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illegal-spiegel · 3 years

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The Selection

Pairing: Prince!Shoto Todoroki x f!reader Genre: angst, fluff, royal au Warnings: bullying, mentions of blood, scratches, and bruising. I think that’s it?? Summary: Prince Shoto is coming upon the age to marry one lucky lady, and to choose said lady, a contest is held. A woman from each district is chosen by the prince himself to compete to become his bride and the future queen. You, a woman from district nine, a poor district, are chosen and sent to the castle to compete against nine other women. ✨Drama ensues ✨ Word Count: 10k words. THIS IS LITERALLY THE MOST IVE EVER DONE BEFORE RGVIOSGNIAN A/N: This piece is for @awilddreamerwrites‘s collab!! I had so much fun writing this because this is based off of the book series The Selection by Kiera Cass and I’ve been wanting to write smth like this for a LONG time. There is also Hunger Games themes going on in this fic. The song at the end is I Hear a Symphony by Cody Fry!! I hope you all enjoy!!

You can’t believe you won.

And no, this isn’t the good kind of winning. You don’t get a thousand dollars or a nice, shiny trophy. No. You can’t even fathom why out of all the girls in district nine why Prince Shoto would choose you.

He’s coming of age to marry so all women eighteen to twenty-four, who aren’t married yet, are required by law to submit an ‘application’ to become Prince Shoto’s wife. He will then go through all of the forms and choose one ‘lucky’ girl from each district, one through ten.

You can remember filling out the form like it was yesterday.

“I don’t know what to put,” you groan from the table, wracking through your brain for something you like to do in your free time. There are plenty of things, but none of them sound good enough. Then again, you don’t know why you’re trying so hard to impress Mr. Stick-Up-His-Butt.

“Put that you like to burp your ABCs,” your little brother jokes, making you roll your eyes at him.

“As if I would ever write such a thing. They would come here as soon as they saw that and chop my head off in front of everyone!” you screech, starting to nervously tap your pencil on the table.

“How about reading? That makes you sound smart,” your father offers, his hands covered in paint from where he stands by the window. You glance over at him, finding that he’s painting your mother playing at her piano. It’ll never cease to amaze you that your father can draw and paint your mother’s face from memory. God, they’re so in love it’s gross.

“Doesn’t that sound too snobbish though? ‘Hey, look at me. I’m so smart because I like to read.’ They don’t want smart women dad, they want pretty ones that will obey orders,” you snidely remark. Yeah, it’s no surprise to anyone that you hate all the members of district one. They’re just a bunch of queens, kings, dukes, duchesses, princes, princesses, and everyone else who doesn’t like sharing their wealth amongst the poorer districts. Like yours.

“Why do you care? I think that they will take one look at your ugly mug and throw yours in the trash,” your brother cackles. You huff out a breath and bring your eyes back to the paper. He’s right. You shouldn’t care. You don’t care.

“You’re right,” you announce as you begin writing down the answer your dad suggested. Maybe if you make yourself sound really smart, Prince Shoto will lose interest right away.

You go through the other basic questions, what was your favorite toy growing up, what talents do you have, how is your relationship with your family, etc. After a mind-numbing experience of filling out all the questions, you slide the papers into an envelope. “Alright, done!”

“Good, go put it in the mailbox before it gets dark,” your father says with a smile, watching you fill out your name and address on the envelope since the castle’s is already printed in the top left.

That was a month ago and now you’re here, staring down at your empty suitcase laid out in front of you on your bed. You can’t even begin to imagine what you would need to pack to go to a castle to try and win the heart of a prince. You leave your empty luggage where it is and pick up the acceptance letter that you had received. You hadn’t even bothered reading all of it earlier.

You read through all the rules, regulations, and requirements, trying not to break down as you sit there reading it. This just had to happen to you. Why couldn’t it be that one lovely girl down the road who has always dreamed of one day living in the castle? Or another girl a couple blocks away who dreams to be a chef in the castle’s kitchen?

One sentence has you pausing, your shoulders gaining weight to them and causing you to slump. Contestants must not wear pants of any kind. All women must wear appropriate skirts or dresses. Oh, hell no.

You set the papers down again and take a deep breath, standing from your bed to move to your window. You stare outside into the tall, green grass as you let your mind wander. What if you just ran away? Yeah, you could pack up your bag and on move-in day, you leave without a trace. That plan sounds nice for a second before you suddenly feel guilt.

Your family would be worried about you.

God, you need to stop acting like it’s the end of the world!

You clench your hands into fists and give a single nod before snatching the papers back up, breezing through the rest of the words now that you’ve made up your mind. You once again freeze though when you come across something towards the end. All participants will get a weekly check of one hundred dollars that they may either use themselves or send home to their families.

What?

Why wouldn’t they lead with that? This is good news though! Seeing as how you’re in district nine and a family of four, making it through the week can be quite hard. It helped that you were leaving and they would only have to worry about three mouths to feed, but now they can get some money too!

You pause for a third time and reread that sentence. Every week. Being there for a month alone would give your family five hundred dollars! That would be enough for all of you to live semi-comfortably while you search for a job to help your parents out.

You finish with the papers and then set them down, starting to pack your things away now. You don’t want to go or stay in the castle, but you’ll be damned if you didn’t give it your all to stay as long as possible to help your family.

Move-in day comes faster than you’d like. Suddenly, a car is waiting for you in front of your house and your mother has tears in her eyes. “Mom, don’t cry. I won’t even be gone that long. I’ll be home before you know it,” you reassure softly as you pull her into a hug. She sniffles and holds you tight, her eyes closing and causing those tears to cascade down her face.

“I know. I just...I love you, honey. I appreciate what you do for this family.” You pull back and smile at her, wiping her tears away before giving her cheek a kiss. You bid your father and brother farewell, playfully teasing your brother for crying before giving him the longest hug of all, and then leave with your suitcase in tow.

“Is that it?” a knight questions you once you reach him, his eyes focused on your singular suitcase.

“Um, yes?” you reply, but it comes out shaky and unsure. Why would you need more than one?

“Okay, get in,” he says in a bored tone as he takes your baggage from you and places it in the back while you crawl inside the expensive car. He closes the door behind you and then crawls into the front, turning the car on. You stare out the window at your family, smiling at them while you wave. They wave back and even blow you kisses, a smile stretching across your face as you catch them.

You won’t be gone long. You won’t be gone long.

First day at the castle you don’t even get to see the prince. You briefly meet the other girls but otherwise remain cooped up in your very fancy new room. Meals are brought to you and you have your own personal bathroom, so there’s no reason to leave.

Not that you really want to anyway.

At the end of the first day, your reading is interrupted by a loud knock. You just begin standing up from your seat by the window when the door swings open and a woman with deep bronze skin comes in. “Hi there,” she teases, closing the door behind her. You close your book and set it on the table, raising your brow at her as you stand up.

“Um, hi? What are you doing here?” you ask before realizing that probably sounded rude. She just chuckles at you though and starts walking towards you, removing a soft measuring tape up from around her shoulders which causes her dark, curly hair to drag up with it before dropping back down with a bounce.

“I’m here for your measurements, of course.”

“My what?” you ask, cautiously watching her as she gets closer.

“You know, for your dresses. We already have dresses of all shapes and sizes prepared and ready for adjustments, so we just need to see what your measurements are.”

“Oh, okay,” you agree, lifting your arms to allow her to measure your waist and chest. She measures everything from your shoulders to your ankles before wrapping the measuring tape back around her neck.

“Alright, all done. I’ll bring you your dresses either later today or tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thank you,” you say softly as you watch her go.

The second day is when you finally meet the prince himself. The same lady as before, which you found out her name is Iris, comes back the next day to help you get ready. After suiting you up, figuratively speaking since you’re in a dress, she leads you out of your room and to a dining room. The only thing that sits in the room is a long, mahogany table and chairs to match. She tells you to pick a seat before wishing you luck. You smile at her and walk towards the middle of the table, sitting there since most of the other girls are sitting towards the end, which you’re assuming is because they want to try and be closer to the prince.

You look up from your porcelain plate when someone sits across from you, your eyes meeting wild, red hair first. You smile at her when she looks at you, her own smile coming to her face as she sits down. The second thing you notice about her is her bright, blue eyes and the hundreds of freckles dusting her cheeks. You start to wonder what class she is from when the grand doors open. You quickly stand up when you see the other girls do so, your hands squeezing the sides of your dress. You eye the prince as he walks towards the table with his father and his sister, Princess Fuyumi. They get to their spots and the king looks you all over before saying, “Welcome, ladies, to my castle. My family and I are eager to meet with all of you. For now though, let us eat.”

After this, he and his two children sit down before the rest of you do, and you don’t begin eating until they start. You decide then to strike up a conversation with the redhead as you begin to eat, starting with asking her what her name was. Ironically enough, her name is Ruby. You shared a good laugh with her as she told you the story of her parents deciding her name.

After breakfast, the king announces that he is hosting a ball at the end of the week for his son’s birthday. You almost just decide to go ahead and pack up now at this news when he continues his announcement by reassuring you all that you’ll be given dance lessons. Joy.

After that day, you only see the prince again at meals like that. After the third day of dance lessons, you begin to wonder how exactly he plans on eliminating some of you and choosing a bride if he doesn’t even talk to you.

The day of the ball arrives before you know it and you’re just a little bit happy about it since that means no more horrid dance lessons. You’re still not the best, but you won’t be stepping on anyone’s toes. Iris helps you get ready in a purple gown that reminds you of her name. She helps you with your hair as well and slides your shoes on for you, despite you telling her that you can do it yourself, and then leads you to the ballroom. At the moment, only the other girls are here. You thank Iris one last time for her hard work before gravitating towards your newfound friend.

“Hey,” you greet Ruby, admiring her forest green dress.

“Hi!” her chipper voice greets back. You smile at that and look around at the other women, pausing when you notice something.

“Hey, are we down one?” you ask.

“What?”

You count all the girls twice before confirming what you thought and repeating your words. “Are we down one? There’s only nine here now, including you and me.” She pauses and looks around at the other girls too, discovering that your words are true.

“Oh. Maybe one of the girls is running late?” she offers. You shake your head at this though.

“They never let us be late to anything. I think the prince kicked someone out already,” you say softly to her.

“What? Really? Already?” she nervously asks, starting to fix her dress and hair.

“I guess so. Strange, seeing as how I haven’t even had a conversation with him yet. I doubt she got the chance to either.” You two go quiet after that until Ruby interrupts that silence.

“Gosh, I’m so nervous now. I think I might sweat through my dress,” she groans. You chuckle at her words while looking around at the decorated ballroom.

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t be surprised if the prince stayed by the punch bowl all night,” you giggle, watching her smile come back to her face.

“I don’t know, I heard some of the others girls saying that—”

She’s cut off by a pair of big doors opening to reveal guests trickling inside. “Oh, I guess it’s starting.” You two move to the side of the room as you watch men, women, and people alike dressed in expensive clothes filter inside. Just when you think the room is going to be too packed for any of you to even move, the doors close and everyone grows quiet.

You turn to see the royal family at the railing of the double staircase looking down on everyone from their vantage point. “Greetings friends, family, and contestants. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules to come here tonight. We celebrate my son’s birthday tonight and that he’s on his way to finding a bride! Let us drink and be merry!” Everyone claps when he finishes and as soon as they start moving downstairs, ball music starts. You take a deep breath and turn to look at Ruby to start up another conversation with her. Except you can’t since a knight is asking her to dance. She blushes as red as her hair as she agrees, gently taking ahold of his hand and letting him whisk her away.

You sigh as you watch her go, ignoring the urge to lean against the wall. You already know that if you did, you’d get scolded for not appearing lady-like. You can’t help but roll your eyes at the thought of one of the king’s or prince’s advisors scurrying over to you just to tell you to stand up tall.

You sigh a second time and leave the edge of the room to go to the other side of the room where the finger food and punch bowls are. You glance around you as you pick up something that looks like a yellow flower and shove it whole into your mouth.

“Wow, you must be hungry.” You almost choke as you whip your head around to find the prince standing next to you, a small, amused smile on his lips. Oh my god. You quickly cover your mouth and begin chewing at the speed of light, swallowing it despite the fact that you didn’t get to finish chewing it.

“No! I mean, yes! I mean—”

“Will you dance with me?” Your fumbling comes to a stop when he asks you to dance with him, all the air suddenly leaving your lungs.

“Oh, um, sure,” you wheeze, gently taking his outstretched hand. He leads you away from the table towards the middle of the dance floor, your cheeks growing warm at the thought of how many eyes are going to be on you. He brings his other hand to your waist while you bring your hand to his shoulder, your eyes staring down at your feet once you start moving.

“You’re (Y/n), right?” he asks softly.

“Yeah. I mean, yes, Your Highness,” you correct, mentally cursing yourself as you stare down at your feet.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he informs.

“What?” you ask, finally tilting your head back to look up at him.

“Refer to me as that. The same goes for Your Majesty and Prince Shoto.” You blow air past your lips and make a pfft sound, smiling at him.

“You’re kidding, right? Your advisor just about bit my head off the other day when I accidentally referred to you as just Shoto.”

“Yes, everyone is quite strict about that. I’m not though. When it’s just the two of us, please refer to me as Shoto, okay?” You lick your lips and press them together, slowly nodding your head. You bring your head back down to look at your feet, trying to make sure you don’t mess up. “Don’t do that either,” he commands.

“Don’t do what?” you ask, still looking down, afraid you had done something to upset him. His hand suddenly leaves your waist and is placed underneath your chin, his fingers gently applying pressure to bring your head back up.

“Stare down like that. I want to see your face.” You can feel the heat crawl up your chest and spread across your face, your whole body feeling too warm now.

“Sorry,” you stutter out, your grip tightening a bit on his shoulder. You spend the rest of your time in peaceful silence, both of you listening to the music and dancing away. You also use this time to actually get a good look at him. The first thing you noticed was his eyes. His eyes are heterochromia, one grey and one blue. The second thing you notice is the scar around his blue eye, but you make sure not to look at it for too long. You continue to admire his handsome features for the rest of the dance, finding the song is coming to an end quite soon.

To your surprise though, he doesn’t let you go. He continues to dance with you until the end of the second song. You’re not sure if he would’ve stopped on his own or not since someone cut in and asked for a dance with him. He bows while you curtsy, your eyes remaining glued to each other. “Save me another dance,” he says softly before turning to the next person and beginning to dance with them.

After having that one on one moment with the prince, you find your eyes always wandering to him when he’s in the same room as you, and, more often than not, he catches you staring at him. You, oddly enough, go about two days without seeing him again, other than when you’re in the dining hall. It still doesn’t make sense to you that he doesn’t try making an effort to meet any of the girls that could potentially become his bride.

You blink a couple of times and realize that you just read an entire page of your book and didn’t actually process any of it since you were too busy thinking about the prince. Again. You sigh and look up from the book to look out the window that’s sill you are currently perched on. Your eyes widen when you find the prince down in the garden, taking a leisurely stroll around the hundreds of flowers. You watch him for a long moment, a soft smile finding its way to your lips as he stops to smell some flowers that you don’t know the name of. They’re unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

You gasp when his eyes suddenly flit up to yours, your entire head turning away from the window in embarrassment. You really need to stop getting caught staring at the handsome man. You take a deep breath and bring your eyes back to your book, determined to finish this chapter before dinner.

As you’re sitting there flipping page after page, you get the odd feeling you’re being watched. You look back out the window but find that the prince isn’t in the garden anymore, at least not the part that you can see from your spot. You turn your head the other way towards the library only to find the prince himself leaning against a bookshelf.

“Ah, I’ve been caught,” he says playfully, giving you a small smile that, despite its small size, almost blinds you.

“Your Highness,” you greet, clambering to get up to curtsey.

“Ah ah, we talked about this,” Shoto warns with a single palm facing you. You stop halfway out of your seat, your cheeks growing warm.

“Sorry, Prin—I mean, Shoto!” you stutter, feeling your ears get hot now with embarrassment. He chuckles and walks over to you, taking a seat beside you on the window sill.

“What are you reading?” he asks, thankfully deciding to ignore your fumbling words. You stare at him for a moment before quickly looking down at the book in your hands. You flip it over onto it’s back to show the front to him, the title written in big, cursive letters. “Scarlet? I don’t think I’ve ever read it. What’s it about?” he says as he reads the title, leaning back against the wall. You stare down at the book, trying to calm your racing heart and shaky hands.

“Oh, um, I haven’t finished it yet. But it’s basically another Robin Hood tale, but it focuses on the story of one of his merry men who is actually a woman pretending to be a man. She has a dark past she’s trying to get away from and she slowly begins to fall in love with Robin Hood. It’s actually a really good book,” you explain, turning your eyes back to him only to find him intently watching you. “Uh, then again, I don’t know what kind of books you like to read. Oh! Or if you like to read at all! Not that I’m saying I’m assuming you do or don’t! I’m sure you have plenty of hobbies—” You cut yourself off when Shoto begins to laugh, his eyes lighting up with his laughter. You take a deep breath and then begin to giggle right alongside him.

“I love to read, actually. No one else in the castle seems to care about books though. I’m really the only one who ever comes in here.” He pauses for a moment to study you before continuing, “And it does indeed sound like a good book. Thank you for telling me about it. Mind if I read it when you’re done?”

You start nodding your head rapidly before your brain can even process what he’s asked you. “Yes! Of course! I should be done with it by tomorrow or so!” you reply faster than your mouth can move. He chuckles at your garbled speech but seems to understand what you’ve said.

“Great. Why don’t you bring it by my quarters when you’re through?” he offers as he stands up from the window sill. You nod your head with a dumb grin, watching him chuckle softly as he heads for the door. “Alright, thank you. See you around, Miss (Y/n).”

You don’t process what you’ve agreed to until he’s out of the room and you can finally get oxygen into your lungs and to your brain. Wait, his quarters? As in, his chambers? As in, his bedroom? You suck in a shallow breath and hold it, trying to keep your brain from wandering into dangerous territory.

You don’t even realize you don’t know where his quarters are until you’re done with the book.

There you are wandering around the halls trying to figure out where his quarters would be. It isn’t until you come across dozens of guards in one hallway that you figure it out.

“Halt! Who goes there?” a knight calls, pointing his very pointy staff in your direction.

“Uh, (Y/n)?” you answer, cringing when it comes out more like a question. “I’m, um, one of the contestants,” you inform.

“Turn back now. Contestants are not allowed to be in this side of the castle after the first incident.”

First incident?

“Oh, um, okay. That’s fine. I was just told by Sh—the prince! To come and bring this book to him when I was done with it,” you explain, holding up said book.

“Then I shall deliver it for you,” the knight announces and begins walking towards you. You take a step back though.

“Uh, no, that’s alright. I’ll just give it to him the next time I see him,” you say softly as you turn to leave.

“Just give it here,” the knight demands as he takes hold of your wrist.

“No, just let go of me! You’re making this a bigger deal than it needs to be!” you shout a little louder than what you meant.

“Stop being a whiny little brat and jus—”

“Release her this instant!” you hear someone boom from behind the knight. The guard freezes and turns to look over his shoulder to find a glaring Shoto looking right at him.

“Your Highness, she was—”

“I will bet every last penny I own that she, in fact, has done nothing wrong. Miss (Y/n) is not Miss Cecilia. Now, let her go,” Shoto says with an ice to his tone that you’ve never heard from him. The knight does indeed let you go though and takes a step away from you as well. “Now, apologize to her,” he commands.

“I apologize, Miss (Y/n),” the knight says as he bows to you. You can’t tell if it’s genuine or not but you honestly don’t care. You just want to get everyone’s eyes off of your flustered self.

“It’s fine. Really,” you reassure, gripping the book to your chest with your arm while your now free hand goes to the wrist that was held by the guard.

Shoto’s eyes catch this.

“Miss (Y/n), please come in,” Shoto says as he starts to walk back towards his chambers. “Miss (Y/n) is always allowed into my chambers, no matter what the scenario may be. Understood?” he says to his personal guards.

“Yes sir!” they all reply in sync, placing their right fist over their heart.

“Good. Make sure to spread the word to the other guards.” And with that, you scurry after him to follow him into his room. You honestly felt a little too hot in this big dress of yours, your eyes shifting this way and that in nervousness.

“I’m sorry about that. They’re just trying to do their job. Are you alright?” Shoto speaks softly as he closes the door behind you both, gently taking your hand in his to look over your wrist.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. It’s not a big deal, really,” you brush off, trying to ignore the heat that ignites where he touches you with his left hand.

“Alright, if you’re sure. I still am sorry though,” he whispers, bringing your hand up to his lips only to kiss the inside of your wrist. You might actually burst into flames from how high your body temperature is getting.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault, but, um, what did you mean by Miss Cecilia?” you meekly reply, deciding now is a good time to look away from him and at his spotless room instead.

“Do you not know? Miss Cecilia was a contestant, just like you. She was from District Seven. I’m not sure what came over her, but she somehow snuck past the two guards that are always posted at my door and came into my room. She tried to seduce me and when I turned her down, she got violent.” You gape up at him as he tells you this story, not believing that someone had the audacity to do something like this. “I knew that if I were to tell my father, she would have been beheaded, so I just told them that I had no interest in her and to send her home.” You gulp at this, it all coming together now why one of the girls was missing during the ball.

“I’m sorry that happened,” you mumble. He smiles at you and moves to his plush loveseat that sits in one of the corners of his room.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault,” he repeats your words, making you hum and smile softly at him. “So, you brought the book? How was it?” With the subject changed, you hand him the book and start ranting about how much you loved the book. You made sure not to reveal any major spoilers for him though.

You two ended up talking until the moon was high in the dark sky, your laughter soft and your yawns eventually becoming more persistent. Once you two decide to call it a night, he leads you out of his room to escort you to yours. When you reach your door, he lifts your hand to his lips once more and kisses the back of your hand this time. “I hope you have sweet dreams,” he whispers before letting your hand go and walking back the way he came.

You hope your dreams are all filled with him.

Your nightly chats end up bringing you much closer than any of the other contestants ever thought possible. While they dreamed and fantasized about possibly being his wife and future queen, you two have become more than just a possibility. You both end up making a habit out of secretly seeing each other every night, whether it be in the library, the garden, wherever. A month later though, it’s ruined by the talk show that you’ve been informed will happen each month until a single contestant has won.

“Stop fussing, I look great,” you laugh at Iris who is fixing your hair for the second time.

“You need to look better than great, sweetheart. You need to look perfect. All eyes are gonna be on you tonight at some point, so we need to make sure you look your absolute best.” You simply smile at her words and let her do as she pleases. Iris has honestly become your best friend here, Ruby coming in at a close second. You even ended up telling Iris that you have a crush on the prince only for her to respond with, “You and everyone else, plus their mama’s.” You love her sense of humor and her sense of style. She always makes you look like the princess that you hope to become.

Wow, you can’t believe you’re saying stuff like this now. Just a month ago you were dreading coming here and being forced to be around the royals. Now, you’re hoping you never leave if only to be with the prince.

You both turn when there’s a knock on the door, an advisor poking their head in to let you know that cameras will start rolling in ten minutes and that you need to be ready backstage in five. You take a deep breath when they close the door, your eyes finding Iris’ deep brown ones. “I’m nervous,” you admit to her.

“Awe, don’t be, sugar plum. The whole staff knows that you’re the prince’s favorite. I love bragging that my girl is the prince’s number one,” she coos, finally finishing the final touches on your hair. Your face bursts into flames at her words though.

“What? I am not his favorite!” you splutter out, watching her laugh as she sprays your neck, chest, and wrists in perfume.

“Yes, you are. Now, let’s get going!” She doesn’t give you time to argue since she’s tugging you out of the chair and towards the stage. She puts you last in the line of contestants, seeing as how you’re from District Nine and the girl from Ten has already been disqualified. There are only seven girls left now when just a couple of weeks ago there were nine.

You listen as someone counts down from three and someone, who you’re assuming is the host, begins laughing. “Welcome, welcome! It is I, Caesar Flickerman, your lovely host for this evening! Right beside me is the even lovelier Prince Shoto!” At the mention of the prince, the crowd erupts into cheers, mainly full of fans screaming. “Wowza! It seems you have some fans, Your Highness!” the host teases the prince, knowing good and well the crowd is always like this when Shoto is on set, or when he goes anywhere, really.

“I’m honored,” Shoto states simply, making the crowd roar with how humble he is. They’re both angled towards the crowd and a single chair and all of the contestants are to sit to the right of them which is slightly behind their chairs.

“Alright, I guess we should get to the good stuff then, yes? Let’s bring out the contestants!” At this, the first girl, who is from District One, begins walking out in which the rest of you follow. People clap as you all walk out, sitting in chairs behind where Caesar and Shoto sit. “Welcome, ladies! My oh my, you all are sure pretty! I don’t know how Prince Shoto here will ever choose just one of you!” he says playfully with a big smile, making the rest of the crowd laugh. “Alright then! Lucky lady number one, please join us down here!” The girl from District One stands and walks towards the empty chair before them, her white dress and tall heels glittering in the studio lights.

After she sits down, Caesar flashes her a big smile as he crosses one leg over the other, just like she did. “Why don’t you start by introducing yourself?” he offers.

“You don’t know who I am?” she asks, raising a light, blonde brow at him.

“Well, of course I do, Princess Tina!” he reassures with a wink. She gives a low hum as she turns to look at one of the cameras now.

“My name is Princess Tina Renoli of the Renoli Kingdom. I’m from District One,” she introduces, giving the camera a sparkling smile.

“My, what a mouthful!” Caesar jokes, making everyone laugh, but she just gives him a slight scowl. “Well, let’s get to the questions!” He then asks her and all the other ladies after her simple questions like what did you dream of doing growing up? and What would you do if you won a million dollars?

When it’s finally your turn though, you feel like you’re going to puke all over Caesar’s nice shoes. “My, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” Caesar teases, seeming to sense your nervousness. You bark out a laugh before quickly covering your mouth, scared to sound unlady-like or to make Shoto think you have an ugly laugh.

“Ah, thank you,” you say softly, trying to force the heat away from your cheeks.

“You’re very welcome! Please, introduce yourself!”

“Oh, right! Um, my name is (Y/n) (L/n) and I’m from District Nine,” you introduce, shyly smiling at the crowd and camera.

“Awe, you’re just the sweetest thing!” Caesar coos. He then chuckles and leans back into his seat. “So, (Y/n), living in the castle must be quite different than living in District Nine. Tell us, what do you like most about being in the castle?”

You nibble your lip as he asks his question, taking a moment to process it before answering. “What, besides the huge bed and glorious food?” you joke. “I love the library,” you answer seriously. Caesar’s eyes widen at this though as he gapes at you a bit.

“Oh, really? I didn’t think…” he trails off. He didn’t have to finish his words for you to know what he was going to say. I didn’t think people, especially women, from District Nine knew how to read. He clears his throat and quickly corrects himself, “How interesting! Tell me, what’s your favorite book?”

If someone would’ve asked you this question before, there would’ve been no way you would’ve been able to narrow it down to just one book. Now, you look to Shoto with a shy smile and quietly supply, “Scarlet. It’s an action and adventure book with a dash of romance.”

“Ooh! Sounds exciting! I know all of us here love us some romance! Don’t we?” he says excitedly as he turns to the crowd for confirmation, who just screech and holler in response to confirm that he is indeed right. “Ha! That’s what I thought!” You chuckle now that you’ve calmed down some, your body finally relaxing.

“Let’s move on with the questions! So, (Y/n), what would be your ideal first date?” Caesar asks with a grin. You blush a bit at the question as you try to think of an answer.

“Oh, um, I suppose having a picnic in the castle’s large garden would be lovely. Maybe even being able to read a book in comfortable silence or even to each other,” you sheepishly reply. Caesar, and everyone else for that matter, awes at your answer.

“That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard!” Caesar gushes, playfully bringing his hands to his cheeks and kicking his legs in the air. You outright laugh at his silly behavior, feeling the vice-like grip your nerves have on your chest loosen more.

“Okay, last question before we move onto Prince Shoto!” he announces, smiling when the crowd cheers. “So, I’m curious to hear your answer for this one. If you were queen, what would you change? We’ve never had someone from a District lower than five become royalty, after all.” What would you do if you became queen?

The answer almost comes to you instantly.

“I would get rid of the districts,” you answer confidently. At your words though, the crowd gasps and instantly bursts into worried and angered murmurs. Caesar gapes at you in shock, surprised you would say such a thing on live television.

“You would do what now?” is all that Caesar can come up with to say. Your face sets into determination as you stare back at him.

“I would get rid of the Districts once and for all. There is no reason to have all of us divided this way. All it does is separate us and make the higher districts believe they’re better than the lower districts, when they’re not.” As soon as you finish, Caesar is awkwardly laughing and turning to the cameras.

“And that’s all the time we have for the contestants, folks! Thank you ladies for answering all of our questions!” Caesar rushes through to move onto Shoto’s question time. You frown at the fact that you are once again being silenced, your eyes moving to Shoto’s, who isn’t really showing you any emotion right now.

Great. He’s probably angry at you and disgusted by your beliefs. So much for winning this thing and being by his side.

You stand and move back to your seat, finding that the first three girls are giving you nasty looks as you pass by them to get back to your chair. Shoto stands and takes the place you were once in so that he can be across from Caesar.

“You have quite the tough decision to make, Your Highness! Tell me, how have you eliminated the three girls that are no longer in the competition?”

“Well, it’s simple really. I’m just like anyone else when it comes to dating. You can tell almost right away if you click with someone or not. I simply didn’t click with the three girls that are no longer here,” he explains calmly. Caesar hums and nods his head in understanding.

“Well, may I just say that you are very humble! I would’ve tried keeping all these pretty girls for myself!” he jokes, trying to get the crowd to laugh in which he succeeds in. Shoto politely chuckles along with them at his joke. “So, I must ask if you have a favorite,” Caesar fake whispers to Shoto.

“No, I don’t,” Shoto replies immediately, but that doesn’t stop his eyes from flickering over to you which causes your breathing to stop.

“Ah! I saw that! Who did you just look at?” Caesar squeals, turning more to his right to see who is at the end of the line. His eyes meet yours and instantly move away to the other girls next to you. “Oh, I bet it’s lucky girl number six, isn’t it?” Ruby.

“I’m assuming she’s your favorite then?” Shoto teasingly asks with a raise of his brow. Caesar fakes bashfulness as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty girl in the color purple,” he jokes, causing Ruby to giggle and playfully blow a kiss at Caesar, to which Caesar catches and tucks it away into his pocket.

“Miss (Y/n) actually wore a beautiful lavender dress the night I met her,” Shoto informs and, if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he let that slip without thinking. Caesar’s smile goes tight at the mention of you though.

“Oh? Did she? Well, I’m sure she looked very nice!” After this is said, he quickly changes the subject and begins shooting question after question at Shoto. After ten questions or so, Caesar finally ends the show and bids farewell to all the watchers back home. The cameras then shut off and you feel like you can finally breathe again. You don’t bother waiting around here though as you quickly stand, pick up your dress, and swiftly leave the stage.

Your previous words from the show didn’t sit well with some of the contestants, most of whom are a part of the upper divisions. One morning, it was decided that all of the contestants were required to go to the royal classroom to begin learning about the nation’s history. You went there every day from eight in the morning to right before dinner time. By this point, there are only six contestants left from Districts One, Two, Three, Five, Six, and Nine, which is you. You honestly don’t know how you’ve made it this long, especially since the king makes it his mission to glare at you whenever you’re within eyesight. You’re not sure why Prince Shoto is keeping you around at this point.

One particular day, your teacher had decided to let you all go an hour earlier than usual, for which you all were thankful for. You were one of the last ones to leave, which turned out to be a mistake since contestants from Districts One through Three were outside the classroom waiting for you.

“Well, well, well, look who it is. It’s the dirty little girl from District Poor,” Princess Tina taunts, her two sidekicks, Sandy and Cindy, snickering at her words. You roll your eyes and go to move past her when she snatches your book out of your hand.

“Hey!” you shout, moving to grab it only for the girl from District Three to shove you away and come between you two.

“Aww, does the little nerd want her book back?” she sneers, starting to flip through it with boredom clearly etched into her pretty features. “Ugh, hopeless romantic much?” she groans as she finds a kissing scene. “God, you’re so pathetic. You can’t get the romance you so desperately crave in real life so you read it in fairytales.”

You remain quiet, clenching your jaw to help you remain silent. “What? Brainiac has nothing to say?” the girl from District Two teases. Your eyes move to her as you cross your arms over your chest, taking a deep, calming breath as you raise your brow at the three of them.

“You do realize that the prince can only choose one of us, right? Why are you three banding together when, in the end, you’re just going to have to fight for the prince?” Cindy and Sandy pause at this, sharing a worried look.

“Don’t listen to her, girls! She’s just trying to put us against each other!” Tina shouts, throwing your book at you and hitting your cheek. You let out a small cry and cradle the spot, feeling it throb. “Maybe if we make her ugly enough, the prince will want nothing to do with her!” Tina suggests, convincing her minions that you’re the enemy, not her.

Before you can react, you’re being shoved to the wall by Tina. If it was just her, you probably could’ve taken her. Seeing as how it was three against one though, you didn’t stand a chance. That doesn’t mean you didn’t go down without a fight though. You kick and hit at them as they all swarm you, scratching at your skin, slapping and punching other marks into your skin.

Once they had enough, they back up and let you fall to the ground. Sandy and Cindy stare down at you, what seems to be sympathy and regret in their eyes. That disappears though when Tina loops her arms through theirs and smugly smiles down at you. “You might as well just go home now. The prince has never wanted you and never will. He’s only kept you around for as long as he has because he felt bad and needed the votes of all the rest of the losers like you.” Once she finishes her spiel, she spits at you before turning with her minions and walking away with giggles escaping her.

You didn’t let a single tear fall the entire time they tormented you but as soon as she walked away, you couldn’t help the tears that swarm your vision. You can’t believe you’re even going to listen to her, but what if she’s right? Shoto hasn’t spoken to you or visited you in the library since what you said on the talk show. He probably thinks you’re a joke and only keeps you around to gain the acceptance and love of the lower districts who are rooting for you to win.

What a joke.

You sniffle and wipe at your teary and bloody face before pushing yourself to stand, only having stumbled and fallen down two times on the way to your room. Once you reach your room, you curl up in the bed and let the sobs flow freely. You miss home. You miss hearing your mother play the piano. You miss your father getting yelled at by your mother for showing up at the dinner table still covered in paint. You miss your brother teasing you about liking to read, despite the fact that he was the one begging you to teach him how. You even miss the dumb leak in the corner of your room that could fill up an entire bucket after a storm. You end up crying yourself to sleep, ruining the satin covers and sheets with your blood and tears.

You wake up from a knock at your door, hearing Iris’ comforting voice. “Sweetie? Are you awake yet? You’re going to miss breakfast!” she calls through the door.

“Yes,” you croak, much too quietly for her to hear. You clear your throat and try again, “Yes, I’m awake. I don’t feel well though. I’m just going to go back to sleep.”

“What? You know you can’t miss a meal. Are you sick?” she calls, trying to open the door only to find it locked. Oh, good. At least you had the mind to lock it last night.

“Yes, I feel sick,” you inform. It wasn’t a complete lie.

“Alright, I’ll let them know that you will be absent,” she says softly before you hear her footsteps fade away. You slowly sit up and feel your head pound as you do, a grimace taking over your features. You slowly slide off the bed and frown when you see the mess you left on the lovely covers. You can’t find it in yourself to feel guilty though as you move to your personal bathroom to clean up. You make the shower’s water lukewarm before slowly stepping under the spray, biting back a hiss when the water hits your open wounds. They aren’t that bad, mainly just scratch marks, but your mother always used to tell you it’s the smaller wounds that hurt the most. You know she was just trying to make you feel better when you felt embarrassed by balling like a baby when you skid your knee, but it comforts you now.

You clean yourself up and then get out of the shower, standing before the mirror with sad eyes. Your cheek is bruising from where she threw the book at your face. You’re just glad it wasn’t your eye. Scratch marks litter your face, neck, chest, and arms along with small bruises. Your eyes start to sting again, surprised just how far people will go to get what they want. It never mattered who they put down to get what they wanted.

You leave the bathroom to go to your wardrobe, pulling out one of the few dresses you owned from back home. This dress is a light sundress that should be open and loose enough not to disturb any of your wounds. You let out a heavy sigh as you pull out your suitcase underneath your bed, setting it on the grand mattress before starting to place all of your things back inside of it. You can’t believe you’re going to quit after all this time, letting Tina and the others get to you and get their wish.

You sniffle and wipe at your eyes when your vision starts to blur again with tears. You really did love Shoto. God, you’re even using the L-word now. Could you get any more pathetic? Tina is right. You’ll always be some dumb loser who won’t amount to anything.

You jump out of your skin when there’s a knock at the door. “Iris, I already told you that I’m not hungry,” you weakly call, quickly rubbing at your eyes since she is probably going to want to come in anyway. She’s going to lose it when she sees the state you’re in. She doesn’t verbally answer though, simply giving another knock. You sigh and walk over to the door, unlocking it as you say, “Fine, you can come in. Don’t start nagging me abou—”

Your heart beats so hard against your chest that you’re pretty sure it just flew right out of your chest and into the tray of food that Shoto is holding. He stares at you with widened eyes, his beautiful heterochromia eyes moving this way and that across your upper body, no doubt gawking at the marks on you. You quickly start to swing the door shut, gasping when he sticks his foot out and stops you from closing the door.

“Let me in,” he commands, his voice getting the icy tone it had when regarding that one guard.

“Your Highne—”

“I said open the door!” he shouts, making your body quiver at his demanding tone. You quickly move away from the door and put your back to him, listening to him rush in and close the door behind himself. He sets the tray down somewhere, you’re assuming on the small table in front of your sofa by the door, before you hear his footsteps come towards you. You tense up when he stops right behind you, the warmth of his body radiating against yours.

You almost start to believe you’ve imagined the whole encounter when nothing happens right away. You jump a bit when fingers gently brush over your arm, ghosting over scratches that lay there. “Please turn around,” he whispers, his voice sounding...broken? You shake your head despite his worry though, pulling your arm away from his hand. “Please,” he shakily whispers again, placing his hand on your upper arm but not forcing you to turn around.

If you were stronger, you wouldn’t have turned around, but you’re a desperate woman who wants the attention of the one she loves. You slowly turn around but keep your eyes downcast, hearing Shoto suck in a breath when you’re fully facing him. “What happened?” he mumbles, gently placing both hands onto your upper arms now. You cross your arms over your chest, shaking your head as you continue to stare down at your feet. His hands leave your arms to go up to your cheeks, cupping them and tilting your head up to face him. Your teary eyes widen when you find his eyes are moist as well.

“Who did this to you?” he asks so softly that you wouldn’t have heard him if he were any farther away. You shake your head again, closing your eyes and letting tears cascade down your face. He’s quick to catch them though, gently wiping them away. With your eyes closed, you don’t see him look over your shoulder to your bed that has your half-packed luggage sitting there.

“Please don’t go,” he croaks, making your eyes fly open to find him crying now as well. You gawk at this, at the fact that he doesn’t want you to leave and that he’s crying. Crying.

“I don’t belong here, Sho,” you whisper, using the nickname that you gave him one of the many nights you two laid under the stars, talking the night away.

“Who put that thought into your head? Caesar? My father? One of the other contestants?” he asks, moving his hands to your shoulders now. “It doesn’t matter who because whoever it is, they’re wrong. You belong here, with me. No. I belong wherever you are. Do you wish to go home? I can come with you.” Shoto speaks fast as he tries to make you happy, his worried frown and jumbled words only succeeding in bringing a smile to your face.

“Sho, calm down. You need to stay here, for your kingdom. Your...your older brother has already died in war and your sister will one day be married off to another kingdom. You must remain here and take care of your people,” you say softly, lightly knocking your head against his.

“Stay by my side then. Become my wife and the future queen,” he whispers, the words being mouthed against your lips from how close he’s gotten to you. His words make you rear back and stare at him as if he’d grown another head.

“Are you mad? No one wants me to be princess, let alone queen!”

“I do! The lower districts do! God, just saying that angers me. You’re right, I want to be rid of the stupid districts just as much as you do.” You’re not sure why those words specifically have your gut churning in pleasure, but the next thing you know, your lips are smashed against his.

It’s a very messy kiss, filled with teeth, spit, and too much tongue, and you can tell he’s inexperienced, but God, you’ve never experienced anything hotter in your life. His hands gently cup the side of your neck, keeping you in place as he passionately kisses you back. It didn’t take long for you both to run out of air, pulling away almost at the same time to gasp for the oxygen that you lack.

You stare into each other’s eyes with half-lidded ones, your breaths mingling with how close you two remain together. “Marry me,” he begs between pants, looking at you with hopeful eyes.

“Fine,” you grumpily agree despite the fact that your heart is currently soaring. He smiles brighter than you’ve ever seen as he smashes his lips back against yours.

I used to hear a simple song That was until you came along Now in its place is something new I hear it when I look at you

Shoto doesn’t really know what came over him. You agreed to marry him all those years ago and with his father passed, you and he are the new king and queen. He swears that he feels like a completely different person, his subjects have definitely taken notice as well. He used to be quiet and polite, only speaking when spoken to. Now, with you by his side, he can laugh as loudly as he wants to and let his smile go from ear to ear without a care in the world.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever tell you this, but he swears that every time he looks at you, it’s like angels are singing, letting him know that he made the right choice choosing you as his bride. He, honest to God, has never been happier in his life.

With simple songs I wanted more Perfection is so quick to bore You are more beautiful by far Our flaws are who we really are

Growing up, all around him he had people telling him how to look, how to dress, how to eat, how to do everything. He found that hiding his emotions and what he was truly thinking became easier than having to put up with rulers to his hands every time he rolled his eyes or made a snide comment. It was hard for a kid his age to be perfect in the eyes of everyone around him. It was boring and he hated his life for the longest. When he used to ride through the districts to get to other kingdoms as a child, his face would be solemn as he watched through the windows at other kids his age running around screaming as they kicked a ball or played some sort of game where they touched the others before quickly scrambling away with loud laughs and screeches. He wasn’t allowed to have flaws, despite the fact that he had many of them, just like everyone else.

He had to be perfect.

You never had to worry about such things before though. In his eyes, you’re already perfect, despite all of your flaws. You always get so flustered when you catch him staring and he just compliments you no matter how you look or what you’re doing. He couldn’t ask for anyone better.

I used to hear a simple song That was until you came along You took my broken melody And now I hear a symphony

Now, the kingdom you two share is a completely different place. The districts were removed as soon as he was announced king and he had never felt happier in his life when you hugged him and thanked him. It was a dream come true for you. Finally, all your friends and family back home could move to better places and earn more money. Your instant family came to live in the castle with you though and he watched with tearful eyes as you reunited with your family at long last. Your parents were iffy around him at first, since he was still learning how to show emotion around others, but after a little while of being around him, they came to love him just as you did.

Every night when you two go to sleep cuddled up in your bed, he gently runs his hands over your arm, your hip, everywhere he could touch you. You didn’t feel real to him. It was like you were too good to be true. He never once thought that his required marriage and the stupid competition would lead him to finding the love of his life. He also figured his marriage would end up like his parent’s. Loveless. Sad. Boring. Seeing the worry in his eyes, you passionately kissed all his worries away and he swears that the angels singing turned to many angels singing, pianos, violins, harps, a whole symphony would play.

He wants to hear that sound every day.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

MASTERLIST

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⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

1K notes · View notes

jiminrings · 3 years

Note

petition for stem koo to do all the things for oc he originally said no one does (make her lunchboxes, makes her cheerful...) bc i think that’s a beautiful redemption arc

cold senior!y/n x stem major!koo masterlist :D

jungkook's day one of his redemption agenda doesn't go that well in the end

"namjoon!!! my man. got any updates for me?"

seokjin strolls coolly on the way to his office, hair slicked back and his dress shirt definitely missing more than a few buttons

what's head admin gonna do??? dress-code him???

fire him???? PLS HE'D BE BETTER OFF!!!!

jin makes student affairs his bitch,,, not the other way around

"for the last time, i am nOt your secretary!!" namjoon stresses as he ceases his typing just to glare at him

he's the university registrar and everyone needs to go through him and at this point he's like a historical landmark from how he's made impact in less than two years

and he and seokjin graduated from the same batch!!!! they're the uncanny always pair for the subjects they shared together

it was definitely weird but functional lol cause one is uptight yet hardworking and the other's relaxed yet smart

sue them for working in the same place they swore they'd never go back to after graduation </3

"if you say-"

"some kid's been waiting for you even before i opened the office. made him sit inside but i just told him that he'd be expelled if he even tries to touch your coffee machine."

namjoon says even before jin could finish the sentence, clearly holding that in until the last minute

jin's obviously a lil annoyed because he's starting work as early as now but the way that joon laid all that out on him is a highlight for him

"thanks. knew you're a secretary for me first and a registrar second."

"no. i'm a national citizen before-"

alright alright he's not listening anymore

this bETTER be important because jin has to hold out his morning routine for whoever this kid is

"what can i possibly do for you today?" he rubs his eyes in preparation, intentionally dragging his steps because just looking at how near he is to his work computer gives him vertigo

"mr. kim!!!"

there is no way

there is no fATHOMABLE way that this has got to be happening to seokjin right now

"..... jungkook. what a pleasure."

he sits on his chair, voice gritted and monotone and he could just feel his eye twitching, his clenched fist under his deck now flipping off the kid in secret

it's a last-minute realization that he grasps that jungkook doesn't know you're his friend and it presents some really unique vantage points

like the time that seokjin recounted about a ridiculous student's filing for theft of his lunchboxes and he turned out to be your crush

or when he used his student affairs capabilities and pulled up resources left and right when jungkook broke your heart then seriously contemplated about messing up his academic record

or that time when he delivered a high and sleepy you to bed and then heard the entire conversation (if you could even call it that) between yoongi and this fucking nerd

"i need your help, mr. kim. you're the closest one to me i could ask!!" jungkook pleads desperately, the big doe eyes not really inducing an effect on him whatsoever lmao

"mhmm. i may not be the person for the job. counseling is right next door."

jin hums without even attempting to get jungkook to elaborate because for all he knows, his services aren't exactly open for people who hurt his friends >:(

(a guy once bumped shoulders with yoongi twice on the same day with aTTITUDE!!! and seokjin just dismissed the dude's concerns when a prof of his, who's a buddy of jin's, suddenly gave him an F)

seokjin IS student affairs

“no, no. you’re the only one who can help me!! you see, i-i just feel this brotherly connection with you and-“

“we talked once.”

god what did you used to see in this kid??

a crybaby aND an easily-attached personality to him? god it’s like jungkook’s just asking jin to pick on him

jungkook doesn’t seem to pick up how jin’s making it obvious he really doesn’t want to be of help if it has something to do with him

he likes interrupting and jin’s just the perfect match to interrupt him even earlier so now they just sound like one of those dubsmash snippets

“MR. KIM!!! how do you make lunchboxes? i don't know how.”

jeez where are his manners :O aren’t nerds like him supposed to worship the ground that admins walk on,,,

but what did pique his attention is the content of what jungkook just said

.... lunchboxes?

jin doesn’t want to give the kid benefit of the doubt because the last time he did that, you got hurt!!!!

if he has to hear hyeji’s name one more time, he’d really waste no time in stripping jungkook’s name from the honor roll

“remember that time i thought someone was stealing my lunchboxes?” he quizzes jin like it’s his job, clueless how he’s poking the bear even more with where he decides to go with this, “yeah. turns out no one was.”

was that not made clear the first time around!!!!!! he knows for a fact that a uni student would trade a classmate for a pack of gum but nO ONE would go for stealing a lunchbox

no one wakes up one day and decides that they’d steal a lunchbox. literally none

“but then this random girl claimed that it was hers a-and well i-...”

kook pauses to gauge jin’s reaction, clearly seeing now the one brow that’s raised at him

oh so if jungkook just asked him how to make a lunchbox, and he called h-word random,,,, then that would mean-

“i may have hurt the original giver of my lunchboxes at the process.”

.... that means he’s asking how to make a lunchbox for you

well that was a pleasant surprise

seokjin snorts briefly at that, dryly chuckling with his eyes widening to stress out his “non-threat” that’s pretty mUCH a threat

“wow. i might just give you a sanction for that.”

does he think jungkook’s a good person? lol he has to think about that for a month

was he wrong for hurting you that way? ultimately yes

but did he think at some point that jungkook’s completely heartless and wouldn’t try to redeem himself to his senior? no, not completely

but is he still on your team, regardless if the kid begs for mercy and you forgive him? yea a hundred percent :D yoongi and seokjin could never be brought out from your circle

"and you're doing this why?"

this is a no-brainer question for jungkook but the question still spooks him, feeling the chills at his neck that responding to seokjin is like a sTEPPING STONE when it comes to you

lmao if only he knew

"i uh, i just really wanna make this right. i messed up completely and it's pretty much unforgivable, but i atleast wanna try and give my best even if she doesn't forgive me, y'know?"

interesting

"mhmm. right, right."

???

he's still mad but he appreciates that jeon's doing the bare minimum of redeeming himself

speaking of, the poor kid looks like he's pissing himself because he may have just embarrassed himself with how long the silence stretches out

maybe,,, just maybe jin's gonna try and be a bridge this time

but like as soon as jungkook lacks for a fourth of a second, seokjin would BURN that bridge faster than a blink

"well first of all, you buy a lunchbox."

RIGHT RIGHT

jungkook grabs a literal pocket notebook and jin pretends he didn't see that because WHO the hell does that!!!!

"of course... okay, proceed!! i'm taking notes," jungkook nods in understanding, jotting down the very important advice of not ordering from online because you can't smell the material through a screen

p.s. smelling containers before you buy them is a VITAL thing to do!! it already tells you about the quality at the first sniff

"are you buying one?"

"buying one for every day of the week. i'm thinking if i should get extras too-

"good idea. i recommend buying eight."

alright seokjin's mentioning some very specific colors and schemes and jungkook's not complaining!!!

MAYBE HE'S ONTO SOMETHING!!!

"what meals should i make? i don't even know what she likes!! and even if i knew what, how would i make it?"

why is his heart racing

yoongi may have taught you how to do your taxes but jin taught you how to cook food that's more than four steps!!!

he taught you how to not flinch at all when you're frying and that's the equivalent of raising you to be the woman that you are now <3

look at him and yoongi being your best friends!! teaching you about taxes and being unnerved at cooking oil and busting out a smoke ring or two <3

in fact, the lunches you've cooked for jungkook are all inspired and derived by seokjin!!!

the fact that jungkook's plan isn't bad and the way everything pieces together with his insight,,,, goosebumps luv

"....hypothetically? what i think she'd like?"

jungkook eagerly nods with stars in his eyes, fingers gripping onto his pen for dear life as he tries to channel all his listening techniques into this lecture

"get a bigger notepad."

wow

"look at you!!" yoongi gushes the moment he sees you, waiting at you from the front door

you're going back to your classes again :D

you don't look as worse as you did four days ago!! you're not as sluggish and as animated too

"please don't," you snort as yoongi doesn't seem to stop looking at you like you've saved the world, giving no fight when he insists on carrying your backpack to your first class of the day

the past four days,, yeah they were undoubtedly rough

you slept as much as you could and for the moments you weren't dejected enough to be awake, you spent it surrounding yourself with seokjin and yoongi as much as possible

that's the beauty of hanging out them!!! you're not required to have a single thought lmao

except for the time when yoongi wondered aloud how eels even live and die (or if they even do???) in the first place and that sent everyone in a spiral and you didn't think of jungkook for a single seconds

you're not intimidated to go back to regular programming or with the fact that it's nOT unlikely you'd see a glimpse of jungkook in the hall and such

but that does mean that even if you're the bigger person, you're still gonna avoid him for as long as you could

speaking of!!!! you're looking for the person now that you're eager to find

"taehyung!!"

there he is :D you'd recognize that fluffy mop of permed hair anywhere

"y/n!!"

tae jumps over chairs in excitement to finally see you again after being so worried for you, engulfing you in a hug immediately

alright you see why yoongi thinks he's a golden retriever

you're clearly not a touchy-feely person but you'd let this one pass,, tae helped you (even indirectly) throughout your downtime anyways

"thank you so much for the cookies. i tried taking smaller bites just because i didn't wanna have them disappear that easy," you confess sheepishly, knowing how you had to pull the i just got my heart broken like two days ago multiple times so the two menaces would stop stealing from your stash

jungkook's excited!!!! seokjin may have given him a tip that "he felt it in his gut" that you were gonna go to class today

he came a little late because he wanted to perfect the very loaded lunchbox that's in his backpack right now

oh weird

you're not in your usual chair

bUT jungkook sees a glimpse of your hair and he's certain that you're there and his heart may be beating out of his ribcage

a baby peach lunchbox with a sticker (of what seokjin said he thought you'd like) on the middle of the lid :D

pork katsudon with furikake rice aND coffee jelly pudding on the side!!! it was definitely pressure-racking to strictly adhere to jin's recipe but god does it look worth it

jungkook's only did miniature taste tests on it and he had to stop himself from devouring the lunch that he's made specifically for you

the lunchbox itself is tied neatly with a silk wrap, adding his touch of sewing your name visibly on it aND there's a scribble taped to the lid too

god jungkook really can't wait to make it up to you

sheesh that was one of THEE longest lectures you've ever felt you had

it was actually the same amount of time it's always been but maybe you've been out of practice from just staying at your dorm for days

tae's great company but he could be a little bit chatty!!! you just nod when you feel his voice go up and he apparently gets excited by that easily

.... he apparently also has a small bladder and he told you that within the whole hour of class

"hold on. i gotta pee before next period. go without me!!!' taehyung hurriedly slings his backpack to his arm, looking ridiculous in a rush

tae's sometimes unintentionally funny because you don't even share next period anyways

you're on your way to the exit when a shiny scarf catches the corner of your eye, having to squint at it because wow does it look pretty

is that-

is that your nAME???

you pick it up before you could even rationalize it, realizing then what it was wrapping when you feel the warmth on your hands

:")

"sorry i forgot my headband!!!"

taehyung stumbles back into the room, catching his breath to run back to his seat and fetch the headband he took from his hair to play with awhile ago

he looks shocked to see what's on your hands, flicking his gaze between you and the item but he doesn't think much of it

wOW that's a really shiny scarf!!!

"tae?"

"hmm yeah? what's up?"

he's about to jog back to the comfort room because he hasn't really relieved himself yet, not bearing to leave his headband in the room when anyone could snatch it up

you raise your lunchbox, a thankful gaze on your eyes that looks so close to crying which is why tae's mORE than lost now

"thanks for the lunch."

.....

jungkook could only helplessly watch.

#EEEEEEEEK :D I HAVE A REQUEST QUEUED UP NEXT BUT WHAT DO YOU WANNA SEE IN THE NEXT PARTS #stem koo #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook au #jungkook drabble #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook angst #college jungkook au

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space-mermaid-writing · 3 years

Text

House Arrest [Reader X Loki] Chapter 3

Summary: You are Clint’s 'little' sister and actually a trained Shield agent. But you gave that up a few years ago and became a Chef, because you wanted a normal live. Then one day Natasha shows up at your door and takes you to the Avenger Tower for a while for security reasons.

Tags: Reader is an former Shield Agent, chef!reader, Reader Barton, 2012 Avenger vibes, everything is still alright, Slice of Life, Avengers Family, Loki has a good heart, still the god of mischief, Slow Burn, mention of food and cooking

Read it on AO3

Chapter 3: Nighttime pancakes

The next few days you got to know everything a little better: The tower, the Avengers - as far as they were present and showed themselves - and the rest of the staff that you ran into from time to time. You also discovered that the tower had its own training halls. Actually this was just logical given the team that lives here. Often when you were out and about in the building, you got the faint feeling of being watched. It was a little disturbing, but you dismissed it by saying that the environment was still new to you. Also, you had learned that JARVIS had access to all the public rooms and most of them were probably video monitored too. You weren’t sure about your own quarters yet, but you were also not sure if you wanted to know the answer.

Unfortunately the nights are very long, because you sleep very badly here. Despite the short time, you miss walking outside, through the streets, and besides, you are used to a rather strict daily routine. Sure, it's nice to switch off for a few days and not have to do anything. A little vacation, so to speak. But you're someone who soon gets bored with that. You chose a profession that requires you to spend hours running around the kitchen, preparing dishes and finishing orders for a reason after all. The price of your now lazy life is that you toss and turn in your bed at night without really being tired. Maybe there are some additional worries that keep you awake. For example, the Hydra question that was still unresolved.

This night you turn from side to side again, sighing, and at some point take a look at the digital alarm clock. Its digits glowing a light red in the darkness. It's three in the morning. Or night. Depending on how you see it. After a few more unsuccessful tries to sleep, you give up and decide to roam the halls a bit. Just walking around and stretching your legs. Outside, it's quiet. Only the soft whirring of some working machines can be heard. The corridors are discreetly lit, so you have no trouble finding your way, which leads you into the large lobby. It’s actually the first time since your arrival that you find it completely empty. Still, you have the familiar feeling that you are not alone. Jarvis probably never sleeps.

Out of habit, you end up in the kitchen and take a bored look into the fridge. Nothing in there appeals to you, but you're not really hungry either. Not even for a little snack. Still, you feel like cooking. Maybe pancakes. You could eat them for breakfast later. Without thinking too long about it, you get a bowl from the cupboard and tie an apron around yourself, which you have obligatory lying here by now. Flour, milk and eggs are quickly mixed and a few other ingredients are added for flavor. You put some butter in a pan on the stove. When it became liquid, you start to fry the first pancake and gradually got more and more, so that you quickly have a respectable pile together. Quietly, you hum to yourself.

"It's been a long time since anyone has been here at this hour”, you suddenly hear an unfamiliar voice behind you. Surprised, you whirl around, holding a knife that had been lying next to the stove. A dark-haired man in a green shirt is standing by the kitchen island, watching your actions curiously. When he sees the knife, he raises both hands to calm you down. On each of his arms you notice a narrow silver hoop with a red dot flashing. You hadn't heard a door, and you're not sure how long he's been standing there. "What’s your deal? Can’t sleep?", you ask him. "Just like you apparently." You raise an eyebrow and set the knife aside as the pancakes demand your attention. "You're Loki, aren't you?" It's more of a statement than a question, and the man nods. "And you're the archer's sister", he respond, which makes you in turn nod. "I‘m Y/N, pleasure to meet you." "You don't often hear that as a prisoner", he says amused, but still keeps eye on you, waiting for your reaction. "Heard about it. I guess we're sitting in the same boat." "Oh, really?" "Well, I probably won't be tasered right away if I try to leave the building." "Probably?", Loki follows up. "Yeah, I'm not entirely sure about that."

You talk for a while until you hear the elevator ping quietly in the lobby. But you're not paying attention right now, as you're busy scraping the last bit of dough out of the bowl and then turning off the stove. "Would you like some?" you ask Loki, turning to him only to find that he has disappeared. Taken aback, you turn your attention to the room next door, where you hear muffled voices. Then the door opens. "THAT'S what I call a nice welcome," Clint grins, looking at the stack of pancakes. "Brother dear", you greet him equally pleased and surprised at his unexpected appearing. Smiling, you walk up to him and hug him. Along with him, Steve Rogers, whom you've also already seen on the news as Captain America, came in. He seems a little confused at first, but after you fill him in on who you are, he welcomes you as well.

"What are you doing here?" your brother then asks you. "You can see that. I'm making breakfast for you." "No, I mean, what are you doing here?" He specifies the question with a gesture that included all the surroundings as well as the Tower. "Oh..." It's clearly too middle of the night for you to be that precise. In a few words, you explain your situation. Clint has some encouraging words for you, but can understand that you are not enthusiastic. "At least we can get more on each other's nerves again. Why don't you start right now and join us while we eat?", he laugh, putting his arm around your shoulder in a brotherly fashion as he pushes you toward the stove. You have to laugh, too. "You mean while you eat my breakfast." "Exactly." You go get two plates from the cupboard and serve the men each a good stack of pancakes with maple syrup. They thank you and the group of you make yourselves comfortable at the kitchen island. "Where and how do you guys usually eat here?", you ask in the meantime. "We each order our own food. Probably have a flat rate with all the suppliers in the neighborhood," Clint explains. Steves' gaze is on you questioningly. "Don't you want some pancakes, too?" "In the middle of the night? No thanks, I'm not hungry." "Then why did you made them, if you don't mind me asking?" "I knew you'd come and could use something in your stomach", you reply with a serious expression, to which Steve shoots first you and then your brother a scrutinizing look. He’d seen enough weird shit while working with the Avengers to take such a statement quite seriously. And he wonders whether you, unlike Hawkeye, have superpowers. But only until you can no longer stifle the broad grin, because his facial expression is just too funny.

Before you can say anything, though, Clint interjects. "As siblings, we've just developed some sort of telepathic ability." You nod in agreement. "Exactly. That's how I always know when he's going to say something stupid and deserve a head butt." "To be honest, I never heard him talk about you before”, Steve admits. "See”, you wink, "It‘s working out just fine." You laugh, and while they continue to eat, Clint tells you about the mission they just came from.

Afterwards, you put another stack of pancakes on a plate to take it with you back to the lobby. "Hungry now, are you?", your brother asks you, clearly tired after the long journey and at this late hour. Just as the super soldier. "Maybe”, you answer shortly and wish them both a good night. The greeting comes back double and you head into the large lobby with the elevators. "Jarvis?" "Yes, Miss Barton?" "Where is Loki's apartment?", you ask the computer. "You are not exactly authorized to receive this information." "I just want to get him something to eat."

You raise the plate in your hands a little higher and apparently your answer is analyzed, because for a few seconds there is silence. But then you get the information you want and are directed to the door you are looking for. It was on another floor and at the end of a long corridor.

You knock, but at first there is no response. So you try again. "Come on, my prince, I know you're not asleep and it's rude to leave a lady at a locked door." You hear an amused sound from the other side and shortly after the door is opened. With his arms crossed, Loki stands before you. "It's also rude to disturb a prince in the middle of the night, M’Lady", he replies. "Rude would be to refuse a dinner from a lady. Especially when she personally hands it to you", you add, giving him the plate. It's impossible for you to tell if he's amused or annoyed as he looks from you to the pancakes in his hand. "I never said I wanted any“, he states. "But you didn't say you didn't want them, either. Just give them a try. I'm pretty good at cooking." With that, you turn to go. "Good night, dear prince," you wish him, but without turning around. So you miss the grin on Loki's face as he closes the door.

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qianinterprises · 3 years

Text

Smoke Detector

Pairing: Taeyong x Reader

Warnings: burnt food, tears, self-doubt

Scenario 1) when they (you) mess up cooking dinner for the first time.

Summary: you want to make dinner for Taeyong on your anniversary, but to do so requires help from the fourth best chef in NCT. Unfortunately, that isn't enough to stop disaster.

Genre: fluff, minor angst

Author's Notes: I am participating in the ficscafe scenario event! You may be seeing a few of these pop up as I am super excited to write these scenarios! Also, I apologize if this is kinda sucky. I wrote it in one sitting because I just had SO much inspiration, but there's a very good chance that this isn't very good.

Word Count: 2.6k

Tag List: @treasuretaeil @hachanbaecon

For as long as you could remember, you'd never learned how to properly put on a meal. Sure, you could make ramen in the microwave or throw together a sandwich, but anything involving more technical skills and you were screwed. For that reason, you never offered to cook for your boyfriend, which admittedly made you feel inadequate, but he was so an amazing chef that admitting your lack of skills was embarrassing to say the least.

Taeyong had no idea you had very little talent in the kitchen. You never told him about the time you nearly burnt down your mother's kitchen trying to make tacos or the time you forgot your scones in the oven until they were black as coal and hard as stones.

Taeyong's cooking skills were perfect. He could whip nothing into the most delectable meal you'd ever tasted. And that was daunting.

He should be with someone who he could partner with. Someone who could share the responsibility of the kitchen because you knew, when Taeyong got home after allday of schedules, the last thing he wanted to do was cook. But he did so anyway (unless you'd convinced him to get takeout). He never complained. Never questioned why you didn't cook for him. Never gave you anything but a happy smile and a soft peck on the lips.

Lee Taeyong was just too perfect. So perfect in fact that today, on the morning of your two year anniversary, he had taken the morning off and instead, bounced around in the kitchen cooking up all your favorite breakfast foods before surprising you in bed with them. He had roused you awake and placed the tray on your lap before crawling back in bed beside you and kissing your lips.

“Happy anniversary my love,” he had whispered against your lips.

The morning had been spent enjoying his well-crafted breakfast with sleepy cuddles and a slow, sensual, naked dance beneath the sheets before he had to peel himself away with a promise that he would be home in time to make dinner.

With that, he had left, and you spent the rest of the afternoon fretting. Taeyong had made breakfast. A breakfast that didn't consist of cheerios or toast. He had taken the time to use his morning to whip up a breakfast fit for a king. And now he was planning on two meals in one day!

Your stomach churned uncomfortably, fear gripping your heart. One day, Lee Taeyong would realize that he was too good for you, and then he’d be gone. Off to find someone better for him. Someone like Doyoung, who he could cook with without supervision. Or maybe even someone like Johnny, bigger than him, that could hold him tight and ease away all of his worries.

You were useless. At least, that’s what your subconsciousness whispered in the back of your head.

As two pm rolled around, you were tired of moping. Taeyong deserved someone better. So you would become better. That would just require a little bit (a lot) of help from someone who knew their way around the kitchen.

The first person you contacted was Kun, but when he didn’t respond, Doyoung became the next best thing. Quickly, you sent the male a quick text because you had no idea who Taeyong was scheduled with today.

‘Do you have 127 schedules today?’

Doyoung didn’t take long to text back.

‘Yeah, why?’

Always one to get to the point. But you liked that about Doyoung.

‘Just curious, wasn’t sure who Taeyong was scheduled with today.’

You huffed. The simplest choice went out the window. Had Doyoung been free, you would have invited the male over and had him help you cook a gorgeous dinner. Although part of you was glad you had to go with plan b. Plan b wouldn’t get irritated and yell at you quite as easily as Doyoung would.

‘How’s my favorite Dreamie?’ you sent, hoping Dreams schedules were clear that day because you were running out of options.

‘Jeno’s doing fine? Why?’

‘I’m not talking about Jeno, you nincompoop!’

These boys were going to be the death of you one of these days.

‘Haha, I know, what’s up? What do you need?’

‘Why do you assume I need something?’

‘-.-’

‘Fine. I need your help cooking dinner for Taeyong!’

It took the boy longer to respond and you assumed his answer was no when your phone began to ring. When you answered, he didn’t even give you time for a proper greeting.

“Why do you need my help?” Jaemin asked.

You let out a huff. None of the boys knew your dirty little secret, but you knew Jaemin (or Doyoung for that matter) would help you without an explanation.

“Because I can’t cook to save my life! And he cooks all the time! And I just want our anniversary to be special! Will you help me or not?!”

“How are you dating Taeyong hyung without knowing how to cook?!”

“Jaemin!” you whined, red creeping up to your cheeks.

He let out a breathy laugh.

“I can’t come over. Our managers gave us the next few days off and Renjun and Jeno have barricaded us all in here, but I can help you over the phone!”

Not exactly what you had in mind, but with Jaemin helping you, what could possibly go wrong?

Later on that evening after deciding to make something relatively simple for Taeyong, Jaemin helps you create a grocery list and sends you on your way. Grocery shopping was the easy part. You were exceptionally good at shopping. It was when you got back home that your hands began to clam up as you stood in the center of the kitchen, trying to mentally prepare yourself for whatever was about to happen.

Your phone rang in your pocket as you were shakily pulling a pan out, placing it on the stove. You fished out your phone and answered, Jaemin’s face popping onto your screen.

“Ready to get cooking?” he asked, a wide grin spreading across your face.

“I’m nervous,” you mumbled.

“Oh come on! You’ve got me here to guide you! It’ll be great!” you promised.

Hopefully, he was right.

“Ok so the first thing you need to do is heat up the pan over the stove. While that’s heating, start chopping the vegetables. Just be careful!”

Nodding, you turned on the stove. When nothing happened to sabotage you this early in the game, you let out a sigh of relief and set out chopping all of the vegetables that you’d bought, preparing a hearty, healthy, but tasty dish for the man that never ceased to give you everything you desired.

“Ok, now get the meat out of the fridge and put it in the pan.”

Nodding to him, you slid on a pair of rubber gloves and pulled the hamburger meat out of the refrigerator. Ripping open the packaging, you dumped the red meat into the now sizzling frying pan and let out a small sound of joy when you succeeded in not making too big of a mess.

“Great now-” there was a knock over the line and Jaemin’s attention turned from you to the door.

“What?” he asked.

“We’re going out to the sports bar down the road. Wanna come?” Jeno’s voice asked in the background.

Jaemin let out a whine in the back of his throat.

“I promised (y/n) noona that I’d help her make dinner for Taeyong hyung.”

“Sucks to be you!” the door slammed and Jaemin turned back to you looking like a kicked puppy.

Your heart clenched. Not only did you have to elicit Jaemin’s help in the first place, but now you were keeping him from spending time with his friends and having fun.

“Explain to me everything that I need to do and go,” you offered.

His face lit up immediately and he opened his mouth to speak before freezing.

“But I promised…”

“Jaemin, it’s not that big of a deal! I’ve got this,” you said, hoping he couldn’t hear the way your voice wavered at the doubt creeping into your soul.

“Ok so…” and he rattled off instructions, letting you write them down.

“Now are you sure you can do this?” he asked.

You nodded even though you were positive you couldn’t do this.

“Ok! Good luck! And Taeyong hyung is going to love it!”

With that, the call ended and you were left alone with a pan of rapidly browning hamburger meat and a pot of boiling water.

“Ok (y/n), you got this,” you whispered to yourself.

You didn’t have this. In no way, shape, or form did you have this!

The meat browned too quickly, and while you were trying to get it off the heat, the pot of water boiled over, sizzling and fizzing on the burner You slightly burned your hand in a rush trying to get the lid off of the pot of noodles, but while you were fighting with it, the smoke alarm went off, blaring loudly through the house. Frantically, you trembled as you tried to quiet down the alarm before you realized why it was going off.

The meat had become a dark brown lump emitting thick black smoke that pillowed toward the ceiling. With a little screech, you grabbed the pan of meat and hurled it into the empty sink, rapidly turning the water on and letting it spill over the now ruined meat as you turned back to turn off the stove. However, before you could, the water was boiling over the sides again.

By the time you got the water in the pot to settle, your hair was a mess atop your head and tears had gathered into your eyes at the mess of a kitchen. Water was still running over the burned black meat. The noodles in the pot had secured themselves to the bottom of the pot, refusing the budge, and the vegetables you’d put in the oven to roast had gotten done while everything else had gone wrong. Now they sat on top of the stove crispy with an aftertaste of coal.

Dinner was ruined. But perhaps you’d still have time to order takeout before-

You heard his keys jiggle in the door and your heart dropped to your stomach. Not only had you not succeeded in making one simple meal, but Taeyong was going to see just how awful you were in the kitchen.

You sank to your knees on the floor, leaning against the cabinets under the sink and drawing your knees to your chest, burying your face in your hands as the tears flowed easily now.

“Honey! I’m ho-”

The first thing Taeyong noticed was the smell. The bitter, burnt scent of burning food making his nose crinkle in distaste.

“Babe?” he asked, stepping further into your shared apartment, closer to the kitchen where the smell was coming from.

When he entered, the sight broke his heart.

You were trembling on sobs below the sink, quiet whimpers leaving your lips that only got worse as he moved closer to you. Water was running over a pan of burnt something in the sink and the pot on the stove was scorched. The vegetables on the over pan looked like shriveled prunes.

Slowly, so as not to make you more upset, Taeyong made his way over to the stove and quickly switched off the two burners and the over, all of which you must have forgotten to turn off.

When the stove was handled, Taeyong took another look around the kitchen. Your phone was sitting on the counter by the stove, a piece of paper with hastily scratched instructions beside it. There was an old sweater hanging over the back of the table chair that you must have used to calm the smoke detector that was now dangling from the ceiling by a single wire. The refrigerator was slightly ajar and making a small dinging noise until he pushed it closed. You were crumpled on the floor in the center of all of the chaos, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened.

With a small sigh, Taeyong moved closer to you. He leaned over you to switch off the water pouring onto the burnt pan before lowering himself to the floor and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Baby, did you try to cook for me?” he whispered.

He already knew the answer to that, but he wanted to hear a response from you. When you only nodded, another whimper leaving your lips, he pulled you into his arms and placed a kiss on your head.

“Why baby? I told you I was going to cook.”

“You cooked breakfast,” you mumbled.

“So?”

By now he was very confused. You never offered to cook. He just assumed you didn’t like to or couldn’t, which seemed to be the case.

“You deserve someone who can cook for you,” you muttered. “You always have to cook and I’m just useless not being able to.”

Taeyong was left speechless for a solid 30 seconds before he was pulling you into his lap, carefully spinning you around to face him.

“You are not useless. Baby, you give me warm hugs and kisses when I get home. You let me be the little spoon some nights when I’m exhausted. You draw baths for me and hold me while I relax. You are anything but useless. You do so much for me that I enjoy cooking for us when I get home. Even when I’m tired I love it. I love seeing your face light up when you taste something you like or watching you bounce in your seat over your favorite foods. I don’t get to take care of you half as much as you take care of me. Let me cook for you baby. I love it,” he said, letting his thumbs gently stroke over your face as he wiped away your tears.

Your glassy eyes looked up to meet his and he was drawing you closer, planting a soft kiss on your water lips.

“I love you baby. And I promise, just because you can’t cook doesn’t make me love you any less,” he said, kissing your forehead.

You nodded and dove into him, letting your head rest against his neck, holding onto him as warmth washed over you.

“I love you too,” you muttered, finally feeling relaxed after hours of stress that came with cooking.

“Who gave you those instructions on the counter? Did they not offer to help you?”

“Jaemin. Kun was busy. Doyoung was with you. I obviously wasn’t about to call you, so Jaemin helped me, but halfway through he had to go.”

Taeyong nodded and peppered kisses along your cheeks.

“How about we get dressed and go to the dinner where we had our first date? Then tomorrow, we’ll spend the whole day together. I might even help you learn how to cook!”

“You have tomorrow off?!”

“Mhm,” Taeyong cooed.

You jumped off his lap excitedly.

“That sounds perfect!” you grinned, dashing off to your shared bedroom to put on something other than sweats.

Laughing, Taeyong stood up and surveyed the kitchen once again.

You had the capabilities of cooking. That much was clear by the seasonings and well-chopped vegetables. Stress and distractions were your issues. And that, he could help you with.

With a smile, he made his way to the bedroom.

It didn't matter if you could cook or not. What mattered was that you were his. And if the ring tucked away in his pocket was any indication, he planned on making you his forever.

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idontlikeem · 3 years

Note

Sick/Injured Fic + I Didn't Mean to Turn You On

you can find the fic tropes mashup game here!

REALLY great combo, oh man! I had this idea right away—be warned, nonsense ahead!

sidney i promise i love your vocal fry

Zhenya’s never paid much attention to how Sidney talks.

He’s familiar with Sidney’s laughs—the slightly-stilted media chuckle he uses when he’s trying to buy time to think through an uncomfortable question, the gentle camera-friendly laugh when something genuinely amuses him but he’s very aware of the public within earshot, and of course the ridiculous high-pitched honking giggle that comes out when he really, really thinks something’s funny and can’t modulate his response.

Zhenya covets that last laugh, goes out of his way to elicit it, makes a fool of himself far more frequently than he’s willing to cop to in order to hear it, to watch the way it squinches Sidney’s whole face up, making his eyes disappear into half-moons above his cheeks, which get so, so pink.

So, yeah. Sidney’s laughs—Zhenya can categorize them all. But his voice? He’s never thought much about it. Sidney’s soft-spoken, and his singing is terrible, and Zhenya can easily drown him out in the room simply by virtue of having a lower voice.

Zhenya tends to not pay attention to the interviews they do. He doesn’t watch the stupid Christmas specials they make, he doesn’t stick around for postgames unless he’s actively participating, and he generally does his own thing during team media days if he can manage it. So, whenever Tanger teases Sidney with who are you trying to be when you talk to reporters, Kim Kardashian? you’ve already got the ass—, Zhenya’s ignored it—he doesn’t know what Sidney’s getting up to in his interviews, but it certainly isn’t any of his business.

(Tanger might be onto something, though. About the ass, at least.)

Finally, though, for the first time ever, they get roped into a joint interview during the league media day, and it’s clear when they get on the plane that Sidney has a cold.

He’s taken a decongestant so at least he’s not sniffling and sneezing all over, but his eyes are red-rimmed, and he’s sucking down cough drops like they’re pieces of candy.

Jen outright laughs at him on the plane. “Well, that’ll make at least that part of your interview easier, won’t it?” she asks as she holds up her phone and snaps a few pictures of them sprawled out in their seats.

Zhenya frowns. “What she mean?” he demands. In his experience, being sick only makes an interview worse, unless they’ve given him the good drugs beforehand.

Sid looks miserable. “Ugh,” he mutters, clearing his throat. “I kind of...I do this voice thing, sometimes. I don’t mean to,” he shoots Jen a glare, but she raises an unimpressed eyebrow and goes back to ignoring them, “but I guess sometimes I talk...lower, you know. Lower than usual.”

His voice sounds a little harsh, sure, but Zhenya probably wouldn’t have noticed unless he was listening for it.

He shrugs. “Okay, is fine. You do all questions, since special voice easier for you today.”

Sidney frowns heavily at him. Zhenya serenely ignores it in favor of demanding the picture from Jen to post to his Instagram. They look good, and Sid’s smiling—not quite one of his best smiles, but close. The internet will like it.

As the day wears on, though, Zhenya...figures it out.

When Sidney’s being interviewed, he can’t mainline cough drops, and his voice gets rougher and rougher as the day goes on. By the time they sit down with Friedman, he’s downright husky, and Zhenya—has a problem.

He’s distracted all through the questions, brushing past being asked about his desires to leave the Penguins (as if) and smiling vaguely down at the video Sportsnet took of him the previous year at his house. He’s babbling a little bit, he knows it, but if he doesn’t fill the silence—

Well, if he isn’t talking, Sidney is, and Tanger’s jokes about Kim Kardashian are suddenly, horribly explained.

It’s not right, Zhenya thinks miserably, listening to Sidney earnestly spill out the same meaningless platitudes about winning as a team he’s no doubt used a dozen times today already and trying not to shift too obviously. It’s not right that he feels so shitty and sounds like...like…

Christ in heaven, Sidney sounds sexy, and there is something seriously, seriously wrong for Zhenya to be thinking so when Sidney is so clearly miserable.

The interview ends, eventually, and Jen picks them up and chats at them the entire drive back to the hotel. Zhenya’s not required to contribute, thank god; he’s so past being able to hold polite conversation in public, it’s not even funny.

Naturally, this means Sidney follows Zhenya back to his room, recapping the day and whining about his sore throat. He stands too close when Zhenya fumbles the keycard into his room’s lock, like always. He smells like menthol from the cough drops, and his shirt is wrinkled and one side of his collar is flipped weirdly, and really, how hadn’t Zhenya realized how desperately, hopelessly attracted he is to Sidney before today?

Zhenya beelines for the minibar as soon as he’s got his shoes off inside his room, hoping that a few tiny bottles of mediocre vodka will at least kill off the semi he’s been sporting since halfway through the interview, if not distract him from the problem entirely.

It would help if Sidney would stop. Talking.

Instead, though, he flops back on Zhenya’s bed—he’s in my bed, Zhenya thinks hysterically, throwing one of the shitty flavored rums Sidney pretends he doesn’t like over before Sidney can ask—and keeps it up, talking about the other players they saw and what did Zhenya think of doing a co-interview, and did he really mean it when he said he’d seriously considered leaving, because—

“Sid,” Zhenya finally interrupts desperately, turning to look over his shoulder at the bed. Sidney’s voice is getting raspier by the second—he’s starting to sound like a girlfriend Zhenya used to have who was a heavy smoker, especially after she had been… He wrenches himself away from that train of thought. “Sid, please, stop talk, please.”

Sidney snaps his mouth shut and stares at him, eyes big and sad.

Zhenya winces and downs a bottle of—god, is that Svedka, disgusting—before jumping to try and smooth this over. “Not— Don’t mean, like, not want to talk, just…” He trails off and turns around, facing Sidney and scrambling to come up with something that doesn’t make him sound like an asshole, or insane.

Too late, though, he remembers his situation, and before he can sit down or do something to cover himself, Sidney’s gaze has already settled at Zhenya’s waist.

“Geno,” Sidney rasps out. “Geno, are you…?”

“Is your voice, I’m sorry!” Zhenya wails, sitting heavily in the desk chair and dropping his head in his hands. “I’m not mean! Is just, you sound…” He shrugs and trails off. There’s no point in trying to explain—he doesn’t have the words in English for it, and frankly, he’d rather Sidney not put together how much of a perv he is.

Sidney’s quiet for a minute, and when Zhenya dares to peek at him from between his fingers, he’s chewing on his lip, color high in his cheeks.

“I sound like I’ve been giving head, don’t I?” Sidney says abruptly, the corner of his mouth curling a little, and Zhenya’s whole body jolts. “I sound like I’ve had a cock down my throat, and now you’re thinking about that, and it’s making you—” He gestures vaguely at where Zhenya’s dick has now definitively gone from semi to fully hard.

“Please, Sid, I’m not—” Zhenya starts desperately. This is going off the rails, fast, and he doesn’t know what to do to fix it.

“I think you are,” Sidney says softly, and oh, now he’s doing it on purpose, Zhenya just knows it, and all he can do is stare when Sidney gets up and crosses the room, before dropping to his knees between Zhenya’s legs, holy shit.

“Sid, you—” Zhenya chokes when Sidney runs his hands up the inside of Zhenya’s thighs. His hands are hot through the thin suit fabric.

“Wanna hear what I really sound like, after?” Sid says, a gleam in his eye.

#sidgeno #flash fic #fic asks #my fic #hockey rpf

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chocosvt · 4 years

Text

⚬ pairing: junhui x reader ⚬ word count: 8125 ⚬ warnings: none! ⚬ genres: secret relationship, some slice of life uni moments, FLUFF, very light angst, spice, roommates!wonhui.

✧✎ synopsis: you’re friends with junhui - but also, not really. it’s friends and a little bit more than that. it’s difficult keeping your relationship a secret, especially when you’ve never loved someone the way you love him.

✧✎ a/n: NOBODY MOVE! I WROTE A JUN BDAY FIC ;_; this is really just me projecting all my years of love onto a word doc. enjoy!!

It was midnight, and the apartment was dark, unmoving. No one had bothered to clean the blue cereal bowl left in the sink and there remained bread crumbs on the countertop from lunch. As you flicked through the strange glimpses of late-night television, yawning in an outrageous width, there was a hunger pang, accompanied by an immediate craving for some sort of sweet candy.

So, you did what seemed best: fit into your sneakers and a windbreaker and push open the door to Jun’s bedroom while he was curled up on his side watching his drama. Wonwoo would usually be occupying the adjacent bed, though he had stayed over at Joshua’s dorm to study for his next history summative. Yet he’d left his beat-up, decaying textbook on his pillow.

“Put on your slippers or something, we’re going to the convenience store.”

Jun didn’t say anything, rather he continued holding out his phone, the bedsheets pulled taunt to his nose. Looking at Jun’s desk that sat next to the door, you picked up the rubber band ball he’d been adding to since his twelfth-grade year and threw it at his shoulder.

“Ow!” He squeaked dramatically. His head then poked over his shoulder as he attempted to see where the ball rolled off to.

“Put on your slippers,” you reiterated, “I want strawberry tangs.”

Without much effort, Jun quickly gave up looking for the elastic ball and returned to watching his drama, establishing his comfort while somehow still persisting to ignore you. He was very much so a homebody, and if it weren’t for you guiding him out the apartment like a grandchild taking their elderly for an afternoon walk, then he might’ve never left his bedroom apart from his class schedule. Yet, you knew exactly how to persuade him, weaken his heart that was already soft and golden.

An immediate whine rumbled in his throat when you jumped on the bed, pulling at him until he finally rolled onto his back, at last pressing pause on his phone. You tossed a thigh over each side of his silhouette and gripped the boy’s wide shoulders, gazing unflinchingly past his black fringe and into those big, glistening eyes.

“Come with me to the store,” you weren’t sure if you were offering or demanding, “please?”

“I-Isn’t it a little late for that?” Jun stumbled through his laughter. “Why do you need me?”

It was a surface-level question really, but nonetheless, your heart still skipped a beat. In only a second or more the silence was bearing down too heavily and it felt like your heart was a book with all its pages out. Jun’s eyes were twinkling as he blinked up at you.

“Walking around alone at night? Hello? Do you have no concern for me?” Came your joking counter.

He tossed his head back, the black fringe bouncing from his lashes. His capitulating yelp of, “fine, fine, I’ll come” was satisfactory enough for you to remove yourself from the boy’s tiny waist, where you stepped on the floor and nearly sprained your ankle due to that dumb, elastic ball. At least you found it. While you returned the toy to his desk, Jun quickly threw a worn jean jacket over his black long sleeve and didn’t bother bending down to fix his sneakers, his heels jutting out the back.

At the convenience store, the only shoppers were you, Junhui, and this lady wearing a huge pair of sunglasses, though you figured she was far from the strangest of the midnight stragglers.

It was rather quiet, even with the fluorescent lights buzzing and the battery-powered fan keeping the cashier cool at the register. You grabbed the first package of strawberry tangs while Jun sorted through the other flavours very meticulously.

“What about blue raspberry?” He said. “You don’t want that?”

“I don’t know, I just really have a craving for strawberry.”

Jun detached a bright green package from the rack. “Sour apple? What about that?”

“Not tasty at all. Pass.”

He grabbed another package and quirked his eyebrow. “Sweet cherry? Come on. That sounds good.”

You lightly hit his arm with the strawberry candy, your laughter echoing over the shelves, “I just want strawberry! If you think the sweet cherry sounds good then you buy it!”

But Jun just shook the black fringe from his playful gaze, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Tangy zangys are the bottom tier of gummy candy. No way.”

“So shut up then.” The words were harsh, yet your smile was no more menacing than a butterfly.

Since it would be impossible for Jun to leave the store without stocking his snack collection, you shopped for longer than expected, filling a basket with spicy chips and hard candies and a few chocolate bars. Heading home down the nighttime street, beneath the moonlight, the infinite expanse of a blackness that felt like a cocoon, you had already ripped open your strawberry tangs while Jun tore the corner off a tiny pouch of bubblegum poprocks.

They crackled loudly on his tongue, in which he made sure to hover in close proximity to your ear, ensuring you could detect every small fizzle. Each time it warranted you to shove him away, muttering a cheap laugh about how it wasn’t required that he lean in so generously, though you couldn’t evade that one nervous thought ticking at the back of your head: you wanted to kiss him, wrap your palm around Jun’s neck and taste the electric bubblegum from his heart-shaped mouth.

“Aren’t you glad you came with me?” You asked, suckling the sugar off a red candy strip.

Jun swallowed his poprocks. “I guess you can word it like that.”

Standing at the living room fish tank, you opened the tab to the flake box and shook the food into the water, your pink guppy who you had so fittingly named, Princess Pebble, swimming toward the surface in order to nip at the flakes. Wonwoo observed you from his seat at the kitchen table, dragging his spoon through the remainder of his cereal, scooping out the last soggy pieces.

“I feel good about it,” Wonwoo hummed, referring to the history test he wrote yesterday, “I think I might’ve left out some information on the essay question.”

You closed the fish flakes and returned to the table, where you left your cup of tea.

“Eh, who cares,” you mumbled behind the rim, “you’re gonna get like a ninety-five anyways.”

The boy shrugged, pressing a fingertip to his glasses, moving them higher up his nose. He had always been diligent with his studying, though he often left the apartment to write notes at the library or a classmate’s dorm. It was difficult to accomplish much when Junhui would distract him, and rather than reading his textbook, Wonwoo would always end up playing computer games with the latter.

“Did you hear Jun come home last night?” You asked, gulping the rest of your tea.

Wonwoo set his bowl into the sink and filled it with water, smiling. It irked you somehow. You were only curious about whether or not he heard Jun return from his dance practice.

Joining him at the sink to clean your mug, you bumped his elbow. “What’s so cute over here?”

“Nothing,” he hummed dismissively, “I heard him crawl into bed, that’s pretty much it.”

“And that’s funny or something?”

“You ask about him quite frequently.” Wonwoo turned to you with a suspecting glance, one that made you subtly desire to dump a cup of water over his head. “You know that, right?”

The morning air was cool, yet your face felt immensely heated, almost prickling.

“I ask because we’re fri—”

“Friends. Yeah, yeah.” Wonwoo huffed, the omniscient smile creeping back toward his mouth, to which you could do nothing apart from gawk at your roommate despite his reiteration of a musing that wasn’t at all unfamiliar. “I’ve always loved you for your innate sense of comedy. It’s priceless.”

It’s what everyone assumed anyways. You and Jun fought tooth and nail to articulate your friendship, to paint with the colours that would lead everyone to believe it was true. Most often your explanations worked, yet there remained some who were particularly stubborn. Wonwoo was an evident case. But he was too close, too eagle-eyed, and he saw that you and Jun behaved in a manner completely beyond friendship. Despite the likewise feelings, something unbeknownst kept you apart.

“I know exactly what that means, idiot!” Echoed your shout as Wonwoo disappeared down the corridor, hoping to take refuge in his bedroom.

“I’m glad!” The depth of his voice reverberated into the kitchen, and you heard his door quickly shut.

No less than a few seconds later did Junhui reveal himself from around the corner, clean and freshened up after a steamy shower, one he desperately needed upon immediately passing out, sweat-soaked and exhausted in his bed the night before. Soonyoung definitely hadn’t taught their lesson with any degree of ease. Pretending you weren’t just quipping at Wonwoo, you smiled.

“Were you two fighting?” Jun asked, pulling out a frying pan from the cupboard. He usually whipped together an omelette for breakfast.

“No, not at all. We never fight, remember?”

Jun scoffed while opening the fridge, removing an egg carton and a plastic wrapping filled with vegetables. Still hungry, you started peeling open a tangerine from the fruit basket and stood next to him as he organized the produce onto a cutting board. Ever so faintly, you could smell the crisp scent to his aftershave. It was peculiar how a bit of foam could render your chest that cottony.

“In fact, when’s the last time you even remember an argument Wonwoo and I had?” You prodded.

“Two days ago,” Jun laughed, “when Wonwoo wanted to watch that exploration documentary on King Tut, but you changed the channel so you could finish the last season of Home Makeover.”

Pressing his rose lips together, Junhui casted you an innocent glance. “So there’s that.”

Separating a small slice of tangerine, you gently pushed the clove into the boy’s mouth. He smiled softly as he began to chew. With the gentle tang of citrus in the air, you set a hand on Jun’s shoulder and buried your face against his warm neck, whispering, “yeah, and it was definitely worth it.”

Quite frankly, neither you, Jun, Wonwoo, or Joshua were fairing optimally at the library. While Wonwoo sat on the opposite side of the table helping Joshua organize his economics presentation, you were neglecting your biology packet, instead choosing to sketch a tiny Princess Pebble in the paper’s upper corner. Jun had been tasked with reviewing his latest theatre script, yet he hadn’t even flicked through it. He was intrigued by one of the numerous mangas he’d saved to his phone.

“Take the last point off here,” Wonwoo said, peering over Joshua’s shoulder at his laptop, “there’s too much text, and this isn’t a major branch of your topic anyways.”

Joshua sighed as he made a few clicks on his keyboard. “Dude, I don’t think I can edit another word. This class is so boring.”

“Mr. Canning is just a boring professor,” Wonwoo sympathized, “it would be best if it were someone who weren’t so… dry. I guess is the right word.”

Slumping back in his chair, Joshua huffed, “he’s like a human chalk stick.”

Desperate to discuss something that wasn’t related to his lacklustre econ class, Joshua spared a glance at Jun’s unopened script. “Shouldn’t you be learning that?” He asked.

Jun didn’t look away from the phone in his lap. “I can’t do it here.”

“That means he’s going to open it for the first time at one in the morning, the day of his performance.” You chuckled, outlining the sketch of your guppy using Wonwoo’s pink gel pen.

Harshly, Jun’s hand smacked your knee under the table and you couldn’t help but laugh, garnering an over-the-shoulder glare from a student in the corner who’d been trying to focus on their colossal textbook. Wonwoo smiled at them apologetically while Joshua feigned as though he were typing something on his laptop. However, Jun’s hand didn’t leave your knee, and your laughter became an immediate drought, to which the sole thing you could feel was his palm creeping higher up your leg.

Attempting to be subtle, you turned your head slightly and looked at the boy with a bit of a warning expression, though Jun simply continued to scroll through his manga.

“I’m going to check the world history section,” Wonwoo announced, rising from the table, “anyone want to come with?”

Joshua pushed out his chair. “I’ll come just so I don’t have to stare at this shitty powerpoint.”

As soon as the boys walked beyond earshot, you pinched the edge of Jun’s ear. He finally tossed his phone onto the table, though he didn’t exactly appear compassionate, rather he was smirking, for he knew if you truly didn’t want his hand touching your leg then you would have bumped it away.

“You can’t do that.” Nonetheless, there surmounted a need to establish some insignificant boundary, one that neither of you were going to follow through. “Not when they’re so close.”

“But they didn’t see.” Jun replied, squeezing your inner thigh. “It shouldn’t matter.”

“It does. What if Joshua saw?” At that point, Wonwoo was fairly conditioned to your lingering fingertips, grazes and stares. He usually pretended not to notice them. However, Joshua was a risk.

Jun shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t you worry too much? I always touch your leg.”

That was the problem. People trying to convince other people that their relationship was wholly platonic didn’t linger in such an intimate way. They didn’t creep fingertips up the other’s inner thigh beneath a tablecloth, or possess a gaze that traced the other’s lips like a delectable piece of candy when they spoke. There shouldn’t be any whispers pressed quickly against the other’s ear when no one else was looking, or the dire urge to climb into the other’s lap when their legs were wide open.

Both of you were afraid. Neither of you wanted to break the question that would thrust your relationship into the light. You kept waiting for the right time, but it always seemed one step ahead.

The movie theatre was nearly empty as the longwinded credit screen continued rolling, the last few congregations throwing their soda cups and empty packages into the garbage on their way out. Still, the floor of practically every row had been scattered with butter popcorn or melted m&m’s, shiny chocolate wrappers left crinkled in the recliners like the employees were supposed to take them home as gifts. Wonwoo put his hands on the back of his head, examining the disastrous rows.

You sensed he was feeling rather lucky about not being scheduled that night. Jun forced himself from the recliner and picked up his cup of fruit punch, jammed with way too many ice cubes.

If no one else was going to comment, you might as well. “That wasn’t the worst.”

“Agreed.” Wonwoo said, pushing up his glasses. “The murderer’s ploy was difficult to follow at times. I started getting confused when he left his car in the woods.”

“What?” Jun gawked. “That’s when you got confused? I didn’t even know what was happening after the first half hour.” His eyes gleamed in astonishment.

“Same.” You admitted. “I guess you’ll have to explain in the car.”

Reaching into the cupholder, you pulled out the package of strawberry tangs with nothing but a tiny amount of the powder-like sugar left inside.

“Thank you for picking up your trash,” Wonwoo sighed, taking the lead down the stairway while the credit music still played, “I’d hate to be working tonight.”

The wide corridor was completely vacant by the time you exited the theatre. Ever so slightly you could hear the galactic sound effects from the arcade machines. That buttery scent of popcorn seemed to waft no matter where you stood in the cinema. Wonwoo announced that he was going to check the concession counter to see who was on cash, but assured he would meet you and Jun at the back exit. Jun hurriedly downed his fruit punch in a large gulp before you emerged into the night.

You were confined to the small overhang by the doorway, for a hard rain was pelting against the concrete and turned the night air considerably cooler. Not one of you had checked the forecast beforehand, and you would undoubtedly get drenched straight through to the flesh in your thin long-sleeve.

“How are we going to make it to the car?” You groaned.

Pulling up his hood, Jun only laughed. “Now is a good time to be able to teleport.” He then stuck out his hand for a moment, the raindrops hitting his palm.

“Does it feel like bullets?”

“No. It feels kind of nice actually.” He remarked.

Curious, you rolled up your sleeve and extended your arm into the downpour. Jun was right, it felt satisfactory as each of the brisk droplets splashed your skin. However, you prematurely discovered the rain wasn’t so appealing when Jun suddenly shoved you from beneath the overhang.

“Hey— what the hell?!” You squealed upon the immediate repercussions, the cold water already leaking through your top while Junhui slapped his thigh, cackling.

Wanting to erase that luminous grin of his, you attempted wrestling the lanky boy into the weather, but no more than a few harmless drops skimmed his shoulder. Yet, with another brute shove, Jun stumbled, feeling the silver needles of rain pour down from the night sky and swirl at his dampening sneakers. He was laughing as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you hard against his chest before you were even cognisant that an immense wetness was soaking through your every article.

You wished it had been indignance drumming in your heart rather than affection, because it was taking every single fibre of your being not to kiss him. As the droplets beaded down his skin, he was like a springtime flower caught in the morning dew, and when he carded back the wet, black hairs plastered to his forehead, you thought it was possible to fall into him and never feel that concrete scrape your knees. Gently, his hand touched the small of your wet back, his breaths deepening.

He urged you in tighter as his tongue ran along his bottom lip, tasting the rain.

You were shivering, frigid, though your blood was far too warm to let yourself take note. Instead, you moved your head closer, closer, Jun’s cold palm cupping your cheek and your eyes fluttering shut and your soft mouths just brushing together— until Wonwoo appeared from inside.

Instantly, you two pushed away from each other. With his eyes widening, Wonwoo stuttered.

“I-I’m… I’m going to pretend as best I can that something weird didn’t almost happen.” He stated, swallowing thickly. “Just… Why did you two have to get soaked? You’re sitting in my car, y’know!”

At last, you felt that icy shiver trickle down your spine.

“S-Sorry.” You hummed, teeth chattering.

“I guess it’s fine,” Wonwoo sighed, “I have some towels under the passenger’s seat.”

Not long after returning to the apartment, Wonwoo gathered his laptop and slipped into his pyjamas. He proceeded to flop onto the couch to edit his research paper, though it didn’t take much for his eyelids to start weighing down, his dense paragraphs blurring together on the screen. More often than not you would take advantage of Wonwoo’s midnight crashes in the living room.

After exchanging your damp, terribly cold clothes for a warm t-shirt and sweatpants, you found yourself cozied beneath Jun’s comforter for the umpteenth night. The boy’s head rested against the crook of your neck, where his slow breaths were cool to your skin, though they occasionally became heavier when your fingertips stroked at his smooth hair. He was much like a kitten who loved a thorough scratch behind the ears. You swore that he purred whenever you rubbed the right spot.

Holding out his phone, he’d been finishing an episode of his drama before bed. You tucked some of the black locks behind his ear, noting how much it’d grown over the months. Then your gaze wandered over every detail that shaped his face, as though he were a textured oil painting.

His eyes were always glimmering, seemingly innocent and curious, yet you knew just how much that earthly shade could darken when he fell into his professions. When Jun acted on stage, his gaze lost its untainted nature. It moulded into the role of the sinister characters he preferred playing. When he danced in blazing lights, those eyes were sharp enough to consume, to cut, almost like a razorblade.

But then you studied his lips, his heart-shaped cupid’s bow, the small constellation of moles that dotted his skin like kisses from past soulmates. You thought back to the mist and the rain, his hand resting against the small of your back, how close you were to tasting the flavourful, fruity mix of his drink. In fact, you wondered why you didn’t just kiss Junhui whenever you wanted. What was stopping you, in that moment, from turning his head toward you so that your lips could press to his?

Suddenly, the boy laughed at his phone screen, to which you felt the brassy reverberation erupt in his chest, his eyes glinting and his mouth stretched into a box-like smile. You pulled a few strands of hair from his forehead as he seemed to be glowing, his cheeks rosy.

Jun mewled in surprise when your fingers threaded rather tight through his black locks, feeling you tilt his head up until his gaze was burning into yours.

You didn’t hesitate. Leaning forward, you kissed him sweet and slow.

Jun’s eyes fluttered as the pressure warmed his mouth, a small whine getting caught in his throat upon the gentle sting of your hand tugging at his tresses, his scalp tingling. His phone sunk into the bedsheets, and instead he was gripping your t-shirt, moving his head with yours as the kiss deepened. He tasted like mint, and his small whines were silky.

How on earth could you have ever shied from kissing him when it felt so relieving? Nothing else held any significance to you apart from making his pretty lips shine.

However, you needed to catch your breath. Releasing the firm grasp on his hair, you detached your mouth from his, your chest rising and falling in great lengths. The boy’s eyes couldn’t be more glazed, his lips shimmering, flushed garnet and slightly swollen. Neither of you uttered a word. The blankets fell from Jun’s shoulders as he straddled your waist eagerly. Again, his mouth slotted with yours, and your hands slid up his caramel thighs, imprinting his flesh with the curve of your fingernails.

If you kept quiet enough, then perhaps Wonwoo would remain asleep until morning.

Standing amongst the crowd in the cramped performance hall, it was inevitable that you would get bumped around like a tiny, flying pinball. After rutting into Wonwoo’s shoulder for the third time, he seemed dauntingly close to losing his indolence and snapping, though he realized it wasn’t your fault that others were pushing toward the front of the stage and bit his tongue.

It became tradition for Soonyoung and his students to rent the downtown performance hall and host a fundraiser. The event typically lasted a few hours, with a few short interludes where the dancers would retreat backstage to catch their breath. Being Jun’s roommate, you and Wonwoo were always granted access into the small dressing room, and though you never admitted it, you loved experiencing that small flash of pride whenever the moonstruck audience watched you slip away.

The next interlude was closing in. Despite the different dancers on stage, you really, truthfully, only watched Jun. Each time he captured the centre position, you couldn’t help but cup your hands around your mouth, being one of the first to cheer overtop the deafening music as he moved so fluidly, with poise. He was a completely different person when he performed. Somehow, his tender-hearted nature would peel back and he’d emerge a domineering beacon.

As soon as the stage ended, an uproar rippled from the audience and resonated deep in your ears, to which you couldn’t help but slightly bury your head against Wonwoo’s shoulder to muffle the cacophony. Nonetheless, you were clapping, smiling, staring fondly as Jun grabbed his collar and fluffed it out, welcoming a slight gust of humid air. His skin was dewy with sweat, and yet he glowed beautifully, even when he was breathing so heavily through his nose.

Soonyoung was speaking into his microphone, but you missed half his speech, and before you knew it you were being dragged by Wonwoo through the crowd toward the backstage entrance. The room was at least big enough to accommodate the dancers. Jun was in the corner, gulping down his water.

“Only three more songs,” Wonwoo smiled, “you guys really stepped the level up this year.”

It took a moment before Jun replied, the column of his neck glittering as he completely crushed the plastic bottle in his hands.

“Yeah,” he burst out, “I’m freaking dying.”

“It’s for a good cause at least.” Wonwoo reasoned, ignoring how you stepped on his foot.

After Jun rolled his eyes, he was staring at you.

The air grew much too thick, and you had to clear your throat. “S-Seriously, you’ve improved so much. I can’t believe it.”

“Thanks,” Jun replied, scratching his nape, “it’s nothing special, really.”

“Uh? Nothing special?” Wonwoo quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t Soonyoung say you’re one of the best in the class?”

When Jun innocently flitted his gaze toward a distant spot and pressed his lips together, Wonwoo merely huffed, announcing he was going to the lobby for a drink of water. You watched him wind between the busy dancers, either wiping down their sweat or fanning themselves, until he disappeared out the door. When you faced Jun again, you looped your fingers through the satin collar of his stage outfit and kissed him quickly, knowing everyone was too occupied to take note.

He squeaked, “what happened to being careful?”

“This is your fault.” You eagerly pinned it on him. “Try being less hot.”

“That’s horrible advice. And also not possible. Which makes it worse than horrible.”

You weren’t sure whether or not you wanted to feel his mouth again or whack the side of his head with his deflated water bottle. Opting for latter, you stole another kiss, though you tensed in surprise when Jun wrapped his arm around your waist to secure your body firm against his. Hastily, you pushed at his toned stomach, your heart drilling manically as you looked over your shoulder toward the dancers. It didn’t appear as though anyone had seen and you breathed out in relief.

Suddenly, Soonyoung poked his head through the doorway.

“Ten minutes!” He shouted before disappearing.

Jun was staring at you with the most ingenious twinkle.

“That was your fault.” He purred, tapping your thigh with his water bottle. “Try being less hot.”

You did feel a small sliver of guilt. After all, Wonwoo had been waiting back at the apartment for approximately an hour, twiddling his thumbs, wondering why you and Jun required so much goddamn time just to buy some hot fudge sundaes. The molten taste of the chocolate, the vanilla ice cream, cold and sweet, was completely stolen from your lips by the boy whose lap you were occupying. Wonwoo’s sundae sat on the dashboard, dripping slowly beneath the evening sunlight.

And yet, that infinitesimal sliver was plucked straight out when Jun latched onto a sensitive patch of your neck, softly digging in his teeth and swirling his tongue. Your fingers sheathed through the black hair and pulled up at the roots, knowing how much pleasure he took from the dull sting. Button by button, Jun started to simultaneously open your shirt, to which you questioned if this was really happening, if you were really going to sort of out the complications of intercourse in his car.

The device abandoned in the passenger’s seat buzzed. You already knew the name to the text. As Jun kissed his way down to your collarbone, licking and suckling, you reached for your phone, feeling it buzz again with another impatient text. The guilt from earlier began to resurface.

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] This is suspicious now. WHERE ARE YOU? >:(

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] Actually screw that. WHERE IS MY HOT FUDGE SUNDAE?

The screen blipped with yet another message.

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] I know you’re reading these… Answer me or I won’t feed Princess Pebble!!

“J-Jun,” you piped up, hearing his low, husky mumble while he continued to mark your collarbone, “I think we need to go home now.”

The boy splayed a few more open-mouthed kisses against the skin before peeking up at you, his eyes wide and glimmering, lips flushed a deep magenta. With half the buttons of your shirt hanging open and your heart blazing, you had to snip the venereal longing in its bud.

“What’s wrong?” Jun hummed, pushing his fingers through the loops on your jeans. “Who’s texting?”

“Wonwoo. He’s been waiting for almost an hour, and his sundae is gonna be a puddle at this rate.”

He blinked a bit cluelessly, though still in musing. “There’s no way to be quick about this, is there?”

Rebuttoning your shirt, you shook your head and laughed. “Let’s wait before we ruin the car. I’m sure there’ll be a better time in the future.”

Jun nodded in agreement and relaxed back into the seat, a ray of sunshine that bled golden slanting through the windshield. Somehow, Wonwoo’s sundae wasn’t a complete pool sitting in the plastic cup, but that didn’t negate the fact he was still going to start his theory on responsibility and trust the moment you stepped onto the welcome mat. As you finished clasping the last buttons, something had caught Jun’s eye out the window, for he immediately panicked and tightly gripped your waist.

“Oh my god, g-get off my lap,” he grunted, to which your head bumped against the ceiling during the hurried shuffle and your knee whacked the gearstick.

“Ow! Okay, I’m going! Jeez, could you not give me a warning?”

“No,” Jun remarked, looking quickly to the rear-view mirror to straighten out his hair, “it’s Jeonghan and Soonyoung. They just came out of the store.”

When you glanced out Jun’s window, you noted the duo making their way across the parking lot, some plastic bags filled with groceries hanging from Jeonghan’s hand while Soonyoung appeared to be texting someone. To both your dismay, Soonyoung immediately recognized Jun’s car. You watched as the blonde bumped Jeonghan’s shoulder, how they took a slight detour on their way over.

“We have to talk to them?” You whined. “Are you kidding? Lock your window.”

Jun’s brow pinched together. “How is that going to help? They already saw us so just relax.”

“You’re telling me to relax? You practically threw me off your la—”

“Shht,” Jun snapped as the two boys drew nearer, “just shhhhht okay?” And with an incredibly large gulp, he plastered a happy-go-lucky smile to his mouth and let the window slide open.

“Jun?” Soonyoung called, leaning down slightly to peer inside the vehicle. “What’re you doing out here, huh? Back from shoplifting?”

Jeonghan bent down too, grinning snidely. “You looked a little frazzled or something.”

“Me?” Jun pointed at himself. “No, I’m fine. Just – we have to leave. Wonwoo is waiting.”

“Wonwoo?” Jeonghan seemed excited. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Hey, tell him I’m still appreciative for writing my World History paper on the Persian Empire.”

You knew it was best to stay quiet, but you couldn’t help your slight choke. Wonwoo had come home one day saying that one of his classmates offered him seventy-five bucks if he’d write their history paper. He wasn’t going to oblige originally, but cracked after listening to his classmate type out their introduction in the library, that it was just so bad Wonwoo felt piteous and decided to pitch in.

Gaping at Jeonghan, you exclaimed, “that was you?”

“Yeah. I mean, I still dropped that class. And Wonwoo definitely thinks I’m a dumbass. But I didn’t have to do a spot of work, and now I’m getting smooth nineties in English. You just have to make up some shit and do a couple fancy indents and you’re set.”

Jeonghan paused, then leaned in a little further to look you up and down. “Y’know, I’ve never seen you before. How easily do you give out your numbe—”

“We really have to go,” Jun interrupted, already clicking the button to roll up the window, “see you at practice, Soonyoung. Bye Jeonghan!”

The two boys didn’t really have any other option apart from stepping back, allowing Jun to exit the parking space and turn onto the road. Not that it would help much, you turned on the air conditioning until it felt like the wind was pure ice, hoping that you’d be able to preserve Wonwoo’s melting fudge sundae. You made sure to text him on your whereabouts, that you were heading home, and churned up a white lie about how you ran into Jun’s friends who held a persistent conversation.

It wasn’t entirely false. And yet, Wonwoo still managed to see through it.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: Just say you were making out.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: Btw, I fed Princess Pebble.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: I’m not a sinner. Unlike you guys.

Later that evening, after delivering Wonwoo his melted cup of chocolate ice cream, after Jun quickly threw some extra clothes into his backpack and ran to his late-night dance practice, you were standing at the fish tank with some new plants you bought for your guppy. As the bright lights of the tank reflected across your face, there was a strange feeling inside you. It seemed like turbulence, confusion, your heart experiencing one sentiment but your brain thinking another.

You hadn’t realized you were absently standing there until Wonwoo came into the dark living room, holding a crumpled tube of toothpaste and his toothbrush. Watching the pink fish swim in between her new seaweed arrangement, he asked you if there was an extra tube stored in your bedroom.

“Don’t think so. Text Jun and ask him to stop at the store when his practice ends.”

“I’ll do that…” Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, you know I already fed Princess Pebble?”

He accompanied you at the tank. For some reason, you refused to look at Wonwoo. You felt unusually vulnerable, like a fragile shell that could be cracked open even by the gentlest hands, and the more you thought into your emotions, the harder your heart started pounding.

“I-I know,” you smiled weakly, “but I got her some new plants today. I just put them in.”

Wonwoo could always tell when something was off-kilter. You almost hated how sharp his senses were, that he was able to detect with such accuracy how you were being eaten up inside. Softly, he touched your shoulder, urged you to turn toward him so he could see the honest colour in your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned, pushing up the bridge of his glasses.

You felt terrified, but there was no sense in pretending.

“How do I tell Jun that I’m in love with him? That I don’t want us to be a secret anymore?”

It was a weighted question, and you knew that. But it was also the truth. As much as it could be invigorating to maintain a secret relationship, you were beginning to feel the brittle side effects that came with keeping such love behind closed doors. You didn’t want Jun to push you from his lap just because his friends might’ve seen you, nor did you want to keep an eye out for whether or not you should knock his hand off your thigh in public. The secrecy had been fun, but it wasn’t enough.

Scratching the blue collar of his shirt, Wonwoo appeared uncertain.

“I’m not sure, honestly. I just think you shouldn’t repress this. You need to be upfront.”

“How?” It sounded like a desperate plead. “I don’t know how, Wonwoo.”

“Stop overthinking it,” the boy advised, grabbing onto your shoulders and giving your frame a small, grounding shake, “you know Jun. You know he isn’t a rash person. You know if you tell him he’ll hear every word of it. It doesn’t take a genius to see you’re all he thinks about.”

Wonwoo brushed at the side of your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t hurt yourself like this, okay? The next time you’re alone, just say how you feel. I promise it won’t be as bad as you’re hypothesizing.”

You inhaled a deep breath and nodded. Overthinking was a poison to you. It shouldn’t be that difficult to be honest, especially when you knew how attentive Jun was, the manner in which he always adapted himself to be of a comforting presence.

“Okay,” you attempted to draw together some confidence, “I’ll do that.”

“Good.” The boy grinned, still fiddling with his empty tube of toothpaste. “It really doesn’t bother me that you guys run around together. Just… please… never do anything weird in my bed.”

The next time you were alone with Jun, it was all but a desirable circumstance. Once you came home from work and heated up some leftover dinner in the microwave, you decided to feed Princess Pebble, though your jaw unhinged as you noticed something a little unorthodox about her tank: a pink blotch floating against the surface of the water. Immediately, the tears welted hot and stinging against your eyes. You had to use the small net to scoop your guppy out from the water.

Remarkably, Princess Pebble had lived a long life for a fish. You remembered walking with Jun to the pet store one summer afternoon, after you two finished your last day of eleventh grade and had just escaped a brutal chemistry exam. Rather than studying beforehand, you spent ample time researching different types of fish, and would often send Jun pictures asking him to choose which one he thought was cutest. Yet, at the end of it all, you chose a guppy with the prettiest pink scales.

“Don’t most people want a puppy? A kitten? And you choose a boring fish.”

Jun had teased, sounding awkward and a bit lisped through his braces.

Somehow, Princess Pebble had managed to live a five-year lifespan. Wonwoo told you most guppies live for two years, three years if the owner takes good care. Sitting at the kitchen table, you placed her body onto a piece of paper towel, the thick tears dripping down your cheeks while your sinuses grew wet and congested. You didn’t know if it was petulant to be your age, crying over a pet fish. In fact, you didn’t even possess the heart to rise from the table and discard her body.

It wasn’t much longer until Jun returned home after his theatre class, to which you heard his key rattling in the lock. Wonwoo was scheduled for a shift at the cinema, most likely handing out overpriced popcorn and chocolate and having to reject every person who asked for his number.

“Hey,” he called, shouldering off his backpack, “Wonwoo texted me. That weird thriller we were looking at is playing next week. We should—,”

Jun paused the moment he heard your runny sniffling. He didn’t realize that your fish was sitting on the paper towel until he took a few steps closer. You felt embarrassed Jun had to see you like this. If you were crying, it had always been over something with a little more gravity, like the time you were distraught about flunking your laboratory practical, and Wonwoo couldn’t persuade you to open your bedroom door no matter how frequently he stood outside, pleading.

Plucking at the collar of your shirt, you used the fabric to clear away the tears. Without a word, Jun grabbed another chair from the dining table and pulled it next to you, scooting in close. As soon as you felt his arm drape around your shoulders, it was like someone had pulled the plug on a bathtub filled with water, to which you pressed your face against his neck and sobbed harder.

“I’m so sorry.” Jun whispered, hugging you tight to his comfortable chest. “It’s okay to be upset. I know how much she meant to you.”

He drew soothing strokes down the back of your head, and he sat with you until those wet pearls ran dry with salt. You knew it wasn’t wise to keep her body out in the air, that you would have to discard her somehow, yet the thought of having to flush her away seemed too cruel. Jun wiped the soft glisten from your cheeks with his sleeve, his fingers then tracing up and down the side of your face.

“I-I don’t want to flush her.” You blubbered.

The boy shook his head. “We won’t do that. We’ll find a good way to handle it.” His thumb brushed tenderly below the fragile skin of your eye for a moment, and he seemed to be in musing.

“Wait here.” He announced, suddenly running into his bedroom.

You could hear Jun shuffling through his closet, moving around clothing hangers and pushing aside boxes still filled with some of his old belongings from homelife in Shenzhen. When he remerged into the living room, he was holding a particular tissue box, one that you hadn’t seen since twelfth grade biology. You, Jun, and Wonwoo had painted and decorated the box as part of an optional project, to see if you could grow any plants from the packets of radish and tomato seeds your teacher had.

Nothing ever grew. Wonwoo claimed there had been some green sprouts when it was his turn to look after the makeshift garden, but that his cat snuck into his room and ate them all. Jun always kept a multitude of random things that dated back to your adolescence. As awkward and bumpy as those times were, seeing the tissue box reminded you that there had been precious moments too.

“Why do you still have that?” You laughed, even if your chest was aching.

“Because that was the first time us three did something together.” Jun said, returning to his seat beside you. “It was one of the first memories I made after moving away from home.”

You fondly looked at Jun while pulling the tissue box toward you, slathered in old, chipping acrylic paint and obnoxious, starry glitter.

Licking the dry salt off your lips, you smiled. “Princess Pebble would love this.”

“It can be her shrine. When Wonwoo comes home, we can find a good place to bury it.” Jun explained. “I know I called her boring five years ago, but I didn’t mean it. I loved her too.”

In the pensive silence, you thought back to your conversation with Wonwoo, recalling his firm grip on your shoulders as he reiterated the importance of freeing your heart, of not bogging yourself down with too many untold truths. Then, you glanced at Jun. You thought about that fluttering feeling when you kissed him, when you ran your fingers through his hair, listening to his deep-chested laughter whenever he gleefully buckled over into your lap after telling one of his hit-or-miss jokes.

The boy tensed slightly as you pulled him into a hug, though he quickly came to ease and warmth. You thanked him, because it just felt like the right thing to do for his compassion.

And then you told him something else.

“I love you.”

Without missing a heartbeat, he murmured against your hair, “I love you too.”

It was late, unreasonably late, the past-midnight late where the entire world falls still like an unperturbed pond. Downtown was completely hushed. Every so often the wind picked up, though it inevitably withered away in between the buildings and emerged a pitiful whistle onto the street. And yet, despite the fact you should be tucked in bed while the moon protected the silence in her silver hands, you were pushing outside the convenience shop with Jun close behind.

He took the end of a straw into his mouth and slurped at the sweet, cherry-flavoured slushie that was beginning to empty. Immediately, he crinkled his forehead and his face contorted.

“How many times have I said not to do that?” You laughed as he passed you the slippery cup.

“I don’t know. Three?” Jun replied with a grimace. “I can really feel it. Wait, I need a moment.”

You stopped next to the traffic post at the end of the street. Jun grabbed at his hair and squeezed like it was some miraculous remedy for curing a brain freeze. Directing the straw into your mouth, you sucked up the cherry syrup and crushed ice until you felt the distant ache thrum inside your head.

“Okay…” Jun concluded, brushing the long, black fringe from his eyes, “I’m good now.”

Thrusting the drink back into his hands, you couldn’t help but huff: “you’re such a baby.”

As though to prove your point, Jun started whining. “My head is so, so cold. It’s freezing.”

“So put this up or something.” You teased, reaching around the back of his neck to pull the boy’s hood over his head. Giggling slightly, you grinned at him as he shot you a questionable glance.

The streets remained quiet, and the sky was remarkably clear, no more than a few ragged and thin clouds drifting over the stars. The last time you had been on this corner, you were licking the strawberry sugar off your fingertips while Jun crumpled his last packet of popping candy. You remembered tracing the rose tint that warmed his lips, each fibre in your muscle twitching because you just wanted to wrap a hand through his locks and kiss him like he was your last breath.

You didn’t understand how you could love one person so much. Why love often fused itself into your bloodstream more than functionality. Your heart knew how to beat, yet it stumbled whenever you gazed at him. Your lungs knew how to filter the air, yet they closed up whenever you caught his eye. Your tongue knew how to articulate, yet it tied itself in a knot the moment he’d touch you.

“Hey,” you mumbled, patting his arm, “can I ask you something?”

Jun looked away from the stars, sipping at his drink again. He nodded.

The moon probably wanted to crush your heart in her hands for how loudly it was thumping.

“What if I told you that I want people to know we’re together? What would you say?”

Despite your anxiousness, you weren’t as afraid as you anticipated. Maybe it was because Jun didn’t immediately sour or attempt to disparage your sentiments. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he blinked at you, but it didn’t matter. When it was most important, Jun picked his words carefully.

“I’d tell you that I want the same thing,” he admitted, his tone deepening and the amber in his cheeks sparked with pink, “that I want people to know how I feel about you… That I’ve always been in love with you.”

You smiled wide, like a kid who just got their braces off. Unable to contain such a rapturous energy, you stepped in close to Jun and held onto his shoulders, dotting the corners of his mouth with small kisses before you pressed your lips against his. You felt him smirk, though it seemed too devious. Jun had suddenly wrapped his arms around your lower back, pushing you in chest-to-chest. You melted as he kissed you, your fingertips ghosting along the soft hairs at his nape, the moonlight on your skin.

When you arrived back at the apartment, you could hear a few of Wonwoo’s gentle snores echo from behind the bedroom door. Just before you slipped away into your own room, Jun left a goodnight kiss to the top of your head, his hand thoughtfully squeezing your hip.

“I-Isn’t it a little late for that?” Jun stumbled through his laughter. “Why do you need me?”

You finally knew what you should have said.

“Because I love you.”

✧✎ a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SWEET PRINCE!! never would i have imagined that someone who’s on the opposite side of the globe could mean so much to me ;_; mr. moon has been such a healing presence, and it’s bc of him that i have found so much happiness these past five years! whenever i see him smiling and laughing and have good ol times just being himself, all my worrisome thoughts somehow fade away and i feel only joy!!

anyways, i don’t want to ramble for too long (i could really fill a page with my cloying sentiments r.i.p) but i hope this was a wholesome fic!! the stars aligned and for once i was able to write a fic for a member’s birthday :_)

#svt fanfic #jun scenarios #seventeen scenarios #jun fic #seventeen fics #seventeen imagines #jun imagine #jun x reader #svt x reader #wen junhui #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #junhui scenarios #jun fluff #junhui fic

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anotherspnfanfic · 3 years

Text

Holy Muffins, Batman

Summary: She needs somewhere to work, Dean has just the place.

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word count: 1612

Warnings: none, it’s all fluff

Squares filled: Cafe owner!Dean for @spnchristmasbingo, burgers and fries for @spndeanbingo

A/N: I kind of love how this one turned out. 😊

~~~

She walked into the cafe and smiled when she saw her favorite corner booth was empty. As she slid into her seat, she pulled out her laptop.

“G’morning, sweetheart. You’re here early today.”

She looked over and spotted Dean headed her way. “Yeah, tell me about it.” She stifled a yawn. “But I have a deadline. I stared at a blinking cursor for at least two and a half hours yesterday. I figured a change of scenery might do the trick. My editor will hunt me down if she doesn’t have something from me today.”

“So extra large on your latte then?” He was already slowly backing away from the table to go prepare her drink.

She nodded eagerly. “Please, and keep ‘em coming.”

He returned a couple minutes later. He set a large mug on the table and a plate with three muffins. “Here you go, sweetheart.”

“Holy muffins, Batman.” She laughed.

He chuckled and shrugged. “Blueberry, your usual. The others are a gingerbread and a, uh, lemon cranberry.” He sounded uncertain. “Jody made them. Something about us needing Christmas-themed options. Figured you could test them out and let me know what you think.”

She lifted the one with cranberries and smelled it. “I think I can handle that. They smell amazing.”

“I’ll let you get to work. Let me know if you need anything.” He smiled as he turned and walked over to greet a recently-occupied table.

Sipping her latte, she looked around the cafe and watched as a handful of people came in for their morning coffee and promptly left again. She pulled off pieces of each of the muffins, munching as she people-watched. When she had finished off one muffin, she finally opened her laptop and powered it up.

Accessing her previously saved Word document, she heard Dean laugh. The sound drew her attention to where he stood behind the counter, joking with a couple placing an order. She couldn’t help but mirror his infectious smile. She turned her attention to the screen in front of her. Before she knew it, she had several paragraphs written and the inspiration was, finally, flowing freely.

Some time later, she reached for her mug that had been nearly empty when she’d last taken a sip. Instead, she found a new, full latte in its place. She wondered when that had appeared and how she had missed the delivery. She looked up and spotted Dean wiping down the table two over from her. “Thanks, Dean.” She lifted the mug as she spoke. He winked before resuming his task. She felt the blush creep over her cheeks as she turned her attention back to her writing.

She finished a chapter and was emailing the document to her editor when a hand waved between her face and the computer screen. She looked up to find Dean standing beside the table with a plate in his hands.

“I think you’ve looked away from that screen once in the last four hours,” he started. He set the plate down. “And that was ten minutes after I brought you a fresh latte. I figured you might be hungry, but I didn’t want the burger to be cold before you noticed it.”

“It has not been…” She trailed off as she looked at the clock. “How has it been four hours?!”

He shrugged.

She picked a fry off the plate and ate it. “Well, you were right. I am actually starving.”

He chuckled. “We can’t have that. Is there anything else I can get you?”

She bit her lip to contain her smile. “Hmm, yes. Some company would be nice.”

He smirked mischievously. “Sure. I can send Jody over. You can tell her what you think of the muffins.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not who I had in mind. The boss does give you a lunch break, right?”

“I think he can make an exception today,” he teased. Both of them knowing he was talking about himself. “I’ll be right back.”

He came back two minutes later with another plate with his own burger and fries. He set the dish on the table before sliding in across from her.

As he settled, she took a bite of her burger and moaned loudly. He raised his eyebrows, amusement playing across his features. “Sorry,” she mumbled, quickly covering her mouth.

“You won’t ever hear me complain about getting a woman to make that sound,” he said with a cocky smirk. He winked before lifting his own burger off his plate.

“Smooth.” She took another bite and waited until she had swallowed to continue. “Seriously though, I hope you know you’ve ruined burgers from anywhere else. These are incredible.”

A small, proud smile replaced his smirk as he broke eye contact momentarily. “Thank you.”

They continued to eat in a comfortable silence. Munching on the remaining fries, she asked, “Do you have any fun plans for Christmas?”

He nodded as he finished chewing. “Kind of. Just dinner and gifts with my brother, his wife, and our parents. What about you?”

“Pretty much the same. Dinner and gifts with my sister and parents.”

“Just the one sibling?” he asked.

“Yup. Just me and her. Just you and your brother?”

He nodded. “Older or younger?”

“She’s older. I’m the baby of the family.” He stole a fry off her plate and she smacked his hand. She scowled the best she could while trying not to laugh.

“Sammy is four years younger than me.” There was a fondness in his voice that told her how much he loved his brother.

“So you torment him.” It wasn’t a question.

Dean chuckled. “Well, it is in the older sibling handbook. It’s actually required.”

She finished her fries then lifted her napkin to wipe her mouth. She set it on top of the empty plate.

He watched as she eyed her laptop quickly. “What exactly is it you’ve been typing away at all morning?”

“The beginning of my next book. It’s the third of a series,” she explained.

“Wow. What are they about?”

“Monsters.” She watched as his eyebrows rose in surprise. “Werewolves, vampires, changelings… you know, all the things that go bump in the night.”

He cleared his throat, letting the information settle. “I don’t know what I was expecting but that wasn’t it. Please, tell me more.”

She shook her head. “You are just going to have to read the books if you want to know more.”

“Okay.” He reached toward the laptop to try and pull it over to himself.

She pushed his hand away. “No, no, no, nice try. I was referring to the published ones.”

He pouted. “Fine. I guess I should let you get back to it.” He stood and picked up the empty plates.

“Thanks for joining me.” She pulled her laptop in front of her and was back to writing before he was ten steps away.

Several hours and lattes later, she finished sending yet another email to her editor before starting to shut down her laptop. Glancing around, she noticed most of the tables had the chairs set up on top. Dean was sitting at a table near the window, Christmas lights now lit in the trees outside. She smiled at the view for a moment. She could see his concentration as he typed something. Pulling her eyes away from him she finally noticed everyone else was gone, including his staff.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, causing him to look over at her.

He checked his watch and chuckled. “I actually closed up about twenty minutes ago.”

“What?” She closed her laptop and put it back into her bag. “Why didn’t you kick me out?”

“You looked like you were on a roll.” He gestured toward the surface in front of him, littered with papers. “And I wasn’t ready to head out anyway.”

Grabbing her bag, she stood and moved towards his table. “Don’t you have a perfectly good office for all of that?”

He gave her a lopsided grin as he glanced back down at the table. “Yes, I do, but I didn’t want you to look up and find no one here.”

She shifted her bag on her shoulder. “I appreciate that, and thank you for letting me camp out here all day.”

“You are welcome to camp out here anytime you want to, sweetheart.”

She blushed. “So, what do I owe you?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “On the house.” She shook her head and opened her mouth to protest. “I insist.” He reached forward and pulled down the laptop screen, smoothly closing it.

She groaned. “Fine. If you insist. Thank you, again.”

He stood and placed his hands on both of her arms. He tipped his head down and looked her in the eyes. “Any chance you want to go get some dessert somewhere? I know a place that has great pie.”

She looked down at the table. “I thought you said you weren’t ready to leave yet.” She looked back at him and watched the smallest smile appear.

“Did I?” He feigned innocence. “Huh, well I can finish this later.”

She considered his offer. “On one condition. We also walk around downtown to look at all the Christmas lights.”

“Sounds like a deal.” He offered his hand for her to take. As she took it, he ran his thumb across her knuckles. He took two steps backwards before turning toward the door and pulling her with him. He flipped the lights off and locked the door as they left.

Enjoying each other’s company, they slowly strolled hand-in-hand down the sidewalk toward their destination, taking in all the lights and decorations along the way.

~~~

Tags: @deanwasscaredbyacat @babypieandwhiskey @muchamusedaboutnothing @defenderrosetyler @akshi8278 @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @thoughts-and-funnies

#spn #spndeanbingo #spnchristmasbingo #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester au #dean winchester x reader #cafe owner AU #cafe owner dean #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean one shot #my gif

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webrokethe4thwall · 3 years

Note

Can you write a Fanfic where Rupert Swaggart finds his own brooch and gets his live back?

Sorry for the wait @the-deku-guy, but here’s your request!

Brooches before Swine

A large man adjusted his trench coat and fedora as he scanned the stalls of the jewelers’ black market. He was not searching for your standard silver necklace or ruby ring, but a brooch. Specifically, a cloaking brooch. Meat Sweats was once again on the hunt for a mystic cloaking brooch. However, even now as he looked over the charms laid out on the table, his hopes plummeted. Several brooches, ranging from simple to ornate to tacky, were lined up, but none of them were mystic.

He had been through all of the black market stalls, antique malls, and even online auction halls. Each location yielded the same result: nothing. The former celebrity chef released a frustrated groan. He had been so close to reclaiming his old life with the last brooch he had found here. If only those two pesky girls—the curly-headed one and the slime-ball—hadn’t stolen it from him and ruined his plans!

And to add insult to injury, they had trapped him in that backwater barbeque studio. Did those amateurs not understand how to properly prepare meat before cooking it?!

“Rubbish, pitchfork-wielding hicks,” Meat Sweats grumbled, stalking away from the broach district. “Don’t know the difference between brine and a bay leaf.”

Regardless of the past, Meat Sweats was determined to regain his fame, his cooking show, and his previous life as Rupert Swaggart. Nothing and no one was going to stop him! …Well, except for his lack of a human appearance. Meat Sweats continued to mutter under his breath. He had seen other mutants—pardon, yokai—with cloaking brooches. Why was he unable to find one? Maybe there was a recall for some kind of mystical enhancement.

“One moment,” Meat Sweats grunted. “A memory stirs.”

He put a fist to his chin as he thought of a past conversation. It had been a few weeks ago with a tiny worm mutant whose name completely slipped his mind. The fellow had said he purchased a mystical enhancement jewel from some mystic shop disguised as a secondhand corner store.

“If that’s the case,” Meat Sweats mused, “perchance a visit is in order.”

That very night, the pig mutant went to the corner store. He pulled his clothes tight to his frame upon entering the store. He didn’t much care if he looked suspicious; he just didn’t want the police called on him tonight. The first thing Meat Sweats saw was some skinny greasy guy standing behind the counter. This fellow must’ve been the cloaked yokai. Meat Sweats took in the man’s lackluster appearance, baseball cap, and vague scent of chevon. After taking a moment to size each other up, the mutated chef decided to break the silence first.

“I heard that you sell delectable jewelry in this establishment,” Meat Sweats said.

“Oh, we sell all kinds of things here,” the man stated. “Lamps, dolls, and toasters to name a few; but yeah, jewelry is in the mix. The name’s Clem!” He gave Meat Sweats a lazy onceover. “You, uh, looking for something particular, friend? Nudge, nudge.”

“Nudge, nudge?” Meat Sweats asked. “It’s ‘wink, wink,’ matey.” What a peculiar character.

“Clem, get your act together!” The man shook his head in self-deprecation. Giving the password away again because he forgot an idiom. How embarrassing!

Before Meat Sweats could fake curiosity over what Clem meant, the man began shedding his disguise. The now purple goat yokai rang the bell on the counter, revealing hidden compartments in the displays that contained his mystical wares. Clem spread his arms out, showcasing the jewelry on his shelves.

“You said you’re looking for jewelry,” he droned. “What kind?”

“Cloaking brooch,” Meat Sweats stated, tearing away his trench coat. “Can’t really go on live television looking like this, now can I?”

“Wouldn’t really recommend it, no,” Clem said after a low whistle. “I’ve got just the thing.”

He knelt down behind the counter and pulled up a tray laden with stunning brooches. Clem plucked one up and handed it to the pig mutant. Meat Sweats turned it in his metal hands, admiring the star-shaped silver with a shining pink pearl in its center. He pinned the brooch to his collar and gave it a little shine. Soon his body was wrapped up in the soft pink glow of the mystical cloaking energy. Meat Sweats looked at himself in the counter’s shiny surface. It was perfect.

“All kinds of handsome is me once again,” Meat Sweats, now Rupert Swaggart, grinned.

With a wink and kiss sent to his reflection, Rupert threw a few bills at Clem. He had no appetite for goat yokai shopkeepers at the moment. No, it was time for Rupert to reclaim his previous life in full.

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A few nights later, Mikey upped the volume on his kitchen television. It was time for Kondescending Kitchen, and he was determined to make the perfect risotto!

“Are you ready to unleash the flavor?!”

Mikey came to an abrupt halt. That voice…it couldn’t be! He focused fully on the television. Meat Sweats, disguised as Rupert Swaggart, stood front and center for a cheering audience. Not good.

“Guys,” the box turtle yelled, already reaching for his kusari-fundo, “we’ve got a problem!”

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Rupert left the stage with the sound of the audience’s queued cheers pouring into his ears. He smirked to himself as he entered his dressing room. It was quite refreshing to hear after months of absence from his television career. The station manager even said that she was going to schedule an interview about his dramatic transformations and his unexpected final return. Yes, his cloaking brooch shining brilliantly on his apron was working greatly in his favor. The chef grinned as he picked up the night’s winning dish: pork risotto.

“Time to savor my victory,” Rupert hummed contentedly.

“Not a chance, Meat Sweats!”

One yellow and four green blurs swept into Rupert’s vision. No, not these reptilian nuisances and that ruinous girl! While Rupert hadn’t done anything more than reclaim his television program from an undeserving rival, Meat Sweats should’ve known that these pains in his tendrils would catch wind of his return.

“Not you rotten eggs!” Meat Sweats snarled, ditching his disguise in favor of his more combat-ready pig mutant appearance.

“You know it!” April defiantly retorted. “Which poor yokai did you steal this brooch from?!”

Now Meat Sweats was genuinely confused. He was also annoyed, but he had some modicum of integrity. He never stole the brooch. He didn’t even steal the first one! He bought both pieces fair and square. Granted his newest item was from a slightly more legitimate business. Nevertheless, why are these pests coming after him tonight?! He hadn’t even attempted to eat or poison anyone recently!

Before Meat Sweats could state his innocence, the fight was on. Raphael and Donatello charged him head on, while Leonardo and Michelangelo went for his sides. Meat Sweats easily knocked all four of them back with a swing of his meat tenderizer. He nearly missed April reaching for his rose gold cloaking brooch.

“Hands off!” Meat Sweats roared, stepping away from the girl and raising a protective hand over the shining pearl. “This is me own brooch!”

“Oh, yeah?” Mikey challenged. “Show us the receipt then!”

Meat Sweats, fed up with these annoying teenagers that always seemed to pop up in his life, shoved the seedy secondhand shop’s receipt into the smallest turtle’s face. The turtles and girl clearly didn’t expect this response. All fighting stopped, and it appeared the children were taking a moment to process the strip of paper between the pig mutant’s gloved fingers.

“Satisfied?!” Meat Sweats demanded.

“Wait,” Raph said in disbelief. “You actually, legitimately bought a cloaking brooch?”

“How much does one go for?” Donnie asked, squinting at the too small smudged numbers.

“Enough to get the job done,” Meat Sweats stated, stuffing the receipt back into his pocket. “Now, leave me be before I cook you all into turtle soup!”

“Not so fast,” Leo said. “Why do you need a cloaking brooch anyway. You’ve just been trying to eat and poison people this entire time. Did you want to do that when you were human, too, or is it a pig thing?”

Meat Sweats sighed in exasperation. Maybe he should’ve just let the fighting go on until either he passed out or they ran off. It was too late to find out, in any case. Now he had to converse with, ugh, teenagers about his rather tame plans and not-so-tame eating habits.

“Pig thing,” Meat Sweats stated shortly. He rubbed his cloaking brooch and reactivated his human façade. “I’m taking back what’s mine with this brooch. My show, my fame, and my life need my human face. I’m not about to let some mediocre fry cook take over my kitchen!”

The so-called chef the station had replaced him with was barely out of culinary school his skills were so dull. It boiled Meat Sweats’ blood. Whether those pesky teenagers liked it or not, Rupert Swaggart was making a comeback. Kondescending Kitchen needed him! Meat Sweats just needed a human face to rescue it. While some people were accepting of mutants or cosplay junkies, the public eye required a certain degree of discretion.

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” April asked. She gave Rupert a distrustful once over.

“Not a problem!” Mikey interjected. He slid himself between his siblings and the returned celebrity chef. “We’ll just enroll him into my Evil League of Mutants Going Good Rehabilitation Program!”

“His what?” Rupert asked, baffled by whatever the exuberant turtle was rambling about.

“It is Michael’s method of transforming our enemies into allies,” Donnie drawled. “It has been showing promising results for Draxum. Though there may be a learning curve.”

“Yeah,” Leo reluctantly agreed, “but Draxum’s the only one that Mikey has worked with so far. How do we know it’ll work on this guy?”

“That’s easy,” Raph stated, fully confident in his baby brother. “Since we know that Mikey’s program worked on one of the worst people we know, we’ll help him with setting Meat Sweats on the right path.”

“And keep Mikey from getting star-struck,” April muttered, eying the way Mikey fawned over the sweaty chef.

Rupert rolled his eyes. What is wrong with these kids?! Were they seriously discussing the future of his moral status in front of him? He didn’t need to put up with this!

“Don’t I get any say in this?” Rupert demanded.

“No!”

All the teenagers glared at him, except for the orange clad turtle who had stars in his eyes. The audacity!

“Rubbish,” Rupert grunted.

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For weeks, Meat Sweats was under the unnervingly close surveillance of the Mad Dogs. A ridiculously unsuitable name for those five obnoxious kids. He despised how involved they forced themselves to be in his life. Telling him what to do and what not to do. It was annoying! Don’t eat the mutant silverfish this, and don’t sabotage your culinary rivals that. He was sick of it and was very vocal about his displeasure.

However, the teens didn’t seem to care nor let up in their efforts to conform him to the moral high ground. The chef didn’t know if reclaiming his glory was worth the hassle. At least he didn’t have to waste energy tenderizing their bones anymore. Michelangelo even had a realistic view of his character in spite of his fanboy attitude towards Rupert Swaggart.

The box turtle never expected him to become 100% kindhearted, if he ever became nice at all. However, Mikey did put limits on Meat Sweats and made him stick to some simple moral codes. Rupert just wanted to get his status as “Most Pretentious Chef in New York” back on track. Unfortunately, the youngest turtle did not allow him to perform any of his deliciously underhanded tricks on his competition.

“Meat Sweats!” Mikey admonished. He had just caught the reforming chef about to pour mystic poison into his delightful pizza puffs. Again. “What are we supposed to do with our culinary competition?!”

Meat Sweats released an annoyed grunt. He was getting tired of repeating his supposed mentor’s lessons, but it was mildly better than the intermittent fighting they used to go through.

“Out-serve them with quality meals, not quality poison,” Rupert droned. It was verbatim from one of Chef Mikey’s many “Maintaining Healthy Competition” lectures.

“Exactly,” Mikey said in a condescendingly sweet tone. He took the poison from Meat Sweats’ grip and yeeted it into the distance. “Now put on Rupert Swaggart, and let’s make filet mignon!”

Meat Sweats rolled his eyes at the young turtle’s antics but went along with it. Michelangelo was a decent enough chef for his age, proving his potential by the way he prepared that salmon when two drooling snakes were baring down on them. Rupert Swaggart activated his cloaking brooch and picked up a knife. He may as well humor Mikey with an attempt to mature his talent.

“Not a bad idea, lad,” Rupert agreed. “Filet mignon with roasted asparagus and,” he smirked, “truffles.”

Mikey’s eye twitched at the traumatic memory. “Not funny, sweat sock.”

Meat Sweats laughed uproariously, and even harder still when he saw Mikey’s annoyance growing. It was fun messing with this one. No matter what the chef threw his way, the young turtle always bounced back with an even snarkier reply. He might make a Kondescending Chef out of the boy yet. With no further preamble, the two mutants proceeded to craft a fine meal of filet mignon over roasted asparagus drizzled with mushroom sauce.

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A month later, Rupert’s program established itself as the most popular food-related show on television once again. Crimes related to a food truck driven by a pig mutant plummeted as the celebrity chef made more public appearances. He had finally achieved his goal. Now Meat Sweats could kick back in his apartment, resting in his easy chair, and let the adulation from his fans inflate his ego, and his wallet, once more. A loud knock on his door broke him out of the moment, and the door being kicked open entirely had the pig mutant falling out of his chair.

“What in blazes?!” Meat Sweats shouted, quickly activating his cloaking brooch.

“Sorry for the door,” April cheered, giving no sign of remorse at all. “But I come baring gifts, and they’re heavy!”

April lifted several plastic bags filled with groceries. Rupert gave the girl an annoyed glare. He got up from the floor, set his door back into place minimal effort, and stared his “visitor” down. The chef didn’t know why she was in his home without her turtle friends, but he did catch the delightful aroma of raw meat, seasonings, and vegetables wafting from the bags in her hands. April immediately went to the kitchen and dumped a few wrapped lamb chops, fresh artichokes, a jar of capers, and several other ingredients onto the countertop.

“What are you doing, girlie?” Meat Sweats asked, dropping his disguise.

He was well used to the turtles’ surprise visits, but they always came in through the window or a portal into the living room. April rarely came by herself, so the chef had yet to learn her favored way of barging in.

“Setting up an apology,” April replied, organizing the meat, spices, and other ingredients.

“A what?” Meat Sweats was taken aback. This teen had been screwing up his life for months. Why was she apologizing now? What was she apologizing for?!

“You’ve been doing pretty good since you got that cloaking broach and went into Mikey’s rehab program,” April snickered. She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “And I started feeling kinda bad about trapping you in the ‘Sauce That Hog’ studio.” Meat Sweats frowned deeply at the memory, and April had the sense to move on to the ingredients on the counter. “So I brought over all the ingredients for fancy lamb chops.” She waved the bag of artichokes enticingly. “Including some mystic artichokes fresh from the Hidden City.”

Meat Sweats snorted at the attempt to woo his culinary pallet. He may not spend much time with the girl, but he knew April could kiss up to anyone’s better nature once she found their Kryptonite. His was fairly obvious, and the chef took great pride in flaunting his cooking skills.

“So you thought that catering to me superior culinary taste with mystic produce and corner store mutton would make up for that torment?” He wasn’t going to let April off that easily though.

“It’s actually hogget from my cousin’s farm,” April corrected. “She raises the best meat livestock I’ve ever tasted, so I thought you might like to try it.”

“No kidding?” Meat Sweats, surprised that April knew different types of lamb meat, looked at the wrapped meats inquisitively.

“It’s sheep meat,” April smirked, “not goat.”

“Why must you pun like the blue one?” Meat Sweats grumbled. “Just give me the ingredients and watch me—”

“Unleash the flavor!” The mutant and teenager chorused.

Meat Sweats wasn’t expecting that either. He gave April an odd look. Mikey was his fanboy, so what was her excuse? April just grinned.

“Mikey got me to watch a few episodes from his favorite seasons of Kondescending Kitchen,” she explained. “What can I say? It’s a catchy line.”

“Yes, well,” Meat Sweats countered, “it’s my line.” He knows it was a lame comeback, but he really didn’t know how to respond. One minute he and these kids are at each other’s throats, the next he’s cooking filet mignon and lamb chops with them. He shakes his head and gestures to the other side of the sink. “Hand me my knife block. I want to chop up these artichokes for a marinade.”

“Yes, Chef,” April saluted.

“Cheeky girl,” Meat Sweats commented.

He and April made a delightful set of lamb chops topped with marinated artichokes and seasoned capers. The chef figured that if the return of Rupert Swaggart meant being badgered by those annoying Mad Dogs, then there are worse fates he could have been forced to endure. They weren’t as awful as he dreaded. If he didn’t enjoy being a jerk so much, he may have been tempted to even call them his friends. He still might. Just not when they were around. He had an image to maintain after all.

#rottmnt #meat sweats #rupert swaggart #writing #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfic #meat sweats isn't fond of kids #but the mad dogs will force him to like them #mikey and april already endeared themselves to him in a way

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