Who said a big Texan boy can't be a romantic!

☆☆☆

Hope you enjoy!

#thomas brown hewitt #thomas hewitt #leatherface #slasher matchups

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animeniacss · 4 years

Text

6 Years - Hoseok x Reader - Chapter 14 - The Morning After

Synopsis: 6 years. That’s all it can take to take another look at someone and see that they have completely changed. You were once an eager 20-year-old, with your dreams all in view, and Jung Hoseok at your side to view them with you. However, after a break up the end of your junior year of college, everything seemed different. Now, you’re a recently divorced single mother of two, and your life is nowhere near what you thought it would be. However, after reuniting with Jung Hoseok, you may just be able to capture a little bit of that exciting youth you once knew so long ago.

Feat. BTS Members, Nayeon (TWICE), and Yuna (itzy)

Genre: Romance, SingleMother!AU, Past Relationship, Drama, Some Depictions of Violence/Domestic Abuse

Length: approx. 5.2k words

Chapter 14 - The Morning After

The sunlight streamed into the bedroom early in the morning, poking at your eyes until you finally were forced to open them up. You had a mild headache, most likely from the few drinks you had thrown back the night before. Groaning, it took a moment to gather your surroundings and realize where you were. The warmth of multiple blankets enveloped you, and you let out a deep sigh as you nuzzled into them more. It was then you realized something….

…. Where were your clothes?

Sitting up, you scanned the bedroom to see scattered clothes that made a trail from your side of the bed to the door. Pants, blouses, underwear, your bra, it was all right in front of you on the floor. It took a moment to process, but then you remembered exactly why this was the sight that greeted you this morning. Without thinking, your head swiveled to the other side of the bed. It was empty, the blanket tossed aside and pillows still showing a dent from a head that rested on it not too long ago.

Did Hoseok leave already? You thought to yourself as you peered over the bed. You saw his tee-shirt was still laying right where you had tossed it at some point last night. No. He’s still here….

Your attention shifted outside the room when you heard the sound of your shower being turned off. In its place, a humming was heard coming from the bathroom right next door. You looked around, not really wanting to move just yet as you heard the sound of feet padding down the hallway and back towards the bedroom. It wasn’t long before the door opened, and Hoseok walked back in. He was wearing his sweatpants, but no shirt, and had a towel over his head as he dried his hair. It took a moment, but he saw you were awake, and a smile formed on his lips.

“Good morning.” He said happily, walking back over to the bed. He plopped himself down on the edge of the bed. “Did you just wake up?”

“Yeah…” you said softly. “Have you been up for a while?”

“Yeah.” He admitted. “I was going to wake you up too, but you just looked so cute sleeping I couldn’t help myself.” He chuckled. You shoved him, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, whatever.” You joked, laying back in bed. You rolled back on your side, facing Hoseok as you saw him toss the towel onto the floor. “…Come back in bed for a bit, hm?” you hummed softly, reaching your hand out to him. Hoseok smiled a bit, and did just that, crawling right in beside you. You pulled the blanket back up and around the both of you before nestling yourself into his chest. “…How did you sleep?” you asked curiously.

“Good. Then I woke up with a hangover.” His hands lightly ran through your hair as he got himself comfortable beside you. “How much did we drink last night?”

“Not that much.” You said. “At least I don’t think we did. Maybe our food was an alcoholic too.”

“Hehe, maybe~.” He glanced down at you. Both of you were silent for a moment, just enjoying each other’s embrace. You ran your finger along Hoseok’s arm, nuzzling your head into his chest as you tried to think about the logistics of last night. It was something you hadn’t been exposed to in such a long time; the way he held you, the things he did to you… the things he said to you. Just thinking about it made your cheeks tint pink, like a little schoolgirl who was just told by her crush that they thought she was pretty. Almost immediately, you rolled away from him, burying your head into the pillow. “Hm?” Hoseok sat up, watching you curiously. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…” you hummed; your voice being muffled under the cotton pillow covering your face. You felt the bed shift slightly before the pillow was lifted off your face and tossed to the side. You glanced over to see Hoseok, a playful grin on his face.

“Are you blushing!?” He asked. “Why?!”

“Shut uuuup!” You groaned, laughing as Hoseok began poking away at your cheeks. “Hobiiiiiiiii!”

“Why on earth on you blushing, you’re acting like this is a whole new thing for us!” A frustrated whine left your lips that only made him laugh harder. “You’re so cute~! Cute, cute, cute~!” You continued to groan as Hoseok was now holding you completely in his embrace, allowing you no chance to escape as he continued to poke your cheeks, occasionally peppering a kiss or two on them as he did so. You were a fit of giggles, the both of you. “Heheeeee so cute!” He said again.

“Aaahhh you’re so annoying.” You pouted. Hoseok finally released you and you sighed, running a hand through your hair as you rolled onto your side. Your eyes glanced up at Hoseok to see that he had shifted himself onto his side as well, allowing both of you to look directly at him. “…I didn’t think last night would turn out that way.”

“Me either.” He said. “Does it bother you?”

“Of course, not…” you said. “It’s just...after all the talk about taking things slow and well…”

“We didn’t do that?”

“We didn’t do that…” You repeated. Hoseok smiled, leaning in and kissing your forehead. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want Weong-Bin to make our lives harder. He’ll find out and just….” You groaned. Hoseok quickly scooted closer to you, pulling you into his arms. You wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled him.

“We’ll figure it out. Don’t let him get to you. It’s honestly none of his business what you do.” He said simply.

“I know…” you admitted. Hoseok hummed, trying to think of what he could do to make you feel better. Finally, he let go of you and slithered out of bed. You watched him grab his shirt and toss it on.

“How about you and I go out for breakfast?” he asked curiously. You looked at him for a minute as he fixed his shirt, smoothing it out and humming when it was satisfactory. “Hm?”

“I’m not really in the mood to go out…” you admitted sheepishly. Hoseok blinked. “Why don’t we…cook something. And maybe just stay inside today. You know…” a small blush tinted your cheeks. “Like we used to.” Hoseok grinned, quickly crawling back onto the bed and giving you another kiss.

“Only if you promise to stay here and rest while I cook it.” You pouted.

“But what if I wanted to cook for you?” You asked.

“Well too bad, I’m already dressed.” He teased, hopping out of bed and hurrying out the room. You chuckled, hopping out of bed yourself and grabbing your clothes. You tossed on a long shirt and a pair of shorts before finally stretching out your body. The sound of Hoseok rummaging through your kitchen alerted your attention, and you made your way out of the room and into the kitchen. Hoseok was grabbing whatever he could find. Rice, cucumbers, meat, it looked like he was going to create a nice breakfast. You walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you stood on your tiptoes, peeking over his shoulder to see what he was doing.

“I’ve decided to make vegetable omelets with tofu, radish kimchi, and rice. How does that sound?”

“I have those ingredients?” you asked curiously. Hoseok nodded. “Okay then, sounds good. Let me help.” Hoseok chuckled as he shifted over a bit, allowing you room.

“Alright then. You can make the kimchi, obviously.” He beamed as you chuckled. “I’ll cut the vegetables for the omelets. Then, we can work on the rice and stuff.”

“Okay.”

The two of you began cooking in silence at first. For some reason, you were at a loss. It felt as if you were with your first love all over again, funny how this déjà vu was being experienced with well…your first lover. But Hoseok didn’t seem to mind, he was humming to himself casually as he cooked. Eventually, his free arm wrapped around you. When you looked in his direction, he held up a bite of tofu covered in soy sauce to your lips.

“Tell me if this tastes okay.” He said. “Say ahhhh~.” He grinned, watching as you took the bite into your mouth. It took a moment for you to really get a taste, before swallowing it “So?”

“It tastes good.” You beamed, and Hoseok grinned in victory. As you turned back to the kimchi, you saw Hoseok lean in to see how it was coming. You saw him rest his head in the crook of your neck, staring at the kimchi with intensity. A sigh left your lips. “…Hobi, do you want some?” You asked, watching as Hoseok lifted his head up. His eyes were sparkling, though he tried to act as though he wasn’t silently begging for a taste.

“Well….” He chuckled. “Only if you want me to try some. I can see how it holds up.” He hummed, nodding confidently. “Mhm.” You blinked, turning away.

“Well if it’s up to me, then-.” Quickly, Hoseok gripped your waist with his free hand. He really wanted a taste.

“I’ll try some.” He said quickly. You immediately began to laugh, covering your mouth. Lifting up a bite of kimchi, you held it to his lips. He eagerly took it into his mouth, a high-pitched hum being his choice of response. You could see his cute little dimples as he bobbed his head happily, enjoying every moment of that kimchi. “Is it that good?” You asked curiously.

“When is it not?” He asked after swallowing it. “Your kimchi is the best!”

“Well, thank you.” You said happily. “It’s almost ready.” Hoseok turned back to his duties, allowing both of you to finish all the components of your breakfast. Once they were done, you set everything on the table before you both sat down and began to eat. You both enjoyed the meal, it definitely helped in waking you up and ridding you both of your slight headaches that were formed from last night's drinking.

“I never cooked breakfast like that before…” You said softly as you set down your bowl of rice. Hoseok glanced up at you.

“What do you mean?” he asked curiously.

“I never cooked breakfast with someone.” You said. “When I was married, I was the one who cooked all three meals every day. Sometimes he would help make cookies with the girls but that was about it…” you sighed softly, lifting a bite of tofu up to your lips. Hoseok watched you as he himself ate, and you looked down. “He really is a scumbag…” You said softly.

“I know,” Hoseok said. You let out a deep sigh.

“I wish I never married him.” You said softly.

“But if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have Min Ja and Hyo Bin right now.” Hoseok pointed out.

“…That’s true.” You said softly. “Marriage to him was so superficial. I cannot believe I was so blind for such a long time.”

“Well, at least you’re not now,” Hoseok said. You nodded as you both finished your food, the feeling of being full making both of you incredibly satisfied. “It’s like I said-.” Hoseok began as he stood up. You watched him take the empty plates and bring them to the sink. “You are free to do whatever you please, whoever you please-.”

“Oh my God, Hoseok.” You sighed, covering your face. You heard him laugh. The clatter of a group of plates hit the sink before he walked over to you. Your chair was pulled out, and you looked up to see Hoseok peering over you.

“-However you choose to do it.” He finished, leaning in to kiss your nose. “He’ll get over it. Don’t let him ruin your mood anymore, it just lets him have more control over you and that’s exactly what he wants.” As you ran a hand through your hair, you nodded.

“That’s true.” You said softly. As you stood up, you turned to Hoseok, who pushed his chair in. Walking over, you wrapped your arms around his waist and nuzzled into his chest. “You’re really smart Hobi.” You said softly. His hands found their way to your cheeks, and you looked up at him as he leaned in to kiss you quickly.

“I try~.” He said happily. You giggled, biting your lip. “Now, what do you want to do today? I’m free until later this evening.”

“Why don’t weeeeeeee-?” you pursed your lips together as you tried to think. “Get some snacks and watch TV in bed? I’ve been craving a nice lazy day, and it’ll be fun to have some company.” Hoseok nodded.

“That sounds fun.”

“We’ll have to go out and buy some snacks, though.” You said. Hoseok beamed.

“Yes! I was just thinking about how you were about to run out of Sprite and ice cream!” He took your hand and led you into the bedroom. Both of you quickly threw on some clothes and brushed your teeth to rid yourselves of your morning breath, before heading out of the apartment and to the corner store down the block. Once there, you both blew through there like a tornado, picking up whatever you could possibly find. Ice cream, soda, chips, flavored bread, anything else you could find that piqued your interest. You both had carts that were full as you went up to the cashier, a middle-aged man who was still struggling to wake up despite it being about 10 a.m. already. He looked at you both with a confused expression as you flooded the counter with all your different snacks, both of you giggling. He watched you both scan the small snack options on the counter, and Hoseok began to cackle as he watched you toss even more random things into your pile.

“Oh my God, that’s enough.” He said, nudging you as you laughed. The man scanned your objects and put them into bags before you paid. Hoseok paid for whatever he decided to buy, and the two of you left with both your hands full of bags of snacks. “I think we overdid it.” He said.

“Oh, definitely. But it’ll be fun.” Both of you headed back to your apartment and set everything you had collected at the store onto the coffee table. “Okay…now, another important decision.”

“What’s that?” he asked curiously.

“Shall we create our fort in here, or in the bedroom with a comfortable bed?” you asked curiously. Hoseok hummed, looking down at all the food in bags waiting to bed eaten.

“Hmm…definitely the bed. It’s much more comfortable.”

“I agree.” Both of you grinned as you both grabbed your bags and headed into the bedroom. You quickly crawled into bed, watching as Hoseok set the bags on his side of the bed before crawling in beside you. Each of you reached into your bags and pulled out something that you picked. “Perfect.” You said happily, opening a bag of chips as you nuzzled into Hoseok. His arm wrapped around you, holding you close as he turned on the TV.

“Just like old times, right?” He asked happily, giggling.

“Yeah, except this time we have clothes on.” You responded, and Hoseok began to laugh. From that moment, at 10 a.m., you and Hobi spent the majority of the day resting in bed. A multitude of different shows came on as you searched on different channels. Idol shows, game shows, dramas, a few cartoons from your childhood. The bedroom was filled with a mix of different noises, from the sound of the TV to the sound of your laughter, crunching away at different chips and cracking open Sprite cans. It felt like you were both 18 again, nuzzled up in your apartment while Nayeon was in class or at work, enjoying each other’s company as a new couple just trying to get to know each other. This became something that the two of you did all the time in college, and you tried to do something similar once you started a family, but it was not the same in any way, shape, or form. The girls enjoyed it, but Weong-Bin only saw it as a waste of time. But with Hobi, it felt so natural.

“Next time, we should do this with the girls,” Hoseok said to you, and you glanced over.

“…I was actually just thinking the same thing.” You said softly, smiling a bit. Hoseok nodded, and you quickly reached your hand towards his melon bread, lifting his wrist up to your mouth as you took a large bite of it. He grinned.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” He chuckled as he watched you chew happily at the bread. You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder. You were just in such a state of tranquility, wondering what would have happened had you not broken up with Hoseok six years ago. Would it only have delayed the inevitable? Would you have been married to him for years now with kids of your own? Would neither happen? You didn’t know, and though you were so happy with where you currently were in life, you couldn’t help but wonder about the different possibilities every once in a while.

“…I regret ever breaking up with you.” You said softly, though you didn’t intend to.

“Aahh.” Hoseok sighed softly. “Everything happens for a reason. That’s what I always believe.”

“Did you date anyone else? Afterward?” you asked curiously. Hoseok nodded.

“A few people.” He said. “Nothing too serious, a few flings here and there. I threw myself into my studies a lot. I didn’t want to really date, so anybody I ended up meeting didn’t really last too long.”

“I see.”

“What about you?” he asked. “Between Weong-Bin and seeing me, did you date anyone else?”

“No.,” you said simply. “I thought about it but I was in such shock after the divorce, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Nayeon tried to set me up with a few people, I went on a few dates but it just didn’t work. I got scared and I ended anything before it even began.” Hoseok nodded, running his hand through your hair. “Weong-Bin…..he really fucked me up for a long time.” You saw Hoseok lift up the remote, muting the TV before turning to you.

“Well, if you and I are going to do…whatever it is we’re deciding to do, then I want to know exactly what happened.”

“…Why?” you asked curiously. “It’s not the most pleasant timeline of events.” Hoseok smiled a bit.

“Well, because once you tell me, you’ll start to feel better. Besides, I want to make sure that once you get all of this off your chest, that you never ever get to experience anything like that again. Especially not with me.” You felt yourself take a deep breath, trying your best not to cry in front of him.

“Heh, Hobi, you’ll never do anything to me that can even come close to what Weong-Bin put me through.” Hoseok smiled as he gripped your hand in his, lifting it up to his lips and kissing the knuckles.

“I know, but still. If you’re willing to tell me, I want to know…”

“Well, where should I even begin?” you asked curiously. Hoseok shrugged as he waited for you to think of a good starting point. “Well… Everything was okay when we first started dating and got married, you know? Min Ja was born and we were really happy. I had to drop out of school to be a mother, but I didn’t care. I was just so happy and Weong-Bin promised that he would take care of us. He did for a while, and it was fine. But then…” you sighed softly, the memories of the four years of married life flooding back into your mind. Hoseok must have noticed you were starting to get upset, and he frowned.

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly. “I shouldn’t have brought the mood down. You don’t have to tell me, it’s okay. I’m sorry…” he kissed your hand again.

“No.” You said. “You’re right, Hobi. I want to tell you what happened because you deserve to know how much of fucking prick you’re dealing with if you want to pursue any kind of relationship.”

“Yeah but you look like you’re about to cry.” He said softly. “We’re meant to have fun today.”

“And we will. But I just…. we’re already here, let’s get it over with.” Hoseok nodded. “So, Weong-Bin and I were doing okay for a while. But uhm…well….” Hoseok felt you gripped his hand tightly. “Certain things happened that I don’t really want to talk about right now.” Hoseok nodded. “I will, but I just don’t want to right now.”

“You don’t have to.” He assured.

“After these events, Weong-Bin and I started to get distant from each other. We were going through our own things and trying to make things as good as we could for Min Ja, but it wasn’t working. This was when he began blaming me for things, commenting on my parenting, wondering why I was wearing that short skirt to the dinner party that all his coworkers would be at, thinking it was because I was trying to flirt, you know? Obviously, I wasn’t, but that didn’t matter to Weong-Bin.” You chuckled. “Eventually, I decided that I wanted to get a job. I had been a housewife until this moment, but I had found that daycare and thought it was a sign. I got really excited and ended up applying for the job, and I got accepted.” You smiled a bit. “When I told Weong-Bin about it, he was furious.”

“Big shock.” Hoseok sighed softly.

“He told me that he didn’t want his wife to get a job, that I should be home raising our child, not being a secretary to make my own money. That’s all I wanted, was to get out of the house and make my own money. I told him I didn’t care and that I would be taking the job.” You nodded. “Then I ended up getting pregnant with Hyo Bin.” Hoseok blinked. “I think Weong-Bin had planned for it to happen that way, the timing was to perfectly aligned. He must have thought that I would quit my job. But I didn’t. I worked until Seokjin and the doctor had to drive me home because I needed to be on bed rest.”

“Wow…” Hoseok said softly.

“Yeah. I was proud of myself, but Weong-Bin was furious. The entire time I was on bedrest he wouldn’t stay home; he would take Min Ja to daycare then go out and do his own thing until he had to pick her up. It was like that until Hyo Bin was born.” You pursed your lip as you tried to think of where to go next. “She sort of started to help. Weong-Bin was doting on her and it was lovely. I got to go back to work, the girls were in daycare, Weong-Bin was trying to work out our differences for the sake of the girls. Everything was okay for a while. We were still a bit distant but it wasn’t bad, you know?” Hoseok nodded. “Heh, but that’s not the fun part. No, no we’re getting to the fun part now.”

“The fun part?” Hoseok asked with a soft smile.

“Yeah, of course. A story about a bitter divorce and brutal custody battle always has a fun part.” You insisted. “Anyway, one day I got tired of us being distant. So, I told Weong-Bin on our anniversary that I wanted to have a day to ourselves. I had told him that I would have Taehyung pick up the girls from daycare so that we could both have a night alone, you know? Oh, I had everything planned out.” A smile formed on your face as you thought about it. “I was going to make a nice dinner; I had bought a really cute little dress to wear and I had found an old tape we had made together of our favorite songs and it was so lovely. Weong-Bin said that he would be at work until 5. I told him I would be home around then to prepare everything together and it would be fun. Little did he know…. I had taken off that day at three so I could prepare everything earlier.” Hoseok raised an eyebrow a bit as if he was trying to guess the outcome of the story. “I had come home at three, the girls were picked up by Taehyung for the night….” As the image of what stood before you hit your eyes again, you took a shaky breath. “I saw that there was a trail of roses leading to our bedroom….” You mentally began to follow them from the door, the memory of how excited you were filling your body. The idea that Weong-Bin had come home early in hopes of setting up a good night for you had you thrilled.

As you mentally crept closer to the bedroom, what you heard was not the sound of the man you married waiting patiently for you to return home. Instead, it was the sound of a creaking bed, bodies rustling together….

….a girl giggling and Weong-Bin moaning in pleasure.

“It was a coworker of his. He had thought that I would be home at five and planned to get her out of there before then. It was our anniversary and I was trying so hard to make things better….” You felt Hoseok put a hand on your arm as he began to rub it gently. “I didn’t want to look inside the room…” You said softly. “I didn’t want him to know I was there. I just grabbed my stuff and left the house. I went to Taehyung’s apartment and sobbed to him all night.” You let out a shaky breath. “…The next morning, I filed for divorce. Taehyung served him the divorce papers a week later.” Hoseok let out a deep sigh, and he watched you run a hand through your hair as if doing that would pull out the memories of the affair and the treatment out of your mind by the tips of your fingers. “But yeah, that’s it. He tried to file for sole custody but he lost after I brought up how he treated me.”

“Jeez, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you tell me. At least not now.”

“No, no.” You said quickly, looking at him. “Hobi, I’ve wanted to tell you everything that he did to me and how he treated me for so long because I wanted you to know.” You said simply. “I was just scared to tell you. Nobody really knows the full extent to it, you know? They know of the affair; they’ve seen slight glimpses of what he’s said to me but…Weong-Bin was always careful to keep up appearances in public. Even now, he still tries to act like he has everything under control.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to ruin our day together. Augh.” He groaned, laying back on the bed as he began to mentally kick himself for bringing up such a sensitive topic. You looked down at him and smiled, running a hand through his hair reassuringly.

“You didn’t,” you assured. “You were right, I’m glad I finally got it off my chest because I don’t want him to control me anymore….” You gripped his hands tightly. “It feels good.” When he saw a smile form on your lips, it made him smile too.

“I’m honored that you feel comfortable enough to tell me things that are bothering you.” He said. “I hope that you can tell me things that bother you forever.” He chuckled, and you nodded.

“I plan to. So, now that I got that off my chest….” You scooted closer to him and pulled some of the ice creams out of a bag. “We can enjoy the rest of our day.” Hoseok chuckled, reaching over to grab two spoons. You popped open the ice cream, and Hoseok got out a scoop. He put it up as if it was a champagne glass. You smiled as you lifted up a spoonful of ice cream as well.

“To new beginnings and new relationships, yeah?” He asked. You nodded, your spoons colliding with a clink before you put the delicious and semi-melting snack into your mouths. A sigh of relief left your mouth as you let the tastiness of the ice cream overpower the feelings of bad memories that were slowly beginning to fade away. Having those thoughts finally shared between you and Hoseok already began to make you feel better, and allowed you to be able to enjoy the rest of your time with Hoseok.

“Mmmmm that was so delicious. I’m not going to regret this when I get sick.” You sighed softly, trying to scoop up the last of the ice cream in the little tin. “Aaaaah it’s empty.” You pouted. Hoseok smiled as he watched you toss it into the empty trash can you placed on the end of your bed. “Ugh, I need to put myself in a food coma for a little while.” You hummed, shifting yourself under the covers. Hoseok smiled, setting his snacks on the side of the bed. He quickly shifted under the covers with you, tossing the blankets over you both as you began to giggle. “Are you going to sleep too?” You asked curiously. “You don’t have to.”

“I might.” He said. “Or I’ll just watch you sleep. That’s cute~.”

“And horribly creepy when you say it like that.” Hoseok laughed at your little joke, rolling his eyes.

“You make me sound awful.” He said. As you got comfortable under the covers, the warmth of the blankets hugged you tightly, as well as the warmth emanating off of Hoseok’s person. It made you nestle up close to him, and his arm draped around your torso, allowing you comfort in his embrace. The two of you spent the next little while just talking to one another. It wasn’t a deep conversation, you had enough of that sharing your past stories. No, now you were just talking about what you would be doing after you parted ways for the day, what Hoseok’s dance class was working on with the start of the new session, and about Min Ja starting school. It was right before you were about to fall asleep, that you forced yourself to look up at Hoseok, who had propped himself up on his arm in order to look down at you.

“Hobi….” You said softly.

“Hm?”

“…We can say we’re dating now, right?” Hoseok blinked, and you saw a smile form on his face as your eyes got heavy and began to close.

“If that’s what you want, nothing would make me happier.” He said. You nodded as you finally felt yourself fall asleep.

“Okay, good.” You said softly, before finally falling asleep.

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mystiics · 4 years

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°✧｡× : ( lee felix + demiboy + he/they ) ─── oh, look, i’m pretty sure that’s SAGE RUAIRI ! you know, the NINETEEN year old harvest sprite ? they’re a PLANT SPRITE, by the look of them. a bunch of them were helping to welcome new residents, and i’m pretty sure i heard that one say they might also work part - time as a SHOP ASSISTANT, but i could have heard wrong. well, regardless of that, i’m almost certain that they ARE loyal to the harvest goddess, which explains why they’re so ENDEARING and OPTIMISTIC, but can also be a bit SENSITIVE and CLUMSY. whether they want to revive the goddess or not, if you need them i’m pretty sure you can find them at THE MAGIC SHOP most often ! dirt smudged on constellation freckled cheeks, idling for hours laying in a sunkissed field of flowers, a fluffy white cat circling ‘round ever-bare feeties ! ✧

as far as sprites are concerned, sage is among the most mellow and sweet of them when he’s in good spirits but among the most chaotic when he’s upset. add a natural clumsiness and a lack of control over his magics when his emotions get the better of him and you’ve got yourself the wreck that is sage ruairi

young both in age and at heart, there’s a childlike innocence to the way sage presents himself. even at his full ‘human’ appearance, he’s waifish and small. he finds human clothes in general to be rather annoying and ill fitting for him as a sprite so over and above that, he’s always dressing in oversized overalls or a too-big pair of shorts with a baggy tee.

even in the dead of winter, you’ll be hard pressed to find sage wearing shoes or socks. he does not believe in them. thinks they are vile creations invented to entrap toesies and prevent direct soil to skin contact which, naturally, is a crime

ever since he was born, sage has always been well loved. they say he sprung up from the seeded center of a sunflower. bright and engaging, he charmed everyone in his close sprite circles and still sprinkled glittery warm wishes upon those that didn’t fall immediately for his enchanting personality

some part of his loveliness was aided by a clumsy tendency not very befitting most magically enabled sorts. he’s constantly breaking things, knocking things off shelves, overgrowing plants to the point of destructing and banging his little limbs on almost every available surface (freckled skin almost always joined by healing bruises)

basically, when he’s in a good mood he’s followed by blossoming little vines, self conjured, and yet somehow always manages to trip over them and when he’s in a bad mood, it’s somehow worse

it’s ridiculously endearing in a sitcom star kind of way and often comes with a pink blush to his cheeks and fits of musical giggles that float like dandelion fluff

the plants are all his friends and he talks to them regularly. a social sprite, if he’s not talking to someone, he’s probably whispering to the trees or telling a story to the grassy meadows. he tells them all his problems which are surprising plentiful.

he takes the sinister happenings of the island very personally, of course, feeling like the plant sprites’ touch was the first to be eradicated from the village. but instead of letting the death and destruction get to him, he’s very much single-handedly determined to bring color and life back to everything he touches.

after all, even if there’s just one flower living and growing, isn’t that an improvement?

relationship-wise and as a general world view, sage is still somewhat immature. he’s sensitive to his emotions and tends to give into them and let them overrun his actions instead of facing them head on and getting to their source.

his most recent relationship was both his most serious and the source of his first heartbreak. while he’d had adolescent dalliances with other sprites, this one was his first true love and, because of that, he got jealous often. his youth and their small age difference made him feel insecure and so they’d often get into escalating fights that made things worse and worse

respective friend groups called the pairing unhealthy but, honestly, it was a showing of love every time they made up and wind met flower. still, outside pressures only made any inner tension cracks grow and eventually, they were both too stubborn to make up after a particularly explosive argument and broke things off.

when he gets too caught up in what he’s feeling, his magic tends to overflow. flowers bloom brighter and more vibrant, seeds speed up their development and everything turns lush and green when he’s exuberantly happy or extraordinarily sad. for the latter, he likes to think the new baby blooms are there to kiss his cheeks and wipe away his tears but, really, he needs to get a better hold on his own abilities

he’s kept humans at a distance for this reason. those who don’t believe obviously aren’t a threat as they don’t see him nor his showings of magic. however, the skeptics or the believers would certainly have a heyday if they happened upon a sage who has lost control so he doesn’t make it a point to make too many friendships. in fact, the one he’s closest too isn’t fully human at all, the witchy shopkeeper where he’s come to work is counted among sage’s close human(ish) circle

presently, he’s in mourning of that relationship and in the death of the island but he’s distracting himself in his work! he’s had a job as the assistant to the local cryptid magic shop owner and, despite being a total wreck at it, loves the distraction. plus he can flex his plant sprite skills in ways that benefit the shop, withchy herbs and ingredients galore!

he’s still desperately social so please give him friends and shop regulars, people with crushes on him and just plots in general!!!

*・°☆.。 FUN FACTS

FRECKLES. sage is absolutely covered in them. on his nose on his cheeks on his neck on his back. all the lil freckle constellations! he calls them his specks. sages specks!!

often does his own light makeup? using only natural ingredients and things he can find around the magic shop, he likes to decorate in between his specks with sparkles and blush and highlight. loves feeling pretty like a flower.

he has a massive puffy white cat named princess. princess is a boy and he’ll get really pouty if you don’t ask for princess’ pronouns for that reason. he’s had animal sprites tell him that princess is very happy being called princess so it’s his choice!

along that line, very much into gender as a concept and would find, like, gender studies ? in colleges ? in discourse on social media ?? so cool!!

actually in general social media is so cool to sage. even though this is set in modern times he’s so busy with work and his plants that he probably just doesn’t engage with it often so show him instagram someone please. let him see all the cute aesthetic things he could be creating!!!

a massive flirt unintentionally and adores kissies of all varieties but bc of recent heartbreak will pull back if he thinks things are getting too serious :)

more to be added soon!!!!

#wisteria.intro #*・°☆.。sage intro

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silentexplorer18 · 5 years

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First Dates and Distracted Snakes: A Jughead Jones Short

Summary: As Jughead’s attention to you wanes, you allow yourself to pursue other romantic interests. Although you try to have a good time, you realize that bad guys lurk throughout Riverdale. Can Jughead brighten your thoughts?

Paring: Jughead x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of rape and sexual assault, some depressing thoughts.

Read it here on AO3.

Masterlist

His dark hair fell into his eyes as his little hands reached for your own dainty ones. “(Y/n),” he said softly, “will you be my girlfriend?”

You squeezed his hand gently, but shake your head, small smile adorning your lips. “Juggie, we’re too little. Ask me again when we’re older, and I’ll say yes, okay?”

He didn’t seem too forlorn from your answer, squeezing your hand back and pulling you toward the swingset. “Okay, just as long as you’ll say yes.”

It has been ten years since that day when you and Jughead Jones were children, acknowledging that you had something more than what ordinary best friends would. Despite growing up together, his asking never again graced your ears, as much as you would have wholeheartedly said yes.

Over the years, you and Jug had found a comfortable rhythm that flowed through your lives. Every day, you would get up and meet him on your porch, sharing breakfast before you set off on the walk to school. Always, always walking together, you would engage in small talk or comfortable silence, either one being something you both enjoyed. Then came classes. Those that you shared, you were hip and hip in; those that you didn’t were never that enjoyable. At lunch you would sit together, and in the student lounge. After school would come long sessions at Pop’s, where the two of you would share food and work in a state of symbiosis. He would write usually, fingertips fluttering over the keys like his life depended on them, like he couldn’t quite get the words out fast enough. You would work on homework, read, or even doodle sometimes. The spans of silence would be broken by the click of his laptop and the eventual conversation that would spur when you gave him your attention and he gave you his.

You’d been the one that pushed him toward writing this book about Jason Blossom’s death, knowing he needed a true outlet for his hyper alert, clever mind. When he started into the investigation, you supported him wholeheartedly, ordering him late night milkshakes to feed his creative mind, dragging him from the diner when it got so late he would cease to be able to function the next day if he didn’t go to bed, and helping him investigate as he saw fit. Although he was your best friend and you inarguably his, you began to notice your late nights at Pop’s together dwindling as he and the rest of the Scooby Gang, most notably Betty Cooper, began to find themselves intensely rooted in the investigation.

You tried to be positive despite the gnawing disappointment in your stomach every morning he wasn’t there to walk with you to school and every night Juggie would forget to meet you at the diner. Your study dates and biweekly dinners soon faltered from their normal schedule, and you had no idea if or when Jug would show up.

So here you were again on a Friday night, sitting glumly in your signature booth sipping a vanilla milkshake halfheartedly. Jughead was always supposed to meet you on Friday nights, another tradition. You would share a meal and discuss the events of the week, any new leads he’d found, and sometimes would conclude the night watching movies in your room. He hadn’t shown up, though, hence why you were on your second milkshake of the night. You didn’t want to admit that saving yourself the social strain of making lots of friends was proving to be a monumental mistake, but it was. Jughead had hardly talked to you in weeks, and you realized gloomily that you’d fallen lackluster to the amazing Betty Cooper and Veronica Lodge.

Picking at your straw, you jumped when a body slid down in front of you. Half expecting it to be Jughead, you looked up in excitement only to realize that the beanie clad boy was not the person sitting in front of you. Instead Chuck Clayton gazed back at you with a half attractive smirk. “Out alone?” he asked, trying to avoid commenting on the crestfallen look you gave him when you realized he wasn’t the boy you wanted him to be.

You sighed a little. “Yeah. My friend forgot, I think.”

Chuck sympathized with you, carrying on a conversation for the next hour. Although he wasn’t the most charming or intelligent boy in the world, he did make you laugh, ask you about your day, and acknowledge your existence, all of which were worlds above Jughead who wouldn’t even respond to your text asking if he was okay.

That night of subtle flirting and fry sharing turned into one of many more to come. The next week, Chuck would stop in, chatting you up since Jughead couldn’t find the time to talk to you. By the end of the week, he’d asked you out on a date, stating that one of his football companions was throwing a party that he’d adore accompanying you to.

Your first instinct was to hesitate. You’d never been to a party before, and you’d also never been on a date before. Not officially, anyway. You’d been saving yourself for Jughead, just like you’d promised, but the sweet little Forsythe of your youth was the only boy to ever have asked you out. Jughead had never asked again. It was clear now, though, that he had no intention to, mind wrapped around Betty Cooper in all her charming glory.

With a blush rising to your cheeks, you accepted his invitation.

The next evening was another Friday, and you were adorned in your usual bluejeans and a Bulldogs tee shirt. You’d curled your hair lightly, applying a tiny bit of makeup to spruce up your features. You met Chuck at Pop’s Diner, blushing against his compliments as he led you down the streets of Riverdale toward your first date.

Inviting you inside, you didn’t expect the night that would follow. Chuck was quick to drink, trying to force alcohol down your throat as well. You weren’t one for the drinking, trying to suggest that maybe you should go home. Chuck pouted, trying to guilt you into staying. “Just one more dance. Please, baby?” His words made you uncomfortable, but you relented, agreeing to just one more. You wanted this date to be labeled as a success, afterall.

So you stayed, and his hands clamped against your waist, travelling rapidly down to your ass.

“Chuck, what are you-” you shouted, his lips shoving against your own to silence your protests. He pushed you up the stairs, several of his teammates trailing.

The rest of that night was a blur as his hands traveled up your body and touched every square inch. His lips met your neck, hips snapping against your own as you thrashed against his teammates’ weight. You tried to scream but someone’s lips were forced against your own, tasting like liquor and the salt of your tears. Chuck didn’t take you home; shaking, you wrapped your tattered clothes around your quaking frame and stumbled down the streets to your house. Your parents were traveling on business and would be gone for at least another month and a half, so you were free to let the hot tears of shame trickle down your cheeks when you entered the home. Ripping off what was left of your clothes, you hopped in the shower, letting the hot water burn your flesh clean of the horrors it had experienced in the darkness.

That weekend, you were holed up in your bed the whole time, ignoring the occasional buzzing of your phone even through Monday and Tuesday morning. By six Tuesday night, you were finally hungry, dragging yourself up and dressing in fresh clothes. On Saturday, you’d witnessed the photo spread across Instagram and Snapchat, flitting into group chats and ruining any chance of secrecy you’d had at keeping what happened under wraps. A photo of you barely clothed, the jocks closing in around you in a sweaty, hormonal mess. Chuck Clayton was branding you as an easy fuck, the girl who threw her virginity at him. From the photo, you just looked like a slut, not a girl who’d been raped by the team. Only people that knew you would know the lies behind the image.

But still, you needed to eat. So you drug yourself to Pop’s, perched in the farthest seat from the door, sipping on a vanilla milkshake, no cherry or whipped cream - you didn’t deserve it. Pop’s had brought you some sympathy fries that you nibbled on here and there, but for the most part you just sat quietly, dreading the days to come. Lost in thought, you didn’t notice Jughead’s approach until he’d slammed down in the seat in front of you. Your eyes flickered up to him, clearly startled. His face was hard, impassive. “How could you?” he said harshly.

“What?” you asked softly, confusion painting over your tired eyes.

“You gave your virginity to Chuck Clayton of all people? Why would you go on a date with that guy?”

Hurt flashed across your face, but your defences were up as his judgemental gaze looked down his nose at you. “Maybe because he was the only guy to ask me out,” you said incredulously, trying to ignore the pain pooling in your heart.

“But you screwed Chuck. Of all the disgusting, filthy, low level things you could have done, you did that. You jumped the first guy that offered.” He tried to keep going, describing how low screwing Chuck Clayton was, but you didn’t hear him. You were rushing up from your seat, tears flooding your cheeks as your feet led you to the door.

You felt someone collide with you as you pushed through the door, Betty and Veronica staring sympathetically at you as you stumbled by, obviously flustered and emotionally unstable. You stumbled toward home while they entered the diner, making a beeline for Jughead.

“Jug, what happened?” Betty asked as she and Ronnie slid into the seat you’d been sitting in.

“She slept with Chuck,” he mumbled out, clearly angry.

Veronica rolled her eyes, “Not by choice, you nitwit.”

“What?” he asked, brows furrowing at her words.

Betty, pale and concerned, began to explain what happened, Ronnie turning her phone around to reveal the photo of your broken, defiled form. Jughead went white, grabbing his bag from the seat and rushing away from the booth, muttering an, “Oh, no,” as he went.

You’d locked the door when you’d gotten home, climbing up the stairs and falling into your fluffy sheets, tears dripping onto pillow as you realized that Jughead was right, you were a dirty slut. You’d asked for it. It was all your fault. You’d went out on a date. You were to blame.

Jughead knew your house like the back of his hand, pulling the spare key from its hiding spot and slipping into your house, locking the door behind him. He knew you’d be in your room; that was always your go to when you were feeling sad.

He ascended the stairs quietly, stepping gently into your room. His heart broke when he saw your weak figure sobbing into your pillows. Bending down, he enveloped you in his arms. Your first instinct was to panic, thrashing against his body until you heard his soothing voice in your ear. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s me. You’re safe, (y/n). You’re safe.”

Just as quickly as you’d started thrashing, you stilled, tears still dripping from your puffy eyes. “Juggie, I’m so sorry,” you whispered against his chest.

“What? Why?”

“It’s my fault,” you whispered, tears starting to rapidly fall again as your breathing hitched. “You were right. It’s my fault. I was low and dirty and bad. I’m so sorry, Jughead.”

“No, no, no,” he murmured, holding you close to his chest and shushing you. “It’s not your fault. None of it was your fault. They hurt you, and they shouldn’t have, and I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

You stayed nuzzled in his arms for a while, hiccupping and sniffling as he whispered soothing words in your hair. “Why’d you come here?” you croaked out after a while, looking up into his eyes.

Jughead rested his forehead against yours, his sigh fanning across your damp cheeks. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. And I’m the fool that got you into this, so I should be the one that helps you through it.” You looked at him quizzically, and he knew what you wanted to ask before you had the chance to say it. “I should’ve asked you out,” his voice grew low, and his demeanor shifted from comforting to shy. “If I had, you never would have been in the situation you were.”

“Juggie,” you sniffled, “it isn’t your fault. I should’ve waited. You were always the one that I wanted.”

“(Y/N), would you be my girlfriend?” he whispered softly.

You smiled, an equal grin forming on his lips. “Yes. I’d love to, Jughead.” After a pause, you flopped back on the bed, letting out a sigh. “But I’m so dirty, Jug. How could you want me?” He started to protest, but you cut him off. “I lost my virginity to Chuck Clayton,” you groaned.

“Did you want to?”

You looked back up at him. “Of course not.”

“Then it’s settled,” he said, taking your hand. “You’re just as clean as ever, (y/n). You didn’t give your virginity away, you had a part of you taken. But you are still as pure as untouched snow. Don’t think for a second you’re dirty for not giving yourself away.”

Reaching up to his shoulders, you pulled him down next to you, snuggling into his chest warmly. “Can we just stay here?”

He hummed softly. “Yes, but we’ve gotta go to school tomorrow,” you let out a whine. “It’s okay. I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

Gently, he kissed your forehead, wrapping his comforting arms around you as the two of you drifted off into a safe, protected slumber.

The next morning, you put on a pair of jeans, a black tank top, and pulled a baseball cap over your head. You tried to look in the mirror, feel comfortable in your own skin, but you still felt out of place. Jughead stepped up behind you, his reflection revealing everything strong and brave you wanted to be. “I just don’t feel brave enough, Juggie,” you whispered.

“Hey, you are,” he comforted gently, pulling his signature flannel from his shoulders and sliding it over your arms, the finishing touch to your armor.

That first day back wasn’t easy, the whispered words of Riverdale High swirling around you like a cloud of smoke. But despite the hungry stares of Chuck Clayton and the hateful gaze of Cheryl Blossom, you clung to the notion that you were enough, catching Jughead’s eye in every hallway to give you strength.

You may have been cheated your first kiss, your first time, but that didn’t matter. Chuck was just a nasty memory that you could push away and forget with time. Jughead, he was forever, and now you didn’t have to wait for forever to come.

A/N: Thanks for reading my story! I hope you liked it. Let me know what you think and shoot any questions or requests my way! :) Hope you all are doing well.

Also, if you have experienced rape or sexual assault, know that my character is 100% wrong, making you wrong. It is NOT your fault AT ALL if someone violated you comfort or privacy. Never blame yourself for that experience. Hindsight is 20/20, you couldn’t have known what was going to happen, and you ARE NOT at fault.

#jughead x reader #jug x reader #jughead jones x reader #jughead #jughead jones #jughead x y/n #jug #riverdale #Veronica Lodge #betty cooper #Pop's #pop's chock'lit shoppe #chuck clayton

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 5 years

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Truth Pt. 11

Truth Master List

Request:

What’s up sug! sorry you’re struggling right now but I’ve come to help you If you could bring this to light for me I’d absolutely love for YOU TO DO JT So basically Bucky X Enhanced reader who are fuckin enemies. Hate each other to every last fiber of their beings bc Bucky is rude and she calls him out on it. AnywHs, they get drunk, truth or dare (go crZy baby) and LOTS LF dirty talk if u wanna do smut but if u don’t then buck taking care of her while she’s drunk cause she admitted her feelings

Pairing: Bucky X Reader (Enhanced)

Summary: Since The Avengers gave you a home the only blight has been Bucky Barnes, a ghost from your past that you can’t seem to shake. It makes you hate him. The feeling, it seems, is mutual. But… a simple game reveals that maybe things aren’t quite so simple. (Post Winter Soldier AU)

Warnings: Feels, mentions of addiction, violence

A/N: HELLO MY DARLING PRECIOUS PATIENT PUMPKINS! Did you miss these two? I know I did. This starts off domestic and then veers into like two-three completely different territories. It’s a ride that’s for sure.

I hope y’all like it!

Tags are open!

@midnightdream83 @mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @handplucked @buckysstar @sam-jae @marauderconvos –harder @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @meg-asaur @jewelofwinter @fairislesheets @animegirlgeeky @lydklein1 @katecolleen @siriuslycloudy2 @zannemes

He stills your hands with his. Your eyes meet his, tears sneaking down your cheeks. He wipes them away.

“You keep your memories displayed… I shove mine in a box under my bed…”

When you had pulled all of this out you were on the verge of completely melting down. Days without sleep, hardly eating, seeing that woman’s face over and over again, the flashbacks… You wanted to remember what you were before you became a monster.

It only served to remind you of everything you lost. That’s when you’d gone to the gym when Bucky found you… You’d forgotten your misguided attempt to keep yourself together until there it was spread on your unmade bed.

There wasn’t much. Your family hadn’t been big on photos, just a few posed pictures, school photos, some holidays. But you loved photos… A grotesque amount of polaroids of your friends… people whose names you forgot or who were possibly long gone… at shows, parties, on the street. Glazed eyes, leather jackets, cigarettes hanging between smudged lips are spread out.

Maybe the names alluded you for some but you could smell the sweat, the smoke, the whiskey. Faded flyers from underground shows at Safari Club and other D.C. and East Coast punk venues add pops of color to the mix. A few misbegotten AA coins peak out to remind you of wasted time.

You pick one up as he looks over at a photo of 15-year-old you standing stiffly between your parents in front of a Christmas tree. Your expression annoyed, kohl heavily lining your eyes, hair bleached within an inch of its life and huge.

“Is this you?!” A smile curls his lips and you almost laugh.

“Yeah, don’t judge me too much… it was the 80’s.” You flip the coin in the air and catch it. “Probably the last Christmas I spent sober.”

His brow knits and you sigh. “Hi, my name is Y/N, I’m a cocaine addict… and an alcoholic... and… you get the gist.” You toss the coin at him. He looks it over. “Nine months… as long as I ever got.” Picking up the photo of you and your parents you feel your chest tighten.

“She wanted me to be perfect. Her pride. Pushed me to be the best at everything. I was a nationally ranked athlete, excelled in everything from cross-country to martial arts, incredible at any art she threw at me, damn near a genius, graduated high school at 15, got into every Ivy League school…”

Setting it aside you pick up a photo of you and someone who’s name you do remember, Dana, your first girlfriend. “I was even excellent at being a drug addict, never OD’d, high tolerance… Others weren’t so lucky.” You toss the photo aside, not wanting to linger.

Bucky takes your hand, lacing his fingers through your own. “Who kept these for you? Family?”

“I don’t have any family.”

“But… anyone? I mean… you’re so young?”

You snort, “Is 47 young?” Jesus, you were almost 50… such a strange thought.

“Well,” he laughs a small empty sound, “in comparison.”

You nod conceding. “My Mom… she lost her family in the war… in the camps,” you can’t look at Bucky. “Dad was an only child. Fury kept them tucked away in a storage locker at S.H.I.E.L.D. after…”

He nods, “He knew your father didn’t he?”

“Yeah, they worked together…” You release his hand and push through photos to find your favorite of you and your Dad. It was from that nine-month stint of sobriety, he’d been so happy that you’d been doing well that on your 20th birthday he took you to Paris. His smile was so bright… your hand trembles a bit.

“You look happy here,” Bucky rests his cool left hand on your bouncing knee as he looks at you and your Dad, posed in typical cheesy tourist fashion in front of the Eiffel Tower.

“I was… we were…” Your voice cracks. “I never knew what he did… just thought he was some low-level diplomat, never questioned it… I don’t even know that Mom knew…”

“Was she here?”

“God no,” your eyes slide shut for a moment, remembering. “She was hardly speaking to me… I was a disappointment.”

“She didn’t…”

“Tell me that? Oh yes.” You hold up a hand as he opens his mouth, “I don’t know that she was wrong. I… I did everything I could to be the opposite of what she wanted me to be. I doused her American Dream in gasoline and set it on fire…”

“Still you’re not-”

You shrug, “Doesn’t matter. I… never got to prove otherwise.” Your eyes scan your memories, hazy and painful as most of them were.

“They killed her, ya know? Hydra…”

He gives your knee a gentle squeeze, “I assumed.”

“After my last go at rehab… I really thought… I was going to be better, I wanted to be better. Go to school, live my life, make her proud. They took that away… left her bloody on the kitchen floor.” Your skin tingles, energy pulsing through you.

“I… what about your Dad?” The look on his face is pained like he doesn’t want to ask but feels like he must.

“He killed himself.” You shake your head, “At least that’s what the official report says. “Makes sense though… wife dead, daughter missing, all because you were getting a little too close.” Glancing over at his smiling face a tear slides down your cheek, “Who could blame him?”

A small sob trips over your lips and Bucky pulls you into him. Surprising yourself still, you allow him to comfort you and allow yourself to feel this… to mourn them even a little.

Ever since being here you had tried to bury the guilt and the grief. Thinking about the void they left in you, the years you wasted, the final image of her… dead for days collapsed by the back door… It was too much. You couldn’t help but think that maybe if you’d been there, instead of in rehab, you could have saved her… even though you knew the ending would have been the same.

After a bit your sobs quiet. He’s leaned against the headboard, you’re curled into his arms, the steady beat of his heart soothing. When you look up at him his eyes are so soft, warm despite the cool color. The feeling of his fingers gently grazing your skin as he pushes stray strands of hair from your face sends shivers through you.

“Sorry…”

He smiles, “For what? Having feelings?” You shrug a little. “Well if you want to make it up to me,” he reaches across the bed a bit and grabs a picture of you sporting a particularly heinous head of Aquanet enforced hair looking like some combo of Cindy Lauper and a Clash groupie, “explain this.”

You can’t help but laugh and agree to explain your questionable fashion choices.

The rest of the day is spent intermittently cleaning your apartment and telling Bucky what you remember of who you once were. The good, the bad, and the ugly. He listens and most importantly doesn’t judge.

When you put on some music from your own youth he's not too pleased. It was safe to say that bands such as Bad Religion and Misfits were maybe not his speed. However, he’s much more in tune with Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, and surprisingly The Runaways.

“I’d say you’ll pass inspection,” Bucky says as he puts your mop in the closet.

“Definitely.” You look around and feel oddly sad. His place really was so much warmer than yours. It felt like someone actually lived there, rather than just existing.

“What’s wrong?” Your face must be showing your disdain.

“Nothing,” you flash him a smile. “So… got any dinner plans?”

The smile that lights up his face takes your breath away, “None.” He grabs your waist and pulls you close to kiss you.

“How about I cook? Your place?”

“You cook?”

“I mean, I’m no Julia Child but I can promise it will be better than those packaged meals in your fridge.”

He laughs, “I’ll take your word for it.” You grab some things from your own kitchen and a change of clothes, which he doesn’t even question before you both head down to his place.

Five days later Bucky watches you slip into a pair of leggings as he sips his coffee.

“Are you sure you can’t even have some coffee?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m sure, 12 hours fasting for the tests.”

“You don’t have-” You cut him off with a glare. “Fine. But if you decide you want me there-”

“I’ll call. I promise.” You toss on a tee and a cardigan.

He looks away, chewing on his bottom lip. “Hey,” you pluck the coffee from his hands and set it on the nightstand, “I’ll be ok, Buck.” Cupping his face in your hands you place a kiss on his lips. He can feel his heart stutter just a touch, he wonders if it will ever go away. You release him and he buries his face in your chest, breathing in your now familiar scent.

When he lifts his head your smile makes his breath catch. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” Your soft lips press against his forehead. All he can do is nod.

As soon as the door closes he feels himself wilt a bit, anxiety rising with each passing moment. He wants to believe you but he knows they could accidentally trigger something in you. Be it a memory or a reaction with your power, either could have horrible consequences.

After almost an hour of running worst case scenarios, he can’t stay here anymore. He tosses on some gym clothes and texts Steve to see if he’s free to train. Bucky’s already to the gym when he gets a response of ‘No, sorry pal.’

Sighing he turns around and heads to the shooting range. Clint is already there, experimenting with some new arrows Tony whipped up for him. While Bucky usually prefers to be here alone, he doesn’t necessarily mind Clint. He’s a fellow sniper after all and doesn’t ever seem to want to force Bucky into conversations he’d rather not have.

The two men shoot in silence for a little more than an hour before Clint pipes up. “So, you and Y/N seem to have taken a turn for the better.” He’s taken up the spot next to Bucky under the pretense of changing his angle.

“What of it?” He may like Clint but the thought of sharing details of his private life isn’t high on his to-do list.

“Nothing. I think it’s great.”

“Yeah, you and Romanoff seemed to have an opinion the other day.” Bucky’s tone is gruff remembering Clint’s quip about her owing him.

He laughs, “Just a good-natured bet. I saw the chemistry between you two.” Bucky doesn’t respond. Some mix of anger and embarrassment blooming in his chest.

“Look, man,” Clint has stepped out of his booth and is leaning on the wall between them, “people like us should take any chance at love we can and run with it. It’s rare enough for civilians and most of them don’t spend their free time getting shot at.”

The tone in his voice drips with sincerity and Bucky can’t help but look back at him, the glare quickly melting off his face. “Who said anything about love?”

Clint shakes his head smiling, “You’ll be one lucky bastard if it ends up being that Barnes. Even if it doesn’t, friends are worth a whole hell of a lot too.” He claps a hand on Bucky’s metal shoulder, “As soldiers, it’s sometimes hard to allow ourselves to be happy. You deserve it. Promise.” Bucky says nothing for a minute and Clint nods, walking away.

“Thank you,” Bucky’s tone is low, sort of unsure. He does mean it though…

“You got-”

“Sargent Barnes and Agent Barton, you’re both needed in Mr. Stark’s lab immediately.” Jarvis’ voice cuts Clint off and Bucky feels the blood drain from his face. The two men hold one another’s gaze for a fraction of a second, a flood of emotion and information being exchanged in that one fleeting moment, before sprinting to the elevator.

When they burst out of the elevator they’re met by Steve and Natasha. Everything seems fine, nothing is on fire or blown to bits so that has to be a good sign. Still, as soon as he’s got eyes on you nothing could keep him back.

You’re sitting in a chair, wires stuck to you all over leading to a computer, tendrils of white light pulsing beneath your skin. “Y/N?!”

“Hey! I’m fine,” his hands are lightly grazing your body where the wires touch you, eyes frantically searching your own for any signs of distress. “Really, Bucky, I’m fine.”

You do seem ok. He wishes he was. His heart is thundering, muscles tense, ready and willing to do whatever he needed to keep you safe. Taking a shaky breath he rests his forehead on yours, trying to calm himself.

“Sorry if we scared you, Manchurian.” Tony quips from beside the computer as he pops a baby carrot in his mouth. Bucky shoots daggers at him.

“They were able to get a lock on the specific energy signature I emit pretty quick and scan for it. We found a match.” His eyes shoot back to you, unsure if you’re glad they found something or not.

“Well,” Bruce pipes up from another monitor, “near enough anyway. Too close to her unique signature to be a coincidence.”

“Another base?” Natasha asks from behind Bucky, who’s still kneeling in front of you, unable to move away.

“That’s what we were hoping you and Clint could clear up for us,” Tony flicks some images up so everyone can see the area they narrowed the signal down to.

Your eyes dart between the two and Bucky finally looks back. The map shows a spot just outside of Cleveland. Yet another nondescript building, nothing that says den of torture about it at all. Clint and Natasha exchange a look.

“Yeah,” she holds a finger to her lips for a minute thinking. “We may have something on this, didn’t seem like much so it’s low on the list.”

“Well, it’s top priority now.” Bucky doesn’t like the tone in Steve’s voice. It’s the one he gets when he’s going to do whatever bullheaded thing he has in mind no matter the consequences.

He sees you nod in his peripheral. “When’s the soonest we can head out?”

Bucky’s glare shoots back to you. “Absolutely not!”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not doing this.” His tone is just as stubborn as Steve’s, if not a bit more so.

You scoff, “Oh? I’m not?”

“No. You are not.”

“I hate to break it to you but you don’t get to tell me what I am and am not going to do, Bucky.” Your eyes darken just a touch as the air around you dips just a touch toward cool.

“After last time you really think this is a good idea, Y/N?!”

“No. But I’m the only one who can properly handle these assets if they attack. I’m the only one who understands even a little how this energy functions. I’m the only one-”

He can’t believe this. “So you’re just gonna throw yourself back into that?! After what almost… after… Y/N you’re being-”

“I’m doing what needs to be done. I cannot in good consciousness allow this to pass unchecked. Too many people are at risk if-”

“This isn’t a negotiation!” He bellows. “You’re my-”

“I don’t give a damn what I am to you or you to me.” It feels like you punched him in the chest. “You don’t give me orders, Barnes.”

When you look away from him to Natasha the dismissal is clear. “There’s some good surveillance footage of the area from local businesses security and traffic cams. Should be enough to establish patterns. After last time we know trying to scan is a lost cause.”

Bucky feels his rage prickle under his skin. You don’t look back to him when you’re done. Huffing he stands and stalks to the elevator, unable to be a part of this ill-begotten plan a moment longer.

“You know he’s coming right?” Natasha’s tone is light but she knows her words are heavy.

“Yeah.” You clip the stabilizer cuffs Tony made for you onto your belt. They were just a prototype and only to be used if you felt like you were about to lose it but they still felt strangely comforting to have. Nothing like the comfort you’d felt with Bucky… who you hadn’t seen in three days.

“Assuming you still haven’t spoken to him?”

“Not much to say.” You don’t want to have this conversation now.

“That’s bullshit.” She slips her Widow’s Bites on.

You shrug, “No. You heard how he spoke to me. In front of everyone. Like I was a fucking child like he could just say no and I’d say yessir.”

“He’s from a different time, Y/N.”

“I don’t give a fuck. It’s not 1945.” You slam your gear locker closed. “Plus, not like he’s spoken to me either.”

You barely catch a glimpse of him before he gets on the jet. Grinding your teeth you hang back for just a second.

“Need me to whoop his ass,” Sam says from behind you.

“That is not a fight I’d care to see.” You sigh, “But no. Just think we got ahead of ourselves is all.”

“Well,” he slings an arm over your shoulder, “you’ve still got me, kid.”

You laugh, “You do remember that I’m older than you right?”

“Psh, age is just a number. I got one of them old souls”

As usual Sam’s ridiculousness puts a smile on your face and by the time the two of you are boarding the jet you’re cackling. That all fades the moment you feel Bucky’s stare. Steeling yourself for the uncomfortable mission ahead you keep your eyes averted and your mind on the prize.

Things have gone smoothly for the most part. Some minor scuffles, every computer has been beyond destroyed, and no files that tell you a goddamn thing to be found but less than an hour into the mission and it seems this will be in and out. You’re not even sensing any of the telltale energy like you did last time.

You’ve all spread out a bit to try and wrap this up quickly since it all appears quiet. The area you’ve chosen is just about clear, or so you think. There’s the slightest whoosh in the air before you feel a blade nestle itself in your back.

“Fuck!” You scream as you stagger in pain and surprise. Just barely you can hear Bucky’s voice call out in the com as a foot crashes into your jaw.

It takes you a second but you get your bearings and land a blow to the asset’s abdomen. “I’m good!” No need for anyone to run to your aid when you don’t need it.

You focus a thin sliver of energy in your right hand and shoot it toward them like a tiny spear. They dodge and for a moment you think nothing of it, spinning despite the throbbing in your back from the knife wound, determined to take them out. A groan rings both in your com and from behind you followed by a thud.

Somehow you know before you even turn who’s going to be on the ground. You feel yourself somehow grow cold while also pulsing with energy, dread and rage and heartbreak crashing into you all at once. The asset forgotten, you rush to Bucky’s crumpled form on the floor.

“What the hell?!” His eyes are squeezed shut, teeth grinding in pain as he grasps the wound in his side, red sliding over his fingers.

“Heard you,” he grunts through clenched teeth. You can’t even feel the knife in your back at the moment.

“I said I was good!” You force his hands away and he groans. It’s bad, not as bad as it could be but still…

“Behind-” He doesn’t finish his statement. The asset grabs the knife and twists.

You scream, pain surging for an instant before it’s replaced with something else entirely. Thick cords of energy curl around you, pulsing in time with your suddenly steady heartbeat. There’s nothing in your mind for this moment, not even Bucky. One goal. Eliminate the target.

Pulling away the knife rips out of your back. It should feel like something. It’s just a tingle. Whirling you grab the asset by the neck. You could make this much faster than you do but… Pinning them against the wall you let your power trail down their body from your hold on their neck. They make a noise somewhere between a scream and a gurgle as superheated energy burns its way through them. It only takes a minute.

Once their eyes go dark you hurl them to the side. The sound of bones cracking. It’s then you come back to yourself, the monster sated. Bucky.

“Bucky is down. West sector cleared, I’m taking him up.”

“No, I-”

“Shut up,” you growl as you lift him.

Sam is stitching up Bucky when Nat and Steve declare the facility cleared. Nothing of value gained. They know you’re all looking for them, that’s clear enough by how quickly they abandoned this place.

The ride back is quiet. Sam takes care of the wound on your back and you can’t take your eyes off Bucky’s side. You could have killed him. If you had…

As soon as the door opens you’re bolting out. You think you’re going to run to your apartment but instead, you go to the range. Even so, all you manage to do is pace in the space anxiety thrumming through you, yet you’re unable to bring yourself to let loose the energy that almost killed him…

Before your brain knows what’s happening you’re riding the elevator up to not your apartment but Bucky’s. You know he’s in medical but he’s not hurt badly enough to stay there more than an hour or so. Pacing the hall, you wait.

The elevator doors slide open when you’re at the end of the corridor. Two voices, Steve’s and Bucky’s. You freeze.

“I’m good, promise,” you hear Bucky say.

“Alright. Call me if you need anything.” The doors slide closed and Steve is gone.

He hasn’t even opened his door before you’re on him. A small surprised noise comes from him as you turn him to face you. Logically you know he’s injured, need to be careful, but…

Your fingers tangle into his hair, pulling him to you. His kiss tastes like sweat and desperation. Tears burn your eyes as his tongue finds its way between your teeth, his arms winding around you, holding tight.

Suddenly you pull away, pushing against his chest. You punch him hard in his left pec. “You fucking idiot!” Your voice cracks.

“Yeah. I am.” A sardonic smile curls his lips. “Just for you though.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier

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art-by-rozzai · 5 years

Text

not ur average famILY

chapter 1

summary-

it’s been four years since nicole jourè was put in foster care, and as her eleventh birthday creeps up, she can’t help but feel like something big has to happen soon. little did she know, a group of four mismatched teenagers would spin her life out of control.

in the best way possible.

tw- swearing, mentions of anxiety + child abuse, nothing too bad

————————

may 26, 2019 3:04 am

she just needed to keep running.

her brain felt as if it had been set to slow motion, groggy thoughts bouncing around her head. she needed to keep moving to keep herself from thinking. if she started to think, she would start to panic and if she started to panic, she wouldn’t be able to breathe, and given the fact that she had no idea where the fuck she was, passing out wasn’t currently a viable option. she just need to keep running. keep running. keep moving. keep-

THWAP

oh mother f-

“oh shh-i’m so sorry! i wasn’t paying attention at all-are you okay?”

nicole didn’t look up, fearing the bubbly stranger would see the tears slowly building in her eyes, and instead kept her gaze locked on his shoes. teal converse with doodles running up the side. the laces were dirty and one shoe seemed so close to being untied, that it was driving nicole insane. the stranger’s voice-which was very sweet and airy, almost like a cloud was talking to her-which, was an embarrassing revelation at the least-continued to ramble on. not that nikki minded, the constant talking worked almost like white noise, and the kindness of the tone of his voice helped her relax.

“...and that’s why i will NEVER live in australia. anyways, you seemed to have calmed down a lot, kiddo. wanna talk about why you’re on the streets of NYC at three in the morning?” the stranger asked, bending down. now, nicole could see his pants and the bottom of his t-shirt. skinny maroon jeans with paint splatters around the top, and a mint green/blue tee with white stripes on the sleeves. nicole slowly tilted her head up more, finally examine the strangers face. it was youthful, older than her definitely but not an adult quite yet. he had a rounder face, with freckles scattered across it. he was wearing a pair of round, white frames glasses, and he had curly, dirty blonde hair that swooped slightly into his face. the last thing nicole noticed was his eyes. like a star exploded inside them, the strangers eyes were a mix of blue, yellow and green, and when they locked with hers, in a way that made nikki feel so, so safe and protected-

she simply burst into the tears she had tried desperately to hold back.

“oh, oh kiddo, it’s okay, shh-it’s okay, don’t worry. i’m going to touch you now, okay?” he comforted, slowly pulling nicole into a warm hug. she clutched onto his arms, desperately clinging to the stranger like her life depended on it. “don’t worry, it’s going to be alright. you can call me patt or patton? okay?”

“okay.” was all nicole could choke out, as patton continued to comfort the small, shaking girl. she gave a weak smile, and noticed that patton’s eyes were glimmering with tears as well. “can i carry you? i’ll take you straight to my car and take you home okay?” nicole nodded again, letting patton lift her up. as the teenager hummed a soft song that nikki was too tired to identify, she found herself falling asleep on the freckled stranger.

all too soon, patton had stopped moving again, and nikki woke up to the inside of a light blue punchbuggy. patton, from the drivers seat, turned around to her and smiled softly. “hey kiddo. i-uh, i never caught your name?”

“i never threw it.” nicole deadpanned.

“oh. oh! heathers!! one of my best friends, roman, loves that musical. so does logan, but he’ll never admit it.” patton chuckled with a fond smile. “for realsies though? like, what should i call you?“

“uh-my names actually nicole, but you can call me nikki. yup-nicole jourè. that’s my name.” she groaned inwardly, cursing herself for being so damn awkward. patt did not seem to mind, simply laughing alongside nicole. suddenly, she felt less-anxious and weird.

“patton hart! that’s mine.” he giggled. “and how old are you nikki?”

“i’m eleven...why?”

“oh!” patton was laughing again, and nicole was beginning to think this man was never NOT laughing. “because, i mean-i’m seventeen, but i babysit around the block for cash, so i was trying to see if you were anywhere near the age i’m used to taking care of.” at the notice of nicole’s slightly uncomfortable expression, patt rushed to correct himself. “don’t worry though! you aren’t, but that only means one thing-i dont have to change anymore diapers tonight!” he suddenly grimaced before brushing a piece of blonde hair out of his eyes.

“you babysit?” nicole asked curiously, her head tilting to the side.

“yeah, i’m not exactly...rolling in money, so i watch kids and pets since it’s pretty easy. anyways, it’s really late, and i’m sure your parents are insanely worried. where to?”

“umm...they’re-they’re dead.” nicole lied.

“oh-i’m so sorry kiddo. do you have a foster home i can drop you off at?”

“no. it’s fine-just...drop me off at the next gas station. i’ll be fine.” all this lying is going to make me throw up, nicole thought.

“not gonna happen bud. can i take you to my place? you can sleep in my bed, i’ll take the couch!” patton began to mutter more to himself, thinking over the plan. “yeah...my parents aren’t ever home soooo...it won’t be a problem! if i call in sick at school and text logan to get me the homework, then this will be easy!! alright kiddo, does that sound okay?”

well, nicole though to herself, you have no better options and he seems nice enough. what’s the worst that can happen, honestly?

“okay. sounds fine. you sure i’m not a problem?”

“no way!! this is going to be fun, like a sleepover!!” as he started the car, patt turned towards her. “any requests for music?”

“ummm...got any panic! at the disco?” nikki asked timidly.

“ohmygOD!!! one of my best friends, virgil, LOVES them!! you guys would get along so well. personally, my favorite is nine in the afternoon...wanna start with that?”

“actually yeah!” nicole grinned. “that’s my favorite too.”

“awesome!!”

maybe this wasn’t the worst idea.

—————-

may 26, 2019 4:15 am

“hey kiddo? this is it!” patton spoke quietly, waking nicole up as gently as possible. as she slowly opened her eyes, nicole looked at the house in front of her. pale yellow with white shutters, a welcoming, medium sized cottage. “it’s not much, i’m aware but...it’s home. at least it is for me, and my friends. speaking of which-i texted them. i explained the situation and they really want to come over. i told them it was your choice, so...? what do you say? it will only be three people, and trust me i would never let anything happen to you. ever. i don’t care if we just met, you’re just a kid, and i’m going to do my best to make sure you’re safe, okay? pinky promise!” patton, held out his pinky, and nikki took note of the yellow and blue polish on his nails. she debated accepting the promise, but as patt beamed at her nicole couldn’t help but feel safe for once.

so she wrapped her pinky around his and gave her best attempt at a smile. the least she could do for this kind teenager is let him invite some friends over.

“awww!! this is gonna be so much fun! i’ll text ro to steal some of his little sisters clothes so you can take a shower. i’ll order pizza and maybe we can watch some movies? if you ever feel uncomfortable, just let me know by the way.”

nicole nodded, slightly overwhelmed by all of the information. patton lead her to the bathroom and gave her one of his old t-shirts to throw on afterwards if “ro” wasn’t there when she got out of the shower. after asking what pizza toppings she liked, patton left the bathroom, leaving nikki to herself once again. sighing, she turned up the water, letting the heat of the shower calm her thoughts.

this was going to be one hell of a night.

#logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #thomas sanders #sanders sides fic #angst #thomas sanders ss #orginal character #prinxiety #logicality #platonic lamp

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marshmallow-phd · 6 years

Text

Freedom on the Wind

Genre: Bad Boy!AU, Biker!AU

Pair: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You wanted nothing to with him. He was the kind of boy you stayed away from. But you know what they say about the rules of attraction. How could anyone resist?

Moodboard by the oh-so-wonderful @xui-n-soowillbethedeathofme

Books were your life. If there was a story line out there, you’d read it. Ever since you were little, you devoured words like a prisoner getting his first meal after days of starvation. Any genre, any level, any author, you didn’t care. You simply loved getting lost in a world that was different from your own, even if it was only subtly altered.

While you didn’t usually care what the plot of a book was as long as it attracted and kept your attention, there was one trope that you avoided like the plague: The bad boy cliché. Of course, typically you didn’t mind clichés.

An unbalanced couple where one was rich and the other poor? Sure. Love triangles? Your guilty pleasure. Long lost parent? You’d eat it right up.

But those stupid bad-boy-good-girl romance just grated on your nerves. Maybe it was because you were a “goody-two-shoes” (a phrase that you never quite understood) yourself. Your toes always stayed in line and breaking the rules meant you were breaking out in a cold sweat. So why would someone like you ever consider an attraction to the type of boy who wore leather jackets, gave zero consideration for other people, cursed, and rode around on a loud, obnoxious two-wheeled motorized vehicle that could get them killed?

The answer had always eluded you. A real answer, that is. Everyone always chalked it up to “there’s a bit of rebellion inside us all”.

Yeah, right.

That did not exist for you. And that was okay. So you didn’t have any fun stories to tell of when you were in high school that consisted of sneaking out, skipping class, or underage drinking. You still enjoyed your life. The moments you enjoyed experiencing were just quieter, simpler. The kind of moments that other people tended to ignore or forget.

This was one of those moments. You were just wandering through the bookstore, taking your time to shop around for anything that might possibly jump out at you. There was no rush and no need to find a specific something. You’d let the right one take hold of your attention and fall in love.

One book with a black spine and blue lettering finally did grab your eye, but when you pulled it out of it’s space, it caught on its neighbor, sending the innocent novel to the ground. Whispering an apology to no one in particular, you bent down to pick up the book, but someone else snatched it up first.

“Do you always apologize to inanimate objects?” the intruder snickered.

Clearing your throat, you swiped the book from the rude boy’s hand, holding onto it rather than placing it back onto the shelf. After a quick intake of his face, you couldn’t help but admire how cute he was. Youthful features encased sharp, deep brown eyes, highlighted by the smirking mouth.

Then you took in the rest of him.

He might as well have walked right out of one of the romantic novels you avoided like the plague. His black hair was a bit on the short side with the top styled away from his forehead. A black leather jacket covered up a plain white tee and black jeans with matching boots finished the whole look off.

The cute face couldn’t cover up the personality you knew was flashing before your eyes.

“Might as well be nice to everything,” you shrugged, possibly putting on an air of haughtiness with it. Hopefully that would just make him walk away and leave you alone. “You never know when technology will take over the world.”

He laughed. “Technology, yes, but I doubt books are going to suddenly obtain artificial intelligence and overthrow the human race.”

Unable to find a good comeback, you put the unwanted book back on the shelf with a little too much force before brushing past him. One would think that was the end of the conversation, but no. That would be against the kind of luck you had.

“I’m Minseok, by the way,” he introduced as he followed you down the aisle.

You barely threw him a glance. “Congratulations.”

“You know, for someone who looks so nice, you have a bit of a bite to you.” By the tone in his voice, it seemed like your attitude towards him was intriguing him to keep going rather than putting him off to find a new target.

Stopping in your tracks, you whirled on him. “Maybe there’s a reason for that, hm?”

The purpose of the gesture was to appear as annoyed and irritated as you felt. Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? You were not interested. You had a date with the current book in your hand at the coffee shop and you honestly would rather not be late. Not like anyone but yourself would be disappointed in that, but still.

He just laughed at you again. “Feisty. Maybe if you told me your name, I would walk away.”

“Not going to happen,” you declared. Ignoring him once again, you made your way to the register. But apparently he didn’t get the hint. He stayed right next to you like a puppy. A rottweiler puppy that was pretending to be a golden retriever.

“Hey, find anything interesting today?” Monica, the employee who was usually behind the counter, smiled at you. Since you came in so often, most of the people who worked here knew you. Or at least, they recognized your face. Monica was one of the few you knew very well, often participating in a little small talk about new releases and up-and-coming authors that piqued your interest.

“Just this,” you replied, handing over the book.

She read the cover, smiling. “Nice choice.”

Minseok leaned an elbow against the counter, still trying to keep your attention. “So, how about dinner?”

“No, thank you,” you said immediately. Without looking at him, you took out your card and handed it over to Monica.

She swiped it quickly before bagging up the book and handed you your card back along with your prize, the receipt already tucked in between the pages of the book.

“Thanks, (y/n)!” Monica waved innocently. “See ya soon.”

You cringed. “See you later, Monica.”

Minseok looked like he’d just won the lottery as he kept up with your scurried escape.“Ah, (y/n). That’s a pretty name.”

“No, it’s not,” you scoffed, stopping mid stride. Minseok nearly collided with you, but he managed to dodge the hit. You folded your arms across your chest, staring him down. “That’s just something you say to girls to butter them up. You start by complimenting their name. And then next it’s their eyes. You say something deep and mysterious, comparing them to the sea or stars or some other crap you picked up from the movies. And then once you finally get what you want, you drop them for the next unsuspecting girl.”

“Bold of you to presume you know me.” His eyes were narrowed at you, ready for the battle to begin. But you weren’t interested in any type of lingering fight.

Done with the conversation, you stormed off to your car. From a few feet away, Minseok called out for you after swinging a leg over on his black motorcycle.

“Hey, (y/n)!”

Suppressing a groan, you paused just before you could open your car door, making eye contact with him.

“If I’d asked you out in a three piece suit or a polo, would you have said yes?”

When you didn’t answer him, he slid the helmet in his hands over his head and zoomed off. Hopefully that was the last you’d see of him.

You really should be more conscious of the look you had on your face at the moment. The bartender kept sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye in your direction as you twirled the straw of your third fruity house special and you were sure that your expression was one of disgust and irritation, the direct opposite of the other patrons around you.

To be fair, you’d let Sam and Jamie talk you into going out tonight. You weren’t the “get drunk and dance like a fool in public” kind of girl. Social butterfly was not a term one would find in your “about me” section of social media.

Sure, you’d go out to drink every once in a while, but you preferred the more mellow hang outs - like breweries - over the nightclub you were currently forced to occupy. You might not have been so crabby if Jamie hadn’t made you leave your purse in the car, which had your new book tucked away inside. Of course, she knew it was in there and that was why she made you leave your big bulky bag behind.

Sam downed another shot right as the DJ blasted the latest dance hit through the speakers. Your best friends got those overly excited looks on their faces and tried to convince you to come out with them on the dance floor.

“No, absolutely not,” you yelled over the music. “I don’t even get what a ‘nae-nae’ is!”

“Fine, have it your way, party-pooper!” Jamie yelled back. When she starts using childish terms like “party-pooper”, that was when you knew she needed to slow down on the drinking. The two of them stay on the outskirts of the dance floor, throwing flashy smiles at you to try and get you jealous of all the “fun” they’re having.

You took a few more sips of your drink, longing for your book. That itching feeling of needing to know what came next never left you alone. Sam had the keys to your car and wouldn’t cough them over unless you had a good reason to go out there. Even though you thought finishing the current chapter of your book was a more than fair reason to go to the car, the others wouldn’t agree. Maybe you did have a problem?

A new body quickly inhabited the stool that Sam had vacated just a minute before, pulling you from your self analysis.

You nearly groaned once you recognized the newcomer. Minseok motioned to the bartender and got a bottled beer in less than a minute.

“You don’t seem like the type of girl who hangs out in these places,” he purred. It was so much like a cat, matching his sharp eyes that you roll your own in response.

You swiveled the stool so your elbows were resting on the bar. “Was that pickup line supposed to impress me? Or maybe you were putting too much hope on the fact that I might have had too much to drink and wouldn’t recognize you?”

“I was just making an observation,” he smiled, if you could count pulling up one corner of his lip as smiling. “You know, since you liked to make assumptions about people, I thought I would give it a shot.”

You slowly pushed the stool back around, completing the three-sixty turn and catching Jamie’s eye on the way.

He’s hot, she mouthed.

No, you mouthed back, shaking your head just the tiniest fraction.

She rolled her eyes and kept dancing.

“I’m not a crowd person,” you admitted as you took a sip of your drink. Part of you wanted to just go back to ignoring him, but he seemed to be the only other sober person around, minus the staff, and it beat just sitting there and wishing that you could be off in another world instead. “When I’m forced to come to these places, I tend to put the wall up, just in case some creep decides to try his luck with me. Not that I ever really get hit on. That’s usually left to my friends.”

Minseok shook his head, sliding his finger down the neck of the bottle. “That’s a shame.”

You scrunched your eyebrows. “What is?”

“People these days are too lost in what looks nice from far away that they won’t take the time to look closer at something less obvious and discover its beauty,” Minseok briefly glimpsed at you, taking in your confused facial expression. “Like a painting.”

Unless you misinterpreted him, he’d just compared you to art. No one had ever said anything similar to that directed at you before. “Potential” was the word you usually were stuck with.

Trying to focus on not blushing while searching to find a coherent sentence to respond with as the bartender approached, you downed the rest of your drink instead of replying. Why couldn’t Minseok stay the typical, one-dimensional bad boy? Why did he have to slowly turn into the deep, misunderstood type? That just might a bad road for you journey down.

“You want another one?”the bartender asked, motioning to your empty glass.

“Actually, I’ll take the cherry bomb.” Ever since they added a cherry coke and whipped cream vodka drink to their menu, you’d been addicted, even if it wasn’t exactly a cheap drink. To save your wallet, you’d limited yourself to one per night. Right now, though, you were tempted to order several back to back to clear out the thoughts that were starting to form.

Once the clean glass filled with reddish brown liquid was in front of you, you turned back to Minseok. “So, are you expecting to try and have another shot with me?”

“No, I think I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to you. I still remember the zinger you sent my way in the parking lot.”

You quoted, “‘Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it’.”

“Santayana knew what he was talking about.”

You laughed in shock. How could he actually know the originator of that widely known quote? It was a line everyone knew but usually they couldn't put a name to it.

At Minseok’s questioning look, you explained, “It’s rare to find someone who knows that name. All of my friends recognize the quote, but none of them can recall who said it. They mostly think it’s from a movie.”

Minseok finished off his beer, “Too lazy to look it up?”

“Just lacking motivation,” you corrected after taking a huge gulp of your drink, careful not to dribble some of it on your chin. “They’re okay with going through life without answers to certain things.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you?”

You snorted. “I need an answer for everything. I like knowing why something works the way it does or why certain things happen.”

It was a control thing, you knew that. But you didn’t fight it. It was simply something you did to make your surroundings more comfortable for you and it kept you sane. From your point of view, at least.

“But not everything has an answer,” he retorted. “Some things just are.”

“That’s what makes the adventure,” you whispered somewhat flirtatiously.

Adventure? Yeah, right. Your idea of an adventure was trying out a new restaurant. You were too timid and afraid to do anything truly daring. You were so boring. And it’d never bothered you like it did in this very moment.

Seeing right through you, Minseok challenged, “I don’t think you know what a real adventure is.”

Suddenly, a beer bottle came sliding down the counter, knocking your glass over when the drinks collided. The sticky pop and liquor spilled all over your lap. Well, at least your pants were black.

“Fuck, sorry!” One of the drunks at the other end of the bar cried out.

“Hey!” The bartender yelled. “Cut that shit out!”

“There are paper towels in the bathroom,” Minseok said as he cleaned up the ice, putting the cubes back into the glass. The bartender tried to hand over an old, dirty looking rag, but Minseok rejected the offer.

You cringed. “I’m not going in there. Have you seen the bathrooms? They’re disgusting. I have some napkins in my car.” You hopped off the stool, the bottom of your nice boots getting soaked in the liquid that had managed to drip onto the floor. You tabbed out with the bartender before he headed to the other end of the bar.

“I’ll go with you,” Minseok offered. “You probably shouldn’t go out there alone around this time.”

You nodded, surprised. So chivalry wasn’t dead.

To get the keys from Sam, you went onto the dance floor and explained what happened, emphasizing that you’d be right back. She offered to go with you, but you told her you’d be okay and that you already had a bodyguard to watch out for you.

She looked over your shoulder at Minseok and shot you a questioning look. You walked off before the look could be followed by a bombardment of questions.

Once out at the car, you unlocked it and slid into the passenger seat, keeping your feet out on the asphalt. You pulled out a handful of napkins from the glove box and start dabbing at your shirt and pants.

“At least I didn’t wear white,” you grumbled to yourself.

“Might have been an interest pattern if it stained, though,” Minseok teased. “Could have started a new trend. Alcohol stained clothes. Could have named it ‘The Morning After’.”

“Darn, I could have had a trending brand on my hands,” you groaned sarcastically. Gathering up the used napkins, you stood up, closed the door, and locked the car back up. You walked over to the nearest trash can and tossed the cold, disintegrating napkins away. Leaning against the wall of the club, you sighed, “Man, that breeze feels good. Too many bodies in a small area, it never fails to make me sweat profusely.”

Minseok nodded. “We can wait a few minutes before going back inside if you would like.” He seemed perfectly fine, even in the ever-present leather jacket.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely. Pursing your lips, you played with the hem of your shirt. “Also for making sure I don’t get kidnapped. Unless, you being nice to me like this was all a part of an elaborate plan to kidnap me.”

“Still trying to label me as the bad guy, huh?” While there was a little shine left in his eye, most of the teasing was gone from his tone.

“You don’t exactly do yourself any favors,” you argued. “Leather jackets and that attitude will lead to those assumptions.”

“So far, the only one who has had an attitude is you,” he countered.

Well, shit. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Ever since he’d first spoken to you, you’d tried to push him away, make him walk in the opposite direction. Very different from the usual soft person you tried to be. You’d written him off as the stereotypical bad boy and just wanted him to leave you be. But your prickly attitude didn’t faze him at all. He didn’t scoff, throw his hands in the air and storm off like you’d expected. And you were finding yourself less and less eager to put up the annoyed front.

Grabbing your hand, Minseok dragged you away from the club and deeper into the parking lot, not stopping until he was next to his bike. Apparently, the car next the bike was familiar to him as well as he unlocked the door and pulled out an open-faced helmet. In one smooth motion, he swung his leg over the beast.

“Do you normally have two modes of transportation?” you questioned.

He threw you a look. “It’s my sister’s car. She’s here with her boyfriend. That’s the only reason I came. Unless you thought I was stalking you?”

You didn’t dignify that comment with a response.

Minseok held the helmet out to you. “Get on.”

You scoffed. “No way.”

“Weren’t you the one talking about adventure earlier?” he reminded you.

“That’s different,” you argued weakly. “This thing is a death trap.”

“You sound like my mom.”

Right now would have been the opportune time to turn around and go back inside. By the time he got off the bike, you could be back at the door. That would have been the smart thing to do, the good girl thing to do. Motorcycles were dangerous. They were easily hit by cars that weren’t paying attention. You could be crushed, get road rash, or die in any other painful way if he was to lose control of the bike. There was no box that protected you from the elements, either.

“Don’t you want to know what it’s like to fly?” Minseok asked.

Damn it. That one stupid question was just enough to start tipping you over the edge.

“Then again, you could always live safely on the ground.”

Snatching the helmet out of his mocking hand, you squashed it down on your head before buckling the strap. Not quite as gracefully as Minseok, you hopped onto the back of the bike, almost losing your balance in the process. This had to be the stupidest thing you’d ever done. Maybe it was the alcohol giving you that extra push, taking away your inhibitions and usual way of making smart choices.

The engine roared to life. Slowly, Minseok backed out of the parking space with his feet. Once he was out in the open, he took off.

Everything blurred by you as the wind bit at your face. You clung to Minseok for dear life, arms viced around his torso while squeezing your eyes shut. He laughed at your iron grip but you weren’t loosening it any time soon. The truly surprising part was - despite the fear pumping through your veins at the moment - you were actually enjoying thrill of it all.

After the first few minutes of seeing your life flash before your eyelids, you were able to calm down and open them up to truly experience the ride.

Minseok was an expert, carefully changing lanes and checking his surroundings for any possible danger. Eventually, you were able to rest your chin on his shoulder, taking in the feeling. Your arms weren’t as tense. Instead, they hung a little looser, fingers still clasped together, but allowing the blood to flow freely. You didn’t think it was exactly how flying would be, but it did make a nice parallel.

Too soon for your liking, Minseok pulled back into the parking space in front of the club. As soon as the engine was off, you got off the bike and handed him the helmet back.

“That was probably the most reckless thing you’ve ever done in your life,” Minseok guessed. No need to verify that fact beyond the shy smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

“Hey, baby girl!”

A small group of drunks came stumbling in your direction. Sensing trouble, Minseok got off the bike and placed himself between you and the unstable men.

“Just keep walking,” he warned.

“Sweetheart, why don’t I take you for a real ride?” one of them snickered.

Your stomach nearly pushed your drinks back up from his innuendo.

“Shut your mouth!” Minseok yelled. His fists were curled tight by his sides.

Fearing that this could turn bad, you place a hand on his shoulder. “Minseok, just leave it alone. They’re drunk. Let’s go back inside.”

“What you are going to do about it, punk?” one of the others spat.

“Maybe we need to show this lady what a real man is,” the last one laughed.

The first one leered at you, pretending as if Minseok didn’t exist at all. “I bet she’d look really pretty on my-”

Wherever his disgusting thought was going, it was quickly derailed by a punch from Minseok. The drunk’s friends were quick to join in, but since he was sober, Minseok had the advantage. That didn’t stop him from taking a few hits, though.

“Minseok!”

A girl with similar features to the leather clad idiot in front of you came running out of the club with another guy behind her as well as the bouncer.

The additional males were able to break up the fight and the drunks scrambled off before they could get into worse trouble.

“Why are you always getting into fights!” the girl yelled. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this was Minseok’s sister.

“Those assholes were saying-”

“I don’t care what they were saying!” she snapped. “You swore you would stop fighting!”

Not wanting to stick around for the family affair, you quickly walked around Minseok, keeping your head down and trying not to be noticed as you wrapped your arms around yourself. You should have known that was going to happen. You should have known that this was all too good to be true. In the end, he was still the delinquent, the bad boy with a temper. And you were not going to stick around and continue to be disappointed.

“(y/n), wait!” Minseok caught you on the arm right as you reached your car. He turned around, looking at you desperately. A cut a few centimeters wide above his left eye was oozing blood and his lip was busted open. Evidence of exactly what kind of guy you were dealing with. “Don’t go,” he begged, pleaded with you.

“Thank you for the ride,” you said straightly, monotonously, making sure that he could take in exactly where you stood. You didn’t even meet his eye, keeping your gaze down on the black asphalt. “But let me go.”

“No, talk to me,” he insisted through clenched teeth. “I thought I was finally getting through to you.”

You yanked your arm out of his grip. Finally meeting his eyes, you let loose. “Look, Minseok. I don’t know exactly what you were aiming for, but it’s never going to happen. I don’t go out with guys like you that throw punches and ride motorcycles and stomp around like they’re the toughest thing to walk this earth. I like nice guys. Good guys. They don’t go around sporting bruises and blood.”

His shoulders slumped. Defeat was emerging all over his face, but he decided to give it one more try. “Maybe I could be the nice guy.”

You shook your head. “Why are you trying so hard? You don’t know me.”

His eyes held your as he declared, “I know you more than you think I do.”

Not wanting to stick around and risk hearing anything else that might tempt you to forget what just happened, you threw the door open to your car and jumped into the driver’s seat. Sam and Jamie would just have to find their own way home. They could be mad at you later.

Throwing the car into reverse, you sped out of the parking lot as fast as you could while trying not to glance back at the man standing in the parking lot, staring after you.

You kept telling yourself that you made the right decision. Minseok was not the kind of guy that you could take to your parents and say “this is the guy I’m dating” and not expect disastrous results. And he wasn’t the kind of guy you wanted anyway.

So, why did you find yourself spending too much time at the bookstore, hoping to see him again? Or walking by the bar on a busy Friday night, hoping to spot that shiny black motorcycle in the parking lot?

Frustrated to no end, you threw your book down on the floor with a yell. You’d gone completely crazy. There you were on the couch, dressed in a comfortable sweater and leggings, trying to read a book centered around a leather-clad bad boy and a well-rounded good girl. The point of the exercise was to prove to yourself that you were right - that you’d made the best decision - but all you could think about was leaning into Minseok’s back as he guided the bike down the darkened streets, the wind leaving behind kisses on your face as the two of you raced away, leaving behind reality for just a little while, believing that man could fly.

It��d only happened once and yet you found yourself missing the way Minseok’s muscles tightened under your touch. You actually missed the smell of his jacket and the way his eyes laughed at you and your timid way of approaching life.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

What was that?

At first, you decided to ignore the sound, thinking that maybe it was just a squirrel passing by or a bird not realizing they would never get through the clear glass. Although, usually at this time of night all the little creatures had already settled down.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Unable to block it out anymore, you stood up and went to the sliding glass door that led out onto the balcony of your apartment. It definitely wasn’t a squirrel.

Parked out in the street under your balcony was Minseok, leaning up against his bike as he fiddled with a rock in his hand.

“About time you came out here,” he smirked up at you.

You crossed your arms, keeping on the air that you weren’t the least bit elated that he’d somehow found you.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded. That in itself was a reasonable question.

He shrugged. “Your friends weren’t too happy that you’d ditched them. They were more than willing to tell me where you lived. Especially after talking to my sister.”

Traitors.

As much as you’d wanted to see Minseok again, part of you still stood by what you’d said. There was no way the two of you could work out. And you didn’t want your heart to get broken.

Minseok waved his hand, “Come down here.”

“Go away,” you growled. For your own sake, you’d hoped that he’d listen. But of course he wouldn’t.

“No,” he stated. “Not until you talk to me. Otherwise, I’m staying right here.”

Rolling your eyes, you went back inside and shut the door. For a moment, you were tempted to just stay there in your living room, but you knew he’d make good on his threat.

After shoving your feet into a pair of sneakers, you headed down to the street below. Once in front of him, you threw your arms up. “Okay, I’m here.”

Minseok actually had the nerve to scoff. “That was much easier than I thought it would be.”

“What do you want?” you snapped.

“For you to listen,” he replied. When you didn’t open your mouth again, he went on, “Look. I’m sorry about the other night. You’re right, I shouldn't have started that fight. Even if I believe that asshole deserved it. But I can be the nice guy, too. I think I’ve already proven that to you. If not, then come with me. I can show you how much of the nice guy I can be.”

His offer was so tempting, like the shiny, blood red apple the witch had offered to Snow White. Because he was right. He’d shown you moments of chivalry and vulnerability that you hadn’t expected. But what would happen to you if you took a bite?

“That night,” you whispered, “you said that you knew me better than I thought. What did you mean by that?”

Minseok cleared his throat. “That was a bit of an exaggeration. It’s just….” he cursed. “This is going to sound really creepy and stalkerish, but hear me out.” Obviously nervous, he ran his fingers through his hair before shoving his hands in his pockets. “You see, my sister works at the coffee shop you go to all the time and I visit her a lot. And I’d see you. I thought you were cute, but then-” Again, he cursed under his breath.

“Then what?” you urged. You were sitting on the edge of your metaphorical seat. This sounded an awful lot like the beginning of a love confession. While love was a bit extreme to be feeling in this exact moment, this definitely felt like the start of something life changing.

“Then I’d watch you read and your face was like a mirror, reflecting the emotions of the book. And it was fascinating. And you were also so sweet to everyone, even that little girl who came up to talk to you randomly… Shit!” Minseok turn and kicked the tire of his bike. “Damn it, this sounds so stupid. I can’t believe I’m actually saying this.”

You tried really hard not to smile. It was a complete failure. “So, what you’re saying is that you developed a crush on me while visiting your sister at work?”

Refusing to look at you, he gave the smallest nod in existence. How could someone so tough do something so cute?

Before you could stop yourself, you stepped up to him and planted a quick kiss on his lips. At least, that was the plan.

As soon as your lips connected with his, Minseok’s bravado shot right back up to it’s normal inflated state. He wrapped his arms around your waist, giving you no escape as he deepened the kiss. And you certainly weren’t protesting.

The kiss was soft and warm despite the cool temperature outside. One of Minseok’s hands left your back and came up to cradle your jaw. Too soon, he pulled away.

“Come fly with me again,” he whispered.

Unable to speak, you simply nodded.

Pulling away, Minseok turned around and handed you a brand new, full-face helmet.

“Is this mine?” you asked skeptically.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist me, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt.”

You scoffed, shoving the helmet back into his hands. “Well, if I’m so predictable, why even bother with me? Wouldn’t that be boring?”

“I don’t think you could ever be boring,” he said sincerely. With confidence, he held the protective gear out for you once more and you took it with no resistance.

Just like that night at the bar, you carelessly jumped on the back of the bike, snaking your arms around Minseok’s torso, although this time around your grip wasn’t as death-fearing. Minseok roared the engine under you and your heart sped up with anticipation.

Bad boys, you realized, weren’t just bound in leather and dangerous. They could be soft and cute and protective. Perhaps all of that was why good girls so often fell for them. They could be unpredictable and at times scary, but in the end the hidden gem underneath made it all worth it. It was a chance that you would be willing to take, knowing that you would never be able to get this boy out of your head. If he broke your heart, so be it. Maybe they were made to be broken.

Minseok gave you one last wink over his shoulder before he took off down the road and back onto the wind of freedom.

#exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo scenarios #exo imagines #minseok x reader #kim minseok #xiumin #exo badboy!au #kpop #bad boy #motorcycles #biker!au #biker au

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dire-vulture · 5 years

Note

How about 10 facts about Squeak, Snoatl, and Inermis?

OH BOY this'll be long. I'm on mobile and can't do a read more I'm sorry everybody dkdkf

Snoatl!

1. As an albino coatl, life was difficult for him to say the least. Other coatls wanted nothing do with him, and he grew up rejected and neglected by society. He escaped to Florabrisa as a fairly young teen.

2. It was in Florabrisa that he took up playing the lute! He got pretty good at it and eventually worked up the confidence to perform for others.

3. He likes to play for local music festivals! He's not very famous and doesn't ever expect to be, but he's happy to get to be on stage, preceding more renowned acts. He's got to personally meet a lot of really cool musicians.

4. He's very shy and awkward off stage. He often has a hard time finding the words he wants.

5. He occasionally gets dragged to parties by his boyfriend Squeak. He doesn't like parties much, and will either cling to Squeak the whole time or hide in the bathroom (or if there's a pet, he'll chill with them of course)

6. He doesn't usually sing, but sometimes he'll write up lyrics for his music! They're almost always love songs.

7. He absolutely will not ever participate in the annual coatl migration to the Ashfall Waste. At the time of year they're supposed to go, he and some other Coatls in the clan including Macaroon, Calabasas, and Ricotta go into hiding until the other Coatls in the lair are gone.

8. He met his boyfriend Squeak because he noticed the Wildclaw seemed to always show up to his performances and seemed to watch him more intently than most other audience members who were just waiting for the following acts. Snoatl eventually worked up the courage to talk to him after a show and the two soon became friends.

9. He really loves roses! His room is covered in roses - paintings, bedsheets, decorating his wardrobe, etc...

10. Because of his eyes, he's classified as a plague dragon, but he actually was hatched in the Ashfall Waste. His eyes are red because of his albinism, and he has no natural affinity for plague whatsoever. Regardless, he feels more far connected to plague than fire and as far as he's concerned he might as well be from Plague.

Next up: Squeak!

1. Squeak is a very fun loving guy. He goes very hard with dancing and loves trying new things, be it food, music, hobbies, etc.

2. He's a music fan for life and at some point in his youth decided all he wanted to do was travel from music festival to music festival, appreciating all the different music there was.

3. He doesn't actually play any instruments, and not for lack of trying. He's really bad with his hands and can't seem to keep a rhythm for the life of him (his dancing is pure chaos)

4. He's done many many questionable things, but his boyfriend Snoatl has been helping keeping him safe and (mostly) sober.

5. He infamously has no sleep schedule. When left to his own devices he'll just stay awake and go hard until whenever he ends up crashing, and then wakes up whenever he happens to wake up. Its very common to see him having fallen asleep in a strange location. (Snoatl's been trying to rein this behavior in a bit, but Squeak does what Squeak does)

6. He lives up to his name! He is in fact a pipsqueak of a wildclaw, and has a silly squeaky voice. Snoatl thinks he's the cutest thing.

7. He's a relatively new member of Florabrisa, having only met Snoatl 3-4 years ago. After the two met, Snoatl invited him to Florabrisa when he found out Squeak had no home, literally having abandoned any stable life to follow music.

8. He is incredibly fascinated by bright colors and can and will stare at psychedelic patterns for hours.

9. He's made tiedye tees for himself and Snoatl! Not quite Sno's choice of fashion, but he sometimes wears it to make Squeak happy (and wearing a gift made by Squeak fills Snoatl with happiness too!)

10. The first time he heard Snoatl play, he was really surprised by how into it he was - he usually preferred more upbeat and hardcore stuff, but Snoatl's music was so chill and hit him right in his heart. He made sure to go to Wind as often as possible so he'd never miss a performance.

Aaaand Inermis!

1. Of all the dragons in Florabrisa, she's easily the most devoted to the Windsinger. She prays to him every night, wishing safe travels for all the dragons of Sornieth.

2. She likes to make gaudy costumes for the Mistral Jamboree. She starts working on them before the Crystalline Gala even happens.

3. As a wind dragon, she had a longing to explore and has explored quite a bit of Sornieth. She had settled in Arcane before getting a calling back to the Windswept Plateau.

4. She wants to be in a relationship, but can't bring herself to commit. She often ends up with Paragon who is in a similar situation.

5. She doesn't have the big claws her species is known for - consequently she's somewhat embarrassed to be around other Wildclaws. Very few dragons actually notice this detail about her though.

6. Like any good Windie, she has a nice collection of maps and feathers! She's collected a wide variety of feathers from her time spent visiting other territories.

7. She doesn't have any specific role in the clan, but she will do odd jobs and help out where she's needed.

8. She's actually fairly musical herself! She won't play professionally, but she has a pipeflute she'll break out just for the Jamboree! She and Snoatl are a pretty good duo.

9. Once in a blue moon, she'll hunt with fellow Wildclaw Acantha, but her missing claws make her feel inadequate even if Acantha's never said anything about it. She doesn't like to hunt, but she can't subsist on veggies alone and she feels bad just taking from the plan's limited meat supply - Ingot's hunting has made this less of a problem though.

10. The contents of her satchels....are a mystery :o (it's feathers)

Thank you!!! Omg I better get to bed ddhdshy I'll answer the rest tomorrow! Good night aa

#long post #asks #dragon share #florabrisa #snoatl #squeak #inermis

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wiredandrewired · 5 years

Text

Was trying to actually work on something but my brain is stuck on loop. So instead I’m gonna make a post of the Voltron stuff sitting unposted in my writing WIP folder to help me organize my thoughts.

I guess since I’m posting this, if you have anything you wanna say/ask about any of these feel free. I respond well to outside interest.

1. Project ReVolt is without a doubt the project I’ve posted about the most here. And talked about in random tags. And tangents. Originally it was just the name the project had in my internal brain filing cabinet but it’s kind of spread and stuck to where my wife and I just refer to it as that when we talk about it.

ReVolt is basically going to be a VLD series rewrite more along the lines of how my wife and I would have done it or at least liked to see it done. In some places it will probably stick pretty damn close to the events of the series canon, but in others go completely off the deep end. We’re each going to be doing one, so a lot of the headcanon and worldbuilding and such that we’ve worked out together in various other stories and RPs will be consistent between the two stories, but it will also give us a place to veer out and do things without the others’ input (as we’re not gonna let each other see our fics until they post, tee hee). I’ve done a SHITPOT of rules and infrastructure work using actual alchemy tracts to try and make sense of the series’ largely Powers As The Plot Demands system, and am pretty convinced I’m going to A)fall hard into my very common Esoterica Ranting Mode pitfall and B)enrage literally everyone who reads it with my character and plot choices. Most conservative estimate says this will be six ‘books’ long as again, we’re doing literally the entire series. Current status: at the ‘ridiculously large amount of notes and setting up actual arcs and outlines’ stage, and waiting for the wife to finish ‘Happier HOPEless’.

2. There Are No Monsters Here is a fic I really want to do but cannot seem to get off the ground, set to take place entirely in the ‘last universe’ from season 8--the one native-Honerva died in and crazed-death-god-Honerva picked out as her ideal and tried to wedge herself into. I guess the basic idea was that, like the ‘main’ universe, it got rebuilt pretty much as it was prior to Nightmare Mom Ruining Everything, and I have it with no one fully remembering the events of season 8 that took place there, but characters really closely tied to those events having some itching feeling that something happened, and all the Altean alchemists agreeing that some kind of massive quantum Event certainly occurred even if they don’t know what.

Mostly the story exists as a place for me to have a canon-compliant AU that still lets me explore stuff like Altean history, the racial and cultural tensions of the Coalition, dink around with Oldadins that DON’T die in one fell swoop, a living Daibazaal and Altea, Lotor growing up with a decent-but-not-without-strains relationship with his dad, teen Allura and tiny Lotor being absolute shits to each other while also coming to terms as they grow up with who and what they MUST be both on a political and quantum scale, and generally prove that even a perfect universe isn’t, all in one place. The title is entirely facetious, and anyone who’s read any of my alien culture headcanons for this series knows that. Lol. Current status: lots of bits and pieces, but no good beginning or connective tissue. I have a lot of notes, some arc outlines, and a few scattered scenes and bits of dialogue from later in the story, but my god, I CANNOT get it off the ground.

3. Someone Must Get Hurt (But It Won’t Be Me) is supposed to be a pretty wholly Honerva-centric fic that starts...sometime in her youth?...and carries forward to an as-yet-undetermined point. Probably her death. I mean the first one. I’m not sure. Another chance to dig my fingers into Altean culture and Alchemy, this time leading up to All The Bad Shit That Happened, with the added bonus of being done from a focal point of a character I have a lot of really strong feelings about both positive and negative that’s resulted in me somehow being EVEN MORE wrapped up in her than I was before I added abject knee-jerk trauma hatred to the mix. In no way meant to make Honerva more sympathetic, I think I just want to write her even more like my mother so I’ll feel EVEN BETTER about killing her? Idk man my feelings about her are so complicated. Also an excuse to write a shitpot of her and Zarkon because listen, I’m really glad they’re married because I ship them so fuckin hard. Current Status: SO many notes. SO much infrastructure. Like three pages of an opening I’m almost definitely throwing away because I can’t decide where, when, or how to open but feel like this isn’t it. One short but very telling scene of Honey and Zarkon from late in the story. I’m obsessed with it but I can’t get anywhere.

4. Currently Untitled Demon Hunter AU started because my wife talks to me about Happier HOPEless a LOT and I just got an itch in my bones to work on one myself. In spite of the entire Demon Hunter AU thing getting started by a prompt on a Shance blog, neither Shiro nor Lance are set to appear for at least a chapter? And I am not confident in my ability to not veer off into utter non-shipping anyway because man, am I bad at it. Or like...just an entirely different ship for either or both of them. Current Status: A lot of vague notes, a POWERFUL urge to structure the chapters and overall arc after Ripley’s Gates even though that limits my chapter count and means I will DEFINITELY have 20k+ word chapters, and about seven pages of the first chapter so I guess I’m committed now?

5. Currently Untitled Post Series Fic basically exists for me to vent my frustrations about two main things: The Universe is Fucking Huge And There Are Dangers Other Than Galra, and The Galra Empire Was Huge and Is Not Going To All Fall In Line Behind Voltron Coalition and Especially Behind Keith Who Just Arbitrarily Fucking Decided To Tell Them They Couldn't Pick A New Leader According To Their Own Traditions And Need To Do What They’re Told Now What The Fuck. Also there was a lot of stuff in the series that got left hanging, and while ReVolt is an IN-series fix-it fic, I wanted something that patched up loose ends in a way that was satisfactory to me but also kind of canon-compliant. Current Status: A lot of notes and screaming. No one has seen my progress on this and they might never.

6. Dog Runs And Death Dreams is a warmup file turned deeply self-indulgent series of scenes in which I choose to assume that Shiro’s rare neuromuscular disorder was left so ambiguous so I could plug the symptoms of mine into it. It’s genuinely not any deeper than that. The whole thing is set pre-Kerberos, and includes copious Shiro x Adam content because of it, but also not the kind that makes me feel good about writing because that means it includes the ‘slow fizzle’ that leads up to their breakup before the mission. Ugh. Working on it does make me feel better when I've been having symptoms, though, and I’ve been letting myself write it, unchastised, in a really loose rambly way that I usually deride myself for. It’s just cathartic. Current Status: no notes, no plan, just strain-writing between seizures, but somehow it feels like it has some kind of structure and just keeps growing? Possibly too close to the bone for me to ever post.

7. Birth and Rebirth was born out of two things: the fact that Zarkon is shown to have two ENTIRELY DIFFERENT reactions to first being presented with his baby son in different flashbacks and different seasons, and the fact that in spite of the flashbacks we get at the end of the series, earlier on, the impression I got of Lotor and Zarkon’s relationship wasn’t of a young man who had never had affection from his father, but who had instead lost it. Well, three things: I have a lot of underlying issues at work, at play, and at large when it comes to the Galra Imperial Family. Also, anyone notice the monitor blips in the first baby Lotor flashbacks indicate a heart murmur? Anyway, it was supposed to be a thoroughly self-indulgent and thoroughly self-hurtful examination of Lotor’s early life and the death by degrees of what was left of his father in the husk Rift Adventures left behind, but I got stuck on it a little way in. Current Progress: ten pages, a lot of notes, and some wistfulness. I keep hoping I’ll get inspired to pick it back up again. Contemplating rewriting some of the beginning, maybe it’ll help?

Bonus entry that is not actually in any form of progress soever:

50/50 Voltron Trashfire Edition is spawned from the ‘50/50′ challenge on an old TF board I used to haunt. It’s a fifty-prompt smut challenge using the list of ‘50 reasons to have sex’ from some tv show, and the idea is to write a different ship for every prompt (hence the name). My wife is blazing through it and has several (like twelve?) up on her AO3, but I’ll be utterly blunt: I haven’t written fifty porn fics in my LIFE. Over ALL my fandoms. Current Status: Literally all I have done is assign a ship to each prompt, and I might actually have some prompts with just question marks beside them still. I have one aborted start to one entry. That’s it. It’s not happening. But the empty file is technically in the folder, SO.

#things Rewire Writes #disregard I'm decompiling #writing woes #fanfiction: the struggle #the state of the rest of these makes me a little worried about Revolt tbh #I need to unclog the writing pen in my brain

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gwiiyeoweo · 5 years

Link

Prompto learns the intricacies of living with a god.

Pairing: Prompto/Noctis Rating: T

Surprisingly, having a god as a roommate wasn’t too complicated. Noctis seemed content to sit on the couch and play video games or borrow Prompto’s phone to play King’s Knight (until one day when Noctis pulled out his own smartphone from seemingly out of nowhere). Which was great, especially on days when he was swamped with homework or had to study for an exam; he’d hate to leave Noct just hangin’ like that. Sometimes Noctis poked his nose around in Prompto’s study material or borrowed library books, but not usually without commentary — especially when it came to the Cosmogony texts, or anything relating to the Astrals, for that matter.

“Really?” Noctis nearly spat out his drink one night, the night Prompto learned gods could get drunk. In one hand he held a volume of the Cosmogony, in the other was a can of cheap beer.

“Listen, it says here that Bahamut, and I quote, ‘handpicked a pious maiden and bestowed upon her the power of the Stars and his trident.’Bullshit.” He looked up from the offending text and squinted at Prompto, traces of pink dusting his cheeks. “Listen, Prom. Listen,” his words came in a slur. “Bahamut. Bahamut’s a little bitch, y’hear me? And, and a fuuuhh — a fuckboy.”

Noctis rolled his eyes and slammed his beer down on the table. “‘Bestow his trident,’ huh? Yeah, he gave her his trident alright.”

Prompto choked on his poptart, eyes bulging out his sockets as he coughed out cheap cherry filling and crumbs. “No w-way, man.”

“Yes way. Bahamut got around back in th’ day. It said somewhere, that us Astrals don’t show up around y’humans a lot. Yeah? Well, Bahamut, my man. Nuh-uh, not ‘im.” Noctis tossed his head back and threw his arm up, laughing into the back of his hand. “He would make himself look like, like a sex god, you shoulda seen it. Like a damn twelve-pack and Fabio hair and everything, the whole package. It was ridiculous.”

Noctis lifted his head just enough to share a deadly serious look with Prompto. “Between you and me? I think the only reason he’s stuck in that, uh, that Crystal is ‘cause he’s too sex’d out.”

Afterwards, Noctis fell onto his side and cuddled the Cosmogony into his chest, silent for the rest of the night, save for the occasional soft snore, leaving Prompto alone to process his emotional and mental turmoil on his very new, very disturbing piece of information.

And that was one concern that had quickly come up — the problem of sleeping accommodations. Sometimes Noctis would just stay up until Prompto fell asleep, would wait until the boy slapped on his chocobo pyjamas and crawled into bed. On those nights, Noctis would just smile sweetly and tuck him in, pat him on the chest a couple times, turn the light off, and leave the bedroom. Prompto would strain his ears to hear the tell-tale click of the front door. Sometimes he heard Noctis leave the apartment, sometimes he didn’t. In the morning when Prompto woke up, the god would be waiting in the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. He never asked about what Noctis did on the nights that he left.

On other nights, Noctis would fall asleep on the couch; and not wanting to disturb him, Prompto would tiptoe around the living space and switch off the lights after carefully draping a blanket over him. But like always, Noctis would be waiting for him with his coffee once morning came around.

So when two weeks passed and Prompto had let the guilt and curiosity break off the final chip, he finally got the guts to ask Noctis. “What do you do when I sleep?”

On the floor, Noctis was hunched over. His hands stilled, and he looked up from the 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle he was working on, a photographic rendition of the Citadel. “I sleep. Like you.”

“Yeah, but sometimes you leave.”

“Sometimes I go for a walk. Then I go to sleep,” Noctis shrugged, turning his attention back to the puzzle, “You could say I go ‘back’ to the Noctis ‘tree,’ or to the stars, or whatever. Then I come back in the morning.” He ran his fingers through a small pile of pieces, when his brows quickly came together in a frown. In one swift motion, he stood from the puzzle and flopped onto the couch, where Prompto was studying. “Prompto, I told you. I’m here to stay. If you’re worried that I might just ditch you —”

Prompto shot up a defensive hand. “No! It’s not — well, sometimes I still wonder if this is all a dream and that you’re just like, some hallucination or something. But that’s not really why I’m asking.”

“Okay, so?”

“Well, sure the couch is nice, but it kinda hurts my back after sleeping on it for so long. And, like, I dunno how this ” — he gestured with his hands at Noctis — “really works, or if you even get stiff shoulders from sleeping on a couch, but… My bed’s, uh, a lot more comfortable. So, you could… Maybe, join me instead.” Oh boy, he could feel the heat creeping up his neck and his cheeks.

“You’re asking me to sleep with you?” Noctis asked, lips curling into a sly grin.

“Not like sex! But, well, basically? I mean, not like I wouldn’t want to! Like, Noct, you’re totally hot, with this whole dark and mysterious cool vibe going on, but uh. Just, I mean, I totally see you as my bud. But it’s not like we could get something more going on later — and how would an Astral and a human even do this dating thing anyway — and does that, did that even happen before? I, I mean Bahamut was going around banging everyone, like you said, and I’m not slut-shaming any gods or I might get electrocuted or something but… I, uh.” Prompto covered his face with both his hands. “I’ll just shut up now.”

He knew this was a bad idea. Oh gods, he just wanted to sink into the couch and let it eat him. Hell, he’d even be okay with Bahamut striking him down right here and now for blasphemy or whatever.

Noctis, however, took it in stride and laughed it off. “Sure, Prom,” he said, reaching over to pat the poor guy on his shoulder.

And just like that, it was done. Prompto felt the shift in weight on the couch, and he peeked through his fingers to see Noctis back on the floor, working on his 1000-piece puzzle.

That night — and for most nights thereafter — once Prompto packed up his textbooks for tomorrow and threw on his cactuar PJs, Noctis slinked through the door in a pair of black boxers and a loose tee, climbed into a bed that seemed to fit two people just right. Somewhere along the way Prompto discovered he liked being the big spoon and that Noctis had no problem tucking himself in between his arms.

(Prompto did have to wonder, though, how and where Noctis got all his clothes when he never went shopping.)

“Hey, Noct.”

“M’yea?” he answered through a mouthful of pizza. Apparently Astrals didn’t need to eat, but Noctis could still enjoy flavors and spices and textures. He had quickly developed a habit of picking bits and pieces from Prompto’s food, or digging around the fridge for some cold meats or half-eaten leftovers that were a touch too ripe. Which worked perfectly, actually. Prompto wasn’t a starving college student, as he had a government stipend as well as a decent sum gifted from his parents to tide him over. Thing was, his budget was meant for himself, and himself only; he couldn’t really spend funds on feeding an extra mouth. So the fact that it was impossible for Noctis to starve definitely came as a plus.

“How come you look like that?” Prompto kept his eyes on the screen of his laptop, fingers typing away on his keyboard, only stopping when he realized that maybe his words weren’t the best choice. “I mean, like, my age. Some people said you were a little kid, or an older guy.”

‘Or a dilf,’ he thought to himself. Many of the posts that claimed Noctis as an older man, definitely did not leave out their biases and chose descriptions like “hot dad” or “daddy Noctis.” But the Noctis who was with him now, in the flesh and in his apartment, was scavenging his fridge with a half-eaten slice of pizza hanging from his mouth like some backstreet raccoon. And his looks barely passed as a young adult. There was still some softness of youth cushioning his features, a fairly slim but lean physique that girls would absolutely gush over. With his long eyelashes and smooth skin, he was the picture-perfect “pretty boy” Prompto had seen and heard his high school classmates squeal about way back then.

But, as Prompto paused to glance at Noctis, he could kinda see it — the whole “daddy Noctis.” He imagined an older Noct, the baby fat melted away to reveal sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut mythril, and maybe a trimmed beard to add some age. Would older Noctis have longer hair? Or maybe a cropped hairstyle? Noctis would probably keep his lean muscle, but maybe broader shoulders or something. What were even the requirements to be “daddy” anyway? Obviously it didn’t include having an actual kid though. (Did… Did Astrals even have children? Could they?)

“Well,” Noctis said, shutting the fridge door with his hip, each hand holding cartons of two-week old takeout, “I pick whatever floats their boat.” He set them on the kitchen counter and picked the lids off, leaning his face down to sniff the contents. He wrinkled his nose at one of the leftovers but chose to stick a fork in it anyway, twirling the cold noodles around before taking a bite.

“Dude, I don’t know how you do that,” Prompto gagged. “Or why, even.” He supposed it was his fault for not eating them sooner, for letting them go rancid. But that’s just one of the perks of having an ancient deity for a roommate, he justified. In the same way Noctis didn’t have to eat, he didn’t get sick from eating expired food bordering on mold and fungi. What would otherwise go into the trash or down the drain, went straight into the god’s stomach. Recycling at its best.

“If you’re talking about the food,” Noctis said, after swallowing down the slippery noodles, “It’s not that bad. Does taste kinda funky though, like artisanal cheese or something.” He swirled his fork, the carton making a distinct sound of something disgustingly wet and thick. “There might be some mold though, unless that’s just fuzzy cilantro.”

Prompto was pretty sure there was a blasphemy law or something out there, that strictly forbade people from offering gods old-ass food and moldy noodles. He learned last week to not think about it, however, and to let Noct eat what he wanted.

“But if you’re asking why I’m a twenty-something-year-old, it made the most sense.” Noctis tossed the empty carton into the trash and pointed his fork at Prompto. “Figured you’d want someone around the same age. I’m ninety-nine percent sure you wished for a friend, not a little brother or a dad.”

Oh. Well, that made sense. “Fair enough. I guess it’d get kinda old having to stop for old ladies that want to squish your baby cheeks.” Prompto paused, remembering the posts of people drooling over middle-aged Noctis. “Or crushing on hot dad Noct.”

That managed to pique Noctis’ interest, however, and his fork stopped mid-air on its way to the second carton. “Hot what who?”

Prompto realized then and there that Noctis did not, in fact, realize how badly people were thirsting for him.

“Oh, man, Noct buddy. The thirst out there is real .” Prompto laughed and pulled up a new tab, clicking on a link he bookmarked long ago. He scrolled through a few pages as Noct made his way to stand behind Prompto and look over his shoulder. The blonde stopped at a juicy string of replies and posts, angling the laptop screen so they could both see. “Your fans are so wild, my guy.”

> I hope all the gods are as handsome, if only i saw him shirtless lol > Omg ur not the only one. If i knew he looked like a hot piece of tall dark and gorgeous, i would’ve been soooooo much more specific with my wish. ;P

Some of the posts were a little more flattering. Others, less so.

> do u guys think that if i wished hard enough, he’d sit on my face > honestly? I don’t know if i want to pound that sweet ass or get rekt by him > y not both? ;D

Prompto wasn’t sure what he had expected, but Noctis took it… Pretty well. In fact, they spent a good few hours bonding and laughing over the sheer thirst of these people. At some point in the night, they even came up with a drinking game.

“I mean, technically, this one mentions ‘daddy,’ ‘bondage,’ and ‘babies.’ So that’s what? Half a beer?”

Which quickly became a bad idea. Prompto was sure his liver was going to fail on him by his umpteenth bottle. Noctis — and damn him, and his stupid Astral powers — seemed to be unaffected despite having just as many drinks. He was cheating, using magic or whatever, to flush the alcohol out of his system, and Prompto whined as he was guided into the bedroom. This was so unfair. He was never going to have a drinking contest with Noctis ever again.

Unceremoniously, he was dropped onto his bed, and a pillow bounced off the mattress. “Ugh, ‘eyy, I’m delicate goods, y’knoooow,” Prompto groaned, rolling onto his side and burying his face into the blanket. It wasn’t a soft landing, and it probably would have actually hurt if not for the alcohol numbing his systems.

“Yeah? Pretty sure those posters would be more than happy to be thrown into bed by yours truly.” Noctis picked up the pillow and gently tossed it at Prompto’s head.

“Pfft. And now what?” Prompto pulled the pillow off his face and tucked it under his head. “You’re gonna ravish me, oh Mister Noctis?” he said, with half-lidded eyes, though his wiggling eyebrows killed whatever attempt of seduction he was aiming for.

Noctis snorted and crawled into bed, shoving Prompto to make space. “Pretty sure you said you’d rather do the ravishing, oh Mister Prompto.”

“Mmm, too tired to do any ravishing.”

“Then stop talking and get some sleep.”

“Okay-dokay,” he said, a pinch too chipper. ”G’night, oh Mister Noctis.”

Noctis placed a chaste kiss on his nose. “Night, nerd.”

It was winter break when Prompto would finally introduce Noctis to his acquaintances. (He had gotten an A on that research paper; not because of his stellar writing, but because Noctis insisted on meeting the professor himself, and that was a whole story for another day.) The Amicitias were having a potluck, and Gladio had invited Prompto and Ignis. It went without saying that Prompto was freaking the fuck out, when he read the text.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.” He had been pacing back and forth, hands rubbing nervously at his face, for a good while now. “I'm invited to the Amicitia's. The house of the Shield. This is, like, huge!”

Noctis was on his bed, sitting up against the headboard when he swiped through Prompto's phone, reading the text that had gotten him so riled up. “Uh-huh. That's what it says,” he said, not impressed at all. “It's just a little party and some food.”

“Noct!” Prompto swirled around and stomped over to Noctis, clamping his hands on the other's shoulders. He looked at him dead in the eye, with all the seriousness of a soldier marching towards his death. “The Shield. They're like, almost royalty .”

Noctis shrugged, expression remaining bored. “So? Your parents are in Niflheim's Council. You're basically in the same boat as that Gladio guy, even if you keep calling yourself a pleb. Which, you know, you're really not.”

Prompto just gave an indignant shriek as he fell over Noctis’ legs and buried his face into the blanket. “It's not the same,” he groaned.

Noctis may have a point about their social classes being not so different, but it's not like a god could understand the struggles of lowly humans. Back in Niflheim, it wasn't as if Prompto was even well-known; he was just the kid of some government officials. The Amicitia family had this prestigious pedigree and a noble, gallant history to boot. If anything, Prompto really was a pleb in comparison.

Noctis drew his legs from underneath Prompto and laid on his side, parallel to the other. He gave a few sympathetic pats on his back but rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “You're really freaking out about this, huh?”

Prompto wordlessly nodded, face still glued to his bed.

“You can pass, you know. That's totally an option, in case you forgot.”

Prompto finally lifted his face to stare at Noctis, a stubborn frown pulling on his lips. “No way. This is an opportunity of a lifetime.” He rolled onto his back and sighed, dragging his hands down his face. “Gladio's pretty cool, but I guess the issue is with everyone else that's gonna be there. Everyone knows I'm a Niff, and well.” He waved his hands in the air, letting the implications speak for him.

“And Lucis is still on edge with Niflheim,” Noctis finished for him. “I know. I've seen the way people look at you.”

The sneers, the whispers, those eyes. But it wasn't as bad as it used to be, when Prompto was alone. Noctis’ presence itself was comforting, filled a hole in his life that had been there before he even arrived in Insomnia, but it also provided another form of relief. Walking the streets alone left him too vulnerable to the baleful stares and whispered curses. But with Noctis, who looked every inch a pure-blooded Lucian, walking side by side and laughing over shared drinks or stealing fries, it made all of them second-guess themselves. He could tell by the confused or surprised expressions, and he sometimes caught the weird looks they gave. It filled him with a sense of gleeful vindication.

(Noctis had easily caught on — or rather, he had known from the start. On their first outing together, he had made damn sure to be as touchy-feely as possible or laugh just a tad too loud at bad jokes, he had admitted to Prompto.)

Noctis looked at the message again, skimming over the short three lines of text. “You know,” he said, his eyebrows perking up, “I can come with. He said you could bring a friend along.”

“What?” Prompto shot up, and he reached over to snatch his phone back from Noct's clutches. He furrowed his eyebrows, read the text message twice over. “You're right. Oh! You, uh, you'd really be okay with coming with me?”

“Duh. It's a potluck. I'm always up for food.”

They spent three days looking up party foods, mostly at Prompto’s frantic insistence: “Dude, I can’t be the one guy who just brings the crappy off-brand chips and shitty dip.” Finally, Noctis took matters into his own hands and decided for Prompto, one hand dragging the blonde out for grocery shopping, the other pulling up a lasagna recipe on his phone.

“Ugghhh. Can’t you just use your magic and just, magically make some kind of one-food-satisfies-all sort of thing?” Prompto groaned, reading the label on a jar of tomato sauce. He tossed two in the shopping cart, then threw in another just in case.

“Technically, I could.” Noctis pushed the cart along, grabbing a few bottles of dried spices. “But you never filled out the ‘Stellarian Make-A-Wish Form’ and that takes four to six business days to get to me. And we definitely have less than four days to get this thing cooked up.”

“What. I didn’t know I had to sign forms! And business days? Dude, you’re right here.”

“Sorry, Noctis the Stellarian isn’t here right now. Please call again during normal business hours or leave a message after the beep.” Noctis walked off, leaving the cart behind. He never even said beep.

“Nooooooct!”

They had managed to make two large pans of lasagna, and it tasted pretty damn good in Prompto’s opinion. (Noctis’ opinion didn’t count, since he could eat practically anything, aside from his aversion to vegetables.) Better yet, they had managed to keep the kitchen intact, only burning one mitten and two hand towels. With the food out of the way, the only thing left was what the fuck was he going to wear.

Prompto was going to be late, and oh gods, his anxiety was spiking. He never asked Gladio if the dress code was casual or formal wear, and he wasn’t going to take his chances with guessing ugly sweater party. He rummaged through his dressers and tossed shirts and pants all over the bed and floor, only pausing to press a shirt against his chest and stand in front of the mirror every few minutes. He should have been out ten minutes ago, but here he was freaking out over what sweater to wear, and he was pretty sure being late would make for bad first impressions. It was a vicious cycle.

Noctis stood by the bedroom door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, when he rolled his eyes and sighed. He stepped through the whirlwind of clothes scattered all over the place, and stooped to pick up a long-sleeved shirt. Wordlessly, he shoved it in Prompto’s hands and manhandled the blonde out of the way, pulling out a pair of black slacks from the dresser. “Go, change. Now,” he ordered.

“Yeah, but —”

“Chill, Prom. It’s not like you’re meeting the King of Lucis or anything. So just change already.”

Noctis was a filthy liar.

Surprisingly, they made it to the Amicitia manor with three minutes to spare. Prompto had expected security checks or battle-hardened guards standing watch from lookout towers, maybe a couple black guard dogs too. So when he pressed a finger to the intercom and offered his name and reason for visitation, he was taken back when the gates opened only seconds after, with no vicious attack dog or security uniform in sight. Noctis looked a little too smug, who had listened to Prompto’s over speculation and frenzied rants, and sauntered right on in.

Prompto followed at his heels, and was greeted by cheery instrumental music and all sorts of tantalizing aromas, a blend of spices he’s never smelled before. He zeroed in on the long tables topped with food, some brought in tupperware or actual plates. It was reassuring to see aluminum trays lining the tables; he and Noctis brought in their lasagna in aluminum pans, too, and he had worried that maybe they should have splurged on those ceramic pans instead. They managed to find an empty spot for their dishes, though Noctis had to subtly rearrange a few plates around to make room for the tight fit.

“Hey, Prompto!” That gruff voice was unmistakable, but so was the hand that clamped itself on Prompto’s shoulder, nearly jostling him. “Good to see you made it.”

“Oh, hey, Gladio. Thanks for inviting me,” Prompto chirped, as if he hadn’t been rattled with anxiety and stress for nearly a week. He waved a hand over Noctis. “I brought a friend with me, if that’s cool.”

“Nah, you’re good. I did say you could bring one,” he said to Prompto, before turning his attention to Noctis. “I’m Gladiolus, but call me Gladio.”

“Noctis. Just Noct’s good. You’re Clarus’ son, yeah?”

“Yep, son of the Shield and all that.” Gladio paused a moment, an amused smile ghosting over his lips. “Noctis, like… the Stellarian?”

“Noctis, exactly like the Stellarian,” Noctis replied, ignoring the way Prompto coughed.

“Huh. Bet you get teased about that a lot.”

“You get used to it,” he said with a wry grin, throwing a sidelong glance to his friend.

It was mostly smooth sailing from there, despite Prompto’s prior apprehension but according to Noctis’ reassurances — which came in comforting whispers and light hand squeezes. However, they didn’t seem to escape the hawk-ish gaze of one Ignis Scientia, who gave them a knowing look and a tilt of the lips over the rim of his wine glass. Even Gladio the musclehead noticed, nudging Prompto with his elbow and blowing a low whistle. It wasn’t like they were trying to be inconspicuous anyway; having been caught, Noctis laughed and gave them a full view of a smack of lips on a freckled cheek, at the price of Prompto’s flushed embarrassment.

Prompto still wasn’t sure what was going on between them, and Noctis gave no indication of his own. It had been casual flirting here, an offhand comment there, and somehow it turned into little shared kisses on the cheek or forehead. What he did know, however, was that he enjoyed it and wanted to see where things would take them. It was a little awkward to be caught sharing their affections, especially when he himself was still trying to process his own feelings about them, but it filled him with a tingly warmth all the same.

And it was almost enough to ignore a familiar, unsettling gaze that bore through the back of his skull. No matter how many cups of eggnog he downed, Prompto would always know what that sort of look was; he had been on the receiving end of it for far too long to not know. It was the judgmental stare of a stuck-up noble, the prejudice of a narrow mind — or in this case, the animosity of a Crownsguard official. Having had enough and feeling his confidence bolstered by the buzz of alcohol, Prompto turned to see who was glaring daggers at him, to find who the burning gaze belonged to. The uniform screamed Crownsguard, his face the same stern expression of a military man ready to snap and bark, and Prompto had immediately turned back around the second he saw that scowl. Okay, so maybe he regretted looking just a little.

But he managed to get on, because out of sight, out of mind and all that, yeah? He could still feel the little pin pricks as the hairs on the back of his neck stood at guard, could feel the barb wired glances given his way, but as the hour wore on, he managed to relax until the perpetual stare melted like the ice in his punch, into nothing but a distant reminder. The man had seemed satisfied to just shoot scowls at Prompto, which he was able to fare with and mostly ignore, and nothing had happened so far. Not to mention he was in the Amicitia household, so surely he was safe. No one would want to start a fight in the Shield’s home, right?

Wrong.

“What do you think you’re doing here?”

Prompto had returned to the punch bowl to refill his drink, leaving Noctis to carry on with Ignis and Gladio. And yeah, that probably wasn’t a good idea, to present himself vulnerable as a lone target.

Prompto set his cup on the table and turned to stand face-to-face with the Crownsguard who had been shooting metaphorical knives at him for the past hour-ish. And maybe it was the liquid courage that was in the punch and eggnog that had Prompto puffing out his chest, but damn it , he was at a party and enjoying himself for once! He really did not need some asshole bursting his bubble.

“I’m getting punch, what does it look like?” Prompto huffed, gesturing to the very obvious bright red of the glass bowl.

“Sure you’re not planning on poisoning us, Niff?” The Crownsguard scoffed, eyes narrowing in suspicion and scorn. “Wouldn’t doubt it if you poisoned the food either.”

Okay. This was guy was hella rude. Their lasagna was actually good — he and Noct worked very hard on that, for his information.

He opened his mouth in protest, to point out they suffered a burnt mitten to get the damn pan out of the oven, to point out all the hard work and mess that had gone into it, until Noctis came over, planting himself between Prompto and the asshat Crownsguard.

“You got issues with my lasagna?” Noctis crossed his arms across his chest, his chin tilted up. Prompto couldn’t see, but he was pretty sure there was a scowl on his face. He also couldn’t help the vindictive glee in his chest.

“I got issues with the Niff here, not you, kid. He doesn’t belong here.”

“Sure he does. He got an invitation from the Amicitia over there,” he said, motioning a hand to Gladio, who was looking in their direction with concern, ready to intervene. “And besides, you got an issue with Prompto, you got an issue with me.”

“Look, kid. You’re better off not hanging around Niffs —”

“I’m not a kid,” Noctis practically growled. Though Noct was technically right, Prompto figured his looks… Kinda barely passed as an adult though.

“And I can do what I want, so don’t you tell me what to do.” Noctis jabbed a sharp finger into the Crownsguard chest. At this point, Gladio and some other man — ‘ Oh shit, is that Clarus Amicitia ?!’ Prompto silently screamed — were making their way over. But they would be too slow.

“Watch yourself, kid, or you'll be seeing stars,” the Crownsguard hissed. His shoulders tensed, and Prompto could see the faint lines of muscle tightening. This was so not good. He could feel the stare and attention focused on them, the worried murmurs and hushed whispers. He wished he had refilled his glass so he had punch to swallow down all this tension he was surely going to choke on.

“Oh, yeah?” Noctis snarled, bristling like an angry cat, Prompto imagined, with his curled up fingers and stiff white knuckles. He saw Noctis’ head twitch, jerk ever so slightly to his left, when Prompto caught a glimpse of a foreboding smirk. He followed Noctis’ line of sight, and it took every ounce of steel willpower to not scream.

Because standing right there was King Regis Lucis Fucking Caelum.

Prompto felt his eyes bulge from his skull, as the blood drained from his face to be replaced with ice cold water. Oh, Six. He was breathing, right? In, out? He could barely hear the rush of blood in his ears, too busy internally screaming into the void and all that.

‘ Chill, he said! You’re not gonna meet the King of Lucis, he said. It’s gonna be fun, he said!’ Whoever told him gods didn’t lie needed to go check themself.

He barely caught onto Noctis, too busy freaking out over literal royalty over there to stop him when he heard That Tone in his voice.

“Well, guess what?” Noctis had dropped his knees slightly. And with all the fury of a burning star, he slammed his fist up into the Crownsguard’s jaw in a brutal uppercut before either of them had time to blink. Prompto was pretty sure there was a kungfu movie with a similar title. Fist of the — South? West? — Star or something. It was over as quickly as it had started, and the body dropped in a skin-crawling thump.

“ Twinkle twinkle, motherfucker .”

Noctis shook his wrist, grimacing lightly from the impact. But it was quickly replaced with a shit-eating grin when he turned his gaze back to King Regis, who looked pretty damn chill despite witnessing someone knock out his Crownsguard, as opposed to the panic rising in Prompto’s own chest.

“Hey, Reggie. Long time no see,” Noctis all but laughed, who was way too calm about all of this.

A flash of confusion and irritation passed over the King’s face, but it quickly melted into shocked realization then mild exasperation. Prompto was still too stunned to think of anything, but he could have sworn there was a hint of fondness in the man’s eyes.

By the time Gladio kneeled beside the Crownsguard, Clarus moved in on Noctis, taking long strides with a definite purpose. Prompto almost threw an arm out to shield Noctis behind him, to point out that the Crownsguard was being an ass and Noctis was just defending him so could he please just —

“Clarus, stand down. It’s alright,” King Regis ordered. Clarus stopped dead in his tracks, hand left in mid-air as he was just about to grab Noctis. Regis ignored the unconscious guard and walked up to the Astral, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Nearly twenty years, Noctis, and not a single hello. I must say, you know how to make an entrance.”

Prompto briefly remembered his first meeting with Noct’s shoe. Yeah, that had been an entrance alright.

“What can I say? I’m just that good.” Noctis shrugged and glanced over at Prompto, then past him at the tables behind. “Want to try our lasagna?” he asked the King.

“If I did not know any better, I would leap at the opportunity. But having past experiences with your cooking, I do think I prefer living. I’ve a kingdom to run, after all.”

“Hey!” Noctis interjected, smiling.

Still, the two laughed as if they had been old friends, ignoring the confused and slightly terrified faces around them. But knowing Noctis’ long, longhistory, Prompto didn’t doubt they truly had a bond.

He didn’t notice the King’s attention on him until Noctis nudged him on the shoulder. “Eh? What?”

“Prompto Argentum, was it?” King Regis asked.

“U-uh, yeah!” he stammered, feeling the pressure of the King’s gaze. Then he quickly added, “Your Majesty.” He couldn’t believe he was talking to the King, not to mention he even remembered Prompto’s name. And also not to mention, he was still not over the fact he had shaken his hand all those months ago, on the day he first arrived in Insomnia.

“I would love to hear how you met dear Noctis over here, whenever you’d be willing.”

“Noct? Um, yeah! Totally! Er, Your Grace.”

King Regis chuckled, deep and warm, and merely nodded. “Now, let’s try that lasagna, hm? You, too, Clarus! If I die of food poisoning, we die together.”

“Your Majesty, please,” the Shield sighed.

Prompto never really figured how it happened or when it all started. But one snowy morning, when he woke up to Noct's sleeping face and terrible bed hair, he was suddenly struck with a revelation.

‘Huh. I love this man,’ he thought. It was weird. He expected metaphorical fireworks and the heavy beating of his heart with that dizzying blood rush, waited for it with silent expectancy and any minute now .

But nothing came.

Two minutes, then five minutes. Ten. Nothing. Instead, he was left with the soft knowledge of his feelings, the gentle warmth that settled in his stomach as he watched Noctis and the slow rise of his chest with each steady breath. And this warmth, it was nothing new; it had been there for well over a year now, when his loneliness was replaced by this bright little star. And not even a month ago, Gladio and Ignis had referred to Prompto as their friend .

There were no grand explosions, no sparks of passion and heated kisses stolen between short, frenzied breaths. It had come silently. Like the slow rise of the morning’s light streaming in through the window, like the lazy snowfall covering Insomnia, settling so gently that he wouldn’t know how much had piled up unless he drew back the curtains and looked out into the heart of the city.

Prompto closed his eyes and smiled into his pillow, snuggling a bit closer to his favorite little star, and drifted back to sleep, falling to the comfort of knowing everything would work out, that everything already had. And Noctis, still deep in his sleep, responded to the shift and threw a cold leg over Prompto’s, eliciting a quiet breathy laugh.

Yeah, everything would be just fine.

Bonus

“So, you look pretty good. Older, but still good.” Noctis said over the rim of his glass.

Regis resisted the urge to roll his eyes and to fall back to his younger years of bantering and snickering, to the days of his youth spent with the Astral. “Yes. Well, ageing does that to mortals, Noctis. I would like to say the same to you, except you’ve gotten… Younger.”

He almost hadn’t recognized Noctis, when he watched the younger man knock his Crownsguard off his feet. He had felt the flames of angry retribution and indignation ignite, until that age-old smirk caught him off guard, when he recognized that smile, that specific tilt of the lips, but he couldn’t place it — not until he saw that set of steel-blue eyes that seemed to hide all the world’s stars behind them.

After all those years, Regis never expected to see him again. Ever. And especially not in Clarus’ home. Yet here they were again, sitting by the fireplace with plates of lasagna and glasses of champagne, basking in each other’s company as they had done in what seemed like a lifetime ago. (The lasagna was, surprisingly, quite good.)

“You were an older man, back in my youth. I almost failed to recognize you.”

Noctis was a bit taller, back then, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and age lines that looked to add wisdom around his eyes. Regis, being but a boy back then, had looked up to the god, for when his own father was absent in his royal duties as King. For when he had wished for a father, someone who could actually spare more than ten minutes a day for his son.

“Oh, yeah. ‘Daddy Noct,’” Noctis snorted. “Apparently that’s what I’m called nowadays, when I look like that. Y'know, you never actually called me dad.”

Young Regis had never gotten over that strange pride-ego-dignity trinity that teenage boys tended to have, and refused to call Noctis any version of the word “father” despite his wish being just that. They both knew he had been the closest thing to what a father should actually be, but those times were gone; however, Regis now saw a dear old friend instead. Plus, it'd just be downright weird for a grown man to call a younger one his dad.

“As I am aware.” Regis earned an incredulous look, to which he responded, “I know how to use the internet, Noctis.”

“Yeah, but it’s weird hearing that from you,” Noctis mumbled around his fork. He looked to the fireplace, the flames dancing in the dark of his eyes. “Time sure flies, huh, Reggie? You used to be so small. Now look at you.” He gently placed his fork down, lightly clinking against the ceramic, meeting his gaze with Regis’. “You grew into a fine king.”

They let a comfortable silence fall over them, save for the crackle of wood and the cheery music playing in the distance. Clarus had made sure the two could get their own little space, away from the rest of the party.

Finally, Regis spoke up again. “I never properly thanked you for granting my wishes.”

“Don’t mention it. All I did was get the ball rolling. You’re the one who pushed it to the finish line. Now look.” Noctis nodded over behind them, where Ignis was trying (and failing) to teach Prompto a proper waltz. “You finally got peace for your kingdom, even after the mess your father left behind.”

“Still. If it weren’t for your hand in all this—”

“Reggie, stop, you’ll make me blush,” he said wryly. “But, uh, sorry that it took so long. Had a hard time coming to a compromise. Don’t tell him I told you, but” — Noctis leaned in, and Regis mimicked the gesture — “I had a little argument with Bahamut. He kept insisting that Lucis wipe Niflheim out first, declare war and all that. Heck, that’s part of why Shiva’s doing her thing over there still, to soften them up and make the fight easier. It’s kinda hard to convince the god of war to not go to war, you know?”

“Ah. So Bahamut.”

“Yep.”

It was Regis’ turn to gaze into the fireplace. “I suppose you were right along,” he said after a brief moment. He turned to look back at Noctis in the eye and smiled with all the kingly grace he could muster.

“Bahamut is indeed, as you had put it, a fuckboy.”

#prompto argentum #noctis lucis caelum #ff15 #final fantasy xv #i can type #i forgot to post dis yesterday :v

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