#his own BOYFRIEND was too busy tucking in some bugs to say hi!

[candy-heart-brew]

Me before the update: Yeah, idk how I feel about Sally. She’s got a charming design and all but she’s so needlessly mean to Eddie! I just don’t really get her…

Me after the update: Anyone caught disrespecting Sally will die by my sword.

#welcome home #wh spoilers #Sally starlet #Eddie dear #Sally was literally the only neighbor to come through for Eddie #his own BOYFRIEND was too busy tucking in some bugs to say hi! #meanwhile Sally’s just #“I don’t like you but I’m not gonna let you spiral #she’s a REAL ONE! #👏👏👏

[blossom-works]

Home for My Heart: Forever Means Forever

The divorce rate in the world has gone up in the last half century. People have forgotten what marriage is. What marriage means. Thankfully, some people have pre-marital counseling or even their own spiritual beliefs. In Kylian Mbappe’s case, he has you. 

---

A blaring alarm wakes you up from your slumber. Not that it mattered though. You have not been able to get a consecutive amount of sleep from all the excitement and anxiety. The same cannot be said for your partner though. You swear. The man will never wake up from an alarm no matter how loud and obnoxious it is. Truth is, when you moved in the Kylian, you became his alarm clock. You have no idea how he would get himself up for training before you came along. 

Hoping out of bed, you turn off the alarm and with your pillow, you slap it across Kylian’s face.

“Wake! Up!” You repeat several times. The groggy man manages to snatch the pillow from your grasps and you with it. Kylian tucks you under him, his weight crushing you. 

“You’re too loud. The ceremony doesn’t start till two...retourne te coucher.” Kylian mumbles. From all of the festivities and your busy schedule for the past three days, you cannot fault Kylian for his tiredness. Still, you do not have time to spare. Go back to bed.

Pushing him off you, you say “Nuh-uh. Just because the ceremony doesn’t start till two, doesn’t mean we can just let time pass.” You rip the comforter off of him. “Now, get your ass up and get ready for the day. Breakfast is in thirty minutes. We have until nine to eat.”

Your little feet scramble to the en suit bathroom. While you are brushing your teeth, you adjust the faucet to make sure the water is lukewarm. When you are satisfied with your newly, minty breath, you reach to your left to start your skincare. Cleanser. Toner. Serum. Eye cream. Moisturizer. SPF. 

Doing what the Korean women do, you make sure to pat the products in. You are not sure if it makes all the difference, but there is no harm in doing so. When you look at Kylian, he reminds you of when you kept bugging him to do something about his face. The man is an incredible footballer with more money than he knows what to do with, but he never took care of his face. 

---

“I don’t get it!” You toss your phone on the couch in frustration. 

Kylian looks at you in concern. “Don’t get what, cherie?”

Pointing directly at him with all seriousness, you declare, “Your face!”

“My face...?”

“Yes!” You say exasperatingly. “You’ve been surrounded by models and women in general, yet none of them have taught you how to properly care for your face!”

Kylian scoffs in amusement and slight offense. What the hell is so wrong with his face? He has dated models and singers before. He even managed to pull you by his side, so there cannot be anything wrong with his face. 

“What do you want me to do about it then?”

“I want you to take care of it.” You pointedly tell him. “You take care of your body so why not your face?”

“But I moisturize it every day. Isn’t that enough?”

You look up to the ceiling in disbelief. “No, babe. With all the sweat your face has collected over the years, I’m surprised it isn’t covered in pimples. You have to wash all that off and then ensure its pH balance. Then you have to spot treat if needed, serums, and then moisturize. - No! Lotion doesn’t count!” Kylian laughs. 

“Actual moisturizer that’s formulated for the face. And you can’t forget about the SPF during the day.” You say in a “matter of fact” manner. 

Seeing how serious you are talking, Kylian knows you are not joking. “Does this really mean that much to you?”

You give him a firm nod. 

Hoping that this will be worth it, Kylian says “Très bien alors bébé. Montrez-moi comment prendre soin de mon visage "brique". Happy that you got your way, you drag your boyfriend off the couch and up the penthouse stairs. Alright then baby. Show me how to take care of my "brick" face.

--- 

Since you became his teacher, Kylian has made big improvements towards his face. His skin is now smoother and more hydrated. No longer do you have to look at his Sahara Desert of a face. Putting on some sweatpants you yell out to your soon-to-be-husband that you are heading to the dining room. 

Ever since you downloaded Pinterest, you have been dreaming about your wedding. Even more since you looked at wedding venues all around the world. When Kylian proposed to you, you knew that you wanted to get married in his home country. You two picked out a beautiful chateau in the country side as your venue. It makes you feel like a fairytale princess. 

The closer you get to the dining room, the louder the chatter gets. Little kids’ voices were the loudest. Your mother tongue mixing with the French and English language. Then there is the chaos of last-minute wedding preparations. 

“Auntie!”

Picking up the little girl you sit on her your hip. “Good morning, Iris!”

Your other nieces and nephews come up to you to greet you a good morning before finishing their food. Your father and mother are talking to Kylian’s parents. When they first met, you were worried about the language barrier. Your parents know English, but your father is more comfortable speaking his mother tongue. It is just easier for him to express whatever it is he wants to say. Kylian’s parents speak English, but like your parents, are more comfortable speaking French. Every now and then do you and Kylian have to be translators, but nothing either of you mind. 

Over time it got easier for the four of them to find their own means of communication. You remember Kylian’s parents taking yours out to see the Eiffel Tower when you all spent one Christmas in Paris. It was recently when you realized that your marriage with Kylian will mean that different cultures will be mixing together. 

“Hey!” Your older sister calls out. “Hurry up and eat. The photographers and videographers should be getting here in the next twenty minutes.”

Four Hours Later:

“Are you guys ready?”

“Hold up. I’m about to cry.”

Everyone in the rooms laughs, Kylian included. Someone from behind you gives you a tissue. Folding it up in a square, you dab your bottom lash line and the corners. The makeup artist spent a good hour doing your makeup and you will be damn to ruin it because you are an emotional wreck. Calming yourself down you hand the tissue to someone else and smoothen out your dress. Quietly asking another if you look okay, to which they give you two thumbs up. 

“ Ok, je suis prêt maintenant.” Okay, I'm ready now.

Turning around in his dark maroon tux, Kylian’s face widens with joy. His dimples and mouth wrinkles are on full display from how big he is grinning, Kylian’s eyes are crescent shaped. 

And of course, you had to ruin the moment. “I’m about to cry again.”

Kylian laughs and pulls your towards him, wrapping you up in his arms like the countless times before. 

“Vous êtes belle. La plus belle femme que j'ai vue.” He cups your chin and gives you a kiss, careful not to ruin your painted lips. Your manicured nails caress his cheeks, the dimples and wrinkles have not left his face. In the background you can hear the clicks from the photographers, but you quickly forget they are there. All of a sudden, Kylian lifts you up by the back of your thighs. To stabilize yourself, you keep your forearms on his shoulders and lock your fingers behind his neck. You are beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have seen.

After your shared moment with Kylian, you two went outside to do a first look with your parents all together. When they turned around, each pair of parents went to their respective child. Wilfried shakes his son’s hand and Fayza gives him a big hug. You and your parents share a hug. Your mother is getting teary eyed and your father, while he does not show it, is a little saddened to see his youngest child getting married. 

He has not told you this, but he was sad when you decided to move to Europe. By that time, he has already met Kylian a handful of times. Your father respected (and still does) Kylian, but this is his little girl. Your siblings have their own families to take care of so until you moved, your parents were closest to you. He and your mother are thankful that you try to call them at least once a week. 

For two hours, your entire family is having their pictures taken. Kylian and his family. You and your family. Both combined (which was a little hard since there is little kids present). 

Twenty Minutes Later:

Your closest family and friends are in one area. They watched Kylian being walked down by his parents. They watched as the officiant came down the aisle. The watched as Achaf came down with your maid-of-honor. The watched as your nieces throw flower petals on the ground, and as your youngest nephew holds onto a small ring box. Then, they watched you being walked down by your parents. Now, they are watching you and Kylian vow your lives to one another. 

“Before, when I was younger, all I thought about was football and how I could be the best player in the world while writing history. Never did I think I would meet the woman, who goes beyond my dream, in a chain gym. Lifting forty-five kilograms. You are the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met. You have a heart that loves to give more than it takes. As your husband, your life partner, I vow to take care of that heart and protect it from whoever, whatever tries to take advantage of it. Myself included. I cannot promise to always be there. Nor can I promise to always make you happy. But I can promise that I will try. I will try to be your shoulder to cry on. Your safe haven.”

Gosh, sometimes you hate how charming Kylian can be. You have to take a couple of deep breaths in to stop the tears from escaping the corner of your eyes. 

“Years ago I told you ‘if everyone broke up because things got too tough, we would all be single.’ I stand by that to this day. I have not told you this, and I think today might be the perfect time to. Whenever I attend a wedding, I always hear the phrase ‘In sickness and in health’, and I take it into two meanings. One: the physical health of the spouse. If you were to ever get sick or hurt, I will be right there to nurse you back to health. Even if it takes years to do so. The second meaning: the metaphorical meaning. Out of the two this is the one I deeply cherish because it’s about the state of the marriage itself. Come hell or high water, I will not leave your side. I cannot say that it will be easy, but I can say that it will all be worth it.”

There is no soul in this area where they cannot feel the love radiating you between you two. A love that they know, will last a life-time. How lucky they are to witness such strong feelings. 

“Do you, Kylian, take ___ to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”

“I do.”

“Do you, ___, take Kylian to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”

“I do.”

Your nephew opens the velvet box and you each take each other’s rings. Kylian puts yours on first. The silver metal slides onto your finger with ease. Its cool metal helps calm your hot skin. Then, you slide the ring on Kylian’s fingers. 

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Kylian did not even wait for the officiant to finish. He cups both hands on your face, and kisses you with the most passion he ever has. Smiling, the officiant moves out of the way and claps with the rest of the crowd. You are only able to pull away for a slight moment before being pulled back in. Yeah, there is no doubt you and Kylian love each other. 

10 Minutes Later:

Cuddling on the couch, you and Kylian are enjoying the quiet atmosphere. While you were wedding planning, you saw that a couple of brides had a moment alone with their husbands. A way for them to get away from everything and enjoy being a newly-wedded couple for a couple of minutes. Also, you have a present for Kylian that is for his eyes only. 

“Bébé, où vas-tu ?” A confused Kylian asks. Lifting up your dress, you grab a book from the top of a random table. Handing him the book, you sit a little ways beside him. Baby, where are you going?

“Open it.”

Man do you wish that you recorded this moment. Kylian’s eyes blow wider than you have ever seen them. He also kind of broke. Like his mind is buffering as it tries to understand what he is looking at. When Kylian’s mind does figure out what he is looking at, he looks right at you. 

Smirking, you tell him “You said you wanted one. So now you have one.”

“But you said you didn’t want to.”

“I didn’t, but I eventually gave in.” You shrug. 

Kylian, with joy, flips through the book but not before taking a good look at each photo. Before he can reach the end, Kylian closes the book and looks at you with lust. He leans in for a steamy kiss, but his plans are fooled by someone knocking on the door. 

“There’s five more minutes before the grand entrance.” It is your wedding planner and day coordinator. 

Getting a kick out of Kylian’s problem, you push yourself off the couch and to the door. 

“C’mon, babe. We have a party to enjoy.”

Mumbling to himself in slight bitterness, Kylian says “I’ve got a party to enjoy.”

#kylian mbappé #Kylian x reader #Kylian Mbappé imagine #football #football imagine #x reader #mbappe x reader #soccer #fanfiction

[itadorisgf]

— cuddle bug.

cuddling headcanons.

fushiguro megumi, gojo satoru, itadori yuuji, nanami kento, sukuna ryomen.

gn!reader, fluff.

— fushiguro megumi.

he’s so touch-starved. fushiguro is super deprived of gentle affection that he doesn’t really know how to initiate it without being awkward, so you need to take the reins.

he’s stiff as hell when he tries to be the big spoon when you’re cuddling for the first time. once you have enough of it and spoon him instead, it’s so much better.

you flip onto your other side and tell fushiguro to do the same. once he follows your instructions, you throw your arm over fushiguro’s middle and press up tightly against his back. fushiguro, subconsciously, leans back into your touch. he feels himself flush when you nuzzle your face in the space between his shoulder blades and sigh that this is much better. though he doesn’t say it aloud, fushiguro agrees. it’s...nice to be held.

this leads to the realization that fushiguro really, really enjoys being the small spoon. as time passes and fushiguro grows to be more comfortable, you guys will switch off who’s the big spoon and who’s the small spoon. (though, fushiguro’s normally the small spoon.)

fushiguro doesn’t mind cuddling on a couch, but he much prefers cuddling on a bed. he thinks it’s more comfortable. he’s definitely not a fan of cuddling in the company of others, but in private, it’s a whole other story. he’s very big on saving affection for when the two of you are in private. he turns into a massive cuddle bug.

— gojo satoru.

gojo enjoys cuddling in literally any position. so long as he’s touching you, he’s happy.

although, gojo’s favorite position is when he’s sprawled out on top of you.

his grin only widens when he hears you grunt underneath him and complain that he’s crushing you when he flops on top of you with no warning. you readjust underneath his weight so it’s not quite so uncomfortable for either of you. gojo then releases an exaggerated, content sigh as he snuggles his head into your chest and wraps his arms around your back. he’ll also press little kisses all over your skin as far as he can reach. it’s sweet until he nips you.

he reminds you of an overgrown cat when you cuddle in that position.

you normally cuddle on the couch. if you’re sitting there watching a show or reading a book or literally just minding your own damn business, gojo will come and bother you.

if you’re sitting up, gojo will slide his head into your lap. his legs hang off the edge of the couch when he does this, but he doesn’t complain and just swings them and back forth. if you don’t do it first, gojo will place your hand in his hair for you to play with. he loves how it feels and he makes sure that you’re aware of it. he makes (admittedly, cute) little hums as you drag your fingers through his soft white hair.

— itadori yuuji.

itadori’s one of those people who’s naturally a really good cuddler. he just knows what to do.

he adores cuddling with you. he’s really fond of physical touch, so he can get a little clingy sometimes. he’s not above whining to get what he wants.

he’s willing to cuddle anywhere. itadori doesn’t care who’s around to see. kugisaki and fushiguro think you two are gross with the amount of pda you exhibit.

he can be the big spoon or small spoon. it depends on the day. sometimes, he wants to be held, while other times he wants to do the holding.

whatever position you’re in, itadori is mindlessly pressing kisses to your skin. he’s lying on top of you? itadori’s face is resting on your chest as he presses kisses to the curve of your neck. you’re lying on top of him? itadori leans down at random times to kiss your head.

sukuna likes to bite you. he gets bored, so he’ll just pop out on itadori’s hand and bite you. it’s never hard enough to draw blood, but it’s enough to startle you. when you yelp in surprise, itadori draws his hand away from you to reprimand sukuna. it’s really amusing to watch your boyfriend lecture the king of curses on how he can’t just bite his significant other. sukuna’s mouth just grins back at itadori.

— nanami kento.

he likes to cuddle after a long exhausting day of work. nanami feels like he’s dead on his feet after dealing with curses and gojo for so many hours. if he’s had to work overtime, nanami is even more worn out than he typically is.

he doesn’t have a preference of where you cuddle. whether it’s the couch or your bed, nanami doesn’t mind as long as he gets to hold you.

he likes it when you essentially lie right on top of him. if you complain that you’re too heavy, he dispels your concerns as quick as possible. nanami finds the weight of you on top of him familiar and grounding. it reminds him that he’s really home.

nanami tucks your head underneath his chin as he slips his hands underneath your shirt and runs his fingers up and down your spine.

it helps relax the two of you. as the tension seeps from your body, the same happens to nanami’s. seeing you so at ease helps nanami unwind as well.

you can’t help but rest your eyes when you and nanami cuddle. he’s so warm underneath you and the fingers gently running along your skin is so soothing. you listen to the smooth rumble of nanami’s voice as he recounts the day’s events for you.

if you drift off to sleep while he’s talking, nanami will slowly trail off. he smiles a small, little smile to himself and carefully kisses the crown of your head before deciding to doze off as well.

— sukuna ryomen.

does it look like he cuddles? no. does he cuddle, though? also, no.

just kidding.

sukuna will never ever admit that he cuddles, much less enjoys them, but he does.

he never initiates cuddles. it’s no good for his pride, so you’ll have to be the one to ask, and even then, he won’t agree right away. you have to do some convincing in order to persuade him to cuddle with you.

he acts like it’s such a pain, but secretly he’s pleased.

there is absolutely no way sukuna will be a little spoon. don’t even try it. he’s too prideful to even consider being the small spoon, so if you’re spooning, he’s definitely the big spoon.

his favorite cuddling position is with you on his lap. when you ask to cuddle and do some groveling, he’ll loop his hand around your wrist and harshly tug on it until you stumble and fall into his lap. he sarcastically asks if you’re happy now while you shift around to get comfortable sitting on top of him. you snuggle into his chest, pleased, and reply yes.

he probably likes it when you run your hands through his hair as you’re cuddling. your fingers gently detangling any knots you come across as your nails lightly scratch at his scalp.

sukuna will vehemently deny that he likes it if you ask him, but if you stop, he gets so grumpy. he’ll sit there scowling until you resume playing with his hair.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #itadori x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #celeste.scribs #celeste.adores #adoring.fushiguro #adoring.gojo #adoring.itadori #adoring.nanami #adoring.sukuna

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨4

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) only plot hehe

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: I’m at my tipping point, I swear. I’m dealing with everything in our household, new bed (delayed delivery yay!), cleaning, cooking, dog walking, and working. My only escape are my fics and this weekend I’m telling everyone to fuck off so I can do the writeathon... but sorry for the rant, enjoy more Clark.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Wednesday trickled by like sand in a glass. You could hardly keep your eyes open as you typed away and a double espresso shot was the only thing that saw you through your hours at the gallery. Vanessa was excited for her next event and already asking after some new pieces from you. You promised her some from your storage unit to stave her off as you held in your yawns. 

You collapsed into bed that night beside Marcus. He complained about his day until he drifted off and you followed suit shortly after. You awoke with a decision, the echoes of your boyfriend’s gripes in your head and heart. You hated how miserable his job made him, how dull your own was. It felt like there was nothing else but the almighty dollar.

You called Clark after an email to Jim, your nerves alight in anticipation of the disgruntled reply. It didn’t matter. You were done. You didn’t need to worry about the all caps messages and curt zoom calls.

“Hey,” Clark picked up, he sounded out of breath.

“Oh, hey, sorry, it’s me,” you swiveled in your chair, “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Nope, just getting in a work out,” he grunted, “you’re not bugging me if you have good news for me.”

“I think… I do,” you forced out, “I just sent in my resignation.”

“Mmm, you don’t sound… happy,” he hummed.

“I am, I think I’m just processing it,” you replied, “I said I’d let you know today so I’m letting you know.”

“Well, how soon can you be here?” he asked.

“Today?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I guess, I could leave as soon as you want me,” you said.

“I’ll send a car,” he intoned, “I’ll give the driver your number, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah,” your voice almost squeaked, “I can do that.”

“Alright, sweetheart, see ya soon.”

The line cut out and you lowered your phone slowly. You stared at Outlook and the new email icon along the taskbar. You closed the laptop and stood. You could worry about the fallout later, right now, you had to get ready for another day of painting.

🎨

It was starting to feel like deja vu every time you arrived at Clark’s house. You got out and thanked the drive, Jeremy, before he drove off. The doors opened before you got to the top of the steps and your host was already dressed in the same outfit he wore for each session. His hair was neat but his beard was even thicker than before.

“I think you can tell I’m a little antsy to start,” he chuckled, “how are you, sweetheart?”

That pet name caught in your mind again. It might just be a habit of his. Nothing more than an absent-minded word.

“Me too, honestly,” you smiled, “but I have a weird question for you.”

“Ask away,” he said as he walked with you through the foyer.

“The beard… you want that in the portrait or--”

“Oh, ha, yeah,” he ran his fingers along his jawline, “I guess I wasn’t thinking. You’re the artist, what do you think?”

“Well, erm, either way is fine,” you said, “I was just… wondering. I’m not even close to starting on, uh, you yet. I mean, right now I’m just working on the background and basic shapes.”

“I’ll let you make the call when you get there,” he said, “say the word and it’s gone.”

“Alright,” you came to the top of the stairs and he pointed you ahead of him.

He followed you as you entered and you went about filling the jar with water and resituating the set up. He sat as you mixed and chose your brush. You climbed the ladder and peered around the canvas at him. He took on the same pose as usual and you dipped the bristles into the pigment. You could make a happy life of this.

🎨

Clark shifted and cleared his throat. You rolled your wrist and glanced back over at him as you drew your hand back from the canvas. He braced the chair and pushed himself up.

“How about a break?” he asked as he shook out his arms, “back’s a bit stiff.”

“Sure,” you said, “I think I could sit down for a moment.”

You took a step down the rung of the ladder but your toe slipped and suddenly your palette was against your chest. You slid down backwards as Clark rushed over and barely kept you from toppling the entire thing over. You laughed at yourself as he righted you and looked down at your paint-streaked shirt.

“Jesus,” you muttered.

“You okay?” he asked as he kept his hand on your upper arm, “be careful.”

“Yeah, I’m-- clumsy, is all,” you carefully pulled away and set down your brush and palette.

“Come on, sit,” he pulled up the stool and planted it before you, “take a minute.”

As you sat, he stretched his arms over his head and then out to the sides. He paced around the other side of the table, long strides as he worked the cramps from his long legs. He stopped and came up to play with a brush as you leaned an elbow on the table.

“Well, I did have another offer for you,” he said, “I was thinking of waiting but might as well ask now.”

“Oh?” you raised your brows curiously.

He swished a slender brush in the air then lowered it and picked at the tip.

“I’m having a get together on Saturday, some business friends and the like,” he said as he set the brush back with the rest, “it won’t be work. You’ve earned some time off. You can even bring the boyfriend.”

“Saturday?” you pondered, “I’m usually at the gallery on Saturdays.”

“It would be great networking,” he said, “and I already told all my friends about you. They’re excited to see your work. It will almost be like a viewing and it’s only right the artist is there.”

“I could make it work,” you mulled, “Marcus would love to come back.” You snickered, “he loves this place.”

“It’s a nice house,” he said casually, “a bit big for one person… hence, the party.”

“I’ll put it in my calendar,” you stood and slid your palette closer and cleaned it off to remix the mess of paints.

“Great,” he said as he rounded the table and brushed close to you, “it’ll be nice to look at a mug besides mine, huh?”

You laughed as you squeezed out the dark paint and nodded, “ha, sure.”

🎨

The rest of your week was spent much the same. Jeremy drove you to Clark’s and you went up to the studio to continue your work between small talk and silences that grew so thick you had to break them with mindless comments. It wasn’t enough to focus on the path of your brush as the man tugged at your attention.

Marcus was excited when you told him about the party. He raved about how he needed to let loose, about how much expensive alcohol he was going to drink, and the awesome backflip he was gonna do into the pool. You reminded him, he hadn’t done anything like that since college but he swore he could still do it.

You didn’t share the sentiment. You were anxious. You were flattered to be invited but despite what Clark said, it still felt like work. His friends were going to be there and he apparently was trying to sell them on your art. 

You didn’t realise until after you hit send on your email, but you put your livelihood in this man’s hands. A man, you reminded yourself, who was little more than a stranger.

On Friday, a day you were thankfully not called to the mansion to teeter on the ladder and paint, the buzzer rang and drew you off the couch from amid your YouTube binge. The man on the speaker called back that he had a delivery and you let him up. You took the box from him, the thick silver ribbon giving away the sender even before you could read the tag.

Inside you found a black dress with little gemstones set into the fabric like stars in the sky. It was nicer than anything you’d ever owned before and a pair of silver shoes were tucked in beneath the outfit. You took the shoes from the tissue paper and something else shifted in the bottom.

You reached in and revealed a velvet box from the depths of overzealous stuffing. You opened the lid and found a simple chain of diamonds. You gaped in disbelief. They were real. The fake ones didn’t look so nice.

You phone chimed before you could even think to call Clark. It was as if he could see you. You answered and your voice warbled pathetically.

“Hi, I was just gonna call,” you touched your throat as it constricted.

“Yeah? I got the notification that it was delivered,” he said, “you like it?”

“It’s too much,” you gulped out, “really, I can’t--”

“I want you to look nice. I want you to feel good and have a good time,” he said, “I feel like you’ve been working so hard. You need a chance to just let it all go.”

“Look, I…” you were uncertain how to handle it. It was more than generosity but you felt wrong denying it as much as you did accepting it, “I’ve never had a boss buy me diamonds. At least let me give those back.”

“Boss?” he mused on the word, “I suppose, but you gotta dress the part now, sweetheart. You’re gonna rub shoulders with a lot of rich dicks like me. Pardon my language.”

“I didn’t realise it was such an upscale thing,” you put the velvet box down and turned to sit on the couch beside the large box. You played with the silver ribbon and chewed your lip.

“Sweetheart, it’s nothing, you got this,” he said, “trust me, if you can win me over, my friends will be child’s play.”

“Mhmmm,” you stared at the tv mindlessly, “Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing all this?”

There was silence and you heard him sigh then a subtle metallic click.

“Because I can. And you’re a talented artist. Didn’t all the big painters used to have patrons back in the day? You know, Da Vinci and all that.”

“Sure, I guess--”

“Look, sweetheart, I’m glad you like the dress, I gotta go.”

He hung up abruptly and you turned your phone to stare at it in confusion. You were starting to get a bad feeling and that little voice in that back of your head, that little sabotaging bitch, whispered in your ear. No, you wouldn’t let your self-doubt get the best of you this time. You either grabbed this chance or you spent the rest of your life doing menial work and painting the world as it passed you by.

🎨

Friday night, Marcus couldn’t stop rambling about the party the next day. You just couldn’t get over the tickle in your chest, the same one you got before job interviews and doctor’s appointments. You were on edge, even as you spent your stress on him, your body writhing against his as you panted and pouted. It had been a while since you fucked. All the work and the stress had just let things slip past you. Maybe with your new gig, you could get back to those early days when it was all you wanted to do.

You slept soundly. You blamed the sex and the momentous week. You got up, had a lazy brunch time meal, and beat Marcus at MarioKart several times over before he convinced you it was time to get ready. 

You pulled on the gifted outfit after fighting with your make-up and hair. You gave a little tada spin to Marcus and he lifted his brow as he tried to figure out his tie.

“Wow, where’d you get that?” he purred, “fuck, let’s be late.”

He ran his hands over your hips as you neared him and fixed his tie for him. You giggled and planted a kiss on his lips.

“Jeremy’s on his way,” you warned, “I don't wanna bite the hand that feeds.”

“Oh, and it feeds you well,” Marcus chirped, “you think he’ll let me have a spin in the McClaren?”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t. I don’t need to scrape you off the side of the road,” you took your phone as the screen lit up, “come on, he’s here.”

“Fuck, babe, really, you’re gonna make me follow you out of here with your ass looking like that?”

“Stop,” you tittered, “you know, there might be more sellers tonight?”

“Oh yeah? I guess you’ll be paying a mortgage soon enough.”

“Me?” you scoffed.

“Sure, I’ll be your sugar baby,” he kidded.

“Well, baby is accurate,” you teased as you stepped onto the elevator, “please, just behave.”

🎨

You were surprised to see Vanessa at the party but reassured to see a familiar face. Clark had been distracted by his other guests and you did your best to mingle, letting Marcus take the lead until he was distracted by another guest’s Rolex and started asking too many questions. If you did start selling art to these kinds, you suspected you’d be paying for a lot of overpriced brands. That was a worry for another time.

You stood with Vanessa and a man she introduced you to. Bruce Wayne was tall and his dark-hair was combed back neatly as he spoke over the glass of wine in his hand. You were bored of the Monet-Manet argument, one you’d heard a million times from the stubborn gallery owner, and you were at your limit of socialisation.

You excused yourself and put down your unfinished drink on a table. You looked around but couldn’t see Marcus anywhere. The last you saw him, he was with Clark but you couldn’t find him either. You frowned and wandered between the pairs and trios gabbing around the room.

Just past the bar, you looked back and still no sign of either man. You huffed and your heels clicked into the foyer and to the stairs. You’d go to the studio and sit for a moment and collect yourself. You just needed to take a breath.

You climbed the stairs slowly, the din of the party floating up behind you. You came to the top but stopped as your eyes were drawn to a pair of open doors opposite the studio. You neared and stayed against the wall as you peeked inside. Marcus admired an old-six shooter and spun the barrel.

“You got everything, man, I swear,” you hid behind the door frame and listened.

“Eh, it’s all just things,” Clark replied, “I bought that from an auctioneer down in Texas. A verified antique but it just hangs here. Not good for much but looking at it.”

“Dude, what I wouldn’t do to live here? Have cool guns and even cooler cars? Shit, you know how fucked it is that my lady is making bank and I’m over here with my dick in my hands? I mean, I’m proud of her but… I mean, if I could get paid thousands for drawing, I would’ve tried to learn.”

“She’s good. Dedicated,” Clark remarked, “she’s special. Worth more than money.”

Marcus hummed and you heard the barrel click back into the place. Neither of the men spoke as you heard something shift and Clark cleared his throat. Subtle footsteps moved around the room and you pressed yourself to the wall. You should leave and let them talk but you couldn’t help but be curious.

“Isn’t she?” Clark prodded.

“Y-yeah, but… I don’t know. I just wish I had more,” Marcus said, “I probably sound like a chump, huh?”

“You can’t have it all,” Clark replied.

“Says the guy who can buy anything and everything,” Marcus moped.

“Oh?” Clark intoned, “so… how about it then? Fifty thousand.”

“For what?” Marcus chuckled nervously.

“Her,” Clark answered.

“Her-- I… my girlfriend?” he sputtered.

“If money can buy me anything, that’s what I want,” Clark said firmly, “it’s a one time offer… whether or not you agree to it, I’m gonna fuck her.”

You skin crawled at his words and you covered your mouth in disgust and shock. You inched closer to the door to hear better as you waited for the response.

“One hundred,” Marcus said.

“Seventy-five,” Clark countered.

“That’s my girlfriend, dude,” Marcus hissed.

“And yet you’re haggling with me over her. Eighty.”

You tore yourself from the wall before you could hear anymore. You felt hollow and heavy all at once. Your eyes were glossy as you scurried over to the studio doors and pushed the left one open. You unhooked the diamond necklace and tossed it onto the paint-stained palette and rolled up your brushes.

You stormed over blindly to the easel and pushed it over. It clattered to the floor loudly but you were already out the door and halfway down the stairs. You gripped your clutch and the bundle of paintbrushes tightly as you continued on outside and the blurred outlines of luxury cars passed you by. 

You stomped up the long drive in your heels as you flicked away tears and pulled out your phone. You knew it was too good to be true. Any of it; your art, Clark, Marcus. You weren’t good for anyone unless they could get something out of you.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #series #dark fic #dark!fic #superman #portrait of a dangerous man #dc #dcu #mob au #au #mob!au

[lostinthewiind]

Piss Off Your Parents - Part 4

Ukai Keishin - Haikyuu

Synopsis: freshly turned 18, you want to prove to your parents that you aren’t a child for them to push around anymore. First, get a job at the local corner store. Second, use the store owner’s 26-year-old son with piercings and a cigarette addiction to piss your parents off. Third, accidentally fall in love.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: mentions sexual experiences of reader before she was of age, discussion about sex lives, flirting, touching 

Song → 18 by Anarbor

Previous →Part 3

Next →Part 5

Head resting in your hand and elbow resting on the counter, you huffed, still not used to the heat that accumulated in the store throughout the day and praying for just one customer to walk through the door so you could experience a refreshing blast of evening air. You supposed you could go outside yourself to cool off a little, like Keishin had previously suggested in lieu of sticking your head in one of the fridges, but being the only person at the store currently, you felt a little bad about leaving the building, even if it was just to step out front.

You were still trying your best to put on a good impression for Mrs. Sakanoshita—despite the rough first impression you had made on her son—and you knew the family store was precious, so you decided to suck it up for the remainder of your shift.

Without much to do, since you had completed your chores early, you remained seated at the front counter, bored out of your mind. That was, until your prayers were answered and you heard the front doors slide open.

“Hello!” you greeted happily, ready to welcome a customer. Your radiant excitement faded when you noticed it was just Keishin, however, and went back to slumping on the counter. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“Wow, those rapid mood changes must be why we’ve been so busy lately,” Keishin shot back at you, a cigarette hanging from his mouth like usual. “Will the girl behind the counter smile or frown at you? Maybe it’ll be both. Oh, how exciting!”

“Can it, dye job,” you grumbled.

Keishin feigned hurt, his hand resting over his chest dramatically as he pretended to have been shot. “Words hurt, you know. You’ve hurt me.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you told him, lazily gesturing around the empty store. “What does matter is that we’ve been dead for hours and I’m bored.”

Keishin poked his bottom lip out and faked a pout. “Awh, poor baby. Is getting paid to sit there and do nothing hard work? You must be exhausted. Poor thing.”

“I don’t get paid nearly enough to put up with you.” You reached across the counter to lightly smack his shoulder but he jumped out of the way just in time. “Seriously though, stay and entertain me for a while.”

“If you’re that bored, why don’t you dust the vents or something?”

You laid your head down on the counter and exhaled slowly for effect. “You know I aim to please but that sounds like hell. Can’t you just talk to me for like ten minutes? Tell me about your day or something.”

Keishin threw his head back and groaned loudly. “But I’m too hungry to think about anything other than food right now.”

“I’m hungry too but you don’t see me complaining about it.”

“No, you’re just complaining about everything else.” He leaned against the other side of the counter, his tongue flicking against the tip of his cigarette as he thought. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea.”

You glanced up at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “I doubt it but proceed.”

Done with your constant back talk, which was extremely common between the two of you ever since you had worked out your differences and agreed to the deal he had suggested, he took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke directly into your face. “Just shut up and listen, will you?”

You coughed when you accidentally inhaled the second-hand smoke. “If I get cancer and die, I’m haunting you.”

“Go ahead.” He didn’t pay any attention to the words leaving your mouth as he headed into the back room and shut off the store lights. Then, with his own set of keys in hand, he headed back toward the front of the store. “Come on.” He looked back at you expectantly when you didn’t immediately follow.

Confused, you slowly stepped around from the back of the counter. “Where are we going?”

“We’re closing up early and going to get something to eat.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, half of you wondering if this was some sort of employee test to see how responsible you were. “Are we allowed to do that?”

“I am, you aren’t,” Keishin said, beckoning you over to him. “But let’s just keep this between you and I, yeah? What my mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, it’s slow anyway.”

Taking off your white apron and grabbing your things, you reluctantly followed the older man out of the store and watched as he locked up behind the two of you. Anxiously, you shifted your weight from foot to foot. “Are you sure I won’t get in trouble for this?”

“I promise I won’t tell on you,” Keishin assured you as he stuffed the keys back into his pocket and dropped his cigarette bud to the ground before crushing it with his foot. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

Falling into pace beside Keishin as the two of you set off down the sidewalk, you following his lead, you weren’t sure exactly sure what to say or even if you should say something. Never before had you and Keishin existed outside of the store together and it felt a little awkward. 

“So . . . is this like a date or something?” You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. What you had meant to come across as a casual inquiry ended up sounding more like a desperate girl clarifying what she meant to the boy she liked. You sounded like a child.

The corners of Keishin’s mouth curled upward and he shrugged. “Call it whatever you want.” He really didn’t seem to care one way or another. “Although, I’d be a horrible boyfriend if I didn’t take you out at least once . . . fake or not.”

You nearly choked on your spit at the use of the word ‘boyfriend’. Even though you had been pretending to date him for the purposes of changing your parents’ ideals for the past few weeks, you were still caught off guard every time Keishin referred to himself as your boyfriend—even though he was usually doing it to mock you. 

“Yeah, just awful,” you agreed halfheartedly. “Where are we going anyway?”

“This little place that I like,” he said, his answer extremely vague until he continued. “Best ramen I’ve ever had.”

After a few more minutes of walking, the two of you arrived at the place Keishin was talking about and he ordered two take-out bowls and paid for them both, insisting that you should try his regular order since you had never been there before. Not wanting to disagree because he was footing the bill, you let him do what he wanted and tailed him out to a picnic table outside like an obedient puppy. 

“It’s much too hot to eat inside,” Keishin reasoned as he plopped down on the opposite side of the picnic table from you. “Plus, it’s nice outside. Might as well enjoy the weather while it lasts, right?”

“Right.” You nodded.

While Keishin dug right into his meal, you sat still, hands in your lap, and watched him. One thing you had quickly come to realize was that Keishin was the perfect specimen for people watching, and not just because he was relatively easy on the eyes. He was an interesting person; for example, how he tucked half-smoked cigarettes behind his ear to smoke later or how he always wore a headband to keep his hair out of his face but vehemently refused to just cut his damn hair. 

Even though you bugged him about cutting his hair all the time, you secretly hoped he would continue to stand his ground and refuse because you wanted to see what he looked like with his hair down. You also wanted to run your hands through his hair—it looked soft and fluffy—but that was besides the point.

“Hey, it’s gonna get cold,” Keishin snapped you out of your thoughts, his mouth half full of ramen as he jabbed his chopsticks in your direction. “Don’t tell me you don’t like ramen. You should have said something before I ordered for both of us.”

Snapping out of your daze, you picked up your chopsticks and shook your head. “No, I like ramen.” You took a bite to prove your point. “Sorry, I was just lost in thought.”

Keishin waited for you to eat a little more before digging for your consensus. “Good, right?”

“Yeah, really good,” you agreed. “I always walk past this place but I’ve never gone inside.”

“I was the same way. It doesn’t really catch your eye, so unless you’re looking for it, it’s easy to miss,” he said. “Then one day my grandpa took me here for my birthday and I’ve been coming ever since.”

You snickered. “Popular date spot then?”

Keishin cocked a brow. “What?”

“I mean, if you come here a lot, I’m sure it’s a go-to for dates,” you continued. “It even comes with a wholesome story about how your grandpa introduced you to it. Ultimate chick magnet.”

Keishin just rolled his eyes at you. “You know, contrary to popular belief, most girls don’t like it when you take them out to eat cheap ramen on a picnic table that’s falling apart.”

You chuckled. “I wasn’t going to say anything about the table, but I’m pretty sure I have at least ten splinters in my ass by now.”

“Yeah, this thing is torture. So eat fast and then we’ll move to the park across the street or something.”

Shoveling the rest of your food into your mouth, you ate fast while Keishin stared you down, every second that passed introducing your butt to a new world of pain. As soon as you were done, Keishin took both of your take-out bowls and tossed them into a nearby trashcan.

“Well, sucks for all those other girls then, because that ramen really is amazing,” you said when Keishin returned, the two of you crossing the street and heading into the park. 

“Told you.” Keishin smiled. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Once in the park, which was empty considering it was dark out and most kids were in bed by then, the two of you picked a nearby bench that wasn’t splintering and took a seat. 

Drawing your knees up to your chest, you wrapped your arms around your legs and sighed. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He let his head fall back and looked up at the night sky. “Damn, I could really go for an ice cold beer right now.”

“Well, we could start heading back now if you want,” you suggested. “The beers at the store are extra chilly since I didn’t stick my head in the fridges to cool off today, despite how sweltering it was.”

Keishin laughed. “Well, thank you for that,” he drew in a deep breath and relaxed into the bench, deciding whether to get up or not. “Let’s stay here for a while longer though.”

“Okay.”

Silence fell over the two of you as you stared up at the sky and listened to the sounds of Miyagi in the evening. You tried to remember the last time you had gone out like this—just going wherever you wanted and doing whatever you wanted. You couldn’t recall the last time . . . or even if there was a last time.

Tilting your head to look at Keishin, you smiled at the sight of him sitting with his eyes closed, arms crossed behind his head and head lolled back. He looked happy, almost as peaceful as he did when he was sleeping.

“Hey,” you whispered.

Keishin cracked an eye open to look at you. “Hmm?”

“Thanks for tonight.” You breathed in the scent of the night air and a feeling of content washed over you. “As you’ve probably already figured out, I don’t really have any friends. I don’t get to go out like this very often . . . or ever, really.”

“You don’t need to thank me. It’s what boyfriends are for, right?”

You giggled. “Well, considering you’re not my real boyfriend, I think a ‘thank you’ is in order.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” he caved. “Speaking of fake boyfriends, how’s it going with your parents?”

You let out a frustrated moan. “Oh, about as well as expected. When I mentioned I was seeing someone they bombarded me with a million questions, none of which were answered to their satisfaction.”

Keishin cringed. “So I’m that bad, huh?”

You scoffed. “If you think that’s bad, you should have seen their faces when I showed them a photo of you.”

Keishin let out a laugh. “Don’t tell me they weren’t fans of the piercings?”

“Oh, they weren’t fans of anything,” you said. “I think the only positive thing they could say about you was that you had a pulse . . . no offense.”

“Eh, no worries. At least they didn’t call me a burnout . . . then I would have started crying.”

“Hey!” You smacked at his shoulder again, managing to hit your target this time. “I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t pay for my therapy.”

“Yeah, well, if you need therapy I doubt I’m the biggest reason.”

“You really are so cruel to me. Do your parents know you facilitate abusive relationships?”

You closed your eyes and shook your head. “That insinuates I’ve had past relationships, or any real ones.”

Keishin craned his neck to look at you, eyes wide. “Wait, you’ve never been in a relationship before? Like never?”

“Nope. I don’t even have any friends, so what makes you think anyone wants to date the boring girl with the crazy parents?”

Keishin looked at you like you were some wounded animal he had just found on the side of the road. You could see in his eyes he was slowly coming to terms with just how isolating your life was. You could tell he felt bad, but the last thing you wanted was his sympathy.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” you told him. “I’m not completely pathetic, okay? I still went through my experimental phase like most teenagers do. I just had to be very sneaky about it.”

“Sneaky?”

“You know, back of a car, other people’s houses when their parents were gone. As far as my parents know, I’m untainted . . . a precious, naive virgin. I’m just not very experienced.”

“I can imagine.” Keishin was a little thrown by the direction the conversation had taken, but you were both adults and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little curious, so he just rolled with it. “High school boys aren’t exactly known for being great in bed.”

The two of you let out a shared laugh at that. “You got that right,” you agreed. 

��So, wait, no relationships but you’ve had sex? So you’ve never been with someone you have a genuine connection with?”

You eyed Keishin, perplexed by the sudden sincerity in his words. “You didn’t peg me as someone who cares about that kind of stuff.”

“I mean, I’ve had my fair share of one night stands, sure, but I’m not completely heartless,” he said, the eye contact he was using while he spoke sending a chill down your spine. “It’s completely different when it’s someone you care about. The experience is something everyone should have at least once in their lives.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a genuine connection with anyone before,” you confessed, unsure why you were spilling some of your deepest secrets in public, on a park bench, to a man you had only known for a couple of months. “It’s kind of hard when everyone is held at an arm’s length away.”

Without warning, Keishin shifted closer to you and placed his hand on your face, the pad of his thumb ghosting over your bottom lip. “I . . . I don’t know what to say,” he breathed.

“It’s not sad, not for me at least. You can’t miss something you’ve never had,” you spoke softly, worried you might scare him away if your voice was too loud or if you made any sudden movements. “No best friends, no boyfriends. Just me, my parents, and everyone else.”

Keishin looked like he wanted to say something; in fact, he looked like he wanted to say a lot of things, but despite this, he remained silent. Maybe he was worried about offending you, or maybe he was finally understanding just how different you were from other people. Maybe he didn’t like different. 

“But now there’s you.” You flashed a small smile, hoping to draw him out of whatever mess was going on inside of his head. “I’ve never met someone like you before.”

“Someone like me?” he finally spoke.

You nodded as you placed your hand over the one he was resting on your cheek and held it. “I’m not your responsibility and yet you’re going out of your way to help me. Not to mention I don’t even deserve your help. You are the first truly selflessly kind person I’ve ever met. Thank you.”

“What if I’m not as kind as you think I am?” His hands found their way to your waist and he pulled you into his lap so you were straddling him. “What will you do then?”

“That depends on what you’re planning on doing.”

Hands running up your sides, Keishin dug his finger tips into your skin as you lowered your head toward his, mouths inches apart. “What if I took you home, laid you down, and took care of you like a boyfriend should?” You could feel his hot breath on your face as he spoke. “What if I took advantage of your lack of experience?”

“I would say thank you,” you said, inching closer. Before your lips met, however, you stopped yourself. “But I promised not to fall in love, and I think it would be awfully hard to keep my promise if you did that.” With that, you planted your hands on his shoulders and pushed yourself away from him before he could make a decision he would later regret. 

Standing up, you collected yourself and drew in a deep breath. As soon as you had detached yourself from Keishin, you could see the fog that had been clouding his judgement dissipating as he came back to his senses. 

“I should probably head home now.” You decided, not wanting to ruin the first actual friendship you had by doing something stupid and selfish. 

“Yeah.” Keishin nodded, slowly standing up as well. It was clear he was slightly embarrassed by his actions, but you also noticed the glint in his eyes that gave away the part of him that still wanted to take you home with him. 

Trying to immediately leave what had just happened in the past, you smiled and turned to start heading home, opting to take the longer way so you wouldn’t have to take the same route as Keishin. “Good night, Keishin.”

“Good night, Y/N.” You heard him call after you, but you didn’t look back at him. Instead, you kept walking, hoping the time apart would serve as a reset on your relationship and put things back to how they had been before that night.

A few weeks ago, you would have jumped at the chance Keishin had dangled in front of your face just now. But since then, you had realized he was more important to you than someone you could just throw away with a one night stand. And since there was no way the two of you could actually be together, this was the only option if you didn’t want to lose him.

If only someone had warned you that genuine connections were this complicated. 

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #lostinthewiind #piss off your parents #ukai #ukai keishin #ukai keishin x reader #keishin #mature #haikyuu smut #x reader #reader insert #reader imagine #part 4 #song fic

[separatist-apologist]

A Christmas Prince

Summary: When reporter Feyre Archeron is sent to the small European Principality of Aldovia to cover the upcoming coronation of Prince Rhysand, she's mistaken for a royal portraitist. Deciding to lean into the lie in order to get a better story, Feyre is caught up in the drama and politics of Rhysand's life with no way out that doesn't betray them both.

This is based loosely off the Netflix movie A Christmas Prince and was my first full length Feysand fic so be kind.

This was also my Secret Santa gift for @arrowmusings and I hope they enjoy it.

You can find it on AO3: Here

Rated T for some language

Part 1/4

There was something special about Christmas in New York. Feyre chose to see it through rose tinted glasses, determined New York wouldn’t break her. She chose to see fresh, white snow instead of the gray sludge that lined the streets, chose to believe people smiled as she walked, chose to believe the air smelled like pine and snow capped mountain peaks instead of trash and exhaust. Some days were easier than others and as Feyre trudged through the slick mess, her boots sliding over the pavement, she found she was struggling to believe reality was as lovely as her imagination.

She made it to her office just in time for no one but Lucien Vanserra to smile in her direction. In a city filled with millions of people, how was he her only friend? Not counting, of course, her older sister Elain but Elain was busy with her trendy cupcakes that had taken over Brooklyn and besides, sisters didn’t really count as friends.

“I got you coffee,” Lucien told her with a smile, sliding out of his office to hand her a still warm cardboard cup of what smelled suspiciously like a chestnut praline latte. She’d gotten him in her breakup with her long-time boyfriend Tamlin and Feyre was grateful for it. Despite two solid decades of friendship, the first time Feyre texted Lucien for help, sporting a black eye and split lip, Lucien had shown up with movers and, when Tamlin tried to beg for her back, his fists.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a sip. He knew her too well.

“So my dad is bugging me to come home this year,” he continued, a grimace stretched over his tanned, handsome face. Feyre scowled.

“Did you tell him no?” She replied. Lucien’s dad had money, money money, and Lucien had been expected to fall in line and become some corporate drone. Instead Lucien worked as a copy editor, mainly to say he had a job. Feyre was well aware Lucien had an obscene inheritance that, despite his father’s anger, he had access to.

“Not exactly,” Lucien replied with a sigh, stopping in front of her desk in the little cubicle Feyre inhabited. He shook her little snow globe with a wistful expression, watching the snow settle over Cinderella’s castle. “It’s not like I have anywhere else to be on Christmas.”

“Want plans?” Feyre offered immediately. Her and Lucien had been a two person show for Halloween and Thanksgiving. Why not Christmas, too? “You might have to spend it with Elain. She’s not flying out to California to see Nesta this year.”

Lucien’s expression lightened a little even as he said, “I don’t want to intrude on your family time with your sister.”

She snorted. “It’s hardly intruding. Elain lives to cook, besides. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to have one more mouth to feed.” “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not,” Lucien complained, tucking a stray piece of copper hair behind his ear. Only Lucien could get away with shoulder length hair, tied neatly in a ponytail, in an office that required men to wear buttoned up shirts and ties. “Speaking of siblings, you know my older brother Eris knows this guy who owns a gallery—”

“No,” she said quickly, refusing to get her hopes up. “No, Lucien, no favors.”

“Feyre, c’mon. What’s the point of this fancy last name if I never get to throw it around?” He teased, sitting on the edge of her desk.

“You hate when people think you’re a Vanserra,” Feyre reminded him patiently, turning to her computer monitor. “Besides, my art isn’t good enough—” “Your art is good enough for museums,” Lucien interrupted impatiently. “And I’m not just saying that because we’re friends,” he added, catching how her mouth opened to contradict him. “Trust me. I’ve seen some of the ugly shit people spend thousands of dollars on. Your work deserves to be seen.”

She couldn’t admit that since Tamlin, Feyre hadn’t painted at all. He’d ridiculed everything she’d ever put on canvas, had made her feel small and worthless. He’d torn it all apart, had sneered at her brushstrokes, had called it her hobby and Feyre couldn’t get his words out of her head even six months later. From the way Lucien looked at her, fiddling with the cuffs on his dark purple shirt, she suspected he knew why she didn’t want to paint.

“I don’t have time,” she said instead, gesturing towards her email inbox. Lucien only rolled russet-colored eyes, one of which had three angry red scars streaked through it, marring what was otherwise a truly perfect face. He’d been in a car accident as a boy, he’d said. He ought to have died and instead was just scarred and though Feyre had found it jarring the first time she ever saw it, Lucien swore it had never gotten in the way when it came to women.

She wouldn’t know anything about that, other than Lucien always seemed to find a beautiful woman when he needed one.

“Sure you don’t,” he said with a long suffering sigh. “Too busy re-writing articles and watching Netflix shows you’ve already seen?”

“Don’t you have a job?” She asked, annoyed. Lucien grinned and all was forgiven in that moment because, despite his irritating presence, he was still her best friend.

“Reading books and telling authors their plots don’t make sense is hardly a job, Fey. It’s my passion.”

“You know, they say those who can’t—”

“Teach,” he interrupted. “But I accept the insult all the same. Don’t let the journalists dick you around too much, hm?”

And with that, Lucien was gone. He sauntered back to his nice office with the glass window overlooking the city while Feyre watched, rolling her eyes at the way heads turned as he went. She knew he was aware of it, and while Lucien would never sleep with anyone in their office, she was certain he didn’t need to wear pants half as tight, either.

Feyre was a junior editor, a job she didn’t particularly love but had sort of fallen into by accident. There was upward mobility and she’d always been a good enough writer that she decided to aim for being an editor one day, which was the plot of every coming-of-age tale she’d ever watched growing up in Oklahoma.

It was well past noon when Feyre finally finished reading a too-long story about fashion week, frustrated that the journalist had just made up facts that would get their magazine in hot water if it ever ran. Feyre knew she’d need to completely re-write it, both to trim down the wordiness and to ensure that they actually discussed the actual designers who were featured in the show. She knew exactly who to ask for help, dialing quickly on her phone.

“What’s up?” Came Elain’s voice over whirring in the background. Feyre knew her sister well enough to know it was just the sound of a stand mixer and that Elain was likely covered in a fine layer of flour.

“Hey, did you watch fashion week?” She asked.

“Fashion week is my Super Bowl…or whatever it is where they pick players,” Elain said impatiently. “I bought a dress from—”

“That’s great. Do you think you could help me with an article I’m writing?”

The whirring in the background stopped. “Do you want to stop by for lunch or is that too far?”

Considering Feyre was in Manhattan and Elain in Brooklyn, it was definitely too far for a quick lunch. “Dinner?”

“Come to my place, then. I’m closing up at two today.”

“Oh wait, Elain! Can I bring my friend Lucien? We usually get dinner together.”

There was a pause. “Tamlin’s friend?”

Feyre bit back her sigh. “My friend,” she said firmly.

“Fine. But I’m not cleaning.”

“I didn’t ask you to and trust me when I say he won’t care. Thanks for this, Elain.”

Elain offered a mock long-suffering sigh. “I have a dress for you, too, you know—”

“I’m hanging up now byeeeee,” Feyre said quickly, disconnecting the call before Elain could try and set her up with one of the million beautiful men that seemed to follow her sister around. Elain was all the things a person moving to New York ought to be—she had a degree in fashion, had been president of her sorority, had a close-knit group of girlfriends and, though it shouldn’t have mattered, Feyre knew from experience that if Elain stepped off a curb and raised her hand for a cab, six lined up immediately. She’d always been beautiful, even when they were dirt poor in Oklahoma, and no one ever doubted she’d make something of herself. Of course, most of their town had hoped she’d make herself into a housewife for one of their lazy sons, but that was still better than the world’s expectations for her. No one had ever thought Feyre would amount to anything and when she went home to see her father, the people who stopped her acted surprised she’d done anything at all with her life.

Feyre was practically out the door when the editor stopped her. “Archeron. You got a second?” Feyre looked over her shoulder at Lucien, leaned against his office door to talk to some aspiring writing working in one of the cubicles. She was flushed while Lucien was clearly offering serious career advice. He never learned, she thought with amusement. They didn’t give a fuck about his career, only his pretty face and that powerful last name.

“What’s up?” Feyre asked, walking into the glass office to take a seat.

“What do you know about Aldovia?” Her editor, a chic woman named Amren with a dark bob and a beautiful set of ruby earrings, asked as she flipped through a stack of papers.

“Nothing?” Ferye replied, trying to recall where in the world Aldovia was at all. Europe, maybe?

Amren glanced up at her. “Aldovia’s King died last year, and the mourning period is about to expire. Their prince, Rhysand, is MIA and they need a butt on the throne by Christmas Day.”

Feyre just stared. Amren sighed. “If he’s MIA, who do you think will fill that role?”

Feyre just shrugged. She knew absolutely nothing about world politics. Amren sighed. “I need boots on the ground to cover this debacle. Our readers love anything to do with the playboy prince.”

“Why me?” Feyre asked, shooting herself in the foot.

“You’re young, you’re hungry, you’re smart…and none of my regular journalists can go. You’d be gone over Christmas.”

“Oh…I don’t know…” Feyre began but Amren waived her hand.

“I can give this to any other junior editor,” Amren snapped, eyes blazing. “Do you want to spend the rest of your career in that cubicle re-writing shit articles? Or do you want to write something of your own?”

Neither, she thought quietly, surprised Amren knew she was rewriting articles.

“Okay,” Feyre agreed, in part to keep Amren from offering it to anyone else.

“Great. I know you won’t let me down.”

But Feyre wasn’t so sure when she scurried out of the office half an hour later, her phone buzzing in her pocket with an email alert for plane tickets. Lucien was waiting, jacket slung over his shoulder and her coat draped over his arm.

“Fired?” He joked, handing her the dark, puffy coat that she aggressively wore despite his accusations it made her look like a marshmallow.

“What do you know about the Prince of Aldovia?” She asked him, sliding into the elevator beside him.

Lucien peered down at her with surprise. “That he’s got a reputation as a womanizer and a dick,” Lucien offered. “And he’s likely going to abdicate and fuck up a dynasty that’s almost as old as the British monarchy.”

“And that’s bad?” Feyre asked.

“Well, it’s not great,” Lucien replied dryly. “They don’t have another system just ready to go.”

“You know Lucien, you don’t have to be a dick about everything,” she mumbled. Lucien grinned, bumping his shoulder into hers.

“Aw c’mon. Why all the interest in Aldovia?”

“Amren wants me to go and cover the coronation…or abdication, I guess.”

Lucien’s whole face lit up as he held open the glass doors that led to the street. It was already dark despite only being five thirty. Lucien stepped off the curb to flag down a cab while Feyre jammed her hands in her coat pockets.

“Let me give you a crash course over dinner.”

Feyre groaned. “Speaking of that. I might have agreed to eat at my sisters tonight.”

He shrugged. “No worries. Tomorrow then—”

“Come with me,” she asked, turning to face him. “I kind of already told her you were coming.”

He flicked her in the cheek.

“Besides, I’ll bet Elain knows everything about a prince. This seems right up her alley.”

Lucien held open the door to a bright yellow cab. “Fine. But you remember what happened the last time I dined with one of your sisters.”

Feyre scowled before rattling off her sister’s address. “Nesta and Elain are polar opposites.” That much was true, anyway. Elain wouldn’t tell Lucien to go fuck himself like Nesta had when they collectively realized she had been on again, off again dating Lucien’s eldest brother. Elain would be polite even if she hated Lucien’s guts.

“We’ll see,” he muttered, wrapping a scarf around his neck. For the duration of the slow drive, Lucien offered Feyre the most in-depth history she could have ever wanted and Feyre took notes on her phone. Aldovia was a monarchy with a surprisingly bloody history right up until World War II, when they’d gone the way of the Scandinavian countries and become more collectivist. They were small and didn’t have a standing military which, as an American, always surprised her.

By the time Feyre reached Elain’s two-story brownstone, her head ached from all the information Lucien was trying to stuff inside. “Honestly, I might have a book—”

“Of course you do,” she muttered, ringing Elain’s doorbell. “I don’t need a book. You know magazine readers don’t care about history like you do.”

“Well the magazine readers are—” Lucien abruptly stopped the moment the front door opened. Elain was gorgeous as usual, her waist length hair curling softly around her softly made-up face. She wore black and grey checked pants and a white blouse tucked neatly inside, the top two buttons undone to offer the barest hint of skin.

She glanced at Lucien for a moment, unaware that he was openly staring, before inviting them in. “I made ham.”

“Of course you did,” Feyre replied, shrugging out of her coat. Elain’s apartment was gorgeous, each piece of furniture expertly chosen to be both functional and beautiful. Elain had that kind of talent and always had. Despite how much cream furniture she owned, everything felt warm and inviting.

“That’s your painting,” Lucien said with surprise, gesturing towards an ocean landscape Feyre had done for Elain years earlier when she’d been too poor to afford a birthday gift.

“It’s my favorite,” Elain said with a sigh, her heels clicking on the hardwood.

“I have Fey’s Autumn Woods in my living room,” Lucien told her sister, undoing his scarf to hang on the coat rack beside the door. Elain paused to look over her shoulder, a faint smile on her lips. “A man of taste, I see.”

“Stop it,” Feyre muttered, embarrassed but in this, Elain and Lucien were united even if they didn’t know it. Elain had been begging Feyre to let her set up an online store for her artwork since Feyre had lived with Elain as a junior in college.

Elain clicked her tongue and vanished down the hall to the kitchen. Lucien turned to Feyre, eyebrows raised.

Is she single? He mouthed moments before Feyre hit him in the stomach with the back of her hand.

“She’s out of your league,” Feyre whispered. Lucien merely grinned, trailing behind her.

“So, I wrote out all the designers who attended New York fashion week,” Elain said, tying a pale pink apron around her waist. Lucien was poking through Elain’s bookshelf in the living room, nosy as usual.

“This is great,” Feyre said with a sigh, sitting at the rounded wooden table in Elain’s expansive kitchen. She didn’t want to think what this place must have cost Elain, in part because Elain deserved good things. Her former fiancé, Graysen, had recently cheated on her before dumping her in a public, brutal fashion and Feyre knew how it felt to love a man that never loved you back…at least in the way she’d loved him. Elain made heartbreak look easy—if her sister had laid awake at night sobbing and eating her feelings, she certainly never showed it. Feyre, on the other hand, had only left her apartment when Lucien began dragging her out which was why they ate dinner together every night. Feyre knew he’d stopped dating for the time being to make sure she was okay and though maybe it was selfish, she genuinely appreciated that he was looking after her.

“Tell her about Aldovia!” Lucien called. Elain’s brows raised.

“Aldovia?”

Lucien strode in and Feyre bit back the scowl when she noticed his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was trying to be sexy. She’d murder him. Elain glanced at him, cheeks flushed and Feyre all but groaned.

“Feyre’s been given an assignment to see if Prince Rhysand is going to ascend to the throne.” Elain’s eyes lit up. “Fey, that’s amazing! Your first assignment! Oh my God, okay, let me go grab that dress I bought—”

“Elain!” Feyre protested but Elain stepped around Lucien to jog down the hall, unaware of how he leaned to watch her go.

“Do you mind?” Feyre hissed. Lucien only shrugged, clearly unashamed. A moment later Elain returned with a pale blue, sparkly gown she spread over the dining room table.

“I have others,” Elain breathed. “But this one has never been worn.”

“Where were you planning on wearing this?” Feyre couldn’t help but ask, fingering one of the jewels lightly.

Elain shrugged. “Maybe someone I hate is about to get married and I wanted to upstage her.”

Lucien snorted with laughter and Elain flushed with pleasure. “Feyre, you can’t go to a castle and not take at least one nice dress.”

“You should probably take like…five,” Lucien added, doing quick math in his head.

“Five?” Feyre gasped.

“Yes, definitely,” Elain replied, walking back to her bedroom. Feyre gathered up the beautiful blue dress, hugging it to her chest as she followed after Elain, sandwiched by Lucien’s large body. Elain’s bedroom was a space she definitely thought Lucien had no business in, judging by how he looked around with interest. Not that Elain noticed, vanishing into a closet as big as Feyre’s bathroom.

“Get it together,” Feyre hissed when Lucien walked to the large, cream colored bed and ran a hand over the blanket.

“I’m going to marry her,” he whispered in response. “We’re going to be family.” “I’ll kill you,” Feyre shot back moments before Elain walked back out, dumping a stack of gowns atop her bed. Even Lucien looked surprised by what he saw and if Elain was embarrassed, she didn’t let it show.

“Black, I think,” Elain murmured, pulling out another floor length dress that looked as though it had a slit cut to her navel.

Lucien reached for a golden one, pulling it from the stack to admire the fabric.

“Have you worn all these?” Feyre asked, flopping on Elain’s bed.

“Mostly,” Elain replied, studying her pile the way a scientist might examine something beneath a microscope. “Not that one. Do you want to take it?”

Judging by the way Lucien was staring at the dress, she decided she’d let Elain keep it and ruin his life by wearing it one day. There was no way in hell Lucien would ever get within touching distance of her sister. Elain had a very specific, very brunette type.

“No, I’m too pale for gold.” “True,” Elain agreed without malice. “Red, then.”

“You act like I’m going to marry him,” Feyre mumbled, letting her sister add clothes to her pile. “This is just an assignment.”

“What if you need to attend fancy dinners?” Elain shot back. “Or balls—”

“This is not a fairy tale,” Feyre insisted. “I have slacks.” Elain huffed, turning to her dresser to pull out nice dress clothes but Feyre stopped her. “Elain it’s fine. This guy dates supermodels, right? I don’t need to worry about impressing him. I’m not you.”

“Don’t say that,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Feyre mumbled, catching the look Elain and Lucien exchanged.

“At least take these three,” Elain finally said, shoving each dress into her sister’s hand.

Dinner was fun and Feyre didn’t hate the idea of Lucien and Elain. Lucien was a shameless flirt, not that Elain noticed. Perhaps she was so used to men acting that way she barely registered it, though Feyre noticed that Elain watched him more closely when he got serious. Between Elain’s knowledge of fashion and Lucien’s knowledge of history, she thought there was no one better prepared to go to Aldovia. Feyre had hundreds of words written in her notes, had the dresses Elain had shoved on her folded neatly in a suitcase, and a book Lucien insisted she take tucked beneath her arm when she strolled into the airport.

It didn’t occur to her until after she checked in that she’d never thought to just google the guy. Pulling out her phone, Feyre saw she had another missed text from a new number that she would have bet her life belonged to Tamlin. The fact that he couldn’t leave her alone when he should have been grateful the worst, he got was his face bloodied by Lucien was just astounding to her. She blocked it without bothering to look at the message, but her hands shook a little as she typed in Rhysands name.

That was a mistake, she decided. He was easily the best-looking man she’d ever seen in her life. How unfair, she reflected. If he had to be royalty, the least he deserved was a weird looking face. Rhysand was beautiful in a way that made Feyre’s heart race. Blue-black hair fell into eyes so blue they were practically violet, off-set by sun-kissed skin. The first picture she’d pulled up was a blurry pap shot of him without a shirt on, adding insult to injury. His body was sheer perfection, the kind artists used to carve from marble. Of course, in the photo he was standing beside a blonde woman in a teeny bikini and that reminded Feyre that his good looks had likely made him an asshole.

With that in mind, Feyre felt much better stepping onto a plane to fly halfway around the world. She’d never meet him, would likely only see him from a distance assuming he showed up at all, and all of Lucien and Elain’s prep work would be for nothing. She was still safe.

With that in mind, Feyre slept for most of the flight, waking for a rough landing on the tarmac. It was her first time alone somewhere and with each new step, Feyre felt a sense of excitement. She’d been chosen, maybe because no one else could go, but chosen nonetheless. She fired two quick texts to Lucien and Elain separately, letting them both know she’d made it and urging Lucien to come join her perhaps a tad selfishly.

Afterall, it would have been nice to have a friend. She felt that when three men cut her in the taxi line, stealing the car she’d waited for without little more than a grin. “Hey!” She’d yelled, frustrated when the largest of the three turned to look at her, winked, and then slid in after the other two. No apologies, no explanations. It took fifteen minutes for another cab to roll up and by the time Feyre was checked into her hotel and on the shuttle to the palace, she was more than a little stressed.

The palace itself was built into a snowcapped mountain surrounded by tall evergreen pines. It was something from a Christmas movie, something only Disney himself could have dreamt up. She had her nose practically pressed to the glass window, drinking in the surroundings. Feyre had never seen anything half as lovely in her life—unblemished snow covered the ground just beside the winding mountain road they travelled, sparkling beneath a cold winter sun. She wondered what it would be like to live somewhere so beautiful.

How are things going? Lucien asked Feyre when she sat in a gray cushioned, hardbacked chair. Press badge around her neck, Feyre shook out her hands, pleased to be in the middle of the crowd. She didn’t have any specific questions, didn’t really care what the spoiled prince would do.

Not great, she sent Lucien back when a busy press coordinator came out to announce there would be no press briefing, rescheduled or otherwise. They were told to pack it up, that Rhysand was definitely accepting the throne, and practically kicked out of the palace.

She couldn’t go home empty handed. She wasn’t going to be stuck in a dead-end job for the rest of her life. She didn’t have to love writing in order to want to do well.

You’ll bail me out of jail, right? She texted Lucien, sideling away from the group to circle back towards the palace. She felt his immediate response, likely demanding she not do whatever it was she was thinking but Feyre was already half jogging up a flight of stone steps to a side door. Decorated with green garland and a massive wreath, it was both festive and somehow overdone. She didn’t know what, exactly, she was looking for—only that she’d know when she saw it. Feyre was surprised that the palace felt more like a museum or an upscale office. Red carpet and muted wallpaper with nondescript art hanging on the walls all leant itself to a space that was neutral at best, unoffensive at worst. She crept through the hall, coming to a large foyer decorated charmingly with suits of armor wearing curling red ribbons around their neck. She pulled out her phone, ignoring Lucien’s all-caps text demanding she rethink her life choices, and snapped a photo.

“What are you doing?” A masculine voice behind her demanded. Feyre turned suddenly, surprised to find herself looking at one of the men who stole her taxi the morning before. Tall, broad, and muscular, he looked like he wrestled bears for fun.

“Uh…” She stammered, trying to think of any good reason to be taking pictures of suits of armor. “I was…”

“Oh. American,” he said with a roll of his hazel eyes. “You’re the portraitist, aren’t you?”

The what? “Yes,” she lied automatically. Anything to keep herself from trouble. The broad man’s expression relaxed into an easy-going, handsome smile. He was young, tan, and decidedly rugged despite his well-fitted pants and his buttoned up shirt. Shoulder length brown hair was half tied from his face with a neat bun, leaving the rest to wave around a jaw carved from rock.

“Thank God,” he said with a smile. “We were starting to think you’d ghosted us.”

“Nope, no ghosting,” Feyre assured him even as her mind screamed at her to tell the truth and get out. “Just a long flight.”

The man glanced sideways at her, gesturing for her to following him through the foyer towards a grand marble staircase.

“Must have been some flight,” he murmured, his tone betraying that she’d been missing much longer than she thought. Feyre offered a half-smile, hands trembling at her sides. “Anyway you’re in luck. Rhys just got in and he’s not in a shitty mood. Do…whatever it is you need to…do you need paint or something?”

Fuck. “Uh…yeah but not today. It’s a process,” she said truthfully. “I’m gonna just…take some pictures and get a feel for you know…the room…and stuff.”

“And stuff,” the man beside her repeated. “Okay. You’re the expert, I guess. Just…no talking to the press, okay? They’re circling like eager rats.”

“Right,” Feyre replied, not bothering to mention that she was one of those rats.

“If you need anything, let me know. I’m Cassian, by the way. I was the one talking to your boss on the phone I guess…I thought you were going to be a man.”

“Sorry to disappoint?” Feyre asked, praying to every God ever known that the actual portraitist didn’t show up and blow her cover. Cassian shook his head, leading Feyre down a series of connected halls.

“Did you bring things with you?” “Yeah…they’re at my hotel,” she replied as though it were obvious. Cassian’s steps faltered.

“Hotel? You’re supposed to be staying here. What hotel? I’ll send Az to get your things.”

“That’s not necessary…I can get my own stuff,” Feyre replied, unsure who Az was or if she wanted him rifling through her stuff and accidentally letting them all know who she really was.

Cassian hesitated outside of two large, gold leaf double doors. “We really need this to go well. Az’ll drive you back into town for your things. Don’t tell anyone you’re working on a portrait, okay?”

“I won’t,” Feyre replied, hoping she looked sincere and not guilty. Cassian assessed Feyre one last time, biting his lower lip and then nodded.

“Painter is here!” He called, yanking open the door. Feyre was stunned momentarily by the beauty of the throne room Cassian had lead her into. It was open and airy, with white marble columns that matched the black swirled floors. Unlike the muted halls leading up to the room, the throne room seemed cut from decadence. Her eyes traveled to a gorgeous crystal chandelier overhead twinkling in the bright winter sunlight.

Sitting atop a dais, lounging in a golden throne, the most beautiful man Feyre had ever seen sat up, brushing a piece of lint from his black shirt.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” he told her, rising to his full height. The photos she’d seen of him on the internet didn’t do him justice—he didn’t look real, he was so handsome. He smiled, revealing two perfect rows of white teeth, his eyes so blue they were violet which contrasted nicely with his inky black hair.

She didn’t know what to say so Feyre let her eyes wander the room again, hoping she looked studious and not overwhelmed by how good looking he was.

“No paint?”

“Not today,” she managed to get out. “I’m going to take some pictures and then put together a sketch.” She didn’t have to lie, at least, about her ability to draw. She’d need to go to the local art supply store and get things to work with but Feyre thought she could put together a good portrait of him given enough time. He was certainly easy on the eyes.

He nodded, his gaze blazing and on her. Had anyone ever looked so intently at her in her life? It made her nervous, like he could see through her lies.

“Where do you want me?” He asked, gesturing around the space. His space. He’d be King, she realized…and she was supposed to be writing a story about him, not drawing his face. Maybe she could do both, she reasoned. After all, was it her fault if none of them background checked who came in and out of their lives? He was practically inviting disaster. She’d do a thoughtful, polite write-up, she decided. As an apology for her deception.

“Where would you like to be?”

“Far away,” Rhys admitted with a sigh. “But a long line of portraits have us on the throne and I suppose it would be bad form to defy tradition.”

Feyre gestured for him to sit, and Rhys did, back straight, hands resting on the arm. She pulled out her phone, opened the camera, and immediately began studying the way shadow and light fell on him. There was truly no better study for the human form than Rhysand.

There was something invasive and wrong about the photos she took and yet Feyre took them anyway. She was going to draw him, she promised. Rhysand didn’t move, seemed used to being photographed in this way though to Feyre it all felt very intimate.

“That’s…that’s all I need,” she murmured once she had a few from several different angles. “I can sketch something this evening and you could take a look tomorrow?” He shrugged, rising from his throne. “I don’t care, to be honest…” He looked at her expectantly.

“Feyre. My name is Feyre.”

“Unusual name,” he replied. “Anyway, I don’t care how it looks.”

“Why commission one at all, then?” Feyre snapped without thinking. Rhys raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised.

“Why, indeed? Let me show you to your room.”

“Is that something princes do?” Feyre asked snappishly, strangely annoyed he didn’t care how his portrait turned out. Rhys shrugged.

“This one does, though I could call Cassian back if you’d prefer?”

“He was nice,” Feyre murmured, more to herself. That made Rhysand laugh.

“He’ll be relieved to hear it. Come on, Feyre darling. I have other things I need to do today.”

Feyre nodded, swallowing hard. Following after him had the strangest feeling attached, as though she were walking to more than just a bedroom.

It was as though she walked towards fate.

#acotar gift exchange 2021 #feysand #feyre x rhysand #and some background elucien #because i cant just NOT write elucien #but its subtle #just a feel good #wholesome #christmas fic #that has the potential to have an added smutty bonus scene if anyone is interested #i was way nervous to post this

[kuroos-moon]

Getting Possessive

➪ pairings: bokuto x reader, kuroo x reader, oikawa x reader

➪ request: a scenario where Bokuto, Kuroo n Tooru (or anyone else) get,,possessive bc their s/o was partnered up w another guy for a project

➪ genre: fluff 

Bokuto Kōtarō 

“Now for your biggest project this year, which I mentioned was going to be by partner since it’ll probably take a while to complete, I’ll be announcing your pair today.”

Bokuto excitedly looks at you with an infectious grin, something about how your teacher said ‘announcing your pair,’ made it feel romantic, so it has to be you and him. You love getting partnered up with Bo since he’s so inspired and motivated when he works with you.

“Y/n, should we start it this weekend at my place?” He whispers not-so-discreetly to you which earns the two of you a disapproving glance from your teacher. “Sure, it’s going to be fun,” you grin back at him, showing him a thumbs-up which only makes him more excited. 

“What snacks should I prepare?” That was the last straw for your ever so patient sensei. The both of you were supposed to be partners even when he picked randomly, but what good would that do? He thinks you two are probably going to goof around, using the project as an excuse to meet up. 

“Next, l/n y/n, and uh,” he glances around to whoever wasn’t called yet and unfortunately it lands on the pretty boy behind you, “uh Takumi Usui,” he finishes, Bokuto rising up his chair at an instant. There was a lot of his pleading before he got scolded, your teacher never gave in and now he’s miserable.

“Hey, Kō I’m bummed you’re not my partner too but your partner has much greater brains than me! It should be fine,” you pat at his back while he slouches from beside you on his chair and plants his face on your lap. He only whines in misery in response and you can’t help but chuckle as you run your fingers through his hair. 

“Could you even breathe down there?” You’re lowkey embarrassed to be in that position with him in the middle of the classroom. 

Feeling a light tap on your shoulder, you look behind you to see your partner smile at you. “Uh, hey, it’s cool we got to be partners y/n-chan, when should we meet up?” 

Okay first of all, Y/N-CHAN?? He automatically turns to observe your face, his cheek now against your thighs. “Well, I’m free this weekend,” you smile back at him. 

He should’ve been the one who’s going to meet you that weekend. “Can I come along?” He sits up and smiles at the both of you, you’re horrified and lowkey embarrassed while your partner’s surprised. 

You face him and offer him a small smile, “Kō, you have your own partner to work with,” you gently tell him, touching his knee. He doesn’t respond but instead his hair droops along with his mood.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” you smile at Usui and Bokuto just short-circuits and panics as he watches you divert your attention to your partner once more. “It’s alright, so this weekend at my place, maybe?”

Bokuto grits his teeth, looking at the both of you in disbelief. “She’s mine! She’s mine, okay?” He blurts out, yanking your chair closest to him as possible and possessively wrapping his arms around your shoulders. 

You, along with the rest of the class stare up at him and he’s fidgeting a little once he sees you bury your face in your hands, “I mean she’s not an object I could claim mine, but- uh- she’s your partner academically! While I- I am her pair in a romantic kind of way!” 

You sigh before you untangle yourself from his arms, and he looks at you sorrily, afraid he’s made you mad but you offer your hand to him instead. After second-glancing you, he puts his big hand in yours and lets you guide him out of the room and in the quiet hallway. 

“What was that about Kō?” You look up at him expectantly, crossing your arms against your chest. He doesn’t meet your eyes and looks down to his fingers instead, “are you mad at me?” 

When you don’t respond, he continues, “sensei said he was announcing our pair, and it sounds so romantic and soulmate-like, I can’t believe I’m not your pair y/n, I’m not your soulmate,” his tone just gets sadder and sadder and you can’t help but chuckle, wrapping your arms around his waist and bringing him to a shock. 

“Don’t be silly Kō, just like you said, no matter what, I’m yours,” you look up at him and he pouts, and it might just be your imagination but you think you saw his bottom lip quiver. 

“Really?” He draws up his hand to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“Really.” 

Kuroo Tetsurō 

“Oya oya?” Like a pest he pops up out of nowhere while you sit side by side with your partner in the library; and you glare daggers at your boyfriend before he grins at the two of you. “Are you even doing that right?” 

“None of your business, Tetsurō,” you swat away his hand from your shoulder, “get lost.” He only pouts at you before pulling up a chair, moving yours aside and sitting between the two of you. “Uh, excuse me, we have a project to finish.” Your partner sighs. 

He knew Kuroo was displeased when your teacher announced you were partners because maybe he sat a little bit too close to you in class, but Kuroo constantly showing up unannounced was getting on his nerves. 

“Excuse you, I’m not letting you drag down chibi-chan’s grades down the gutter along with yours,” he smirks at him, his cockiness short-lived as he’s met with your elbow to his ribs. “Get. Lost. Now,” you stare him down, his brows raising at you. 

“You obviously need help, I mean, doesn’t your back hurt from carrying your entire project?” He jokes but he’s only met with your disapproving eyes, “okay, okay, backing off now, tell me if you need help.” 

He unwillingly gets up from his chair, feigning a genuine smile your way as he drags his chair out of the way so you could sit closer to your partner. “Sorry about that dork,” you sigh. “Must be a pain, huh?” 

The moment your eyes are off him, his smile falls, instantly replaced by a menacing sharp glare sending chills down your partner’s spine. “I’m one call away, kitten, I could sub in for your partner anytime,” he reminds you again, standing behind the both of you. 

“My partner’s completely fine Tetsurō, you’re not needed,” you mindlessly say, scribbling something on your paper before glancing back at your partner to ask him something. He scoffs in disbelief; how could you be so cruel to him? 

Deciding it was best to just leave his girlfriend who apparently doesn’t need him alone, he kicks the back of your partner’s chair before making his way to the door with a frown. Kenma wasn’t even listening to his rants, but from the gist of it he could tell his best friend was being possessive while you’re simply clueless. 

“Y’know, I think your boyfriend’s acting kinda possessive.”

“No, he’s probably just bored or something so he bugs me and all that,” you shrug. Honey, that’s definitely not it. 

By the time his volleyball practice ends, he races to the library. Oh, look at that little prick sitting so unnecessarily close to you, he exhales a breath in annoyance, hands in his hips as he observes you two from outside. Kai had advised him to not bother you, so he’ll just wait out. 

He couldn’t just stand still though when you shiver and rub your hands together so now he’s come in the library again, making his way to the two of you. “Oh, great, he’s here again,” your partner huffs and you look up at Kuroo, wondering why he’s got a frown on his face. 

“Shut up, you really don’t wanna try me right now,” he grits his teeth, silently putting on his jacket over your frame. “You don’t have to finish it all up in one go, kitten, I could take you home to rest now,” he mutters, putting his hands on your shoulders and massaging them. 

“We’re almost finished, we’re wrapping it up,” you smile up at him and he sighs. “Fine.” You’re stunned when he slams his palm on the table, his arm between the both of you. “But some distance, maybe?” He turns to face your partner who immediately moves his chair a foot away. 

“Oh, and could you pass me that book over there,” Kuroo nods to your partner’s book.

“What for?” He scoffs.

“I’m obviously not going to hit you with it if that’s what you’re worried about,” he muses before grabbing the book himself. “Tetsu, what are you even doing?” 

He looks at you with a playful smile before leaning in and tilting his head to the side, your lips a mere inch apart, “I’m motivating you to finish.” He locks lips with you. Your partner was stiff, but he couldn’t see at all as Kuroo blocks your pressed lips with the very book he had snatched. 

“I’ll wait outside, I’ve only come in to kiss my girl, oh, and here’s your book,” he tosses it to him, eyes directly on his as he wipes the corner of his lips just to make his point before walking out, sending a wink your way. 

“Yup, he’s definitely possessive,” you watch him as he walks out. 

 Oikawa Tōru

The moment your teacher announces your partner was someone else who gave him the very foreign feeling of being possessive and wanting to prove you’re his, it seemed like the world was ending. 

“Hey, Iwa-chan, do you still see our sensei over there?” He whispers, and Iwaizumi looks at him like he’s gone insane. “What?” 

“Because all I see is the devil, how dare he,” he bites the inside of his cheek, eyes darting to the back of your head while you discuss something with your insanely attractive partner who he admits is generously half as pretty as him. “Are you still on about how y/n should be your partner?” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes.

“It’s only common sense, they don’t look great together at all.”

“This is not some matchmaking crap shittykawa, this is a school project.” The bell finally rings, class was officially over for the day. 

“You just don’t understand Iwa-chan,” he clicks his tongue before slinging his bag to his shoulder and making his way over to you. 

“Y/n-chan!” You’re flustered when you feel a hand on your stomach as you’re pulled to Tōru’s chest. “Who’s this?” He smiles at your partner who stood across the two of you. “What do you mean ‘who’s this,’ he’s our classmate, he’s my partner too.”

Okay, something along the lines of ‘my partner’ had his eye twitching. He listens in to your conversation as you make plans about when you should meet, his chin resting above your head the whole time while he hugs you from behind. 

You know Tōru’s not really one for caring who sees him displaying affection so his behavior now would pass up as normal but you get the feeling he’s purposely trying to show off right now. 

“So we could start today then, at my place?” You partner asks, but before you could respond, Tōru beats you to it. “Absolutely not, Usui-kun,” he scowls as if Usui had said something so controversial. You also notice how he had unconsciously held you to him tighter. 

“Someone’s a possessive boyfriend,” your partner grins. 

“Me?” He scoffs, “I know I’m crazy for y/n and it shows, but I’m not that crazy.” 

“Fine, then we’re going to my house.”

“The answer remains no, you’re not worthy enough to bring my y/n-chan inside your house.” You’re awkwardly just standing there, feeling more suffocated as Oikawa holds you closer to him the more their argument drags on.

“What are you, her dad?” Usui scoffs, but is now caught off guard upon meeting Oikawa’s cold eyes and taunting smirk. 

“You’d be surprised as to what y/n calls me inside the walls of my bedroom,” he says it like it’s no big deal, and you break free from his hold, about to slap his chest but Iwaizumi smacks his head before you could lay a hand on him. 

“Ow! Iwa-chan, my brain hurts!” 

“I doubt you even have one shittykawa! Don’t go blurting out stuff like that,” he scolds. 

“Thanks Iwa,” you genuinely smile at him before glaring at Oikawa. “Uh, so where then?” Your partner interrupts. “We could go to my place, my mom wouldn’t mind, might as well go now while it’s still early,” you walk towards him, Oikawa’s jaw dropping at how you so quickly left his side. 

“Hey, wait a minute y/n-chan, I don’t approve of this,” he whines, yanking your wrist. “You really don’t have a say in this Tōru, we have a project to work on, byebye,” you hastily kiss his cheek before leaving with your partner. 

He was hot on his heels about to follow you out but he’s yanked by the collar and dragged to practice by the impatient Iwaizumi. “Hey Usui-kun, my mom wouldn’t like you!” He shouts, struggling to not get his arm ripped off as he tries to resist Iwaizumi dragging him to the opposite direction of the both of you. 

“We don’t have the same mom, Tōru!” 

The instant practice ends, he has made it to his way inside your home, bearing chocolates and flowers for your mother. “Tōru, why are you here? And what’s all this?” Your mom asks him and he only chuckles while scratching the back of his neck, “I just haven’t dropped by in a while, where’s y/n though?”

Please not your bedroom.

“She’s in her bedroom with Usu-

“What? You can’t be on first-name basis with him already! Uh- I mean, I’m sorry, can I go up to her room?” 

Your mother knowingly smiles as Oikawa dashes up the stairs. Looking at the chocolates he brought, it was as if he wanted to bribe your mom into liking him more. It was just like when you first brought him home. 

“WHY IS THE DOOR EVEN CLOSED?” You yelp in shock when the door swings open, revealing a screaming Tōru fresh from his practice. “Geez, relax, it was windy.” You sigh, getting up from the floor to give him a hug but he has marched his way past you. 

“Then at least close your window, not the door,” he grumbles as he shuts your windows so the wind couldn’t get in. He turns to look at the both of you wearing the same expression of ‘what the hell are you even doing here.’ 

“You.” He points down at Usui who was still sat on the floor, “what are you still doing here? Get up, I’m kicking you out.” 

“Tōru I am this close to kicking you out, we have a project to finish,” you hiss at him, pushing him away from your area of scattered papers and plopping him down on your bed. “Stay there, don’t make noise, and let us work in peace.” 

He frowns, turning to lay on his stomach and prodding his elbows against the mattress as he rests his chin on his hands. He observes the two of you work, his frown never leaving his face as you kept on ignoring him. 

“Hey, y/n-chan, can I have a kiss?” He asks, looking at your partner to see his reaction. 

“No, Toru, you cannot,” you deadpan, making Usui chuckle. 

His smile only returns to his face upon bidding your partner goodbye, his teeth showing at how happy he was as he faces both you and your mom. “Now, I declare this lovely household cleansed!” 

You only roll your eyes, guiding him up your room so you could cuddle while your mom starts to prepare dinner. 

General Taglist [Open]: @noyasbitchh @dinablossom @haru-the-secret @strayczennies @lalisbitch @tinymidgetsstuff @animebs @astrealia @kittykitkatstrawberry @hajimesbbygrl @kellesvt @24hr7dysdizzy @arnxldss @elianetsantana @vicassa @floraraine @beanst0ck @leinnah @kageyamasgirl @deafeningart @minibobabottle   @franko-pop @moonlightaangel @throughtheinterstices @micasaessakusa @dixonsbugaboo​ 

#haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #kuroo x reader #bokuto x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!! headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu oikawa #haikyuu bokuto

[taizi]

a little room to grow

@natsumeweek 2021 day 5; freedom/possession

read on ao3

(previous part)

x

Hinata takes one look at them and says, “Holy shit. Get in here, Natoris.”

So they must look pretty bad, then. 

Takashi is uncharacteristically quiet, going right to the sofa and gathering Hinata’s cat up in his arms. 

Hinata watches him for a moment, turns and stares directly into Shuuichi’s face, and then heads into the kitchen to snatch up a takeout menu that she keeps permanently stuck to the front of her fridge under a huge Cinnamoroll magnet.

“Sit,” Hinata says with a jerk of her chin towards the table. She tucks her cellphone between her shoulder and her ear and unfolds the paper menu with a business-like snap. “I’m ordering enough junk food for all three of us, and then you’re going to tell me why you look like that.”

Shuuichi sits. 

Hinata lives with her single mother, who works thirds, and her aunt, who doesn’t work but often has somewhere else to be. It’s unlikely either of them are going to make an appearance tonight.

The TV is on in the living room, playing what sounds like Sailor Moon. Takashi is watching it just because it’s already on, but he’s slowly becoming more invested the longer he sits there—Shuichi can tell from the way his hand on the little cat in his lap slows its petting, the way his round brown eyes become fixed on the screen. The sounds of traffic and rain outside are muted, the outside world hardly existing past what little pieces of it make it through the open window in the kitchen. 

It’s peaceful here. It’s almost home, even.

Hinata puts the phone down, sits across from Shuuichi, and crosses her arms on top of the table. Her silence is expectant.

Shuuichi says, “I don’t think I’m going to university.”

His friend inclines her head, an invitation to go on. 

“The university my father wants me to go to is almost an hour away from here,” Shuuichi says, clenching his fists. “And it wouldn’t be possible for Takashi to transfer there, because someone in the school district administration is a cousin of his or something. Word got around about his behavior, and they don’t think he’d be a good addition to their student body.”

“Takashi’s relatives haven’t had anything to do with him since he was five,” Hinata says hotly. “What the hell do they know about his behavior? He’d be the best thing to happen to that school in the last hundred years.”

Shuuichi, who completely agrees with her, says, “You’re biased.”

“I’m right.” She taps her fingers anxiously against the table. “Let me guess, your dad—”

“Doesn’t see the problem. Told me I was going anyway.” Shuuichi barks a tense, humorless laugh, sitting back and pushing a hand through his hair. “Could you imagine? Me, leaving Takashi in that house, with those people? With no one but ghosts to talk to?”

It was inevitable that Hinata would find out about Shuuichi and his brother’s ‘gift,’ given how much time they spend together and all the odd things Takashi says on a daily basis. The most remarkable thing to come of the ultimate reveal was the solid three months she spent relentlessly trying to bribe, coerce and blackmail Shuuichi into using his paper magic to send her notes during school hours, because they were put in different classes in their third year. 

Now, she frowns deeply, and says, “No. That won’t do. So what’s the plan?” 

“I’m working on it,” Shuuichi replies. 

“I would be okay,” Takashi pipes up. Shuuichi looks up to find his little brother standing by the table with wide, grave eyes. He’s tugging anxiously at the cuffs of his sleeves. The worry on his face doesn’t belong there. It doesn’t fit someone his age. “If you had to go.”

Shuuichi pushes his chair back and lifts his arm. Takashi rounds the table and allows himself to be tucked against Shuuichi’s side snugly. 

“Maybe you would, but I wouldn’t,” Shuuichi says. “I’d miss bugging you too much.”

“I mean it,” Takashi says stubbornly. “I don’t want you to get yelled at anymore.”

“I mean it, too,” Shuuichi replies. “Dad can yell all he wants. You’re stuck with me, squirt.”

Saying it out loud settles something anxious that’s been rattling around in his chest. Knowing what he has to do makes it easier to focus on the steps that come next. For now, he tilts to the side so that he can rest enough of his weight on his little brother that he starts to sag underneath it.

“Nii-san! Stop, you’re heavy!”

“What was that?” Shuuichi says loudly, tilting farther, half out of his chair at this point. “I’m heavy? Is that what you said?”

The doorbell rings, and Hinata says, “No no, I’ll get it, don’t let me interrupt your intricate bonding rituals,” which is a cue that they should stop messing around and go help her carry in the frankly staggering amount of takeout bags a weary-looking delivery boy is wielding on the porch. 

“Munchkin, will you get some glasses and the iced tea?” Hinata asks. “Let’s eat in front of the TV like slobs.”

Takashi slides back into the kitchen, skidding a little too far in his socks and knocking the paper towels off the counter, and Shuuichi snorts. It feels like the first time he’s smiled in a year. 

Hinata touches his arm. “Hey,” she says seriously. “I’m going to visit Isamu on Thursday, and I’m staying for about a week. You two should come with. Stop thinking about all this stuff for a bit and give yourself a break.”

“I don’t want to bother you guys—”

“Try not to be an idiot for once in your life,” Hinata says with an exaggerated air of total exhaustion. “You know it wouldn’t be a bother. Besides, Isamu has a little sister Takashi’s age, and she’s into all kinds of weird stuff. They’d probably get along like a house on fire.”

Shuuichi thinks a week in the country sounds pretty good, actually. He’s mulling it over when Takashi comes running; with a stack of colorful plastic glasses in one hand, a pitcher of tea in the other, and a box of Koala March tucked into the crook of his elbow.

“Can I have these, nee-san?” he asks brightly. He looks nine years old again instead of ninety, all that worry from earlier finally unseated. 

“Oh, I guess,” Hinata says with deep reluctance, as if she didn’t buy them specifically for Takashi in the first place. She doesn’t even like chocolate. “Dinner first, though! Put those koalas where I can see them!”

She cares about Takashi like it’s effortless. Like it just makes sense to make space for him in her home and keep his favorite snacks in her kitchen. Considering the place they came here from, it disarms Shuuichi completely.

“We’ll go with you,” he says without thinking.

“Of course you will,” Hinata replies immediately. “I was only asking to be polite. Now eat your food.”

And that’s how they wind up in Hitoyoshi, Kumamoto, of all places. It’s unmistakably beautiful but Shuuichi only gets a brief moment to appreciate the scenery before Hinata is dragging him—and by extension, Takashi—out of the station to the street outside, where a familiar face is waiting. 

She releases Shuuichi in order to fling herself bodily at Isamu, who doesn’t so much as bat an eye. Hinata is much taller than her boyfriend, which Shuuichi thinks is just typical of Hinata, but Isamu doesn’t care. She could be seventeen feet tall and weigh a thousand pounds and he would still find a way to hold her. 

“Hey,” he says over her shoulder, lifting one hand to wave at the Natoris. “Hug train is pulling out of the station, get yours before it’s gone.”

Laughing, Shuuichi says, “I’m good. Takashi?”

“No, thank you,” Takashi says politely.

“Your loss.” Hinata sniffs, and busies herself with picking up the bags she’d flung to the ground. “Is your sister at home?”

“Mhm,” Isamu says, taking one of Takashi’s bags and slinging it over his own shoulder. “She’s shy. I’m amazed she agreed to meet you guys at all. Bribery was involved.”

Takashi shuffles, glancing sideways at Shuuichi. 

“I’ll bet you two-thousand yen that you’re best friends by the end of the day,” Shuuichi says at once, to make the situation a win-win. That always works.

Sure enough, Takashi holds out his hand. “Deal.”

They shake on it solemnly. 

Isamu gives Shuuichi a deeply approving look and says, “I’ll have to remember that one.”

Tooru and Takashi are actually best friends within about an hour and a half. 

Once the Natoris have been settled into a large guest room and wandered around on a cheap tour of the estate, and Hinata has dumped all of her stuff in her boyfriend’s bedroom, Isamu drags Tooru out of hiding to eat a late lunch with them. 

Tooru shuffles into the chair across from Takashi and makes her polite introduction, and then mumbles that she only has a couple of friends so she isn’t sure what they ought to talk about. Takashi blithely replies that he doesn’t have any friends, because he can see yokai and people tend to think that’s strange. Shuuichi and Hinata are both frozen, holding their chopsticks halfway to their mouths as they wait to see which way this is going to go, but Isamu just takes an unhurried sip of tea.

And then Tooru lunges across the table to seize Takashi’s hands, shouting, “You can see yokai? You have to come meet my grandpa!” and all but drags him out of the kitchen, their lunches left untouched. 

“You might never get your brother back,” Isamu says mildly. “That’s okay, there’s enough space here for two little weirdos.”

“So you believe in ghosts now?” Hinata demands. 

“I don’t believe in things I can’t see for myself,” Isamu replies. He waits a beat, rolling a thought around in his head like a marble, and then adds reluctantly, “But if three people I trust can see them, maybe that’s just as good. I already apologized to gramps for thinking he was just a delusional old man.”

“You did not say that to your grandpa,” Shuuichi says, horrified. 

“I didn’t say it, I just said I was sorry for thinking it.” Isamu sits back in his chair, frowning at his plate. “Tooru never needed any proof. She believes him just because she loves him. I think there’s value in that. Figured I’d give it a try.”

When Shuuichi tracks the kids down later, they’ve multiplied. Sasago and Urihime are supervising as Tooru, Takashi, and two little boys of a similar age chase each other around the garden, a half-dozen little yokai running underfoot. 

Takashi spots him and brightens, breaking away from the game to jump up onto the porch and slam into Shuuichi’s side. Shuuichi ruffles his hair, because it’s already a windswept mess, and it makes Takashi wrinkle his nose in annoyance. 

“Taki-ojisan wasn’t feeling well, so he’s taking a nap,” Takashi explains. He’s flushed from the sun and grass-stained. “We had fun, though. All of his yokai friends had lots of things they wanted to say to him so we played telephone. Mostly they were teasing him, which didn’t seem very nice, but it made oji-san laugh a lot.”

“And who are those two?” Shuuichi asks, nodding at the unfamiliar boys. 

“Tooru’s friends from school. They were coming by to see if Tooru wanted to go to the river with them, and she introduced me.” Shyly, Takashi adds, “They’re nice.”

“Hey!” the russet-haired boy calls over. “Are we going swimming or what?” 

“Can we, please?” Tooru asks, folding her hands together.

His brother gazes up at him with eyes that are big and hopeful, a look that has worked for him for years. Shuuichi shakes his head ruefully. 

“As long as you stay with Tooru, and don’t let your phone get soaked,” he says sternly. “And you know to answer when I call, right?” 

“Right,” Takashi says, without attitude, because that’s one of their most important rules. “Can I take Urihime with me? She’ll throw Satoru in the water if I ask her to, Sasago won’t.”

“For that reason alone, you’re taking Sasago,” Shuuichi replies. 

It’s a noisy circus troupe of kids who finally leave, armed with towels and a bag of snacks pilfered from the kitchen and an entourage of rowdy spirits that only one of them can see. 

Shuuichi leans against the gate, watching them go. He’s wary of the unfamiliar yokai, but with his shiki nearby and clearly unbothered, he doesn’t see a reason to break up the strange congregation. Over the years, he’s had to get used to the way Takashi attracts these things. They come to him like moths to a flame. 

Most exorcists hate yokai, but Shuuichi doesn’t. How could he? His little brother is a medium, and some of the only people he can count on to babysit for him are his familiars. Yokai are so much a part of his life that to hate them would be to fill his heart with hatred, and he doesn’t have room in his heart for all that. It’s too full of other things. 

Hinata joins him by the door. 

“You know,” she says carefully, “I was going to bring this up later, but…the university that Isamu and I are going to is only a half-hour away from here. And the schools here are really good.”

Shuuichi stands in the sun, watches his little brother laugh with children his own age, and exhales.

#natsume yuujinchou #natsuyuu #natsumeweek #natori shuuichi #natsume takashi #taki isamu #the squad has finally arrived :') bless #my writing #natsuyuu fic #second hand

[immabethehero]

Hero Fever

Happy Birthday Jackie! Here’s a little story to celebrate!

CW: Food, small sickness, mention of nausea, ego shipping (if you’re uncomfortable with that)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the sunny backyard of the Septiceyes’ house, Chase and Jameson struggle to hang up the banner reading “Happy Birthday Jackie!” For the third time today, they descend their individual stepladders to move the banner slightly to the left.

In the middle of the backyard, sits a huge cake. Marvin the Magnificent continues switching through photos to put on the top of the cake, squinting against the harsh sun.

An individual picture of Jackie? “So lonely.”

A picture of Jackie and Seán at a convention? “Too blurry.”

A picture of Jackie breaking his nose at said convention? “How the fuck did that get here?” Marvin picks up the offending photo and crumples it up, tossing it aside.

He settles on a family photo of the Septics, taken last year at the beach. He sighs then turns around to sneeze. He has been feeling a bit unwell since he woke up; nose stuffed, head aching, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he gives his boyfriend the best birthday yet.

Chase and Jameson stand back to stare at the banner again.

“I think it’s too far to the left again,” Chase says. Jameson blows a raspberry in frustration.

Marvin sighs as he stands up. “You want me to do it?”

“Please,” Jameson begs.

Marvin snaps his fingers and the banner rearranges itself into the middle. Chase and Jameson sigh in relief and hug their friend. Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein MD, PhD- oh you know the drill- leaves his current job of setting tableware and joins them in the hug.

“Finally we can relax!” Chase exclaims.

Marvin spots a figure out of the corner of his eye and pulls out of the hug. “Robbie, what are you doing?!”

Robbie’s head snaps up as he turns around, his expression similar to a child who got into the cookie jar without permission. His face is covered in icing. “I’m not eating cake.”

“You can’t eat the cake now!” Marvin gently scolds.

“It’s an ice cream cake!” Robbie protests.

“It’s for Jackie,” Marvin reminds him.

“It’s for Jackie” Robbie repeats, glumly.

An alarm on Marvin’s phone goes off, What Is My Life by Schmoyoho and Jacksepticeye playing. Marvin gasps in delight. “It’s time! Jackie should be awake by now!” He runs over to the door, but quickly turns around. “You sure you’ve got this, Henrik?”

Henrik scoffs. “Relax! You can trust the Good Doctor! I’ve faced down demons and evil sorcerers, I can keep the backyard clean until you get home with Jackie!” He puffs his chest out.

“Good! Make sure no one starts eating before he gets here!” Marvin orders as he runs inside.

“Yup!”

“And keep an eye on that cake!” Marvin slams the door closed.

The egos settle down on chairs and tables, relieved from the magician’s dictatorship for now. Robbie takes the time to practice reading. His eyesight has slowly improved for him to begin reading once more, and he takes every opportunity to get lost in a good book again. He reads the banner. “Ha...ppy… birth… day… Jackie!”

He turns to Jameson, who nods in approval before opening his own book. Robbie gets up to join him.

Henrik and Chase take the time to grab some chips from the bowl.

{Didn’t Marvin say not to eat anything before he and Jackie got here?} Jameson asks warily.

“It’s not like he has to know. Plus, we have extras,” Chase reasons.

Jameson sighs and goes back to reading. He has a feeling they’ll be scrambling for food ten minutes before the hero arrives.

*

Upstairs, Jackie snores loudly, drool hanging from his mouth and hair a wild mess. Marvin tiptoes in and leans over the snoring superhero.

“Jackie… Happy birthday…” he whispers.

“To youuuu….” Jackie mumbles, still somewhat asleep.

“It’s your birthday, Jackie,” Marvin says with a laugh.

“To meeee…” Jackie sings.

Marvin snickers and pulls the covers off. “Get up, lazybones.”

Jackie sits up, startled by the sudden cold. “Morning to you too, Marvin.”

Marvin kisses his cheek. “Happy birthday Jackie! I’ve got a little scavenger hunt for you to celebrate!”

“Scavenger hunt?”

“You always have fun going treasure hunting, so I’ve worked for weeks to get today to happen! There are presents all around town waiting for you to find them!” Marvin continues, bouncing to Jackie’s closet. He flips through the shirts and coats. “Mind if I fix up an older suit of yours?”

Jackie jumps out of bed to do his morning stretches. “Go right ahead.”

Marvin grabs an old suit and throws it to Jackie. Jackie puts it on while Marvin fiddles with the design. He turns the entire outfit a scarlet red, giving it blue lapels, finishing the design with a golden brocade embellishment.

Jackie gasps as he admires himself in the mirror. “Thanks Marvin!”

Marvin winks as he magically changes into his own outfit, adding a similar golden brocade design to his purple vest and turning his cape red in honour of his boyfriend. He conjures two Himalayan blue poppies, clipping one above Jackie’s heart and tucking the other into his hair.

Jackie happily applauds the transformation.

Marvin bows and quickly rises, causing his head to spin. He stumbles and nearly topples into Jackie, who quickly catches him and gently guides him to the bed.

“You alright, Marvin? You look a little pale,” Jackie says. He puts a hand on Marvin's forehead. It feels hot. “Do you have a cold?”

Marvin scoffs. “Please, I don’t get colds. I’ll be fine.” He can’t be getting sick now! Not on his boyfriend’s birthday!

As if to spite him, his nose tickles and Marvin sneezes. Sparkles appear, some of them falling upon Jackie’s copper mantel clock. The clock hops off the desk and skitters out of the room.

“Should we catch that?” Jackie asks.

Marvin waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll get it later. Ready to start?” He holds up a red rope. “Just follow the string!”

Jackie’s eyes light up as he grabs the string and trails through the hallway. Marvin laughs as he watches Jackie crawl under tables and jump over couches to follow the red string’s path.

The first present is in the bathroom, hidden in the far left cupboard: a shiny red stopwatch with the Spiderman design as its signature. Jackie squeals as Marvin slips it on.

The second and third presents sit on Chase’s desk: tickets to a concert for One Republic along with a box of chocolates. Jackie pops one in his mouth and holds the box out to Marvin, who shakes his head. Marvin tries not to breathe in the sweet scent, knowing it will just make him nauseous.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Marvin?” Jackie asks again as they continue through the house.

“Absolutely!” Marvin says, patting his boyfriend on the back. “Now hurry up, we’ve got more presents to find inside this house!”

*

Meanwhile, the small clock skitters through the house, confused as to wear to go. It senses a breeze and turns to the window over the kitchen counter. It hops up and jumps out the window, landing on its feet and dashing to the backyard.

The clock breezes past Chase, who plays a little game on his phone. Chase looks up, a confused expression on his face. What just went by?

A scream startles Chase out of his seat. The good doctor stands on a wobbly chair, eyes bulging as he stares at the little creature. The creature simply tilts its case, as if it was cocking its head in confusion.

{Henrik, my dear, must you scream so loud?} Jameson snaps, sign trembling. {You almost gave me a heart attack!}

“What is that?!” Henrik demands, pointing downwards.

Chase bends down and holds a hand out for the creature to hop on. To his surprise, it’s a small antique mantel clock. He recognizes the copper hue. 

“It looks like Jackie's clock came to life.” Chase chuckles as the clock waves a hand in greeting.

“Scheiße, I thought that was a giant bug!” Henrik groans as he jumps down. Jameson pats his back.

“What should we do about it?” Robbie asks, tentatively holding a hand out. The clock shakes it with its leg.

“It’s not harming anyone,” Chase reasons. “We’ll just let it hang here until Marvin and Jackie show up.”

The clock sits down on the table. The egos stare at each other and shrug before resuming their individual activities.

*

Jackie struggles to hold onto his new makeshift clock shaped like Septiceye Sam (lovingly made by Jameson), the messy delphinium flower arrangement tied with a red ribbon (lovingly ripped out of Marvin’s garden by Robbie), and a massager wand with the package clumsily decorated with Spiderman stickers (Henrik definitely let his daughter decorate it). He stumbles downstairs and heads into the dining room where a painted portrait of the Septiceye family sits. Jackie marvels at the beautiful painting.

“Jacques Septicart painted that,” Marvin says. “We’ll put it up in the living room later tonight.”

Jackie juggles his presents into one arm and hugs Marvin with the other. “These are all so much… thank you.”

Marvin leans into the hug, sniffing a little. When did his nose get this clogged up?

“Marvin, are you sure you’re not sick?” Jackie asks.

“Just allergies,” Marvin quickly answers, before sneezing. Before Jackie can say anything, he sneezes again.

“They come in threes,” Jackie warns.

“I’m fine- achoo!”

Behind Jackie, Henrik’s comfy armchair waddles over to the back door, where it kicks it open and heads outside. Following it is the fire poker on two spindly legs and five books flying in the air like birds. Marvin gulps.

Jackie turns around, seeing only the open door. “What was that?”

Marvin quickly shuts the door close with magic. “None of your concern, let’s go!”

“Can I at least leave my presents-”

Marvin drags his boyfriend out the front door before Jackie can finish, where a shiny red motorcycle stands in the driveway. Marvin hops into the driver’s seat.

Jackie gulps, knowing the magician’s lack of knowledge on anything public road-related. “Uhh, are you sure that’s safe?”

“I’ve been taking lessons from Chase! Let’s go!” Marvin yells. Jackie has no choice but to hop on.

*

Marvin drives through the busy town square, eyes focused on the red string hanging from the lights. Jackie holds onto Marvin, clutching onto more gifts; a fuzzy Deadpool onesie, a pair of bluetooth headphones, a red fishing rod and yet another flower arrangement, this time made of bellflowers. The chocolates, delphinium flowers, clock and massage wand are crammed in the new storage compartment. Thank goodness for that.

Marvin suddenly stops to sneeze. Behind him, street signs, construction cones and trash cans grow legs and run off. Marvin yelps in shock and quickly bikes away from the scene. This only causes him to sneeze even more and he slows to a stop to finish the fit. A park bench stirs and skips away.

“Bless you,” Jackie says, ignoring the skipping bench in the background.

“Thanks,” Marvin hoarsely whispers, rubbing his nose with his handkerchief. He looks up and gasps. “Would you look at that! We made it to our next stop!”

He points up to the sign that shows a small man covered in a sticky dark substance. Mud? Ink? No, chocolate! The swirly words read “Shawn Flynn’s Chocolate Factory.” The light-beige, brick wall store sits at the corner of a plaza, dark brown curls painted to give it an inky look. A small folding sign standing near the glass door reads the special for the day: Brownies with Flower Decorations.

Jackie’s eyes light up. “You didn’t!”

“I did! Head inside!” Marvin says with a laugh. Jackie hops off the bike and opens the storage compartment, hoping to put more presents inside.

Marvin’s nose tickles and he tries in vain to stifle another- “Achoo!”

Immediately, Shawn’s sandwich board gallops into the traffic, causing cars to screech to a halt. Marvin flips toward the superhero. Thankfully, Jackie seems more interested in slamming the storage compartment lid closed.

“Marvin, you know we can always finish the scavenger hunt later, right?” Jackie asks.

“Hell no, I’m fine!” Marvin drawls, sniffing loudly. “Go inside before your next present spoils!”

Jackie shrugs and heads inside the store. The interior has blueprints of old-fashioned machines plastered along the walls, all in parchment paper. Shawn Flynn reads a book behind the display case, where various chocolate delights are lined up.

Shawn waves when he sees Jackie bounce up to the counter. “Happy birthday Jackie! Marvin commissioned quite the treat for you!” He pulls out a box of chocolate brownies covered with pastel yellow icing and decorated with a Himalayan blue poppy on each. Jackie’s mouth waters as he takes the box.

“Thank you sir!” Jackie says.

“Have a good day, lad!” Shawn says. 

Outside, Marvin basks in the sunlight as it warms his suddenly chilly body. He sighs in content… and sneezes. The lamppost beside the motorcycle suddenly sprouts four new legs and slowly gallops away. Marvin watches it run into the distance. He’ll fix that later.

Jackie bounces out with the box of brownies and sets it in the motorcycle’s basket. “Amazing brownies, Marvin! Thank you!”

Marvin opens his mouth to answer, only to sneeze. The motorcycle stirs to life and whizzes down the street, cars stopping and honking their horns as the bike races away with the treats and half the gifts.

Marvin cries out as the vehicle disappears from their view. Jackie laughs. “Well, that takes care of the brownies, I guess! Seriously though, I think we should head home.”

“Of course not! It’s just allergies!” Marvin snaps. Jackie flinches at his harsh tone.

Marvin shakes his head. “I’m sorry… I just… I don’t want to ruin this day for you. I’ve worked too hard for this to only crumble.”

Jackie smiles. “It’s alright. Shall we continue on foot?” He holds an arm out.

Marvin nods, linking his arm with Jackie’s and heading down the street to their next destination.

*

By the beach stands a store with a gable roof and stone bricks. A fish net hangs over an Indiana Jones-inspired logo: The Survival Kit. Inside, fishing rods, grappling hooks, bikes, and even ice skates are lined up on shelves and walls, ready for use. Among the outdoor items and the useful emergency supplies are cool little trinkets from different parts of the world.

Marvin kicks the door open, only to sneeze again. Immediately, six pairs of snowshoes at the front door hop off their display case and into the outdoors. Marvin quickly conjures up some new snowshoes to take their place.

“Hey Marvin!” Angus McLoughlin says. “Is the birthday boy with you?”

Jackie enters dragging a sled full of gifts behind him. “Hello, Angus!”

“Top of the morning to you, birthday laddie! I’ve got a little something for you!” Angus fishes underneath the checkout counter and holds out a grappling hook wrapped in a big blue bow.

Jackie gasps in amazement as he takes the new hook. “Awesome! I needed a new one! Thank you, Angus!”

Angus tips his crocodile dundee hat. Over by the trash bin, Marvin blows his nose while fishnets fly off their hooks and out the window.

Jackie sighs when he sees the sniffling magician. “Angus, you wouldn’t happen to have some medical supplies for my boyfriend, would you?”

Angus already has a bottle out. “A cold remedy of my own invention! I used this when I got a fever on Mount Everest!”

“I’m fine!” Marvin calls out. He sneezes once more. A stand full of fishing rods runs off with new legs.

Jackie slams a twenty pound euro on Angus’ desk. “We’ll take it.”

*

Jameson dries his hand and exits the bathroom. He hears crashing and screaming outside. Worrying for his companions, he quickly runs out and opens the door to a chaotic scene. Chase shrieks as he rides a bucking trash can around the backyard, swatting at a book that seems intent on pecking him. Henrik attempts to guard the cake from a sandwich sign and an armchair with a broom. Robbie stands beside him, roaring at a bicycle and a lamppost. Four more books fly above the crowd. The tiny clock trembles by the back door.

Jameson whistles loudly. Everyone, including the furniture, turns to the wizard.

“Hi Jameson! More guests arrived!” Robbie yells.

{Where did they come from?} Jameson asks, gesturing to the objects.

“Who cares?! HELPPP!!!” Chase screams as the garbage can resumes its bucking. Jameson conjures some magic fireballs and joins the battle to protect the cake.

*

“Come on, Jackie, now we climb!” Marvin yells as he stumbles toward the clock tower. His head feels even heavier than it did this morning and his clogged nose prevents him from breathing. He sniffs violently.

“Marvin, that’s enough, you need to rest!” Jackie exclaims.

“But we need to get to our birthday chills! I mean thrills!” Marvin protests as he swings the doors open. Jackie pales upon seeing the large staircase. Marvin is already climbing up.

“Marvin?” Jackie squeaks.

“What?! I’m fiiiine!” Marvin shouts, almost tripping on his cape. “Come on! Up to the top!”

Jackie rolls his eyes and begins his climb. “Marvin, you’re going to regret this later.”

“No I’m not!”

*

“WHERE ARE THE FISHING NETS COMING FROM?!” Henrik screams as he tries to wriggle out.

“I’LL SAVE YOU DOCTOR!” Robbie yells as he yanks away at the fishnet.

“THE MOTORCYCLE HAS THE CAKE!” Chase shrieks as he dangles from the lamppost.

{BLAST IT ALL, HOW ARE WE OUT OF CHIPS?!} Jameson demands as he slaps away the swooping books.

Henrik and Chase point to each other. “HE FINISHED THEM!”

*

Marvin has no idea how he got to the top with only 10% of his energy, but he isn’t about to question it as he opens the small door in the clock face. He blinks against the harsh light of the sun and turns around. Beautiful colours light up the sunlit room. Crystals dangling from the ceiling reflect the light and cast rainbow colours.

Jackie likes the spectacle, but can’t help but watch worriedly as his boyfriend stumbles around,

Marvin takes a deep breath and spreads his arms out. “Happy, happy, merry, merry, hot, cold, hot birthday Jackie!” He snaps his fingers and firecrackers shoot up. He feels the blood drain from his head and blacks out as the firecrackers explode.

Marvin wakes up to a cushioning object underneath his head. It dawns on him that Jackie is cradling him in his arms. Marvin nuzzles into Jackie’s suit, tears welling up.

“Jackie? I think I’m sick…” Marvin whimpers.

Jackie puts a hand over Marvin’s boiling forehead. “Yup, you’ve definitely caught a fever. Tell you what, let’s put this day on hold and get you to bed. Okay?”

Marvin nods weakly. “Okay.” He sniffles again. “I’m sorry Jackie, I just wanted to give you a perfect birthday… but I ruined it.”

Jackie hugs him. “You didn’t ruin anything. I still had fun today. Besides, we always have next year. For now, let’s just get you to bed.”

As Jackie helps him up, Marvin quickly adds in a weak voice, “As long as we go through the back door.”

Jackie chuckles. “Whatever you say.”

*

Voices and banging emanate from the back gate as Jackie and Marvin approach. Marvin gulps, a sinking feeling in his gut. He turns to Jackie.

“Uhh, love? If we open the doors and there just happens to be a mess, I’m very sorry.”

Jackie laughs. “No need to apologize. Besides, it sounds like fun.”

The superhero pushes the gate open. Indeed, chaos is amok. Henrik dangles from the lamppost, still entangled in the fishnet, Chase clings onto a spinning trash can, Robbie shields himself from swooping books with the sandwich sign, and Jameson floats above the mess, holding the cake. Jackie’s clock clings to Jameson’s leg. Around them, the other guests have finally arrived, but stand far away from the fight.

Upon seeing the birthday boy walk in, the furniture arranges themselves into a giant tower with the Septiceyes on top, and everyone yells,

“SURPRISE!”

“Wow!” Jackie exclaims with a laugh.

“Wow…” Marvin mumbles in shock.

As they descend from the tower, Chase rouses the party to sing.

We’re making today a perfect day for you! We’re making today a happy day and no feeling blue! For everything you are to us and all you that you do! We’re making today a perfect day, making today a special day, We’re making today a perfect day for you!

“Happy birthday Jackie!” Henrik says.

{Make a wish!} Jameson urges, holding up the birthday cake. Jackie closes his eyes and nods, then blows out the candles. Everyone cheers.

“Marvin, are you okay?” Chase asks, rushing over to the magician. Marvin simply responds by toppling into him.

“He got sick!”

“Of course you did, you’ve been stressing over his birthday for two whole weeks!” Henrik says exasperatedly. “Come on, let the good doctor treat you!”

“I don’t want to miss the party!” Marvin protests weakly as Henrik leads him away.

“We’ll set up a little bed for you!” Chase says. “Let’s go, Jameson!”

Ten minutes later, Marvin lies on a chaise wrapped in blankets while Jackie feeds him some soup. The superhero looks out into the backyard while Marvin rearranges his blankets.

The party continues in full swing, with people eating food and chatting with each other. Jameson performs a juggling trick on the motorcycle for the children, while Chase and Robbie have a chip eating battle. Henrik chats with Shawn on the park bench. Jackie smiles and turns back to Marvin who seems to have fallen asleep, snoring softly.

Jackie laughs and kisses Marvin’s forehead. “Thank you for the best birthday yet, Marvin.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@graysun, @florenceisfalling, @miishae, @lonelyseiren, @goldenoceanaart, @egopocalypse, @oasisofgalaxies, @fleecal, @kofi-kiing, @myspatialspace, @jo-ann-ahh-2, @huffletrax, @gemstone6, @dumbasticart, @lunaarmada,@meteorshowersfillthesky, @uhhbeans,  @the-pastel-kitsune, @bupine,  @climbing-starrs, @the-spawn-of-loki, @jadehowlettthewolf, @obsidiancreates, @rammypaige, @cest-mellow, @randowaffle, @green-protects, @dezi-popp, @badlypostedeverything, @crystalninjaphoenix, @milo-kno, @pixelpixie-pix, @why-killed-markiplier

#writersofjack #writers of jack #apparently i can write #writing #immabethehero #ego shipping #marvelsepticeye #marvin the magnificent #jackieboy man #jacksepticeye

[kyoongaroo]

All Over Again — 01

summary: one of Baekhyun’s goals was to be CEO of his father’s company. But unless he was married, or at least, in a serious relationship, he wasn’t qualified to take on the role. The board meeting was coming soon, and he was desperately looking for a girlfriend to introduce to his family. That’s when he found you.

genre: romance, fluff, smut in later chapter.

a/n:  slow update sorry :,(

“You want me to do what now?”

Your roommate clung tighter onto your arms. “Please,” she begged, staring up at you with round, pleading eyes. “I really need your help.”

“Uh,” you hesitated. Fake-dating? You had no clue how that was done. But Jane was your best friend, what does it say about you if you don’t help a friend in need? You sighed. “Okay, but you need to talk me through it again.”

“So I’m on this app that put me in touch with this guy who’s looking for a temporary girlfriend. Babe, you won’t believe the amount he’s willing to pay me.” Her eyes lit up. You raised your brows, mentally guessing the numbers in your head. She held up her pointer and middle fingers. “Two thousand dollar for a meeting.”

Coming from a wealthy household yourself, money had never fazed you, even after you moved out and stopped living off your parents’. Now, you were running a bakery business that was going pretty well. Your friend however, needed this extra cash to get by. She had just recently lost a job and was currently hunting for a new one. The stress might’ve caused her to fall sick, which was why she couldn’t take on whatever this is she signed up for. Things would’ve been easier if she didn’t reject your offer to pay for this month’s rent in full, the two of you were sharing an apartment.

“What are the terms like?” You asked.

“Nothing complicated, you just have to escort him to events and pretend you’re his girlfriend.”

That seemed feasible, you thought. “As long as there’s no sex involved.” You said firmly. She may be your best friend and you cared for her like a family, but there’s no way in hell you’re going to prostitute yourself for her.

“Wait til’ you see this guy,” she grinned, her eyes twinkling. “I bet all my money you’ll wanna have some with him.”

“Money?” You huffed, rolling your eyes. “You have like what? two dollars?”

She grabbed a pillow and slammed it across your face, making you laugh as you tried to duck away. She grunted. “You’re mean.”

You grinned apologetically as you hugged her closer to you. “So, what time do i have to meet this guy?”

“Seven, I’ll let him know that you’ll be replacing me.” She said, reaching for her cellphone from the bedside drawer.

“What’s his name?” You asked.

“Bernard?”

“He’s a foreigner?”

She shook her head. “He’s a local, last name’s Byun,”

At six fifty five, you found yourself at a place not so unfamiliar to you. Your sister happened to stay in the apartment building where Bernard stayed. Your stomach roiled with uneasiness as you waited for the door to be answered. There were so many things to worry about. Meeting your potential fake-boyfriend, possibly being ted-bundied by him, bumping into your sister.

Your fingers clutched tightly onto the strap of your baguette bag. Jane didn’t mention anything about dress code, and when you went back to her room to ask, she had already fallen asleep. At last, you settled with a white tube top beneath a Balmain tweed jacket and a fitting pair of jeans. It’s nothing formal, nor casual.

You glanced around cautiously when you heard soft chatters coming from afar. If your sister found out what you were up to and told your parents about it, they’d probably disown you. You wouldn’t be surprised if they did, considering how your relationship with them was already strained.

The beep from the digital lock caused you to flinch. You shifted your gaze to look ahead, breathing deeply as your lips stretched into a smile. The door opened. You were so short, the first thing you saw at your eye level was the Versace logo printed on the stranger’s shirt. Craning your neck, you met the strangers eyes.

Except.

Your eyes doubled in size at the realization. You stared at the tall man as he stared back at you, both trying to figure out if your mind were playing tricks. Until he opened his mouth and said, “You?!”

You swallowed. “C-Chanyeol?”

You had no time to move away. The guy was so quick, in a second you were in his arms, your legs floating off the ground as he hugged you so tightly that your organs nearly crushed. “It’s been so long! Where the hell have you been?”

“Are-are you Bernard?” you stammered.

Chanyeol finally let go of you, and your legs touched to the ground. God, did he grow taller?

“He's waiting for you inside,” he said, his lips twitching.

You narrowed your gaze, noticing the mischief in his eyes and the way he held back a smile. In the past, that look meant no good to you. You had a feeling you’re in for trouble.

“Oh, Bernard will be so damn pleased to see you,” he muttered to himself as he stepped aside to let you in.

You were filled with nervousness when you walked through the door. Your heels clicked over the gleaming travertine tiles as you followed behind him. Your gaze drifted over everything. Unlike your sister’s, the owner had completely remodelled his flat. Now it was looking more like a loft with the open space and the brick wall. The space was so enormous, you felt dwarfed being in here. Finally halting at what seemed like a sitting area, your eyes zeroed in on a man’s back as he stood facing a huge window.

“Look who’s here, Bae—“

The man raised a hand to shut Chanyeol up. He was on his phone, his deep voice resounding in this spacious room. Your gaze dipped down his body and back up again, thinking this man had a very nice build. He was dressed in a black turtleneck tucked in a pair of dark jeans. Despite standing at a distance from you, you knew he was at least a head taller than you. You tried to make up how he looked like through the reflection on the glass, only to give up and be completely enthralled by the breathtaking view of the skyline.

“Is she here?”

Your eyes moved over to Bernard as the man himself turned on his feet. Pocketing his phone, his eyes landed on you and yours on his.

Your heart was suddenly in your throat and you froze. In that second you wished you had the magic to make yourself disappear. Because Bernard wasn’t Bernard. Bernard was Baekhyun, and Baekhyun was your ex-boyfriend.

What the hell did you get yourself into?

The three of you were seated on the leather couch after a short, awkward catch up. For the next few minutes, you listened as Baekhyun explained his situation to you. Long story short, his father was stepping down as the CEO of Byun Holdings, and he was making Baekhyun and his stepbrother compete for the position. Since Mr Byun was a family man, he thought it was important for his children to be committed in his personal life too. Because, despite owning one of the biggest companies in the country, his father believed there was more to life than work. Which means, unless Baekhyun was in a serious relationship/married, he wasn’t qualified to take on the role. The board meeting would be held next month, that’s why Baekhyun was desperately looking for a girlfriend to introduce to his family. As for Bernard, it was an alias since he didn’t want his identity to be revealed.

“He’s gonna be here anytime soon,” Baekhyun said, startling you with the sudden news.

“Wait what? Who’s gonna be here?” you glanced between the two, confused.

“My brother,” Baekhyun said.

“Jaehyun?” You looked at him to confirm.

When he nodded, you paled. Jaehyun was his stepbrother, and you remembered that the two despised each other. Which only means, he would be more skeptical of you than a normal person would be.

The doorbell rang, effectively stopping your train of thoughts. The three of you turned your head towards the door.

“That must be him,” Chanyeol said.

You glanced anxiously between the two. “What do I do?”

“You need to be more affectionate with each other in order to sell this.” Chanyeol advised, his eyes moving from you to Baekhyun, then back at you again. “Get up,” he ordered as he rose to his feet. You confusedly obeyed him, letting him grab your wrist as he guided you to Baekhyun’s side. “Sit here,” he said, surprising you when he pushed you down by your shoulders.

You let out a gasp when your ass landed on Baekhyun’s lap. His hands caught your waist to keep you still. Your eyes widened at Baekhyun before you glared at the other male. “What is this for?”

“Stop being so awkward around each other or no one’s gonna believe you’re a couple,” He said just as the bell rang for the second time. “I’ll get that. Stay where you are.” He gave you a warning look before walking away from the couch.

You turned your attention to Baekhyun who was already staring at you. “This is so not awkward,” You mumbled to yourself.

Baekhyun smiled softly. “Relax, everything will be fine.”

“Is it necessary to cuddle in front of your brother?” You asked, incredulous.

“It’s just for a show,” he said.

You tsked in annoyance “Why did I even agree to this?”

As he grinned, you heard a male’s voice calling out to him. Turning your head, you saw a man approaching you both. There’s an air of superiority in the way he walked. You swept your gaze over his physique and gulped. You’d never seen a creature like him, so big and buff. He looked like he could crush you like a bug in between his two palms.

“You need to relax, sweetheart,” Baekhyun whispered into your ears, his hand caressing your back.

Inhaling deeply, you slid off his lap and rose to your feet. “Hello,” you greeted, waving your hand at his brother.

Awkward...

The man sized you up before glancing at Baekhyun. “Who’s this?”

You felt a hand sliding around your back and rested on your hips before the words “My girlfriend,” were uttered.

“Since when?” Jaehyun asked, studying you with skeptious eyes.

“Since when do you care?” Baekhyun said.

“Of course I care, you’re my beloved brother,” he said it with a little to no sincerity at all. You were startled when the big guy leaned forward, pinning you with his stare. “How did you meet my brother?”

“W-we’re high school friends,” you answered, a tremble in your voice. 

”Right,” He scoffed. “You’ve known him for so long and I’ve only met you today?”

The question caught you off-guard. You paled, your lips parting and unparting like a confused fish as you tried to come up with a believable answer.

“We’ve only started seeing each other recently,” Baekhyun chimed in to help.

“Recently when?” He looked at Baekhyun.

“What’s with the inquisitions?” Baekhyun asked, his tone biting.

“Chill brother,” Jaehyun said, raising both hands up in fake surrender. “I’m so happy for you,”

Oh, he is so not happy for him...

“You didn’t come all the way here to feed me that bullshit, so why don’t you tell me why you’re really here Jaehyun?”

“Ah,” Jaehyun said, plopping himself down on the couch and spreading his arms over the headrest. He glanced up at Baekhyun. “You rejected the proposal from Sodam Group. Why?”

“I’m not putting millions on a company that nearly goes bankrupt.” Baekhyun said.

Jaehyun’s jaw clenched. “I’m helping out a friend,”

“That’s not how you do business,”

“You’re fucking heartless,” he spat.

You watched from the side as the two engaged in a heated staring contest. The silence was so stiff, you didn’t dare to even move.

“Is there anything else you need?” Baekhyun said, his voice tight with annoyance.

“We’ll discuss this again at the office,” He stood up and threw you a disdainful look. “Do you have a job?”

He said it with such distaste, given different circumstances, you would’ve definitely flipped him off.

Your lips stretched up in a tight smile. “Yes. I run a bakery business,”

“What’s the name of your shop?

“A piece of cake,”

“Our sister works there too, you know?”

Baekhyun has a sister?!

“Y-yeah I know,” You tried to keep your expression as neutral as possible despite the shock. You had no idea his sister worked there, you didn’t even know he had a sister.

Jaehyun moved his gaze to Baekhyun, a grin stretching across his lips. “Funny because Baekhyun had never mentioned that his girlfriend owns the shop.”

“I didn’t see you talking about your personal life either,” Baekhyun said.

He sneered. “I find it very convenient of you to show up with a girl just a month before the board meeting.”

You stiffened. Oh God. Did he find out already? “I wasn’t ready,” you blurted out, earning the attention from the three males around you. You smiled, albeit nervously. “Baekhyun wanted to share the news long ago, but I told him I wasn’t ready.”

“Oh really?” he said, stepping forward to drop his head to look at you. “Why do you look so nervous, sweetie?”

“Jaehyun,” Baekhyun warned, stepping in between you and his brother. ”get the hell out of here.”

You glanced at Chanyeol who had his eyes shut tightly, probably in frustration. As soon as the door closed and Jaehyun was out of sight, Baekhyun let go of his arms around your waist. “That fucker,” he spat under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

You can feel the fury emanating off his body. It was unnerving, being in a room with two very very angry men.

Chanyeol, who had been silent up until that point finally groaned in frustration. “What do we do now? Because I can tell you that asshole is definitely not buying it.”

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks. It’s my parents we need to convince.” Baekhyun said.

“When are you meeting them?”

“This Sunday,”

“Alright, you have a few days to prepare,” Chanyeol said. “First of all, you two need to practice getting comfortable around each other, and–“ he turned to glare at you. “This isn’t gonna work if you keep acting like a fucking robot around him.”

“Chanyeol, watch it,” Baekhyun warned.

The taller man sighed, taking a moment to cool down before he spoke up again. “I’m sorry. It’s just...our jobs will be at risk if Jaehyun ever gets appointed.”

“What would happen?”

“Knowing Jaehyun, he’d probably demote us,” Chanyeol said.

You paled at the thought of their careers lying in the palm of your hands.

Definitely not a pressure.

“Don’t stress about it, sweetheart,” Baekhyun assured, smiling at you as he patted your back. You watched as he pushed his sleeve up to glance at his wrist watch, then he looked at you. “Do you drive here?”

You shook your head. “I can get a cab home.”

“I’ll send you home,”

The ride with Baekhyun was filled with nothing but silence. You stared out of the window the whole time, distracting yourself with the view of the city. A few men had taken you out for a drive before, but none of them made you nervous like Baekhyun did. Maybe it was due to the fact that he was your ex and you couldn’t get over the suprise of meeting him. Or the undeniable fact that he looked so sexy while driving and you were so uncontrollably turned on by it.

“My sister talks about you all the time,”

Too absorbed in your own thoughts, you were startled by the sound of Baekhyun’s voice. You took a breath before glancing at him. ”I didn’t know you have a sister,”

“She’s a cousin actually. My dad took her in when my uncle died.”

“What’s her name?”

“Dami,”

“Short hair, hazel eyes, a little shy?” you guessed.

He nodded. “That sounds like her,”

You couldn’t believe you had been working so close with his sister and you had no single clue. “She is one of my best bakers.” you said with a smile.

Baekhyun glanced at you again, his smile soft and proud. “She likes you a lot, you know? Talked about you all the time, but never once mentioned your name. She just refers to you as her beautiful boss.”

You snorted softly, not knowing how to respond to that. You were turning your head away when Baekhyun started talking again.

“She’s right,”

You looked back at him, knit forming in between your brows. “Right about what?”

“Her boss is very beautiful, indeed,” he said, softly staring at you.

Heat rises on your cheek and you quiet down. You didn’t know what to say. You were never good at accepting compliments.

Baekhyun chuckled at the look on your face. “Your reaction to compliments is still so adorable.”

Thankfully, the lights turned green and he was forced to look ahead. Another silence stretched, but it didn’t last long because he started speaking again. “How’s your business going?”

“It’s going pretty okay,” you said. “I’m looking to open a new branch in Myeongdong.”

“Your parents must be so proud of you,” he praised.

It was the opposite actually, but you weren’t ready to share about it. Instead, you changed the subject and said, “You did the right thing not investing in Sodam Group.”

“Why do you say so?”

“That company has been stealing my cake designs for years.”

“Can’t you sue them for copyright infringement?”

You shook your head. “It’s pointless. They’re an established company.”

Baekhyun gave a mild nod of understanding. For the next few seconds, he seemed to be in deep thoughts.

“Have you ever thought of expanding your business?” He finally asked.

All the damn time. “I’m working on it.” You said.

“Then I have a deal for you,”

“What deal?”

“An investment offer,”

You gaped in shock. Byun Holdings was one of the biggest holding companies in the country. They were well-known for their investment in global food companies. Having them as your first investor would increase your brand value by tenfold.

“Okay…what do I have to do?”

“Just do a good job of being my fake girlfriend. If you manage to win parent’s heart, it’ll increase my chance of winning this thing.”

“How long is this arrangement going to last?”

“Indefinitely,” he said, and you began to hesitate. He studied you. “I’ll compensate you for your time, don’t worry.”

“It’s not about the money,”

His brows arched. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

“No,”

“So?”

“Given our history,” you bit your lower lip, doubting. “Do you think it’s a good idea to spend so much time around each other?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said casually. “We’re both adults, and I’m sure we are capable of putting the personal aside.”

Honestly, it bothered you to see him acting as if nothing happened between you two. Did he forget that you were his ex-girlfriend? or was it not significant enough for him to care? All along, you’ve always wondered if he hurt as much as you did after the break up. You couldn’t ask, though. He would get the wrong idea, or worst, assume that you were still hung up on him.

“Think of it as a mutually beneficial relationship.” He added.

You were still doubtful, but you knew it would be stupid to deny this once in a lifetime opportunity. You had always dreamed of expanding A piece of Cake.

“Okay,” you agreed. “I’m in,”

“We have a deal then,” he said.

As soon as that, his car drove into the basement of your apartment. “That way,” you pointed to the left side towards your block.

“Are you staying alone?” He asked when the car halted at the entrance.

“No, I’m sharing a unit with my friend.” then you added, “The girl who’s supposed to be your fake girlfriend? She’s my housemate.”

He smiled. “I’m glad it turned out to be you,”

The words made your heart skip, but you didn’t know how to respond to that. “Good night, Baekhyun.” You were turning away to leave when grabbed your wrist, stopping you. You glanced back at him.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” He asked.

“I’m done at around eight,” you said. “Do you need me?”

He hummed. “We should practice being a couple before meeting my parents,”

“Huh? What do you mean practice?”

He moved his hand from the steering wheel to your direction. Your breath hitched the moment he touched your skin. His fingers brushed over your hair, curling around the side of your face. “We should get used to being intimate with each other,” he said, his thumb carressing the high of your. “You can’t freeze up like this everytime I touch you, or no one's gonna believe that you’re my girlfriend.”

“T-touch me?”

He hummed and the corner of his lips tilted up, “I might even kiss you...”

“No way,” your response was immediate. “No way I’m gonna let you kiss me,”

Baekhyun grinned harder, “Why? You afraid I’m gonna find out that you’re a bad kisser?”

“You know I’m not!” You blushed even deeper now.

“I know, sweetheart,” He murmured, staring intently at your lips. Your breathing stopped when he swiped his thumb over your lower lip. Then he lifted his gaze and stared into your eyes. “I used to kiss you a lot,”

You swallowed hard, not knowing what to say.

Baekhyun sensed your nervousness and moved his hand off your face, but, his eyes were still clinging onto you. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

a/n: hiiiiii :D i hope it’s not too terrible!!!  I’d love to hear your feedback if you enjoyed what you read :,) thank youuu...

#baekhyun #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun smut #baekhyun fics #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun x you #exo fanfiction #baekhyun romance #smut #baekhyun angst #fluff #baekhyun fanfics #exo smut #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun series #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun drabble

[hxseok-honee]

blossom | part 8

blossom [part 8] || “Jungkook doesn’t like me very much, does he?”

[‘cause all i need is to see you blossom out, blossom out, blossom out]

previous || masterlist || next​

taglist !!

@deepseavibez @thetrueghostqueen @reddeathraven @dingzerenistall @skyrro @unadulteratedlyunique @ramyagovindraj @itismochirice @wwhseokjin @drpepperobsessed @monamone @thekookiecorner @army-moa75 @burningupppp @sonderkook @lele-bb @pb-n-juju @red-kebab @heonsbebe @peachyyoongs @superloverpielamp @marifujioka @butterflylion @lilacdreams-00 @calling-dips-on-j-hope @heyitsgigi @cahowlkook @worshiphoseok @taeshuworld​ @bongsbeforebibles​ @x-xjaeminx-x​ @missmadwoman

________________________________

“-- And there’s Jacobson with the quaffle, passing right through Slytherin defences -- he bought a flower crown from me once for his girlfriend, great guy -- Oh, there he goes! Will he make the shot? And he scores! Another ten points to Gryffindor!” Whatever calls of annoyance are made from the Slytherins are quickly drowned out by the cheers of the other three houses as Gryffindor scores once again, placing them yet another ten points ahead of their opponent.

Y/n cheers alongside her friends, but she does so almost mechanically. She can’t bring herself to focus on the match, too busy keeping her eyes on the commentator. She’d heard that since the last quidditch commentator had graduated he would need to be replaced, but she hadn’t exactly put two and two together a few days ago when asking Hoseok why he’d been so excited about the match. 

Up in the commentator’s box stands a very enthused Jung Hoseok, decked out all in yellow despite the match being Gryffindor v. Slytherin. He’s got his Hufflepuff scarf draped loosely over his shoulders as he follows the match, ears tinted red as they poke out cutely from under his hat. His gaze follows the quaffle with impressive focus, large wire-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, aiding his mission and making his eyes look impossibly round in the process. 

He gives himself a small moment to relax only when goals are scored and there’s a few brief seconds of respite as the crowd reacts and the players fix positions for the next set of formations. In those few seconds, he’s shaking out his tense limbs and pushing his glasses back up to a comfortable spot as he takes a couple deep breaths. And -- just as he’s managed to do every time for the last ten goals in a row -- he allows himself the fraction of a second it takes to locate Y/n in the crowd below him, eyes meeting hers in an exchange of small smiles and even smaller waves.

She remembers the way he’d used his time before the match watching the crowd trickle in, twisting his scarf around in his hands nervously as more and more students started gathering and cheering for their respective teams. Once it had become clear that the crowd had split itself off in the stands, he’d started searching the sea of red scarves and hats almost desperately, biting away at the skin on his bottom lip as he scanned the faces of his classmates. Only when he’d found Y/n, standing in the back row with her friends (sans Yoongi and Jin, who were stubborn in their undying support of the admittedly horrible Slytherin quidditch team), did he release his lip from its torture, flashing her a bright smile and sending an exaggerated wave that required his entire body. She tries not to think, even now with the match almost over, about the fact that he’d been looking for her in the first place.

So caught in her thoughts, Y/n barely registers that Hoseok is yelling Jungkook’s name, cheering alongside the rest of the Gryffindor supporters as her ex-boyfriend flies past her on his broom, quaffle tucked securely under his arm. 

“-out of nowhere! Jeon Jungkook is at it again, insanely complicated maneuvers that I know nothing about making him almost impossible to catch as he races for the goal! Slytherin Keeper Alvin Durmenstringer -- is that a real name? -- is no match for the Chaser as they go head to head -- and he scores! We can expect nothing less from Gryffindor’s star player, who is not nearly as goth as I thought he was going to be -- he’s actually kind of intimidatingly athletic, isn’t he? I mean just look at his arms -- okay, I’ve been informed that I’m no longer being professional so let’s focus on the match! Another ten points to Gryffindor!” 

Y/n watches as Jungkook shakes his head at the commentary, a scoff leaving him as he flies back into position. He appears indifferent as always, but Y/n knows him well enough to see the smallest of smiles dancing across his lips at the praise of the crowd. If they had still been together, Y/n would have found that smile unfairly attractive, but at this moment in time all she can think about is how arrogant he looks. Sighing slightly, her eyes scans over the crowd opposite her, a sea of green and silver, until she finds Yoongi. He and Jin are booing Jungkook obnoxiously, and she can see even from here that Yoongi’s letting loose an interesting string of expletives as the Gryffindor passes him. 

Only when Jin places a hand over his roommate’s mouth does Yoongi calm down. Y/n can hear Taehyung, Namjoon, and Jimin laughing loudly beside her, and she guesses that they’ve all just witnessed the wrath of their aggressive Slytherin friend. Yoongi glances over at the spot where he knows they’re all seated, and, realizing they’ve all seen his display of emotions, he sends Y/n a wink, eyes dancing with mirth. She’s immensely grateful for him, as she has come to be over and over again in the seven years she’s known him. 

The match continues much in this manner -- Gryffindor absolutely dominating the quidditch pitch as Yoongi’s blood pressure rises, Hoseok’s creative narration filling the air until the very end. It’s no surprise that, even though the Slytherin Seeker had managed to find and catch the snitch before his opponent, Hoseok still gets to excitedly announce to the crowd that, with a gap of more than 150 points between them, Gryffindor had won regardless.

The crowd loses all semblance of control, cheers audible even from the castle as three out of four houses celebrate a victory. The Gryffindor team flies around the pitch, reveling in house pride. Up in the commentator’s box, Hoseok turns off his mic and flops down in the stool that had been behind him the entire time, completely unused. He removes his hat, running his fingers swiftly through his hair and letting out a dramatic sigh. He sits there for a few minutes, watching the crowd and the Gryffindor team with a smile, leaning forward at some point to plant his elbows on the ledge and watch the excitement with his chin in his hand.

Finally, he moves to leave, rising to his full height and shoving his hat back onto his head, ears sticking out cutely once again. Glancing quickly over at the spot where Y/n had been, he stops in his tracks when he realizes that she still hasn’t left. In fact, she’s still sitting with her friends as they wait for Yoongi and Jin to make their way around the stands to join them, and she’s still got her eyes on him. The noise of the crowd is drowned out slightly in his ears, and he finds himself warming at the idea of her watching him -- waiting for him to look for her, too. He waves sweetly at her, heat crashing over him and painting his cheeks an embarrassing pink when he sees that she’s mouthing words of encouragement at him for his job well done. He thinks of something to say back, but he doesn’t get the chance. There’s a Gryffindor player hovering in the space between them, and he can tell even from where he stands that he’s looking at the back of Jeon Jungkook’s head.

On the other side, Y/n is interrupted by a pair of eyes she could recognize even in her sleep, but it isn’t the fact that Jungkook’s gotten in the way that bugs her -- it’s his expression. It’s filled with something close enough to annoyance for her to find herself becoming agitated, but there’s something else there too. Is it hurt? Betrayal? Disbelief? Y/n can’t pin it down, but she’s certain he must be bothered that she isn’t paying as much attention to Gryffindor’s star player as he’d like. 

He’s finally pulled away from her by the sound of his own name, called by his captain as he’s instructed to join the team in the locker room. With one last glance, he waves coolly to the rest of their friends as he flies off, leaving her both confused and irritated. Her only comfort -- that is, until Yoongi appears behind her with an arm thrown over her shoulders and a chaotic presence that only she could find comforting -- is that Hoseok still hasn’t left, and he’s looking as confused as she feels. He smiles awkwardly at her before waving farewell, choosing at the last moment to pull out his phone and gesture for her to do the same. 

Reaching into her pocket just as it’s buzzing, she opens the text thread to read the new message, not even noticing the weight of Yoongi’s body hanging off of her as he reads over her shoulder.

Jungkook doesn’t like me very much, does he? 

She feels rather than hears the hum that leaves Yoongi’s body as he considers the text from behind her. When he speaks, she finds herself turning to hide in his embrace, a noise of annoyance muffling itself in his chest as she realizes what he’s saying is very likely to be true. 

“Looks like you’re going to be dealing with a very crabby Jungkook at the after-party tonight.”

#bts texts #bts au #bts smau #bts social media au #bts hogwarts au #jung hoseok #hoseok x reader #hoseok texts

[yeojaa]

NOT YOUR FAIRYTALE - ft. myg

What do you do when you've called your wedding off but forgot to cancel your cake tastings? Why, you ask your brother's grouchy best friend, of course.

pairing.  min yoongi.  sort of.

genre + rating.  fluff-adjacent.  general.

warning / tags.  mentions of infidelity, cake tasting, cake tasting isn’t a euphemism, fluff and hurt/comfort, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, friendship, friendship/love, childhood friends.

reading.   n/a.  a stand-alone three part one-shot.

chapter i.

"You want me to what?"

The way he's looking at you makes you want to sink six feet under ground and bury yourself among the roots and bugs.  There's so much judgment in the feline turn of his stare, the depths of his irises and the pupils that disappear among the hue.  Still, his voice remains decidedly bored.  Apathetic, even.

If you were anyone else - hell, if he were anyone else - you think you might've slunk off, proverbial tail tucked between your legs.  But you aren't and he isn't, so you repeat yourself, louder this time.

"I want you to come to the cake tasting with me."  You're proud of yourself for how the words don't waver, clipping off your tongue and teeth in short bursts.  You're even more proud of how you meet his intimidating gaze, chin jutted out in something like defiance but admittedly softer, a little more vulnerable.

His expression is inscrutable, a palette of greys that only further the uncertainty that sinks like a stone in your chest.  Every second that passes feels like an eon and you think you might crumble into dust by the time his lips move, though sound is slow to come.

It seems even he's having second thoughts.

"So, you want me to pretend to be your fiancé."  A pause, incredulity written into every syllable.  "For cake."

When he puts it like that, it feels like nails on a chalkboard or cardboard against cardboard.  It raises the little hairs on the back of your neck and has you gritting your teeth, lids sliding over eyes in what can only be called distress.  It fits onto your face - curving lips and tensing your jaw all at once.  You remind yourself to breathe around the discomfort that lodges into your airway and within your skull.  

Why had you thought this was a good idea?  Why couldn't you have asked someone else?

Anyone but Min Yoongi.

"Everyone else is busy,"  you retort, though it's not quite as hard as you mean it to be.  It falls like a stone in the ocean - inconsequential.  "If you don't want to, just say so.  I'll go on my own."  

Your own, because you'd called off your engagement months ago and had forgotten to cancel this.  Or rather, you'd put it off.  You'd put a lot of stuff off.  It kind of came with discovering your boyfriend - your knight in shining armour soon-to-be husband - was a philanderer.  Still, you'd felt a little silly when you'd gotten the two-week reminder text (and email, because oh, you'd been excited!).  

When you'd approached your best friend about it, she'd reacted in her patented Lee Sora way.  A derisive snort - for that piece of shit ex of yours - and then a sweeter cloying laugh, insisting you go.  After all, you'd booked things on his dime.  'Better to eat your cake, even if you can't have it!'  were her words.  

Honestly, you'd forgotten about it again - purposely pushed it to the furthest recesses of your mind - until you'd gotten the call the day before.  Imagine your surprise when the assistant was chirping all over the phone line, completely oblivious to your stunned silence.

Why did you have to have the memory of something with really bad memory?  Your brother wasn't like this.

So here you were, asking his best friend to take some sort of pity on you.  It felt worse than tripping during your university graduation.  (Because yes, you had done that, nearly face planting in front of hundreds of your peers.  Clumsiness ran in the Kim family.)  You hated it with every fibre of your being.  Not because you had too much pride - god no - but because you'd had to ask him.  Yoongi.  

On a good day, he was gracious, if not distantly quiet.  On a bad day, he could cut you down with just one look.

Frankly, you couldn't tell what kind of day this was.  

"You know I'm not making you go alone."  The man in question sounds exasperated, though it's barely hidden, an undercurrent of frustration that peeks around the edges of consonants.  His expression betrays nothing as he turns back to face the array of monitors, nimble fingers already resuming their previous actions.  You feel a pang of guilt - you know how much he hates being bothered when he's working.  Namjoon's drilled it into your head since you were old enough to barge in without asking and though they'd taken a lunch break, it still feels a little clandestine.

You ignore the hope that sparks to life in your chest and the way your fingers curl around the door frame.  Or, at least, you try to ignore it.  You're grateful that his back is to you when you speak.  "Is that a yes?"

"Yes."  For a moment, you think he might turn by the way his shoulders shift, hands stilling.  But then he thinks better of it and slides his headphones over his mop of carefully styled smoke - a clear indication the conversation is over.

Before his right ear is fully covered, you're rushing to speak.  "It's at 3:30!  I'll come grab you before we have to leave!"  And then you're gone.

You'd thought it would be easier with someone else.  Appearances and all that.  

But as you're walking up to the pretty storefront - all unassuming whites to showcase the brilliant confections in the window - you somehow feel even more nervous.  What if they knew?  What if they could tell you two were polar opposites and you'd come to swindle them out of their painstakingly crafted cakes?  Would they tell you to get out?  Would they not say anything, even if they knew?

Scenarios play in your mind like the climax of a Bond film and you don't even realize you're hovering five feet away until his voice cuts through your thoughts - a hot knife through butter.

"What're you waiting for?"  There's that irritation again.  You try not to take it personally.  This was just who Yoongi was - had always been.  He was someone who didn’t suffer fools gladly, no matter how they presented themselves.  You know it isn’t directed at you necessarily, but just at the strange situation he now found himself in.  You tell yourself that over and over as you find your words, plastering what you hope to be a genuine smile on your face.

By the way he looks at you, lips curled around disbelief, you know it's a poor effort.  You were bad at hiding your emotions.  It was like Namjoon had stolen all the emotional maturity, leaving you with wide-open eyes and a face like a billboard.

"What if they know?"  You say it in a voice barely above a whisper, as if they might hear you through the intimidating glass door.

"Know what?"  A brow quirks, disappearing into his fringe.

"That we aren't together!"  The words explode out of you, a firecracker set off too close to curious hands.  Your mouth draws into a thin line of apology and you're twisting a section of hair around your index finger.  It's a nervous habit and he catches it immediately.  

His expression softens, just barely, and he sighs, breath blown through his nose.  "It'll be fine."  The confidence he reassures you with is surprising but somehow, it calms you.  Maybe it's the two decades of friendship rearing its pretty, often neglected head.  Whatever it is, you cling to it like a security blanket, eyes the size of dinner plates as you follow the hand that suddenly rises and inches toward you. 

"What're you doing?"  You speak before you can help it, admiring the softness of his skin and the long fingers built from years of piano.

Rather than speak, he grips your own.  It's loose but your knuckles knock together, palms flat and moulded into one.  "You want it to be believable, don't you?"  Despite the bemused inflection, you appreciate his gesture.  It means a lot to you.  

You squeeze his hand, nodding once.  "Thanks, Yoongi."  It's soft and shy, filled with all the things you don't say.  He reads between the lines easily, years of platonic intimacy guiding him into what could almost be described as a smile but falls just short of revealing his gums.  Still, it's as good as having him shout his understanding from the rooftops so you take it with grace, dutifully following after him when he pries open the door.

The smell is intoxicating.  If your life were a cartoon movie, you're sure you'd be following the smell and floating into the kitchen with hearts in your eyes.

"You must be the soon-to-be Rims!"  

She's a pretty young thing with big doll eyes and a sweetly upturned nose.  You recognize her voice immediately as the girl that had confirmed your appointment.  She oozes honey and kindness and you can't help but smile;  she's sweet as apple pie.  How fitting.

So swept up in her sunny greeting, you belatedly notice the way your not-fiancé stiffens at your side, his interlocked fingers tightening imperceptibly.  There's a tick in his jaw, tension running the length of his bones and steeling around the column of his neck.  For a second, you're tempted to reach out with your free hand, smooth whatever consternation has him grimacing, but in the next moment, he's a blank slate.  His chin dips, nods in affirmation because you've been too caught up in him to answer the poor girl.

"That's us."  He hides it well, but you can still see the flicker of annoyance just beyond the flat of his barely realized smile.  It's the same ebb and flow that you've become familiar with over the years.  (Especially since, during a particularly annoying time during your teens, you'd been the reason for it.)

"So nice to meet you finally.  I'm Siyeon."  It seems the assistant is completely oblivious to whatever displeasure lies beneath the surface of Yoongi’s carefully crafted facade, her beaming smile never faltering.  You can even hear it in her voice when she turns and begins leading you past the front pastry case and toward the open space further back.  "Come this way!  We have everything set up." 

You squeeze his hand again when the whites of his eyes grow prominent by the way they roll in their sockets.  "Be nice,"  you chastise quietly, closing the distance just enough to keep the conversation between the two of you.

"I am nice."  When your gaze meets, you're mirroring each other's expression.  It makes you laugh;  he simply shakes his head.

"You two are so sweet,"  comes Siyeon's meant-to-be kind observation.  She's watching you two closely from the head of the long table where she waits.  There are slices of cake laid across the top, three pieces in total.  Place cards sit neatly behind each plate, another three placed off to the side.  There are two forks, two pens, and a bare white notepad.  "Please, take a seat.  Would you like some champagne?"

"Please!"  You've answered before your companion has had a chance to and he levels you with a quirked brow and nothing else.  You note the way Siyeon disappears with your answer, leaving you to stick your tongue out at him.  "What?"

"Take it easy, party animal,"  he drawls, nonchalant as ever as he turns his attention to the offerings laid before him.  

You know he's just teasing, so you say nothing, instead opting to do the same.  Every slice is perfectly cut - a generous portion for two people - and so lovingly crafted that you almost feel bad thinking you'll never get to try it again.  

"Here you go." 

Two champagne flutes are presented, ice bucket with the orange label bottle set aside.  You take a tentative sip, enjoying the way the liquid bursts across your tongue.  You'd always been more of a beer girl, but this is nice.  It feels a little like a treat to yourself - for getting through everything that's brought you here.

"So, we're pretty hands-off here."  Siyeon is speaking again, the words rolling off her tongue like she's given this spiel a hundred times.  You're sure she has.  She's so confident, rattling off the process with practiced ease.  You focus intently, grateful for the way Yoongi even leans forward - the picture of an attentive partner.  "We've prepared six cakes for you.  You'll taste them in groups of three, so your palate isn't overwhelmed.  We leave you alone during this portion so you can discuss without any pressure or input and you can make notes on what you do and don't like.  Once you're done all of the samples, you'll meet with one of our pâtissiers and discuss."  There's a pause, then realization.  “You also mentioned on the phone you wanted us to include a red velvet option, so that’s on the far right.”  A hand gesticulates, though it’s impossible to miss.  The cake is vivid maroon and off-white – a picture perfect slice presented on the minimalistic ceramic. 

You don’t miss the way Yoongi’s brow knits together beneath his neatly styled crown of silk or the stare he levels you with.  He doesn’t betray emotion easily, but you can feel it from your periphery, and it licks hot shame across your cheeks.  You hated red velvet – called it bullshitter’s chocolate – but your stupid awful ex-fiancé had loved it, claiming it to be one of his favourite things in the world.

More than even you, you find yourself thinking bitterly before you can help it.

“Thanks.”  The word is short and dismissive.  Very clearly the complete opposite of how it should be but if Siyeon notices, she doesn’t comment on it.  You have to applaud her self-restraint.  Instead, she offers another winning smile, and retreats back a step.

“I’ll just be at the front, if you need anything.”

A part of you wants to ask to her to stay – save you from the scathing words you know are about to fire off of your pretend-partner’s tongue.  You settle for returning her smile and watching as she departs, gaze trained diligently on her back as if that might protect you from the verbal barrage you know is coming.

“You hate red velvet.”  It’s a statement that has you cringing because you can hear all of the implications behind it.  The words he doesn’t speak but clearly thinks linger in the air between you, falling like rain drops that sink into your bones.

You don’t immediately answer, taking your time in turning your fork over in your fingers.  You know this silent treatment won’t work.  Yoongi’s the master of silence – and of death glares – but you push onwards, gliding tines into the nearest cake slice.  It doesn’t crumble or break, held together by pure craftsmanship and quality ingredients.  The pretty not-quite-purple, not-quite-red winks up at you. 

Honey wine Moscato with triple berry mousse and seasonal berry compote. 

A definite yes in your books.  Or would be, if you were actually getting married.  You take another bite, then another.

“Why the hell would you have asked for a red velvet wedding cake if you hate it?”  He’s not about to let it go, though he follows suit once the question has left his lips.  He’s also not about to let you leave him with crumbs when he was the one who’d been forced into coming here.

The way his jaw relaxes has you smiling just a little, an expectant gleam in the brown of your irises.

“Tasty, right?” 

“Yeah, good.”  But now that you’ve spoken – confirmed that you’re not mute, despite how quiet you’ve been since he’d poised his initial question – he repeats himself.  “Seriously, why ask for a cake you hate?”

You know you have no reason to hold the words so tightly to your chest but you do nonetheless, not quite sure how to speak them without your voice cracking.  “Red velvet was his favourite.”  There.  You’d thought the admission would be a weight lifted but it feels somehow worse.  Like there’s shame draped across the concession, a heavy brocade that lingers in your throat once the words have left.

“You were going to have a wedding cake you’d hate?  Because of him?” 

It’s exactly what you’d been afraid of.  The judgment that rolls off him in waves and crashes against you like a shore at hightide.  Your eyes remain steadfastly trained on the next slice – almond cake soaked in Grand Marnier with honey-cream and Mariska cherries.  Crimson fruit is speared on an individual tine and popped into your mouth as you continue your vow of silence.

You think the quiet is enough of an answer but when he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, you finally look up.  Whatever words of defence had been forming on your tongue die off, dragged into an abyss that opens up beneath your feet – a surprise, because you’ve never seen that look on his face before.

It’s equal parts frustration and something else but because it’s so new, you can’t quite place it in your catalog of memories.

He must realize, immediately rearranging his features into their usual stoic mask.  Just the tilt of his mouth betrays him, corners turned down ever so slightly.  It’s enough to know that he’s holding back, which is something he never does.  Ever.

“Spit it out, Yoongi.”  You don’t look at him, too afraid that both his words and stare will completely eviscerate you now that he has the go ahead.  You fork a proper mouthful of cake past your lips, humming contentedly as the flavours spill over your tongue.  You hadn’t expected it to taste like a creamsicle – okay, a very adult creamsicle – but it’s welcome, nonetheless. 

Fork of his own spears a sizeable bite and you watch as the slice disappears before your eyes, under both of your measured ministrations.   The red velvet plate sits untouched.  You know Yoongi doesn’t mind it – enjoys it, in fact – but you think he must be refraining for your sake.

Solidarity in crisis, probably.

“You know you’re better off without him.” 

Of course you know that.  He’d cheated on you – in your home and more than once!  You knew, just as you knew how to ride a bike or how to swim, that ending things was the best thing you’d ever done.  Sure, it’d hurt like hell and sure, you’d had to move in with your brother until you found something else – you hadn’t yet – but it was all for the best.

So why can’t you say those three simple words?  Why, instead of your usual barking hyena laugh meeting his words, was there nothing?

“How are the cakes?”  Siyeon has materialized at your side as if summoned.  The still intact slice draws her attention immediately, concern settling alongside the winning customer service that oozes out of her pores and fixes itself into her permanent smile.  “Did you not like the red velvet?”

Before you have a chance to speak, Yoongi’s doing so for the both of you.

“She hates red velvet.  She only asked for it for me.”  There’s a shrug disrupting the ridge of his shoulders, shifting the soft cotton plaid that hugs his lithe frame.  “Could you bring out the rest?”  His tone is friendly, gentle even.  It's at complete odds with the line of his mouth, terse and teetering dangerously on irate.  Still, he's not unkind when his gaze meets Siyeon's and she simply nods, gathering up the plates and taking the disregarded slice in stride.

Silence stretches between the two of you but it isn't uncomfortable.  It's the same quiet that's followed you throughout your lives, carried gracefully by years of close quarters.

"Which do you like best?"  He breaks it first, with a gentle hand like a delicate sculptor. 

"Is both an acceptable answer?"  

There's a rueful tilt to your smile.  It feels very you to him, so he knows it's okay to rib you, teasing colouring every syllable.  "Two cakes, huh?  Pretty greedy."  

Whatever you're about to say falls off your tongue yet again, forgotten on the tip with the return of Siyeon. 

With the same sunny smile she's adopted the entire visit, she sets the next three selections carefully before you.  Just as before, they're beautifully crafted and effortlessly chic.  You spy what looks like carrot cake - from the telltale chunks of golden raisins and fluffy whipped frosting - but you're not sure which the rest are.  

"Their cards are right there,"  Siyeon supplies helpfully, noting your curiosity.  You smile, grateful as she departs with another grin and a reminder.  "Don't forget to take notes!"

Vanilla cake soaked in mandarin syrup and kumquat liqueur with mandarin vinegar from Jeju Island and mandarin curd. 

Dark chocolate mud cake soaked in espresso with white chocolate and black truffle ganache.

You opt to start with what appears to the airiest of the three, gliding your fork through the pretty mosaic of orange and cream.

“You deserve someone who’d let you have any cake you want.”  It’s soft - barely above a whisper - but kicks up gravel in its wake, drawing your attention with the grit that tracks over syllables.

You study him for a moment, masking curiosity as consideration of flavours as citrus bursts across your tongue.

“You mean someone like you?”  What you’d thought to be deadpan comes across coaxing, like honey swathed in broad strokes.  You’d only meant to tease - you don’t mean anything by it (or so you tell yourself).  Because you’re definitely not there yet, and certainly not with him.

But when he looks at you with that inscrutable expression, you swear you’d give up any three magic wishes to read his mind.

“No, not like me.”

notes.  based off of this prompt.

this will be two parts because i can’t write a short one-shot to my satisfaction.  :l  thank you for reading, though!

#heartsforbts #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fluff #min yoongi #yoongi #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi fluff #suga #suga fanfic #suga fic #suga fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x oc #yoongi x you #suga x reader #suga x oc #suga x you #suga.doc

[themrsdeanwinchester]

Two Souls - Part 1

Welcome to my first mini series! I had originally planned on this being a one shot but I got attached while writing it and it’s a story that is very close to my heart. I decided why not turn it into my very first mini series! I say mini because I don’t plan on it being longer than four, five parts tops. But that could change. We will see how it goes. :) In this series, Dean has retired from hunting but still lives in the bunker with Sam.

I’m the only one who has read this, so if there are mistakes, I apologize. I read it and did my best to find all my errors. You can find more of my work here.

Pairing: Dean x female reader

Warnings: Fluff, Dean being adorable. Possible trigger warnings in future parts of the story.

Word Count: 3,866

Series Summary: Dean starts a job working as a mechanic as a locally owned auto shop. The owner’s daughter, who works at the shop, makes Dean’s heart ache from the moment he sets eyes on her. But, does she feel the same way? What will her dad think? When her life starts crumbling, is it Dean who will be there for her and help her pick up the pieces?

I would love feedback, please :) Also, please send me a message/ask if you'd like to be added to my tag list.

Dean pulled his Impala into a spot at David’s Auto Shop for his interview with the owner and office manager. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he looked at the shop bays, all seven of them full of cars. The shop was a busy one because it was popular with the locals. The owner, David, was well respected and had been in business for over twenty years. Dean was nervous that his resume wouldn’t impress the veteran mechanic since he had never worked for an auto shop before. 

He got out of the Impala and ran his hands down the front of his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles. He had chosen his nicest plaid shirt, buttoned all the way up to the collar and tucked into his jeans. He had done his best to clean up his boots but they were still stained. 

Dean approached the shop, resume in hand. He grabbed the door, took another deep breath and stepped inside the shop. The phones were ringing off the hook, mechanics were running in and out of the door from the shop to grab keys, put paperwork on the counter and answer the phones.

A husky, tall man with broad shoulders walked through the door and set his gaze on Dean.

“How can I help you?” He asked.

“I’m here for an interview,” Dean said. He glanced at the man’s name patch. He was the owner.

“You must be Dean. I’m David.” He extended his left hand to Dean. Out of instinct, Dean reached out his right hand to shake David’s. Only to fumble and change to his left. David laughed. “I’m left handed. My handshake always throws everyone off. Go through that doorway,” David pointed to Dean’s right, “and the first door on your right is the office manager’s office. I’ll meet you in there. She’s expecting you.” 

Dean crossed the lobby and into the hallway. To his left was a hallway that lead to the shop and  a few feet ahead he could see the office manager’s door. As he approached it, he could hear music. To his delight, it was Led Zeppelin. When he entered the room, the woman looked up at him from the desk and his jaw slightly dropped. He hadn’t been expecting a woman as beautiful as she was. He stood there staring for a moment until she broke the silence.

“Hi. You must be Dean.” She stood up and walked around the desk. Dean couldn’t help but let his eyes travel up and down her body. She was wearing jeans that fit just right, hugging her curves in all of the right places and that flared slightly around her boots. She was wearing a plain black V-neck shirt with a mechanics shirt that matched David’s “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” She extend her hand to Dean with a blinding smile on her face.

When Dean took her hand, he was surprised at how soft her skin was despite her very firm handshake. “Y-Yeah. Dean. Nice to meet you, too,” he stuttered.

David saved him by walking in the door. “I see you’ve met my daughter,” he said. “Turn the radio down.” He gestured to Y/N who turned the nob down to a whisper.

“Oh, I didn’t know she was your daughter,” Dean said. He looked back at Y/N who just smiled again.

“Shall we get started?” She suggested, taking a seat behind her desk again. 

Dean sat in a chair across from her and David sat next to Y/N. 

“So, Dean. It doesn’t look like you have ever worked as a mechanic before,” Y/N said, looking over his short resume. “But you say you’ve got a few decades of experience.” She looked up at Dean.

“No, I mean yes. Well, no I haven’t ever worked as a mechanic for a shop before but I do have a lot of experience. My dad taught me a lot and then I also learned as I went. I have rebuilt my car a few times. I do all of my own work on her. My other dad, well, my adopted dad, kind of, he owned a junk yard. I worked on a lot of cars at his place as well,” Dean explained. He took another deep breath and cursed himself for fumbling so much. 

Y/N and her dad nodded, exchanged a glance and Y/N smiled a little.

“I am mostly self taught as well,” David said to Dean. “Just classes in high school and college, mostly because it’s the only subjects I liked,” he chuckled. 

“It says you have been self employed all your life. Winchester Brothers. What did you do?” Y/N asked.

“My brother and I were in the business of... pest control.” Dean widened his eyes a little, realizing he didn’t actually know anything about exterminating bugs. He prayed they didn’t ask him details.

Again, the daughter and father duo nodded. Dean used the back of his hand to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. He hadn’t been this nervous about anything in awhile. It didn’t help that every time he looked at Y/N, his heart lurched as if it were reaching out to her.

“Dean,” David’s voice brought Dean back down to earth. “I like you. And I’m always right about people. You’ve got yourself a job. Y/N will get your shirt size and have a few made for you. I’ve got to get back out there. I’ve got an engine I need to finish a rebuild on by the end of the day.” David stood up, stumbled a little and groaned.

Y/N jumped jump. “Dad, why don’t you take it easy. I can finish the rebuild for you.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. She listened to Led Zeppelin, was beautiful, and could work on cars? He was impressed.

“I’m fine,” David snapped, causing Y/N to recoil and plop back down behind her desk. “Can you start tomorrow?” David directed at Dean.

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Great, see you at 7:30AM. We might have some old shop shirts you can wear until Y/N gets yours in. Have a good one.” With that, David lumbered out the door and disappeared.

Dean looked back at Y/N. Her eyes were glistening with tears but he could tell she was holding them back. “Are you okay?”

Y/N looked up, blinking back the tears. “Yes. I’m fine.” She cleared her throat. “What size are you, Dean?”

He loved the way she said his name. It was heavenly. “Large.”

“Okay. I’ll order you five shirts. Do you have a nickname you’d like on the name patch or is Dean ok?”

“Dean is fine. I don’t have a nickname.” Dean was now able to see the name patch on her shirt. It said Bud. “Is Bud your boyfriend?” He asked before his brain could tell his mouth stop.

Y/N looked down at her name patch. “Oh, no. My dad calls me Bud. Has ever since I was a kid. I have one or two with my actual name on it but the ones that say Bud are my favorite,” she explained as she stood up. “Come with me. I’ll get you a few shirts for the rest of the week. Your shirts should be in by next Monday.”

Dean followed Y/N out of her office and down the hallway. Next to a door labeled Parts there was a coat closest. Y/N rummaged through it looking for shirts. She handed him four.

“That’ll get through until Friday and Monday morning I should have yours in. Oh, what kind of car do you have?”

“67 Impala.”

Y/N eyes widened a little. “Can I see it?” Her voice was bubbling over with excitement. 

“Absolutely.”

Y/N followed Dean outside. “Wow,” she breathed. “She’s gorgeous. How long have you had her?”

“A couple decades,” Dean answered. He watched as her hand hovered over the hood. He could tell she wanted to touch it, run her hands along the shiny and warm metal. She curled her fingers and retracted her hand. “You can touch her,” Dean said through a small laugh.

Y/N turned to him, a smile on her face. She gently placed her hand on the hood, soaking up the beauty of the Impala. “I might have to talk to you into letting me drive her someday.”

Dean laughed. “Maybe. I barely let my brother drive her.”

“Fair enough. I won’t let anyone drive my truck.”

“What do you have?”

“66 Ford F100. Caribbean Turquoise. It was my dad’s first truck. I helped him rebuild it a few years ago.” She turned to face Dean. “Want to see it?” Her smile was so big, there was no way Dean could say no.

He followed Y/N around back and as soon as he turned the corner, he saw her truck. It stood out, the Caribbean Turquoise bright and shiny compared to the darker and more neutral toned cars around it.

“Oh, wow. It’s nice. How long did it take you guys to rebuild?” Dean peeked through the window. The interior was the same color, even the seat. The inside was immaculate.

“A few months. We had an advantage, owning a shop and all,” Y/N said, gesturing up at the building. She looked at the shop for a long time. Dean watched as she admired it and her eyes started to glisten again. “Well,” she broke the silence. She curled her index fingers under her eyes, pushing her eyes closed to soak up the tears. “We will see you in the morning, Dean. Have a good rest of your day.”

“Yeah, you too. See you tomorrow,” Dean said with a wave. He watched Y/N disappear around the building before making his way back to his Impala and driving away.

Three months into working for David’s shop, Dean had managed to learn a few things about Y/N. She loved classic rock, the Doors, 13th Floor Elevators and Zeppelin being her favorites. One of those three was always playing in her office. She was just as good as any one else in the shop at working on cars. She filled in when other mechanics called out or were on vacation. She also had a few of her own regulars who only would let her work on their cars. Her favorite color was Y/F/C and she loved rainy days. He also never once saw her wear a shirt with her actual name on it, only ones with Bud. 

Christmas time had rolled around and the company holiday party was on a Saturday night at a local pizza parlor. Everyone was allowed to bring their families or partner with them and Dean was anxiously waiting to see it Y/N would bring anyone with her. He’d never heard her talk about anyone at work. Never even saw her take a phone call to anyone but customers or vendors. No one stopped by to see her either. Just customers.

In the back seat of the Impala Dean had a gift for Y/N. It was a scarf in her favorite color. He had picked a scarf because sometimes, when he’d stop by her office to say good morning, she had the collar of her shirt pulled up. He asked her why and she said it was always cold in her office in the winter time. It was practical but also thoughtful. 

Dean walked into the pizza parlor. It was nice and warm inside so he shrugged off his jacket and straightened out his plaid shirt. He surveyed the room until he saw some of his co-workers, including David, in the very back. They all threw their heads back in laughter. Beer pitchers were empty on the table but not for long. Soon he saw Y/N walking over, gripping the handles of four beer pitchers, two in each hand. She spread them out across the table before turning towards the door. Her eyes landed on Dean and she smiled. She waved enthusiastically at him and made her way through the crowd.

“Dean!” She said, throwing her arms around him for a hug. Dean smiled, the smell of her shampoo tickling his nose. “Pizza and beer at the table already. I’ll grab you a cold glass.”

“Oh, no. It’s alright, I’ll go get it,” Dean protested.

“I’m going back up there to grab my dad another soda, I’ll grab it. Join everyone else.” She smiled and walked away towards the counter. He watched her go, her steps a little jagged from the beer she’d been drinking. He smiled to himself and approached the table.

Everyone greeted Dean cheerfully. He was introduced to everyone’s guests they had brought with them and he did his best to keep up with everyone’s names and which kids belonged with which couple. A beer was set down in front of him. He looked up to find Y/N standing above him. He smiled and thanked her. She sat down in the empty seat next to him with her own beer.

“I got us special ones. It’s actually my favorite from a local brewery. I hope you like IPAs.” She put the glass to her lips, taking a generous drink. “Try it!” She smiled at Dean, making his heart flutter. 

He complied, his eyes growing large. “This is really good!”

“Told ya,” she smirked. “Pizza?” Y/N put two big slices of pizza on a plate and sat it down in front of Dean before he could answer. She then helped herself to some as well. Dean couldn’t help but smile. A girl who liked pizza and beer. There she goes, he thought, checking more things off my list. A list he didn’t even realize he had until he’d met her.

As the night wore on, people started leaving. A few of the kids had crawled into the laps of their parents and fallen asleep. Their group got thinner and thinner until it was just Dean, Y/N and her dad.

“I’m heading home, Bud.” He hugged her and kissed her cheek. “Dean, thanks for coming.” He reached out to shake Dean’s hand.

“Thank you for having me.”

“Can you make sure, Y/N gets home okay? She walked here and it’s kind of late.” David eyed his daughter who was sipping on another beer.

“Definitely, sir.” 

As everyone left, Dean turned to Y/N. “Are you ready to head home?”

“I guess…” Y/N trailed off. She was lost in thought for a second. She downed the rest of her beer. “Alright, let’s go.” She stood up and lurched towards Dean, putting her hands onto his chest to catch herself. Dean instinctively wrapped his hands around her biceps.

“Whoa there,” he chuckled.

“Sorry. I am definitely a little bit buzzed.” Y/N laughed, her cheeks growing red.

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean assured her.

Dean lead Y/N out to his Impala and opened the door for her. He let her get in on her own, his hand close by just in case she needed it. 

“Oh! I’m honored to get a ride in Dean Winchester’s Impala,” she remarked. She looked up at him from the passenger seat, an enormous grin on her face. Dean couldn’t help but think she looked perfect in the passenger seat, as if she was always meant to be its passenger.

A few minutes later, Dean pulled up in front of Y/N’s house. It was a modest home in a nice neighborhood. All of the homes were older, built in the 50’s. Y/N’s was light green with a white porch and steps. Her F100 was parked in the drive way. It was the only car there, Dean observed.

“Do you want to come inside?” Y/N’s invitation caught Dean off guard.

“We won’t wake anyone up?” Dean posed the question carefully. He was prying for an answer, but didn’t want to be too obvious that he was trying to figure out if she was taken or not.

“Nope. This is my place. Just me. Party of one.” She smiled, her eyes slightly glassy.

Dean hesitated a moment. He got his answer but since Y/N had been drinking, he didn’t want her or her dad to get the wrong idea about him taking her home and ending up inside her house. He did want to give her the gift he’d gotten her though. “Okay. I have a gift for you.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “Really? I actually have something for you, too,” she said quietly.

Dean smiled and his heart, again, leaped forward, always in the direction of Y/N. “Let’s get inside, it’s getting cold.” Dean got out of his Impala, grabbed the gift box from behind his seat, and then walked around to open Y/N’s door. He held out his hand to assist her. She took it, squeezing his slightly as she hoisted herself out of the car. 

He followed her up to the door, she fumbled with her keys, first using the wrong one. “Oops, that’s my dad’s. They look the same as mine. Here it is!” The door creaked as she opened it. She stepped in side. “Welcome to my humble little home.” She gestured for Dean to come inside.

Y/N’s house had all hardwood flooring and was accented with Y/F/C, her favorite, and smelled like cinnamon. She walked over to the small Christmas tree she had in the corner and turned its lights on. The lights were white and the ornaments were all different kinds. There was no theme to her tree, just random ornaments she liked, ones that reminded her of people, places, and things. She grabbed one of the presents from under the tree. 

“Let’s sit on the couch and open them together.” She made her way to her couch and plopped down. She patted the cushion beside her, beckoning Dean to sit with her.

As soon as he sat down, Y/N shoved his gift from her into his lap. “Open it! I’m terrible at keeping secrets when it comes to gifts.” The grin on her face was bigger than he’d ever seen it before. 

He chuckled as he unwrapped the box and pulled the lid off. Inside was a few things. First was a nice, heavy duty travel coffee mug with his name on it. “So the guys at the shop know it’s yours” Y/N said through a laugh. One time, Dean and another mechanic had gotten their coffees mixed up. The other mechanic liked his coffee extremely creamy and sweet, Dean liked his black. Y/N had witness them both spit out each others coffee all over the shop floor. Next was a picture of Dean’s Impala in front of David’s shop. It was from a low angle, the car taking up the foreground with the shop’s sign hovering over it. There were raindrops on the Impala and the sky above was dark and angry. He looked at it in awe. It was a beautifully crafted shot.

“I thought it was a neat picture,” Y/N said quietly with a shrug.

“Did you take this?” Dean turned to her, awestruck. She nodded her head, a small, closed mouth smile on her face. “I love it. It’s… it’s a really beautiful shot. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Y/N smiled. “There’s one more thing in there.”

At the bottom of the box was a black mechanics jacket with Dean’s name on it. He pulled it out and turned it around to reveal the shop’s name on the back.

“That one is from my dad and me. Only he and I have one. And now you,” Y/N half whispered.

Dean turned to her, overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity she, and her dad, had shown him. They took a chance hiring him and now, they were giving him a jacket, something that clearly held a special meaning for the two of them. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. We’re so happy to have you be part of the shop family.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Dean taking in his gifts and Y/N watching him. He gently placed his gifts back into his box before handing Y/N hers.

“Now I feel like I should have gotten you a little more…” Dean trailed off.

“No,” Y/N said, dragging out the O’s, and waving Dean’s remark off with her hand. She pulled the bow off of the decorative box and popped the lid off. She pulled out the Y/F/C scarf Dean had picked out. She ran her hands over it, taking in how soft the fabric was. She wrapped it around her neck and looked up at Dean. “You remembered my favorite color.”

“Of course,” Dean said through a grin, his voice hushed. “Now you won’t be so cold in your office in the mornings.”

“Thank you, Dean. I love it.” Y/N pulled the ends of the scarf forward, taking in the details and feeling the warmth around her neck.

She looked up at him, and held his gaze for a moment. Then, she closed the gap between them to place a soft kiss on his lips. As she pulled away, Dean took a deep breath. He’d been wanting to kiss her for months and he didn’t want to stop now.

“It’s late. I should get going.” Dean stood up, gathering up his gift box.

Y/N followed suit, still wearing her scarf as she walked Dean to her door. He stepped out onto the porch and spun around to face her. She was holding onto the door, letting it support her. But not because she had been drinking, no. It was for a different reason. It was because kissing Dean had taken her breath away and made her knees weak. Her hands were trembling and she needed to steady herself, not wanting him to notice what he’d done to her, what he’d been doing to her since they had met in her office months prior. She had been pining for Dean, but she was so sure he had a significant other. There was no way a man as handsome, kind, funny, caring, and… her list went on. But there as no way, so she thought, that a man like Dean was single. 

“Do you want to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?” Dean’s question pulled Y/N from her thoughts.

“I’d love that.” Her answer was quick, zero hesitation, and Dean noticed.

“Pick you up at 6?”

“I’ll be ready. Casual or fancy?” Y/N questioned.

“Which one would you like?” 

“Casual.”

“Casual it is, sweetheart.” Dean smiled, wished her good night and almost skipped back to his Impala.

Y/N waved to Dean in his car and closed the door, locking it tight behind her. She leaned back against it, letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She had a date, for the first time years. And, it was with the man of her dreams.

Tags: @akshi8278​, @notan-applepielife​

There is a pinned post with my Masterlist on my blog. Thank you for reading! 

#Dean Winchester #Dean x reader #Dean x female!reader #Dean x fem!reader #Supernatural fic #Dean fic #Dean drabble #Dean fanfiction #Supernatural #SPN #SPN Family #Jensen Ackles #Jensen x reader #Jensen deserved better #Dean deserved better #Dean feels #Dean!girl #Deans girls

[dreamcure]

note: this has been uploaded a number of times to my accounts in the past. i am the original poster, vinny, and this is not plagiarized work.

cw: pwp (smut), semi-public, blowjob

word count: 1.8k

That was enough motivation for you to get out of bed and throw on some clothes.

You kept in mind that this was your boyfriend, and any time you were with him was a reason to look nice. Putting in the minimum effort, you pulled on some clean sweatpants and shrugged on his team jacket afterwards, as you usually do with your outfits. It was his own fault he kept forgetting to grab it from your house! He ended up just ordering another one. That meant this one was rightfully yours now.

Car headlights ran across your bedroom window when he pulled onto your street and waited on the road. You passed the empty living room, as your roommate had gone to bed a few hours ago. This granted you the perfect opportunity to go and spend some quality time with your boyfriend without bugging them. His time was so sparse nowadays, what with his pro-athlete lifestyle and your own busy schedule trying to get your life on track, you both leaped at the opportunity to be together. Even if it’s just a half hour in between practice and classes. Texts like these happened often enough for you to be prepared at any time.

He was on his phone when you approached the car. Maybe he was texting you to say he had arrived, but he put it down when you got into the passenger side, nonetheless. Ever since his parents got a new car and let him start using their old car, he’s been unstoppable. And with no one to tell him he can’t go get food on a whim, well… here you are now. “Hey hey hey,” He cooed over the music and leaned over to greet you with a kiss once you shut your door. “Nice jacket, we’re twinning now!” He exclaimed, showing you that he was wearing the team jacket that he had to order once you took his first one.

You put your seatbelt on, he turned up the music even more, put the car into drive, and stepped on it. His lead foot got you to McDonald’s faster than you expected, and it’s probably due to his hunger. At the drive-through window he knew exactly what he wanted, and he turned to you as if to ask if you wanted anything different than your usual. Leave it to him to know these things by heart - although he didn’t eat fast food too often.

The order was put through, and you both waited rather impatiently for the food to be made. It was late, the employees hadn’t much need for a lot of food on standby, but you insisted this was good because then it would be fresh! Sitting at the second window, car in park, listening to whatever song was playing through his aux, he began to play your thigh like a drum - rather horribly along to the beat of his music. His childlike nature just couldn’t be contained when he was excited to eat!

“Bokuto, baby, what’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing, babe, just happy to see you is all~”

The food was acquired, and instead of going anywhere else to eat it, he pulled off to the side and parked the car. It was the only car in the small lot, besides the employee cars, which were very few. The dashboard served as a buffet table, wrappers were tossed into the backseat, and the music was playing softer now that you were talking away.

You spoke about Bokuto’s plans for next week, and how it was basically booked with volleyball practice and travel, as per usual. You told him that you had classes for a couple days, and then time allotted for homework but not much else. In between the conversations, you both stuffed your face. Bokuto stole some of your fries, even if his own weren’t gone yet. In response, you drank from his milkshake, even though you had your own to sip from as well.

The food was demolished. Your boyfriend laid his seat back just a tiny bit and stretched his arm over the console just to hold onto your thigh while you nurse your drink.

“I don’t want to go home,” You said after finishing the last of your meal. It was very late now, far past the time you usually go to bed.

“We can stay out all night if that’s what you want,” he replies, not the least bit concerned that he has responsibilities in the morning.

You were just enjoying the time together so much. He picked up his phone again and began texting rapidly. Curious, you leaned your head on his shoulder to see his screen. He never has anything to hide from you, so he let you read the messages between him and his best friend Akaashi, talking about how he’s not home right now.

“What’s he up to?”

“Akaashi? Probably homework, or Netflix.”

Bokuto put his phone down once the message was sent, and rested his own head down against your’s. Easily he could smell your shampoo. It might just be his favourite scent, because it gives him such a nice feeling whenever he catches a similar scent literally anywhere. Meanwhile, you sat there with your eyes turned downward. His leg was bouncing a little, to release some of his constant energy.

Just like normal, he sat with his seat pushed all the way back from the wheel, and his legs were still bent and thighs spread while he relaxed in his seat. It was only now that you noticed he was wearing grey sweatpants, his pajamas… you could see him half exposing himself, now that you were paying attention. This is exactly what you could be doing instead of going home. The technicalities didn’t run through your mind, you were only thinking about taking this opportunity to get dicked down.

It wasn’t long before your hand was reaching over and traveling north from his knee. “Is this all right?” You asked, because consent is always the key. In physical response, he pushed his legs completely apart in the space he was given and adjusted his hips in his seat, now slouching a little bit. Though, verbally, he chuckled and said, “You know it’s always okay.”

Just like that, it was all over. You closed your hand around the mound in his sweatpants and Bokuto let out the first moan of the night. It was soft, and followed by a sharp inhale of breath when your fingers began to rub and work at it. Slowly but surely, the member under your hand was growing harder and larger. You lifted your head from his shoulder and he took the opportunity to kiss you - eager enough to lead with the tongue and quickly deepen it. His own hand traveled over to find its way and nestle in between your thighs, giving the muscle there a tender squeeze.

Wow, this was really happening. In his parents’ car. They wouldn’t know the difference since they no longer drive it, but… still. One thing led to another and soon you were pulling the waistband of his sweats down. Bokuto lifted his hips enough to let them down his legs and expose nothing beneath them. This wasn’t really his intent when he wore grey sweatpants to your little late night dinner date, but he was really liking the result he got with them. He had a rather large, wavering grin on his face because he was just so excited to see you take this much initiative in staying away from home as long as possible.

“I took a shower a couple of hours ago,” He felt the need to tell you.

It meant his dick was fresh, and perfect for blowing. You weren’t stupid, you knew exactly what he wanted without him even asking for it. And just for now, you were willing to give it to him while he wasn’t dirtied up from exercise. Getting right to it, you brushed your hair away from your face and had a quick look around. If anyone got close enough they could easily deduce what you two were doing in this car. Still, you got comfortable leaning over the center console and prepared to take him in your mouth.

To begin, you pulled back his briefs and tucked the band under his balls. Already you could tell he was near throbbing for your attention, just by the way his cock stood up once the fabric was out of the way. You couldn’t deny him of the attention either - or he might start whining. The moment your hand wrapped into a loose fist around him and your lips pressed to the very tip, he was spreading his legs further and leaning his seat back a little more.

You let your tongue slip out past your lips and give a generous swirl around the head of Bokuto’s cock that brings out a deep moan from him. You kept heavy on the tongue, sometimes resting your head on his abdomen and treating his dick like a candy and sucking the head till it turns a deep red.

Besides the music, the car was filled with the wet noises from your sucking, and Bokuto’s hot as hell moans. You soon forgot you were in a car, until your boyfriend cracked open a window at the first sight of fogging at the windows. He was always full of hot air. It was barely ten minutes of blowing, gently playing with his balls, and humming along to the songs on the radio while you did so, before Bokuto was tensing up more than usual. Obviously he was close, and you were eager to taste the ending he had in store.

The fingers in your hair clenched, tugging the strands at the roots while you bobbed your head up and down his entire length. Your lips were tightly clenched around his cock while waiting for him to release his load. Sure, you were in a parking lot of McDonald’s - more or less public - but Bokuto moaned your name when he came as if you two were home alone regardless. His hands that were lost in your hair were now forcing your head down as far as you’d let it.

When you were allowed to lift your head back up you made sure he heard you swallow the load you were given, then proceeded to lick him clean. From base to tip, you ran your tongue. It made him shiver and attempt at pushing your face away in all his post-orgasm glory. His head was tipped back and he watched out the side window of the car while catching his breath.

Naturally, he had something bright to say, “You just didn’t want to go home.”

He was right.

“Your turn, babe, c’mon now.”

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #bokuto #bokuto x reader #bokuto koutarou #bokuto koutarou x reader #koutarou bokuto x reader #gn!reader

[peachyteabuck]

clear the clouds (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: after weeks of bucky feels down, natasha knows exactly who to call to make him feel better

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

words: 2,030

trigger warnings: sickening fluff, also - please don’t take kitten rearing advice from fanfiction

notes: this is a birthday present for the effervescent @m00nlightdelights​, who asked for bucky barnes interacting with kittens. happy birthday babe! 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Natasha was the one who called you – asking something many dream for but very few get to experience. It’s hard to transport that many tiny, wriggling animals across town and very few are willing to pay the exorbitant, arbitrary amount of money you had made some intern put on the website after the twentieth call asking about the particular service.

People, apparently, really want to rent a bunch of kittens for several different types of events – finals weeks at universities and rich high schools, bat and bar mitzvahs, once even a wedding. Why those event coordinators can’t rent service animals is beyond you, and why they always expect you to do these things for free is also a mystery.

No matter why those people wanted your kittens, you closed the service except for incredibly rare cases.

One of those incredibly rare cases, per the usual path of your life, involved Natasha Romanoff.

You owed her a favor from a few years back, when she made sure an ex-boyfriend of yours…well, for legal purposes you can’t talk about it, but Natasha made sure he never bothered you or your friends ever again.

Natasha’s got enough tact not to bring the year-long ordeal up – just said she wanted to “cash in” on your side of the bargain. You sighed into the office landline when she told you she was calling for her favor, the exhale so deep it was still audible despite the barking and scratching and the menagerie of other noises.

It takes you a second to collect yourself, to shove the memories back into that little box your therapist had you build and then tuck into the back of your brain.

Despite not being able to see her face, you can tell she’s frowning and has furrowed her brow. “You good?”

You nodded, then remembered how phones work. “Yeah,” you let out a small sigh. “Yeah, I’m fine. You want the kittens at Avengers Towers this weekend for a few hours to help that friend of yours-“

“Bucky,” Natasha interrupts you. “His name is Bucky. And you should go out with him.”

Despite still knowing how phone works, you roll your eyes. “Didn’t you just say he spent the last week bedridden because of depression. It doesn’t exactly sound like he’s in the right state of mind for a relationship.”

Your friend scoffs into the phone, shutting what you think is a thick book for dramatic audial effect. “And you spend fifteen hours a day at your shelter because it gives you an excuse not to see people. I don’t need you to marry him, I’m saying maybe a coffee date would be good for you.”

There’s a pause where you search for a sarcastic response, but Natasha beats you to it.

“Actually, no,” she says, voice dripping with a lovable dryness you can’t help but admire. “It will be good for both of you.”

Another pause while you recalculate your sarcastic response cortex. After a deeply silent thirty seconds, you give up.

“Fine,” you acquiesce. “But you and Wanda are helping me and you’re buying me lunch for that day and you’re helping me during adoption day at the museum next month.”

Somehow, you can hear Natasha’s wide and triumphant smile. “You got it, kid.”

And with that, you hang up before falling back in your office chair. You swear, that woman could convince you to do anything.

Fucking spies, you think before putting the event in the shelter’s e-calendar.

The day arrives both too quickly and not quickly enough – your brain caught between something akin to “existential dread” and “oh my God my friend is trying to set me up with her friend and what if it doesn’t work but what if it does” the entire week before the planned event. During the night before you down quadruple your normal dose of melatonin to fall asleep after spending three entire hours trying on all your clothes to plan the right outfit (in the end, you chose an unusually nice pair of leggings and a plan sweater along with boots cute enough to fool a man into thinking they’re fancy while still protecting your feet from the end-stage winter air outside.

(Also, the leggings and sweater are the easiest things to lint roll kitten fur off of you for, say, a date at an upscale coffee shop you normally wouldn’t even think of going to, but that’s nobody’s business and you totally one hundred percent did not think about that when trying the outfit on.)

You meet Natasha and Wanda at the shelter the next morning, you getting there before them to gather the necessary supplies from the back. Despite them promising to help you load your car with kittens and kitten-adjacent items, you still didn’t want either of them messing with the precious organization system you’d spent years perfecting (and years training interns and vet techs how to abide by it).

Luckily, with your precautions and time management – and despite Wanda’s need to kiss every kitten (yes, every kitten) as they were loaded into crates – you arrive at the infamous Stark Tower right on time.

Set up of the whole thing doesn’t take long, Natasha successfully leading the way through the maze of which is the expansive building. You pass a few people you recognize from Natasha’s stories and the news, and a few others who you don’t but still smile as they pass (whether they were just being nice or smiling at the kittens in the crates you were holding, you refused to decide).

It takes a few elevator rides, but eventually you get to the desires floor and room – Wanda knocking on the door after setting her Ikea bag of playpen supplies on the carpeted floor.

A response is nearly immediate. “Go away!” a gruff voice calls, muffled by the thick walls.

Natasha and Wanda both roll their eyes. “Shut up and open the door!” the former replies.

There’s no verbal response, but you do hear shuffling before the door opens to reveal a figure more brick house than man. His hair is messy, sweatshirt a size too large and solid black but with jeans that fit perfectly. His boots – much thicker and blacker than yours – are dirty.

“What do you want?” he grumbles.

Natasha remains unphased by the man’s demeanor. “We have kittens. Now move out of my way so we can set all this shit up and you can pet some cute animals.”

Bucky gives her a look and rolls his eyes, but steps asides and holds the door open for the three of you nonetheless.

Twenty minutes later, Bucky found in the middle of the four-foot wide pen, bewildered. He’s done a lot of things in his life, many of which would be impossible for (nearly) anyone else to accomplish. He speaks thirty languages (plus Morse code and ten variations of sign language), he’s hunted bears with his bare hands, he’s survived Russian winters and summers in the Amazon rainforest.

Yet, somehow, the thing that stunts him beyond reproach is a small play pen filled with about forty tiny, six-week old kittens that are all their own form of chaotic. Bucky doesn’t know where to look, let alone how to grab the ones that catch his eye. He’s terrified of crushing them like bug caught under a hardcover book, of breaking their tiny ribs or tiny legs or tiny necks.

He watched you intensely when you and Natasha and Wanda pulled them out of their crates, watching how you held them and which one allowed you to give them kisses and which one chased after the strands in Natasha’s ponytail. He noticed which ones curled up in small spheres in the corners of the pen, which ones immediately bopped about, which ones immediately sought out the bottle of formula you’d prepared and which ones nibbled at the liquidy wet food that had been scooped into a neon blue bowl.

Each tiny animal was different, and it amazed him.

There was this one cat, a fluffy little white one with one ear and splotches of buttery yellow seems the boldest, eyeing Bucky as if the man was this small cat’s Everest. The floral collar (one of those break-away ones, you had told him, meant to keep the kittens from getting hurt but allowing the rescuers to identify them by name and rescue identification number) has a small nameplate – a gold one – with “Squirt” etched into the metal.

“Squirt,” Bucky repeats under his breath. “Nice to meet you, little guy.”

The cat gives him a small, pterodactyl-like scream in response, as if the small animal is too young to speak in any other tone but “loud.”

“HELLO LARGE CAT,” he imagines the cat saying. “HELLO, I AM A SMALLER CAT. DO YOU WISH TO BE CLIMBED?”

Bucky smiles at the imagined conversation, allowing the brave creature to dig its tiny claws into the leg of his jeans just above his socked feet (he took off his boots when he arrived in the room, as per your request), the start to his magnificent journey.

“I do not mind being climbed,” the man answers out loud. For once, he doesn’t take in the entire room’s emotions and reactions before he says something – he just talks, even if that freedom from paranoia is only allowing him to speak to someone (or thing) that can’t talk back.

Squirt gets to Bucky’s knee before screeching once more, just as tenacious as when he was on the floor. “THIS IS MUCH HARDER THAN I EXPECTED,” is all Squirt says.

Bucky laughs, ignoring the several other kittens who are trying to claw up Bucky’s metal arm – each unsuccessful but determined to continue to try. “I’m a lot bigger than you realized, huh?”

Squirt takes a few more wobbly steps, tail high in the air, before looking to Bucky for guidance as the tiny creature stands on his thigh. “I WOULD LIKE SOME HELP, PLEASE,” Bucky interprets from the screeches.

He laughs, not moving. Another kitten, this time an equally tiny short-haired black cat named “Foosball” attempts to follow in Squirt’s literal and metaphorical footsteps, but gives up when she gets to Bucky’s knees. This, too, makes him let out a chuckle. “Don’t worry, kid. You’re doing just fine.”

You watch Bucky’s interactions with the kittens intensely – telling yourself you just need to make sure he doesn’t hurt them accidentally. In truth, he was handling them the best you’d seen anyone outside your shelter in a long time – gentle, firm, attentive. His pseudo-conversations warm your heart, and the only thing that breaks your concentration is one of the larger kittens walking up to the barrier of the pen to scream at you from inside her prison that she was hungry. Natasha and Wanda had long left, citing some bureaucratic problem that was probably bullshit but, regardless of accuracy, left you and Bucky alone.

“What does she want?” the man asks, body still frozen as Squirt climbs his chest.

“Butterfly wants to eat,” you reply while you grab one of the syringes with formula.

“Why can’t she eat from the bowl of food?” he asks. It’s not accusatory, just curious. It’s sweet, extremely so, and makes you realize that Natasha was right – this is good for him.

“At six weeks, most kittens are weened from their mothers or,” you pick Butterfly up and hold her against you as she suckles at the plastic nozzle. “In this case, syringes. But sometimes it just takes a little longer.”

Bucky hmms, turning his attention back to the kittens before he speaks again. “Do you want to get coffee?”

You swallow, looking at him look at Squirt. “Like…with you?”

Bucky nods as he sits up, the brave kitten now on his shoulder and several others vying for his attention. “I, uh,” he swallows. “Yeah. Coffee. With me. Like a, uh, a date. With me. Where we get coffee.”

You giggle a little, both at his flustered speech and at Butterfly’s post-feeding tiredness. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Cool,” is all Bucky replies, the both of you now focused back on the kittens.

Dammit, you think. Natasha was right again.

#bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes fluff #maya tag #lukis writes stuff

[2018shawn]

Baby M

Request: Can you write about y/n waking Shawn up in the middle of the night because she’s uncomfortable due to being 8 months pregnant?

A/N: hi, I hope u all enjoy, dad!Shawn makes me feel week ahahah quite short so I'm sorry if it’s crappy!!! like/reblog/message me if you enjoyed any feedback is really appreciated 🥰

Ice cream. All you wanted was ice cream. But thanks to the continuous growing bun in your oven (or baby bump, to put it normally), you’d consumed every last little spoonful of Ben and Jerry’s and Häagen-Dazs left in your house. You were glad you checked the important matter of ice cream quantity before you’d headed to bed, otherwise you’d be attempting to waddle down to the kitchen any minute now, which would be an absolute waste and a torturous challenge in itself to get back up the stairs.

You picked up your phone, the screen automatically illuminating the room and almost blinding you as you checked the time. 2:54am. 14 minutes after you’d last checked. Sighing, you pushed yourself up in bed, letting your back fall against the plush velvet headboard. You stared down at your blossoming bump, a smile creeping on your lips as you notice and begin to feel the tiny movements happening inside of you. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you?” You sarcastically giggled, your hands stroking over the bare skin of your stomach, receiving a solid kick in return to your sarcasm. This baby already had the reactions of Shawn, who would instantly scowl at you for your sarcastic attitude in any given situation.

The pains hurt, but it had grown to become bearable. You were once told that pregnancy would be one of the happiest, greatest moments of your life – you however, thought that waking over a carpet of nails would be even greater. 8 months had passed – the first, approximately, three months being bearable, the rest were just a downward spiral from there. With constant visits to the emergency department, because Shawn wanted it for his own piece of mind just as much as you, and countless phone calls to your midwife, it left Shawn feeling absolutely useless over this period of time; even going as far as to say, ‘I wish we were seahorses, because then I’d be able to do it, and you could carry on living your best life’.

What else hurt at this moment in time, was how peacefully asleep Shawn was next to you. His wild hair a was contrast to the pleated white pillows, his light snores filling the sound of the room along with your groans and moans. More than anything, you wanted to wake him, share your pain and restlessness and you also know that Shawn would want that too. ‘Your pain is my pain’ he’d often told you, and you solemnly swore you’d always come to him with anything.

Deciding he’d had too much of a busy day to be woken at what was now 3:01am, you shuffled uncomfortably on your bum until your legs were hung over the edge of the bed, your body now upright and head floppy. “Baby M, you’ve tired me out before you’re even here”, you had to laugh again, hand still caressing your bulging bump. Baby M had become an ongoing nickname between you and Shawn, when you decided you weren’t going to find out the sex of the baby, you settled for Baby M, short for Mendes, and it stuck ever since.

You felt Shawn shift behind you, and your movements came to an immediate halt, determined not to wake him. Breathing a sigh of relief when you heard his faint snores again, you managed to stand yourself up from the bed, your ankle instantly feeling like a balloon that’s been blown up with too much air.

“Y/N?” Shawn’s voice was groggy, and you rolled your eyes at thinking you’d get away without waking him. No matter how many times you got up for a pee during the night, he’d always be awake with you. He did what he would normally do and click the bedside lamp on, knowing how clumsy you are, even before you were pregnant you’d usually send yourself flying over a slipper you’d left in the middle of the floor or the jumper you’d ripped off yourself because you over heated in bed.

“Sorry bub, I’m just going for a pee. My bladder is a trampoline, apparently” You declared, not exactly lying. You’d only been just over an hour ago, long gone were the days of you sleeping the whole night through without waking up once.

“Okay, well hurry, wnt-a-duddle” He mumbled, barely audible as he sunk his head back into the plush pillow. Luckily, you’d mastered Shawn’s sleepy lingo and just about made out “I want a cuddle”.

You did your business, with a struggle of course, before returning back to your sleepy boyfriend who was laid across the majority of the bed with open arms as a welcoming for your return. “I swear I’ve grown since I woke up like, an hour ago. I actually just had to use all my energy to push myself off the toilet” You groaned, switching the en-suite bathroom light off behind you. Shawn chuckled at your theory, throwing the covers back to leave an empty space on the bed for you to return to. “I’m seriously gonna squish you to death if I come over there and lay on you,” you raised your eyebrows, arms tucked over each other in front of your chest as you looked down at the bed.

“What a good way to go” he smiled, reaching over and tugging one of your arms from their stern position. Reluctantly and slowly, you crawled over the bed, resting as close to him as you could. Your head lowered down to rest on his chest, his arm wrapped firmly around you with his fingers drawing patterns on the bare skin of your shoulder.

A sudden shooting pain through your stomach caused you to flinch, groaning automatically for when felt like the 1035th time. “Remind me why I let you trick me into sleeping with you that night after the Grammy’s?” Shawn became immediately concerned at your uncomfort, attacking you with a million and one questions about the type of pains you were having and how long they’d been happening, because he’d been reading up about things like this as the due date got inevitably closer. It took a good 10 minutes for him to finally settle back down, with you reassuring him it was just because you fell asleep in a funny position and now baby was apparently awake, meaning he or she was attending a gymnastics lesson in your womb.

“And because I looked incredibly sexy and you kept telling me all night you couldn’t wait to get me home… hardly think it was a trick darling.” He smiled, answering your previous question before kissing your temple as his other hand came up to your bump, rubbing gently across the surface. “Is there anything I can do?” He began wriggling, doing some sort of weird manoeuvre to shuffle down the bed so his head became level with your stomach. You rearranged your positioning, so he was in between your legs, and not for the reason you’d normally think, arms propped up over your thighs. “Baby M, you need to stop bugging your mama” He tapped your belly delicately with his pointer finger, as if he was knocking on the door to your womb.

“Yeah, sure, that’s gonna work” You rolled your eyes, still however grateful for the gesture. “And in terms of anything you can do… can you produce ice cream from that incredible talented body of yours?”

He laughed, shaking his head and you stuck your bottom lip out. “I know it’s been a long…” looking at his watch for the reference of time, “8 hours since you last ate any, but I’d also like our baby to live of something other than dairy when he arrives.”

“Well, Einstein, when she arrives, she’s gonna be living off milk so that statement doesn’t really stand” You looked down at him as he peppered kisses across your stomach, fingers stroking the skin of your hips.

He rolled his eyes as he crawled up from his position, backing up until his legs fell off the foot of the bed and he could stand up straight. You watched as he slumped off to the bathroom, taking a little longer than what he normally would if he was going for a pee. He shortly returned, heading for the wardrobe where he pulled out a pair of sweats and his baggiest jumper. “What the hell are you doing?” You questioned, eyes furrowing at your apparently very awake boyfriend. Instead of an instant reply, he sauntered back over to your, leaning down and pressing a loving kiss to your lips, the taste of fresh toothpaste making your tongue tingle.

“Going to get you ice cream.”

#Shawn mendes #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn mendes blurb #Shawn mendes imagine #dad!shawn #dad!shawnmendes #Shawn x reader #Shawn mendes fluff