a p h ; o n e s h o t s

Iceland x Reader

You and Your Goddamn Cold Hands!

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•Your P.O.V

There was one thing about your Icelandic boyfriend that you absolutely despised, and it was a devious action in your opinion.

Emil Steilsson, the teen you've been dating since the last year of middle school, always had cold hands. And with those cold hands, he would touch your neck, your back, your stomach, sides, feet, and legs, with any given chance he had.

It bugged you like no tomorrow.

Anyway, currently you were sat in Emil's room, cross legged. He had the T.V on and wanted to play a video game with you, but there's only one controller. Allowing him to play first, you just sat on your phone, noticing the irritated grunts coming from your boyfriend of three years.

What you didn't notice, though, was the halting of those irritated grunts, and his chilled hands approaching you slowly.

Then, all of a sudden, you feel a sudden chill on your back. Jumping, you let out a squeak, and dropped your phone which slid off the side of the bed.

Emil smiled from behind you, and continued rubbing his frigid hands along your torso, just barely brushing his slender fingers underneath your bra wire (or bottom of your bra if you don't wear wired bras.)

It gave you goose bumps. Sometimes, he'd be punished with a slap on the cheek, or other times you would just let him do it because he was gentle (and you two were alone.)

Letting out a slightly annoyed yet content sigh, you spoke. "Emil, why do you do this?"

"Because your reactions are hilarious." He stated bluntly, yet a bit of mischief hiding behind his monotoned voice.

A blush began to rise to your cheeks as you felt his hands travel lower on your stomach. Turning, you lightly slapped his arm multiple times, more like a patting motion than anything.

"Hands off, pervert!" You said rather loudly, continuing your slapping on his pale, slender arm. He retracted his limbs, but only to pull you into an embrace.

Bringing you to lay on his lap, he began to mess with your hair. You could feel the cold radiating from his hands as they neared your face. "You're a freaking ice king, Emil. How do you deal with it?"

"You put your cold feet on my back in your sleep."

"Exactly! In my sleep."

"It's still cold."

"Then maybe you should put a shirt on."

"Mhm, sure," he started with sarcasm. "But you like what you see~" he said teasingly.

Your fading blush returned once more. You shook your head and rolled your eyes. "Like what? You don't have abs." You poked around his stomach playfully, a look of confusion and surprise crossing your face as you felt some muscle.

He smirked at you and rolled his eyes at your gesture. Ever so slowly, he reached into your shirt and past you bra, placing his still frigid hands on the sides of your breasts.

Letting out a shrill screech, you tried taking his hands from out your shirt. He only started laughing, squishing your breasts together, and watching your face and ears turn a bright crimson red.

"Emil I swear to god, you pervert!" You screeched once more.

This only drew a laugh from your Icelandic boyfriend as he removed his hands from your shirt and rubbed your sides, his hands warming up a bit. He placed a kiss on your cheek, nuzzling your neck.

Turning away, you mumbled,

"You and your god damn cold hands..."