“We cannot break bread with you. You have taken the land which is rightfully ours. Years from now my people will be forced to live in mobile homes on reservations. Your people will wear cardigans, and drink highballs. We will sell our bracelets by the road sides, you will play golf, and enjoy hot hors d'oeuvres. My people will have pain and degradation. Your people will have stick shifts. The gods of my tribe have spoken. They have said, “Do not trust the Pilgrims, especially Sarah Miller. And for all these reasons I have decided to scalp you and burn your village to the ground.”
Can I get a scenario with Ignis and his s/o dancing to a slow song? ❤️ btw;; you complete me, 😚
Aww, you’re so sweet.
You’ve been waiting for this little break in Lestallum. The days
and on the road, fun as they were, left you strung out and exhausted. You
adored the four blokes you travelled with but, by the Six, you needed a break.
You found what you were after in a small bar, crowded with
working women, the air thick with music and chatter. The fans were going, the
drinks were cheap and for once you looked good enough to eat. Nursing a
highball cocktail that was half ice and half something bright green, you leaned
against the bar and watched the crowd. You felt a little over dressed and
soft compared to the half-dressed power workers, definitely an outsider at a
glance, but it was like watching a water current flowing past, somehow relaxing.
The company helped.
Beside you, Ignis was noting something down in his little black
book, lips pressed into a line. He’d made a comment about the loud music when
he arrived, twenty minutes and two drinks late. Loud music was the point, you
told him, lips by his ear, breathing in the smell of his cologne, herbal and
fresh and working in tandem with the cocktails and heat. The sharp focus on his
eyes as you pulled back made it all the worse.
He bought you a drink and one
of his own and slipped into a seat beside you. During lulls in the music you
spoke heads craning close, sharing tastes of each other’s cocktails. You rocked
in time with the music, watching a crowd of dancer’s shimmy and twist.
A hand on yours pulled you
from your daze, a bare thumb and gloved fingers gliding over your skin. You
looked, meeting Ignis’ gaze. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, brows
lifting. He gave a slight nod towards the dance floor in invitation. You smiled
in reply, a little excited thrill squirming up your spine. Tangling your fingers in his, you nod and
slip off your stool.
The crowd is easy to slip through, people parting for the stranger in the room.
The music changes, slowing as you find a clear space and turn to your dancing
partner. Ignis seems to have eyes only for you. The hand holding yours gives
you a gentle squeeze before urging you closer. His other hand finds your hips,
and yours finds home against his chest.
“Did you plan that?” You asked
following his sway. It’s still crowded and hot despite the fans blowing across
the dancefloor and the goose bumps on your skin. Ignis was just as warm against
your front, a teasing smile on his lips.
“Would it help if I did?” He
replied over the crooning voice of some singer, fingers pressing gently through
the fabric of your top. You smiled, helpless, unable to look away even as he
turned you both around the floor.
“Maybe?” You said, losing his
gaze as light flashed over the lenses of his glasses. The music swelled and you
shivered, heart aching. You loved this song, dreamed of dancing to it one day
in white. For a moment you could almost pretend you were anywhere but a crowded
Ignis’ hand slipped around to
your back. “Are you alright?” He asked. You nodded, shoving your thoughts away
to focus on the man in front of you.
“Nostalgia.” You leaned in
closer. He was so warm and real, arms looping around you. It was almost too
warm to be held but you leaned in closer. “I love this song.” He chuckled, the
sound vibrating against your cheek.
Well, baiting me into anger always has been one of your favorite pastimes. I’ll remind you that I work very hard to keep my rage under wraps as the consequences for the loss of my temper can be rather… cataclysmic.
You assume I don’t know how to swear. But if you think I didn’t learn a thing or two from Alex ‘fuck off’ Danvers or Eliza ‘bullshit’ Danvers, you haven’t been doing your research. I’ll kindly remind you that I also speak a half-dozen languages with extraterrestrial origins. So, check your assumptions, oh great mistress.
So, you never hold back? You, who can routinely be seen with a highball glass fused to your palm? Who sabotaged Sandra Bullock’s spin bike rather than just ask her why she left you out of her ‘Powergirls’ weekend? You deal with everything by confronting it head-on? Yeah, ok, Cat. Whatever gets you through your nights. With Susan, presumably.
And while we’re on the subject, by the way, I am just fine at sharing. Running interference was my job. Would you rather have fielded needy questions from ‘Danielle in Fitness’ every other day? In her patterned stretch pants? In retrospect, maybe you would have. Need I remind you Susan Vasquez was my idea? You make me sound like I’m jealous, Miss Grant. Did you take a bump to your head in your recent incident? Oh god, did you? I hope you’re okay.
In any case, I couldn’t care less how many breakfasts you share with your favorite bodyguard. I’m simply ensuring you are settling into your new normal.
And to prove to you I am perfectly capable of expressing my anger and in the most polite way possible.
I’ve been taking a hiatus writing fics, but after reading so many others and obsessively playing the game (I’ve gotten quite good at fishing. Caught the Vespar Gar and the MF-ing Leige!), the bug bit like like a fish to a lure.
Anyway, here’s a thing for you to read. If it’s popular/demanded enough, I’ll continue writing it. This was my first stab at writing a reader fic, so the (Y/N) here is female, but feel free to change it to whatever you want in your head ^_^;
sighed heavily into his highball glass of whiskey; wine wouldn’t
cut it after today. The light-brown haired man picked up his glass
and sipped from it, letting the peaty, hot spirit coat his the
insides of his mouth and throat. His attention then turned to the
opening of the door, seeing a familiar face.