#ignore just tidying my navigation

[bambolinawrites]

BNHA

Katsuki

Izuku

Dabi

Kirishima

#bnha masterlist #ignore just tidying my navigation

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Two.

Chapter One. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Pairing - Dad's Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky try to navigate what it means to be soulmates - and how difficult it is to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings - smut. cursing.

Word Count - 4k

Author's Note - part two!! thank you SO much for all of the love on part one - it has made me immensely happy. you're all the sweetest and i'm so grateful. i'm going on vacation in a few days, so i'm taking a hiatus for a few weeks as i won't have cell service. so, consider this my parting gift to you <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3 please, send me your thoughts, predictions, desires!! I will get excited with you!!

Masterlist. Inbox.

Sunlight streams through the billowing white curtains, rousing you slowly. The gentle breeze cools the room, salt sticking to the air. Warmth is seeping into the glass of the windows, encouraging you to kick your sheets to the foot of your bed, limbs stretching and rolling.

You wake, and for a moment, you feel perfectly at peace. You feel light, tranquil, relaxed. You flex your neck from side to side, yawning as you do it. You notice that the sun is already up, beaming into your bedroom. It's going to be a very warm day, you think. I better pack sunblock.

You glance to where your bag is thrown haphazardly on the floor, contents spilling everywhere. It's unlike you, to not put something away properly. You take pride in being a tidy person. You must have been exhausted when you got home last night.

That's when it hits you.

Bucky.

The events of yesterday coming crashing down around you like a tidal wave. Hearts racing, hands interlacing, lips melding. Bodies tangling, breaths matching, knees buckling. Two souls, tied together forever.

Your Tethering.

To Bucky. Your Dad's best friend Bucky.

His absence is suddenly all you can think about. He's not here, and you feel like half of your heart is missing. You ache. There's a discomfort that you know can only be cured by the presence of your soulmate.

You're deep in thought when your phone rings, startling you. It's Bucky.

"Mornin' sugar," he drawls. The low tone of his voice is like molten honey, gorgeous and golden.

"Good morning, Buck."

You hear him exhale at the sound of your voice.

"I know we said we'd meet at ten, but can we make it earlier?" he asks. Then, quieter, "Feel like I can't breathe without you."

He murmurs the last part, as if it's a secret. Something sacred.

"Of course, Buck. I can be ready by nine?"

"Thanks, sweet girl. I'll pick you up?"

"Perfect. See you then."

"See you then."

It's almost painful to hang up the phone. It's like there's a gravitational force in The Universe, willing you against it. You ignore it defiantly and press the red button, swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

There's something in your gut telling you that this might just be the first day of the rest of your life. You certainly can't go back to the way things were. You're not sure if you want to.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Bucky arrives at 8:45.

You're in the bathroom with the door closed, so you don't hear him pull up. You feel it. Like a magnetism, alerting you to his whereabouts. You breathe a little easier immediately, knowing he's outside.

You grab your bag and the picnic and pull on your shoes, eager to see him. You feel like a teenager again, giddy with anticipation. Apart from, this isn't your average first date. No, this is your last first date ever. This is a first date with the man you're bound to spend the rest of your life with. No pressure, you tell yourself. One step at a time.

Your heart kicks up in double time, thundering against your ribcage. You inhale deeply, cracking your knuckles. You can do this. It's just Bucky.

You bound down your stairs, practically running to his truck. Bucky's leaning against the passenger door, the wind ruffling his hair, sunlight reflecting off his steely blue eyes. He's wearing shorts and a white button up, which is blowing gently in the breeze. His sleeves are pushed up his forearms, exposing his gorgeous tanned skin. He has several shirt buttons undone, accentuating his broad chest, sunglasses tucked into the breast pocket. He looks so handsome. So classically elegant. Like he belongs in an old movie - a perfect leading man.

He eyes you carefully, gauging your reaction. You can tell he doesn't want to overstep, worried about pushing you too far too fast. You walk over and run your fingers across his exposed chest gently, tracing a path up his neck until you're caressing his cheek. His stubble tickles your fingertips, causing a smile to curl at the corners of your mouth. You finally meet his gaze, and all your stress is forgotten. You feel peaceful again.

"Hi," you whisper.

"Hi, pretty girl," he murmurs back, hands finding your waist. "You alright?"

"I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," he grins. "So, how do you feel about a day of sailing? You, me, and the ocean, baby."

"I think that sounds perfect."

He opens the car door for you, helping you up and into the passenger seat. He climbs in, clicking on his seat belt and starting the engine. Before he pulls away, he turns and looks at you, holding your stare for a moment. Bucky reaches for you, lacing your fingers together, resting your intertwined hands on your thigh. He begins to drive away, taking you towards the ocean. Towards your future.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You know nothing about sailing.

Luckily, you don't need to. Bucky's quite content to keep you sitting pretty on the top deck while he does all of the work, pulling and tying and knotting. The crisp white sails billow in the wind, the ocean waves providing a steady, constant soundtrack. Birds fly overhead, sunshine beaming down, the wood underneath you warm and smooth. It's paradise.

You're soaking up the sun rays when you hear a click. You sit up to see Bucky holding his film camera, pointed right at you.

"Creep," you tease.

"Just want to have something to look back on. Our first day as soulmates. It's an occasion, you know," he grins.

He moves across the boat to sit next to you, thigh pressed up against yours. He's so close you can taste the spearmint on his breath. You tangle a hand in his hair, caressing the back of his head.

"I brought you a few new things to try," you tell him. "Some recipes I'm testing. I want your honest opinion. No sugar coating. Promise?"

"I promise," he winks, holding up a scouts honour. "I wouldn't lie to you, honey."

You reach over and grab your picnic basket, unwrapping various beeswax packages and laying them out in front of you.

"Okay - we have white chocolate and pistachio muffins, raspberry and lemon macarons, earl grey and lavender cookies and carrot and cinnamon cake."

You glance over at Bucky, expecting him to be deciding what to try first. Instead, you find him watching you carefully, gentle smile etched across his face.

"What?" you laugh.

"Nothing," he beams. "I just... I love it when you start talking about food. You're passionate. You light up."

"Don't make it weird," you joke, slightly taken aback by his honesty. He did promise not to sugar coat.

He reaches for a macaron, eager to try one after you mentioned them yesterday. He pops one in his mouth, and lets out a groan that can only be described as pornographic.

"Fuck," he moans. "This might be the best thing I've ever eaten."

"You promised you wouldn't lie," you laugh.

"I'm not," he chuckles, placing his hand over his heart. "I swear to you. These things should be used as medicine. They'd cure anything."

"Shut up," you tease bashfully, bumping your shoulder into his.

He tries the other sweets one by one, complimenting you immensely. He's so specific in the way he commends your baking. He comments on certain flavours, and textures, and the way everything melts on his tongue. He really takes the time to think about what he says. It's so intimate.

"You're gonna do this for a living, right?" he asks, turning to face you.

"I hope so," you confess. "It's all I want to do. Going to culinary school was a huge risk, but I did it. It was difficult, but they were also the best four years of my life. I just learned so much. I want to put it all into practice."

"I think you should. It'd be such a waste if you didn't. You're so talented, sugar."

"Thanks, Buck," you grin. "I just don't know where to start."

He thinks for a moment.

"If you could do anything, anything in the world - what would you do?"

He's looking at you so intensely, you almost want to shy away. His steel blue eyes are boring into you, reading your mind, figuring out your soul.

"I'd... I'd open a bakery of my own. I want a lot that overlooks the ocean. With big windows."

Bucky smiles gently, adoration written across his face.

"I'd be your most loyal customer," he vows. "Oh, I have a better idea - I'll be your quality control. I'll taste test everything before you sell it. You know, just in case."

"Just in case," you laugh. "Right."

"It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it," he winks.

The sound of your laughter is like dopamine to Bucky. It fires off neurons in his brain, receptors buzzing and alight. He almost feels drunk off the sound, floating above ground.

You relax into him, laying down and resting your head in his lap. He's warm, and soft, and so comfortable. You could lie here forever.

He runs his fingers through your hair gently, playing with the strands. The repetitive rocking of the boat lulls you into an easy sleep, the sunlight wrapping around you, taking the place of a blanket. Bucky watches you drift off, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A particularly strong gust of wind wakes you, rousing you from sleep. Your fingers are interlinked with Bucky's, head still resting on his strong thighs.

"How long was I out?" you ask, looking up at him.

"Like, twenty minutes? You looked peaceful, thought I'd let you rest."

"Sorry, Buck," you chuckle.

"Hey, don't apologise. I'll take it as a compliment. You know, they say you only sleep around the people you feel safe with."

"They say a lot of fuckin' things," you laugh, repeating his words from yesterday.

"I do, though," you say after a moment. "Feel safe with you. It's not just the soulmate thing. I always have."

Bucky leans down to press his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. He pulls away and kisses the spot where you were just connected.

"We should talk about us," you murmur, sitting up to face him.

"Uh oh. Are you breaking up with me?" Bucky jokes, nudging your knee with his.

"Yeah, right," you scoff. "As if you'd be so lucky. You're stuck with me, I'm afraid."

"I'll survive," he winks. "But we should. Talk about us."

You look at each other for a moment, carefully. You notice that the ocean is reflecting in Bucky's eyes, waves gleaming and blue.

"I don't know where to start," you whisper.

"Maybe start at the beginning," he suggests, reaching out to rest his palm on your thigh, fingertips rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

"I... I think - I think we should do exactly that. Start at the beginning."

He nods at you reassuringly, urging you to continue.

"I want to start slow. Really slow. I know we already know each other, but this... this is different. We don't know each other like this."

"Like soulmates," he agrees. "It's a whole other level. A league of its own."

"Exactly. I know we're Tethered, but, I think we should treat this like a normal relationship. We should date, and just... take this step by step."

"One step at a time," he confirms. "Prepare yourself, honey. I'm about to date the hell outta you."

"Someone save me," you laugh, throwing your head back. "All those poor girls that have come before me - they had to put up with this?"

He laughs with you, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"Trust me, sugar, you're different."

Bucky leans forward and slots his lips to yours, hands going to your waist to pull you closer.

Kissing your soulmate is unlike any other feeling. It's complete serenity. Two bodies, designed by The Universe to fit together perfectly.

Your fingers thread through Bucky's hair as you move to sit in his lap, straddling him. You grind your hips forward, illiciting a groan from the both of you.

Bucky slips his tongue into your mouth, tasting the sugar there. He can't get enough. You're so sweet and soft underneath his hands, underneath his tongue. He wants more.

He tips you backwards, so you're lying flat on the deck. Bucky moves to kneel in between your legs, prying them open gently. He kisses his way from your ankle to your knee, occasionally nipping at your flesh. He likes the idea of there being a mark on you that he left. He feels more protective of you than he ever has of anyone. The feeling vibrates through his bones, fires up his nerve endings. He needs to feel every inch of your skin as soon as possible, or he's convinced he'll burst into flames.

He smooths his hands up your thighs, fingers catching in the waistband of your shorts. He shimmies them down your legs, and inhales sharply at the sight before him. You're laid out on the deck of his boat like a goddess, the white shirt adorning your body matching the white lace underwear underneath. The sun rays are beating down, illuminating you, making you glow from the inside out. Bucky can't breathe, looking at you. He feels like all of the oxygen has been stolen from his lungs, replaced with pure desire.

You're breathless, panting, chest heaving. You're shaking with anticipation, willing him to do something. Anything.

"Bucky," you whine. "Please."

He's never heard a prettier sound. It's like angel song, the way you say his name.

"Patience, sweets. I thought we were taking it slow."

"Asshole," you laugh, poking him in the chest with your toe. "You're a hypocrite."

"Am I?" he smirks, running his fingertips across the inside of your thighs.

"Yes. You can't kiss me like that and then tell me to have patience."

"My apologies, ma'am."

He leans over and kisses you again, biting your bottom lip as he pulls away. Bucky slips your underwear down your legs and tucks them into the pocket of his shorts, ignoring your scoff as you watch him do it.

"Come here, pretty baby," he murmurs, tugging at your hips to pull you closer to him.

He nudges your core with his nose, inhaling deeply. It's filthy, the action, but it makes you ache with want. He licks into the crease of your thigh next, tasting the salt on your skin. Your hand flies to his hair, tugging the chocolate strands. You whine again, and Bucky commits the sound to memory.

He surprises you by sucking your clit gently, causing your hips to buck up towards his mouth. He splays one hand across your stomach, holding you down. He uses his other hand to insert a finger into you, groaning at your warmth. He crooks it up, and you keen.

"I know, baby, I know," he coos, adding a second finger.

You're not sure if it's because of the glaring sunlight or because of Bucky, but there's a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin, dripping down your temple. You're burning from the inside out, white hot heat running through your veins.

He thrusts both fingers in and out of you steadily, curling them on the up stroke. You throw your head back, hips wriggling and writhing.

"Where you going, pretty girl?" he drawls. "Come here - that's it."

He pulls you back to him, fingers never stopping. He looks up at you, and notices that you've thrown a hand over your face, shielding yourself.

"Don't go shy on me now," he practically purrs, smiling when you move your arm away. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Fuck," you moan, suddenly glad you're in the middle of the ocean. The sounds you're letting out are filthy.

"I know, pretty baby. I know."

His fingers push you closer and closer to the edge, speeding up slightly. You're whining, keening, hips bucking up into him. You can't stay still. You feel like you're on fire, red hot electricity running through you. It's never been like this with anyone before. It never will be again.

"You're close, honey, I can feel it. You're almost there," he drawls. "Atta girl. Come on, baby. You got it. Good girl."

His low, honeyed words throw you into your climax, back arching off the sun warmed wood. Bucky talks you through it, encouraging and praising you in hushed murmurs. You see stars, bright white patterns flashing behind your eyelids. The world goes quiet for a moment, and all you feel is peace.

Bucky brings you back to reality by rubbing soothing circles into the bare skin of your thigh, still muttering softly. He lets you catch your breath before leaning over and kissing you gently.

"You okay, sugar?"

You smile at him in a daze, still floating on air.

"I'm good, Buck. Very good, actually."

He laughs at your response, moving your hair away from your face. You sit up to look at him, admiring him carefully.

"You're so pretty," you whisper. "I mean, I've always known it. But now, it's so... blinding. You're the most beautiful person in the world."

He's not sure how to process your words. He's never felt so loved, so safe, so appreciated before. It's overwhelming. He doesn't know what to say - so instead, he kisses you hard.

"You're the sweetest girl in the world, you know that right?" he whispers against your lips.

He moves to sit behind you, so your back is resting against his chest. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He smells like warmth, and salt, and home.

"I don't think we should tell my parents," you say lowly, afraid to ruin the moment. "Not yet, anyway."

"I agree," he reassures. "I think we should figure this out first. Figure us out."

You lean up and peck his lips gently, pulling away to trace your fingertips over the contours of his face.

"It's gonna take a while to figure this out, isn't it?"

"That's the thing, sweet girl. We have all the time in the world."

You relax back into his arms, letting his steady heartbeat lull you into complete tranquility.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You spend all day on the boat with Bucky, soaking up the sun. Your shirts are billowing in the wind, hair blowing in every direction. The ocean rocks you both in routine motion, gentle and calming.

He teaches you the basics of sailing, sitting knee to knee with you while you repeatedly tie knots into pieces of rope. He stands behind you comfortingly as you pull and tug at the rigging, supporting you only when you ask for help.

The two of you sit tangled together on the deck, enjoying your picnic. You take a moment to rub sunblock into Bucky's shoulders, ignoring the heat that rises in your chest when he groans in delight. He's irresistible. This is more than just lust. This is a magnetism, an almost animalistic connection. It's quite literally written in the stars.

The both of you are clearly reluctant to go home. You sit in Bucky's truck outside your apartment for hours, talking about nothing and everything. You don't invite him upstairs. You know that if you do, you'll jump his bones instantly. You've both agreed to take this slow. You have to start being strict with yourselves, or you'll just keep ending up in bed.

Eventually, your stomach rumbles, making Bucky chuckle.

"You should go. Eat something."

"I know. I just... I like being with you."

He leans over the centre console to press a kiss to your lips, revelling in the way you taste like the ocean breeze.

"There's no one else in the world I'd rather be with," he murmurs against your mouth.

You pull away and take a deep breath, preparing to leave Bucky for tonight.

"Thank you, for today. It's been perfect."

"Perfect day for a perfect girl," he winks, making you both laugh.

"One step at a time."

"All the time in the world," he echoes.

"Goodnight, Buck," you whisper, moving in closer to press your forehead to his.

"Goodnight, honey girl," he whispers back, pecking your lips quickly.

He jumps out of the drivers side to help you down from the truck, holding your hand carefully. You smile at the déjà vu. He does too.

You look back at him once more before closing your front door. He's already looking at you, his eyes never once leaving your frame, smile never leaving his face.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're curled up on the couch when your phone rings, startling you from your peace. You look at the caller ID in confusion.

"Stella? Hey - you okay?"

"Hey, you. Long time no see, huh?"

"It's been a while," you laugh. "I didn't expect a call from you."

"I'm sorry we haven't talked in so long. I've been super busy - I'm opening my own café! It has a bookshop inside it too - oh it's gorgeous, you wouldn't even believe it."

"That sounds amazing, Stella. I'm so happy for you, wow."

"I'm actually calling because I have something to ask you."

"Ask away, Stell."

"I have a sort of... proposition for you. An offer, if you will."

"You're really building the anticipation here," you chuckle.

"Sorry, sorry! So, I'm gonna need a Head Baker. I can't do it, because I'll be manager, and I'm the owner which is a tough job in itself. Opening a café is fucking difficult, you know!" she laughs, before continuing. "You'd have complete creative control - you'd design your own bakes, everything would be completely down to you. There's quite literally only one person in this world that I'd want to do this job, and it's you."

You almost can't believe what she's telling you. It sounds perfect. It sounds like a dream.

"Stella - are you sure? This is a huge deal. You want me?"

"I only want you. I can't picture working alongside anyone else. We made such a good team in culinary school, and we always said we'd find each other in the future."

"I... I don't even know what to say."

"Say yes!" she encourages, giggling down the phone.

"Yes!" you echo, giddy with joy. "God, Stella, yes!"

You're smiling from ear to ear, unable to wipe the grin off your face. Your dream job has been presented to you on a silver platter. You'd be stupid not to take it.

"I mean - when do I start? What should I wear? Do you want a set menu, or can I change it up all the time? Vegan options? Gluten free?"

"I can send you all of the boring stuff in an email - contracts, salary information, all that shit. You can quite literally do whatever the fuck you want, girl. I trust you completely. I trust your culinary skills even more."

"Oh my god, I'm so excited. Thank you, Stella. Seriously. This is just amazing."

"I can't wait to have you here with me again!"

You process for a moment, trying to make sense of what she just said.

"Wait... what? Where?"

"In California. The café is here, in California!"

You can't hear her next words due to the ringing in your ears. Your chest tightens, your hands ball into fists, your breathing becomes ragged.

There's a million thoughts racing through your mind, and you can't quite get a firm grasp on any of them.

Bucky would never leave this place. This is his home. I can't ask him to abandon his life here - I wouldn't want to. We've been soulmates for two days. What about his job? His friends? Would I leave everything behind and move across the country for him? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I can't have my cake and eat it too. He'd give everything up for me in a heartbeat - I can't let him. It's not fair.

You're suddenly intensely aware - you have to make a choice.

Bucky or your dreams.

Tag List -

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

tag list continued here <3

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader smut #dadsbestfriend!bucky x reader #dadsbestfriend!bucky #dadsbestfriend!bucky barnes #sebastian stan #dbf!bucky barnes x reader #Honey Girl #soulmate!bucky barnes #dbf!bucky barnes #dad's best friend bucky barnes #soulmate au #soulmate!au #soulmate!bucky barnes x reader #dbf!bucky #bucky fluff

[dateamonster]

working on refining my idea of how demons and angels present in Other School lore feel free to ignore

demons originated as a pretty garden variety subsect of trickster spirit who fed off human misery. as both human and demon populations began to grow, it became harder to rattle humans with just a little mischief and destruction, while at the same time the increased number of demons were becoming more and more aggressively competitive and territorial. at some point they would start taking a page out of the faeries book and simply abduct humans back to the infernal realm to torment and feed off them indefinitely. mortal existence already being such a fragile thing, angels were dispatched from the celestial realm to curb demon activity.

the ensuing war was the inciting incident for pretty much all future angel/demon hostility. the demons were at a categorical disadvantage, but still managed to do some real damage to the angels numbers after one of their highest ranking angels defected and took a big chunk of his men with him. this was the first instance of fallen angels and really shook up a lot of angel society.

eventually treaty lines were drawn and angels and demons were bound to a pact that prevented them from directly harming one another. demons freedom of movement in the mortal realm was also pretty strongly limited, but as compromise they were still allowed claim over humans that went to them willingly, those who forfeited their souls to feed their own greed or lust for power, and only after death, since as long as they were alive there was still a chance for redemption. likewise, angels could not interfere with a humans fate if that was the path they chose.

this worked out well enough for the demons for a while. while they couldnt force a mark into selling their soul they quickly learned there were plenty of little ways to stack the odds in their favor not strictly forbidden by the terms of the treaty, and a number of them returned to the old ways of killing crops and causing poor sleep and little miseries like that to tide them over until some bigger target beefed it and ended up fair game for them to torment eternally.

but demons were still a competitive and greedy bunch by nature, and the cleverer of them continued searching for new ways to navigate around the rules and get higher numbers of souls in their possession. eventually someone realized that once they owned a human soul, they didnt strictly speaking have to just torture them, they could make them do other stuff, including acting as a middle man. so they began drafting up a deal for the humans they lured, a contract you might say, which offered them freedom from the agonies inflicted on them in exchange for meeting a certain quota of souls claimed and evil done. they even sweetened the deal by allowing them to extend this offer to any humans they corrupted themself, creating a tidy chain of command. demons claiming human souls, turning them into demons, and sending them out to repeat the process, feeding infinitly off the flow of ambient misery this naturally produced. hells first pyramid scheme baby!!

over the course of centuries demonic society shifted from a chaotic free-for-all of violent internal and external power struggles to a grand, horrible, corporate machine, whose influence would eventually seep out and form the basis for a lot of the worst structures in the mortal realm as well.

demons are still demons however so even within this more ordered system there's still plenty of double crossing, spying, demons serving two rival masters without their knowing, demons killing their higher ups and taking their place, things like that. the level of self destruction innate to this kind of environment keeps all powers in check and prevents humankind from being fully subsumed into hell to a point where the angels would need to break the fragile peace theyve maintained for eons and intervene again. but still they are keeping an eye on them..

its allllll good lol

#demons #angels #ungodly screeching #worldbuilding

[mareenavee]

From thr Asks to Spread Love game, choose 3 that you havent already been asked 🙂

Hi BRI :D Thank you for two of these open ended ones! I will most certainly oblige.

Fandom Positivity asks from this game here.

2. Tell us why you love one of your OCs or an obscure canon character (link to any fics/art you have featuring them!) 

I'm just going to go on and on about

⚔️Athis ⚔️

if you'll let me.

He's not really -obscure- per se but he is relatively ignored so let me just give him some love!

So I appear to be writing the majority of Athis things at the moment. Obviously my main fic features him as a POV character. I also have a couple that I'm quite proud of actually AH.

First is Sea of Storms from a duel. A Pirate AU.

Next is Little Dragon which part of the polycule AU with Tel/Nyenna/Athis actually being happy.

Love and its Decisive Pain is an extra chapter more or less for World, featuring Athis musing and worrying over Nyenna.

Next isn't one of mine but is by @archangelsunited! Originally a tumblr post but is now on AO3. Reader/Athis!

Next one is more pirates! by @paraparadigm. Athis is a Navigator <3 So smart, so handsome, so brave. Ah.

More from @archangelsunited -- this one is a bit on the tragic side but the voicing is phenomenal.

This one is also a bit on the tragic side, by TheBrandenRose.

And artwork?

AH this piece was fanart of To Hold On to You by @changelingsandothernonsense

And this post contains, like, perhaps the most handsome Athis fanart I've ever seen by @thana-topsy.

3. One of the best takes you’ve ever seen

The-Dragonborn-Is-Dead trope but done in the phenomenal way that BetterBeMeta wrote in Foe-Tongue: A Historical Fiction.

Here's a piece of the writing that I love. It doesn't mean anything out of context but OH MY GOD DOES IT ACTUALLY MEAN EVERYING.

“Valamand,” [Wyrenna] whispered, “do you have a comb?” He said, “Yes, of course,” and gave it to her. She used it to tidy up where she still was bed-frazzled, tied her hair neatly as she walked up the stairs.

I fucking love this fic. It's my favorite in any fandom, ever in existence. @paraparadigm rec'd it to me earlier on. (: I wanna write like them when I grow up.

13. Recommend a fic (can be your own!) that features something you wish was written about more.

Okay so in this case I am just over the moon about all of the overarching pulling of lore into a fanfic that KB has achieved in such a phenomenal way. I'm talking about @kookaburra1701's fic Aristeia and ALL THE ORC CULTURE. ALL OF IT. I'm HERE FOR IT. More Orcs please, OCs, NPCs, NPCs-Become-OCs. HELL. Yes.

Here's a quote I love particularly from chapter 1 regarding some cultural things that I've been -really fast eyes- over:

“Olur tells me you bloodied your sword today.” Bagrak’s voice was even, as if she was remarking on the weather. Borgakh paused in spooning stew into the bowl before straightening up and presenting it to her mother. Bagrak did not take it. “I bloodied it for Mor Khazgur, mother,” Borgakh said, throwing her shoulders back and looking Bagrak in the eyes. “One of the Reachwomen and a briarheart tried to steal the deer I shot. Olur and I extracted our Blood Price.” “I am not sure one deer is important enough to be covered by the Code,” said Bagrak. “When their clan discovers them killed with orc weapons it will cause more trouble than one deer is worth. Now you will have another enemy to watch for when you are outside the walls.” Borgakh clenched her jaw in frustration, but kept her tone respectful. “They would have never been happy with one deer, and then they would have known Mor Khazgur was weak. What if they had wanted Kharag too? Is a good horse not covered by the Code?”

More. Orcs. Please and thank you. (:

#AskMareena #positivity asks #skyrim #skyrim fic #Aristeia #Athis #borgakh #borgakh the steel heart #tes #tesblr #fanficblr

[believemetheodore]

Picture Perfect Pt. 2

Images from this shoot Fic Navigation Page

Rebecca sees Ted twice more in the following weeks.

 Once for coffee and to review some of the shots, she's always liked having a preview when the photographer and the brand or magazine allow it. 

The images are striking in a way she hadn’t imagined they would be, and she finds herself enamoured with how Ted has managed to capture her in a way that is both bright and bubbly, but also undeniably badass.

 Rupert had loved to remind her how cold he believed her to be, and she’d agreed with him then. Learning to see only the worst parts of herself. Now, more than ever, it’s clear to see that her strength is not synonymous with indifference, or an icy heart. She is multifaceted, and she doesn’t need to apologize for that, and she certainly doesn’t need to change to fit anyone’s narrative, either. 

Trust, honesty, and love are important to her. And, while Rebecca has been denied those basic comforts, she has deprived herself of them as well. Like some kind of pseudo-self punishment, the continuation of a cycle someone else started. But, it's time to break the habit. She deserves to be able to surround herself with people who share those values, and who appreciate her in her entirety, not just the bits and pieces they choose. Happiness, she’s learning, shouldn’t require you to sacrifice yourself. She thinks she might be on the right track. 

The second time she sees Ted is at a cocktail party and fundraising event for the local children's hospital.

“Ted! I had no idea you were coming tonight”. “It’s for a good cause. And, truth be told, I’ll take anything as an excuse to get dressed up,” Ted smiles. His eyes, soft and playful. 

In daily life, Ted always showed up well-groomed, his khakis and button-ups ironed, and his little sweaters always tidy and well-fitting. 

She shouldn’t be surprised that he knows how to wear a suit well. The fit is perfect, and his burgundy tie is the perfect contrast to his navy blue suit. She looks down to confirm that his usual Nikes have been swapped out for polished brown leather dress shoes. His hair is perfectly styled, and she shoves down a sudden flood of disappointment when she realizes that the stubborn strand at the front hasn’t had a chance to fall loose yet. His mustache has been freshly trimmed, and she tries to remember if she’s ever found facial hair attractive before. She chooses to ignore the way her mind lingers on the word attracted. 

“Well, you clean up nicely, Mr Lasso”. “I appreciate you sayin’ that. That’s a lovely dress you’ve got on there; you’re wearing the heck out of it, hope you don’t mind me saying”. 

She doesn’t mind him saying. The only other comment on her gown she’s gotten was from a distant acquaintance in an attempt to change the subject after asking too many questions about her divorce. 

She’d spent hours in her closet trying to pick the perfect dress. The shimmering, black fabric and the asymmetrical design caught her eye immediately, reminding her of a dress just like it in Vogue years ago. It was still the last dress she had tried on, too, worried that she might be unable to pull it off.

She blushes at Ted’s compliment, genuinely flattered, “Oh--thank you, Ted”. He nods. “How did you find out about the event, Ted? Sorry-- I don’t mean to be blunt, but I didn’t think you had many connections in London yet”. “Not many, but a few great ones. My pal Roy Kent, his sister, works at the hospital. And his girlfriend is running this shindig--”. “Yes, my friend Keeley,” Rebecca twinkles. “You know, I cannot believe I hadn’t put that together until just now,” he laughs. “So, you know Roy-- Speak of the devil”. Roy grunts his acknowledgement with a hello in the form of a head nod. 

“Roy,” Rebecca greets, “Keeley said you weren’t going to make it”. “Schedule got shuffled,” he shrugs, pulling her into a friendly hug with a kiss on her cheek.

She's known Roy for years, he started out as a personal assistant in the industry, and she'd gotten to know him at shoots, events,  and meetings over the years. And by the time she was engaged to Rupert, Roy was heading projects on his own as a creative director. She’s always admired Roy, he’s never been afraid to confront problems head-on, and his eye for detail is impeccable. He grew up in a really rough and tumble neighbourhood; he learned how to be tough fast. He’s tough and occasionally harsh, but he’s always fair. 

Despite his hard exterior, and stern frown, Rebecca knows that Roy is a big softie at heart. He cares, and it shows in his work and his dedication to his craft. Still, she has to have a bit of a laugh imagining what any form of an extended conversation between Ted and Roy would be like. Ted’s loquacious nature, and gentle humour. Roy’s sarcasm, punctuated by his huffs and grunts. Quite the pair. 

“I’ve been meaning to get in contact, actually, Rebecca. I have a project coming up soon,” Roy says, “It’s still a little hush-hush at the moment, so I can’t tell you much about it. But, it’s a solid piece. I was planning on putting you up for the feature article”. “That’s a huge deal, Roy,” Rebecca nearly chokes on her champagne. “This is what I do for a living. I see hundreds of proposals and design briefs. I veto garments and locations.  I have a vision of what the end product is going to be,” he sighs but continues, “Stop worrying about what you should or shouldn’t do. Worry about what you want to do. I’ll get Keeley to give you the full project brief when it’s finalized”.

All three of them are quiet for a moment before Ted offers,

“I know it ain’t really my business, but I just gotta say I know that whatever the project is, it’s going to be amazing. Rebecca Welton and Roy Kent? Well, great, plus great, equals great. The math is all there”.

“Maths,” Roy corrects. “Plural? Really? Who would ever want more math?” Roy shrugs, and Rebecca snorts out a laugh.

Roy, true to his word, has the relevant documents arriving in her inbox shortly after 9 am the following morning. A new collaboration with an art collective magazine, Richmond, looking to create a feature that would highlight, and celebrate women in the modelling world. The team had agreed with Roy; they want Rebecca to be their big feature. A four-page spread, including an interview, and creative photography segment. 

The opportunity is unique and definitely promising. After re-reading the email several times, Rebecca forwards it to Keeley, asking her to review it, and negotiate the specifics with the magazine. 

Life moves quickly when you're as busy as Rebecca Welton. From sun up to sun down, she has something to do, meeting with shareholders, spread approvals, networking, paperwork, meetings with decorators and chefs, luncheons, meetings with brand executives, meetings with publishers; all of that for work alone. She's also managing her personal brand, and she owes Keeley her life for keeping everything in order for her.

 Her glass of white wine is the highlight of her day, a moment of calm in the privacy of her own home. 

But, tonight, she can't seem to relax. Tomorrow’s big photoshoot is weighing heavy on her mind. The interview portion had been completed last week. She'd blown through it. She can talk about herself and her aspirations no problem in a professional setting. She's done plenty of press in her role as publication owner, and answering questions for many reporters since her divorce from Rupert. She'd never worried about interviewing for the article. She is, however, worried about the photoshoot. 

Of course, she's done hundreds of shoots before. But all of those photographs, all of those garments, and poses, it was all to sell something. She was convincing people to purchase clothing, shoes, and cosmetics. Tomorrow there will be nothing to sell, her only instruction from Roy was “be yourself, Rebecca”. As if that could possibly help her. 

Modelling has always been an escape from her real life. A moment in time where she gets to be a different person, a caricature of herself. For a few hours, she gets to play a part, she disappears, and all that's left is a life she's selling. 

Now, she's expected to be herself, to make an audience like her, not just her face, or her body. She’s not sure how to do that. She's not sure she can. 

Her phone chimes while she's pouring a second glass of Chardonnay. It's Ted Lasso. 

Evening, I just wanted to say good luck tomorrow. 🤩

If someone had told her three months ago, that she'd be tearing up at a text message from an idiosyncratic, mustached American, she would've laughed. 

He works his way into her heart without even trying. Every terrible pun and anecdote has her mildly in awe of him (though she'll never admit it). He's honest, and relentlessly nice, potentially to a fault. Without her notice, Ted has managed to scale many of the walls she's built up around herself. She's happy to consider him a friend now. 

But damn him for making her cry over a message featuring an emoji.  

Thank you, Ted. 

She hesitates before adding: 

Burning the midnight oil? 

His response follows: 

Personal project. I hope I didn't wake you up. 

Not sure I'm going to be able to sleep at all tonight. (What's the project?)

Nervous? (It's a series of black and white portraits, run-of-the-mill hobby work)

Not nervous. 

What if they don't like me, Ted? 

You can file that under stinkin’ thinkin’. It's alright to be anxious. Heck it's to be expected. But you've gotta ask yourself why you're really so jumbled up about it. I can't tell you how you feel, but I don't think you know how easy you are to like.

Oh. She can feel her stomach flip, still blinking back tears. She refuses to start sobbing tonight. He's right. She has no idea how easy she is to like; in fact, she actively questions how she's managed to wrangle wonderful people like Keeley and Roy, and Ted into being her friends and confidants. She wonders every day what she's said to get them to stay when she's been left behind before. Being herself leaves her bare, and vulnerable. She's afraid of having nothing to hide behind. Being herself means being exposed, like a kitten showing its belly. 

Opening herself up for attack, but trusting she won't get hurt. 

She lets her guard down, practising for tomorrow, and life beyond, when she says: 

I want to give you the biggest hug right now. 

Ted answers quickly.

IOU. Go ahead and consider this a coupon to redeem the next time I see you 💙 

Sleep well Rebecca.

Rebecca doesn't sleep at all. 

Her mind circles back to Ted’s promise. She thinks about the last time they'd hugged, the smell of his cologne, his arms strong, safe, and inviting. Without trying, Ted continues to assert himself as a resting place in her life, a beacon of east comfort. She wonders what role she plays in his life, trying to imagine when he'll decide she isn't worth the trouble. 

And as her mind, and her heart race, all she can do is hope that she sees him again soon. 

She's never been more grateful for professional makeup artists before in her life. Expertly concealing her exhaustion. 

The space they’re shooting in is stunning, with neutral tones, and large windows. The natural light filtering into the room is warm and instantly puts her at ease. She’s used to shooting in studios, with backdrops and powerful artificial lighting. 

There are diffusers, and light boxes scattered around the space now as well, but something about this shoot feels softer. More intimate. More personal. 

The clothing rack is full of floral print dresses and earth tones. Her hair is styled in soft, loose curls, and her makeup is delicate and decidedly feminine. There’s no real buffer between her and the lens today, and she feels the need to hide. She feels shy, demure almost, and it isn’t the energy she wants to project. 

Glancing around the room, she realizes there are no familiar faces. The makeup artists and stylists are strangers to her today. Roy stepped out for a phone call shortly after introducing her to the photographer, and the creative team. Rebecca has never had an issue introducing herself or making acquaintances, but she doesn’t feel quite herself today. Too focused on what will be the finished product, rather than enjoying the process. 

She tries her best to direct her attention back to the task at hand. Slipping into a bodycon black dress with red roses printed across it. The dress fits like a glove, and it settles her nerves, if only for a moment.

When directed, she sits, and stands, allowing the team to adjust their lighting, and set up their equipment. Her hands shake, and it’s nothing but a relief when a PA informs the group that lunch has been delivered. Rebecca takes her time pulling on a robe, sipping her bottle of water, and doing her best to enjoy the chicken stirfry that’s been served. 

The break does little to soothe her anxieties; she finds her fists clenched, her stomach twisted in knots. There is simply a level of unease she can’t shake.

Roy returns, and the shoot resumes in full swing. She hits her marks and smiles when she needs to. But, it feels like she’s running on autopilot, only half present.  

Roy pulls her aside between outfit changes. “What do you need, Rebecca?” “Nothing?” She’s not sure what he’s asking, “I’m fine”. “You’re fine. It’s fine. Sure. But you and I both know that this shoot should be fucking great,” He says without taking a breath, “You landed this gig because you deserve it. It’s about you, and I need to know what’s holding you back”. 

Oh. She hadn’t considered that there might be a solution to her stress. She’d worked herself up, stressed herself out, and assumed that the only way to overcome these feelings was to just push through them. Shove down her emotions, and run herself through the motions. 

“It’s a beautiful set. I love the clothing. I love the vision--” “Fucking hell”. “I’m sorry?” Rebecca is shocked by his outburst. “The location is wonderful, and you look fantastic. But this is about how you feel. The shoot isn’t going to work unless you’re happy. So what’s changed between the last shoot you did for Richmond, and now?” Ted. She thinks. “I don’t know”. “Well, then,” Roy sighs, “I think we call it a day-- we’re losing daylight anyway. We come back tomorrow and figure things out. This entire shoot is about you. Fuck everyone else. If it’s the wardrobe, makeup, the photographers, the fucking catering, it can all be changed”. 

She only nods in response.

 He’s right, and she appreciates him being so blunt. It’s something she’s always admired about him, but she’s never been on the receiving end until now. It stings, but not in a way that wounds her. It’s refreshing to have people who just say what they mean. The noise in her head goes quiet, and she releases a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” She manages a smile. 

“Give the Yankee my best”. 

She chooses to ignore his comment. Leave it to Roy Kent to make her feel so transparent. She wonders if he’s the only one who’s noticed her growing attachment to Ted Lasso. 

Rebecca hesitates when her driver asks where she’d like to go. 

Are you at your studio?

She asks Ted. Home. Come by if you need to. 

He answers quickly, and she relays the information to the driver. 

Ted’s flat is cozy. It’s easy to feel at home as she curls her legs up under her on the sofa. He’s a good host, too, offering her tea even when she knows for a fact he hates the beverage himself. She holds the mug in both hands, accepting the warmth it provides while Ted continues to putter around the kitchen. 

When he joins her in the living room, he’s carrying his own mug (of what she assumes is coffee), and a tiny pink box. 

“These are for you,” he grins, leaving his cup on the side table, lifting the lid off the box and holding it open presenting, and proposing its contents. 

“Biscuits?”

He nods, eyes eager, nudging the box towards her, “Go ahead”.

The shortbread tastes like home. The buttery feel of treasured memories, a reminder of some of her happiest days. She’s brought back to her grandmother’s house, standing on a step stool to reach the countertops. Tiny hands kneading dough and bouts of laughter when her father failed to steal a biscuit from the most recent batch without his mother’s notice. She hasn’t had shortbread this good in years. 

“Fuck me,” the words escape her. Ted raises an eyebrow, bemused, and potentially intrigued. “Where did you get these?” She asks, taking another bite. “I made ‘em”. “You’re hired”. “I appreciate that. I’ll let my Mama know you approve of her recipe”. 

Rebecca nods, taking the box into her own hands, “Thank you”. 

He gives her a while to enjoy her surprise snack while he sips his coffee before he asks her about the shoot. She despises the tickle of shame at the back of her mind as she tells him about what Roy said. Never in her life has she had a director cancel a shoot because of her. 

“So, what is it that you need, Rebecca?” “Will you do the shoot?” “Me?” He seems shocked. “What I need is someone I trust. This isn’t like every other project. This is personal”.

Ted’s silence surprises her. And then he says, “Alright. As a favour to ya, I will”. 

She can’t hold back a huge sigh of relief at his response. 

“Can I redeem my voucher now?” “Sure can!” he’s immediately standing up, “Lucky you, that’s a coupon for life”. “Oh? Lucky me,” she laughs, though her eyes are watering. She slots herself into his embrace, pulling him close to her. She’ll be damned if this isn’t a proper hug.

Her heartbeat syncs to his after a while. His shirt collar smells like fabric softener and sugar. And she savours the firm press of his fingertips on her shoulder blade. His palm is warm even through the fabric of her sweater. And with her chin resting on his shoulder, she knows she'd be quite content to fall asleep like this, even standing up. 

When they pull away, it's only slightly. Her right hand cups his cheek, the other smoothed down the front of his crew neck. Everything about him is intriguing and inviting. It drives her insane just how delectable his mere existence is. She hates the way she craves his touch and attention. 

She feels selfish, wanting to hold him close to her forever. She wants to unpack his mind, memorize his expressions, and understand him as easily as he seems to know her. 

His lips taste like chocolate and peppermint, more than coffee, when she kisses him. He wavers before his steadiness returns as if questioning his own determination. But, his left hand tangles in the hair at the back of her neck, his right, strong at the small of her back. 

Rebecca had never imagined it would be possible to miss someone who was standing right in front of her. She never expected to yearn so deeply she's certain she's not allowed to have. 

She pulls away to say, “We shouldn't, Ted--we can't”. She hopes it's an empty promise. 

He's understanding, taking a step back without letting her go. 

She's not used to that, acceptance, acknowledgement and respect for her emotions. Short enough without shoes on for the first time in their friendship, she presses her forehead to his collarbone, and she lets herself mourn the risks she won't let herself take, the futures and outcomes she continues to deny herself. 

When she releases Ted from the hug, she appreciates the silence while she wipes away the mascara that's started to run. 

“Sorry, I Must Look like Robert Smith After a nap”.

“Emotional guy,” Ted shrugs. 

“I'll see you tomorrow,” she steels herself, preparing to make her exit.

“See you tomorrow,” he promises.

Rebecca eats the rest of the biscuits from the tiny pink box, in the can on the way home. It's greedy the way she hopes he makes more for her, having all but substituted her feelings for baked goods. Rupert always said she was a taker. 

She leaves the empty box on her kitchen countertop, unable to bring herself to part with Ted again tonight. 

Counting sheep doesn't work, but after a few hours of staring at the ceiling, her eyes grow tired. It's a crash, rather than a gentle fall into sleep, but she does it with a smile she can't wipe off, and the lingering feel of Ted's lips on her own. 

There's a spring in her step when she returns to set, a renewed sense of energy and easy-going comfort from knowing what to expect with a support system now present. After confirming with Roy that it was alright to bring Ted in, Roy let her know that he's asked Keeley to come too. It's nice to have her friends with her. 

Some small part of her begrudgingly admits that she feels somewhat pathetic, needing a whole group of people just to feel like a fully realized person. Rebecca loathes how she sees herself as some fumbling baby deer when she’s left completely to her own devices. And, while she knows it’s more than likely just growing pains, and the readjustment to a life that is hers and hers alone, she can all but see the rage and frustration bubbling up beneath her skin-- directed towards Rupert, and herself for ending up here. 

The hair, makeup, and wardrobe haven’t changed from yesterday, nor has the location or the lighting plan, but she’s far more at ease as she moves around the space. Far more chipper, happy to chat. Her shoulders are relaxed as she settles into the black floral print dress again.

She’s playful and flirtatious in all of her poses. Genuine bouts of laughter escape her, and for a while, it seems like Ted isn’t even taking his finger off the shutter button the photos are captured so quickly. Keeley arrives towards the end of the day, quieter on set than she was the last time she arrived during a shoot, but her presence and steady support are deeply appreciated. 

“And that’s a wrap,” Roy confirms. “Already?” Rebecca wonders aloud, “I feel like I just bloody got here!” “You and the photog have been making eyes at each other all afternoon--it’s been four hours, Rebecca”. 

Oh. She’s hardly noticed the time passing. Too wrapped up enjoying herself, enjoying the moment. The same project she’d worked herself into a panic about has gone by in a flash now that she’s hit her stride. She’s sure there’s some kind of life lesson in there for her, about the value of great friends, and she’s nothing but appreciative of her company, but more so, she’s endlessly proud of the freedom she’s felt being her authentic self, no facade. 

She’d be lying if she said she felt like her old self again. She feels better than her old self; stronger, wiser, and reanimated. 

“All good over here?” Ted asks, after packing up his equipment. Roy nods. “Boy, time sure does fly when you’re having fun, eh boss?” “Boss?” Rebecca asks. Ted hums in the affirmative, “It’s your big shoot, ain’t it?” “Yes--yes, I suppose it is,” She smiles, “Thank you again, Ted”. 

“Anytime, boss. I told ya, I’m happy to help”. 

She wonders what Ted is thinking when he looks at her like that. A trace of a smile playing at his lips, his eyes so bright and eager they nearly sparkle. Looking at him, she feels like a teenager, her stomach doing silly little flips. It’s nearly infuriating how easily he gives her butterflies. It’s embarrassing how much she wants to kiss that smirk off his ridiculous, handsome, face. She wants to damn Ted Lasso and that mustach, and that American accent for worming his way into her heart, but she covets every butterfly fluttering in her chest instead. 

#ted lasso #ted lasso x rebecca welton #ted lasso fanfic #ted x rebecca #tedbecca #photography au

[spice-chan]

Ethereal

Yan!Dragon King!Bakugou Katsuki x Water Nymph!f!reader

The water nymphs send an unusual peace offering this year...

Warnings: Reader sent as a peace offering so feelings of objectification are present. Yandere themes. Possessiveness. Yandere bakugou but only becomes outwardly yandere towards the end. Death (killing). Not too descriptive about wounds though, although they are mentioned (not inflicted on reader). Bakugou is a bit of a douchebag at the start.

wordcount: 4.5 k 

tags: @angie-1306 (your ask got deleted but thank god you werent on anon) @axther @reddriot​

A bundled-up body was dropped under his throne, the body writhing and trying to get muffled screams to be heard. 

“My king, the water nymphs made a peace offering. She was dropped off in front of the castle entrance.” 

Bakugou’s rich red eyes calculatedly glanced down, breath hitching for a second at the beauty of the roped female—a water nymph. An offering to him. His eyes made contact with yours, seeing the clear defiance and disdain in them, but he knows this look, behind made walls of resistance and will of steel is a petrified woman afraid of her fate. How unfortunate for you. Your eyes were wide and glassy, cute in their attempt at conveying anger, brows furrowed in a glare that merely made Bakugou smirk in amusement. Your mouth, even with the rope muffling every sound you made, clearly showcased a pair of sweet and kissable lips. 

The nymphs who sacrificed you did you no favour as well, for they left you scantily dressed, leaving you exposed to the hungry eyes of dragons around you, irking Bakugou slightly that others are looking at his prize. 

He left his throne, languidly walking up to you before crouching down to inspect you, to see what’s so special about you. The water nymphs never usually offered one of their own in their attempt at maintaining neutral peace. This ritual which they adopted since ancient times became nothing more than a nicety, they usually offered rare fish, nuts, never a full-fledged nymph, and an attractive one at that. Perhaps the fact that Bakugou, the most renowned dragon shifter finally claimed the throne made them feel unsettled. For his savage and bloodthirsty need to be the absolute best was second to none. 

His calloused palms took a hold of your face, ignoring your attempts at deflecting his hold as his massive palm dwarfed your face and made it plenty clear he can easily crush you. He inspected your face from different angles, seeing nothing extraordinary. He took this opportunity to feel up your soft skin which had been tempting him ever since he noticed you laying helplessly on the floor. He then confirmed the validity of the rumours that claimed water nymphs had skin supple and silky as water. It felt like he was running his finger across the surface of a ripple, a mere dip of his finger could breach the surface. 

Heh, you’re kinda pretty. So very different from draconian women, who had thick builds paired with excellent survival skills and shifting abilities, but you...he bets it was so easy to overpower you and wrap you up nicely for him to unpack his gift. 

He lifts you, his muscles bulging and tensing, proving that carrying you was not a struggle to him in the slightest. 

He ignores your useless thrashing, kicking and resisting like a wild bird held in a tyrant's hand. Its wings contained and nails not doing any damage, freedom seeming further and further away. He walks with you on his shoulders, his massive, hulking shoulders. 

Soon enough, the rowdy chatter of the men becomes scarce, and their figures even more so, making you double your efforts in trying to escape the tyrant lumping you on his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. 

“Tsk, keep bein’ a brat and I’ll have to tie your shitty hands.” He turned his head to look at you as he said this, cementing his statement with a fiery glare that only infuriated you further. 

He ignored any protest you made after that, walking with you and entering a wing that looked to be heaven-sent from the sheer luxury, gold highlights emphasized in every corner, treasures and artefacts littered around the corridor in a painfully tidy and organised to the very centimetre, clearly they got shined twice a day. However, the further he ventured, the more the previous shine lost its glory, it appeared clean, however, the stark contrast to the speckless shine from before was clear. 

Bakugou stopped in front of the grandest door, he twisted the golden doorknob, finally appreciating your quietness. You couldn’t help it, you weren’t particularly rich back home, so to see this reincarnation of decadence really has your eyes glassing, bright in some semblance of joy, you forgot your situation for a second. 

You were rudely reminded when you were dumped down on a hard surface. 

“OUCH, YOU ASSHOLE.” 

When you looked down, however, every profanity disappeared from your tongue as it twisted in awe. You were thrown on a pile of fucking treasure. A huge, mountainous pile of glittering gold and brandished silver, rubies, and every single gem one could imagine. 

Bakugou narrowed his eyes, scowling at how much he liked the view of you on top of his hoard. He smirked, feeling prideful and accomplished until he noticed that the walls of fury and fire you built up ever since he saw broke in the worst way possible. Your face was scrunched, it felt like your cheeks were lit aflame in humiliation as tears streaked down your adorable face.

Bakugou felt like the biggest douchebag to walk the earth. 

You brought your knees closer and hid your face behind them, body shaking as you sobbed. Your tribe sent you as a peace offering, not caring for the slightest about your well being and fate, and now you're stuck here with a brute of a king who has no qualms with treating you like a glorified piece of jewellery. You didn’t want him to see this side of you this soon, you didn’t want him to see how petrified you are, how weak and defenceless you are compared to him. You wanted to rivers of anguish gushing from your eyes to stop, but they wouldn’t. 

“Hey…” he tried to console you. It was a poor attempt from an unpractised dragon. 

You tried to speak, navigate around that lump in your throat to shout at him, tell him to leave you alone, but your voice failed you just like everything tends to. 

You felt him clumsily try to lift your head in a gesture that fell between a forceful demand and a soothing touch. What is up with him now? 

You relented and showed him your puffy eyes, glistening eyes, looking at him with trembling lips.

“Tch, stop crying! You—you’ll get snot and tears all over my hoard.” 

It was the wrong thing to say, because a fresh batch of tears came, staining the apples of your cheeks. 

“Fuck—no. I didn’t mean that.”  Your sniffling was reduced to mere hiccups, break down halting at the sight of the most feared man on the earth, the legendary dragon king bakugou, most hardened warrior and skilled shifter, attempting to apologise. 

“Shit—I wouldn’t have to be so rough if I knew it bothered you this much.” He pouted, cheeks turning a shade of red that seems almost adorable, turning away from you to scowl at the floor. 

Fuck, his mother taught him better, yet the sight of you made him forget any semblance of manners, eager to get his hands on you and away from the prying eyes of people to who you didn’t belong. 

An innate sense of possessiveness engulfed him, one that can only be appeased with you sitting on the one place most intimate and guarded by him: his hoard. 

But, he’ll tone it down until he gets you more pliant and accepting. 

“Stay where you are.” He simply commanded before walking off. 

You stayed there, mind urging you to run away, a foolish choice your pride keeps urging you to make. Runaway, in a castle heavily guarded, without having the slightest clue how to get to the exit. 

Yeah, bad idea. You’re sure you aren’t welcome back ‘home’ anyway. The thought feels like a sharp dagger slicing your heart, taking its time carving the pain into you. 

Soon enough, Bakugou is back, trying to tone down his intimidating aura, but to no avail, for he noticed you shrinking at the sight of his hulking figure. It stung him a little, making his frown a little tighter. 

“Come with me,” he said curtly, then walked swiftly out, his cape swishing behind him,  making you scramble to follow him, struggling to keep up with his fast steps, frustration slowly rising like bile up your throat and making it harder to stay silent and compliant. 

He took you out of the castle, ignoring the curious looks to the best of his ability, but before he could step a foot outside the gate, he grits his teeth in anger and took off his cape. He bundled you in it and lifted you, once again, like a sack of potatoes. But you were too busy feeling like you were lit on fire as you realised that you were walking around in the outfit you were donned in or lack thereof. You buried your face in the fabric, unintentionally making a sound that’s caught between a groan and a whimper. 

He walked behind the castle, climbing places with you on his back until he got to where he needed to be

When you arrived, however, you are almost glad you didn’t voice your woos. The sight before you was breathtaking, so much so that your previous plights evaporated even if for a minute. 

The scenery was breathtaking, it was a cave, and in the corner, if it was a treasure pile, except merely saying it's a pile was an understatement as it was a mountain in its own right. The hoard you saw back at the castle was incomparable. But that’s not what truly captured you. As he led you further in, you realised the true purpose of this journey. 

There was a medium-sized pool, wide enough to fit comfortably in the cave without hogging up all the space, but deep enough that even Bakugou with his stature could enjoy a swim in it. It was clear too, so clear you felt like you could dip your leg in it and see through your very own flesh, that it would make your skin translucent. It was a shade of blue one could only dream of seeing, and after doing so would live their life content. 

Perhaps you were biased, seeing that it’s in your very nature as a water nymph to be needing close contact with water, and to be enamoured with it. 

All rationale left you though, needing for the water to cleanse you of all your stress and pain, and so bakugou’s cape slipped off your shoulders and hit the floor, your figure leaving it behind as you approached the water and slipped inside. You felt a rush of dopamine override all the negativity inside of you, feeling the water hug you, surround you, shield you. 

“So it's true, huh?” 

You almost forgot he was here, but Bakugou didn’t forget about you, not even for a second. He was watching you, fascination swirling in his pupils as your expression melted to one of near happiness, heart lurching with every cute expression you made, that *he* caused. 

“What is?” You replied, turning in the water to face him. 

“That water nymphs live such carefree lives because they spend them inside ponds and lakes.” 

You scrunch your nose at that, unable to fathom the exact meaning of his words but having an idea. “We don’t live carefree lives. Not all are given that luxury, at least not me.” You said, giving him a once over with a glare to signify that he’s the problem. He’s the root cause of your misery, Bakugou doesn’t know how to feel about that. It’s quite unfortunate really. 

He shrugs his shoulders and reverts to his default face, feigning nonchalance. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem like much goes on in your ditzy head.” 

You felt your face warm, could very well hear the aggressive thrumming of your blood as you gritted your teeth in anger. And you were about to unleash the full force of your fury until you heard wings flapping outside. 

You turned your head, trying to take a glance at the disturbance, but your view was shielded by Bakugou, who moved unnaturally fast for someone who made it clear how nothing phases him. And not fast enough for you to think it’s a real threat. 

He came back moments later with an attire you regretfully recognized. 

No, scratch that, he brought several. Pale, light flowy dresses that are often worn by your people. Light enough that they wouldn’t mind an occasional soak in water. 

Your anger dissipated, melting into confusion, then quickly becoming embarrassment as you realised you were comfortably standing in front of him in your underwear. 

You should feel happy, but bile rose up your throat, the taste of humiliation clear on your tongue as you realised with distaste that he was indeed right, you did live carefreely. You also realised you won’t be able to live like that ever again, and that very realisation brought tears to your eyes once again. 

“Tch, just take one and wear it. I don’t need you crying again.” 

Your face fell, and Bakugou felt his heart twinge a little when you responded with silence, looking at your sad face made him feel oddly protective. It’s probably because you were his treasure. Like his hoard right? He always needs his treasure to be kept in optimum conditions. 

Having justified that to himself, he didn’t feel as weird now regarding what he was about to do. 

While you changed into one of the outfits he got you, he dug through his hoard, knowing exactly what item he wanted to dig out. His fingers slithered through countless gold pieces, shining enough to cure a greedy man’s blindness. He finally found it, a delicate golden chain, but what demands attention is the ruby hanging from it. He brings a thumb to it, rubbing the rock appreciatively, liking the semblance of the colour to his eyes. 

You coughed, signaling you you were done, snapping away his wondrous gaze from the necklace. 

You looked really pretty in the dress, he’s got to thank Kiri for the speed run to the shops that he did. The light material hugs your skin, looking stretchy, yet form fitting that it hugged your body in a way that made Bakugou jealous. 

You looked in your element now, but somehow the awkwardness still lingered in the air as you avoided his gaze.  

Bakugo didn’t try to be subtle when checking you out, in his eyes, you were *his* whether or not that’s what he chose so he can at least check what he has right? 

Bakugou didn’t pay heed to the slow spiral of his morals, of the things he worked so hard to uphold. His justifications were slowly manifesting into delusions. 

He approached you, ignoring the way you tensed when he went behind you, turning around to question him, but he was quickly done. Your eyes caught the glistening red ruby hanging from your neck, the colour rich and deep like red wine. You didn’t hate it, but confusion swirled in your veins at his actions. 

“Looks good on you.” The colour looks like my eyes, it reminds me that you’re mine. 

Bakugo wasn’t sure why he held off on telling you what’s on his mind, he usually doesn’t hesitate once to tell the truth. 

Your wide, glittery eyes stared up at him, trying but failing to hide their awe. The anger and resentment took a backseat to intrigue, so did he pick this out for you because he thought it would look nice on you? How strange of him. 

He lifted a calloused finger up, face now cleared and relaxed that he looked pretty, not intimidating, not barbaric, but pretty. He caressed your cheek, smiling slightly when he felt how warm it was. It slipped off his face all too soon when he took the reins back. He squished your cheek, lips once again taking the shape of a sadistic smile. 

“You look dumb” 

Your features hardened, gaze narrowed in anger and hatred that it made Bakugou surprised. Surprised by how much he hated it, or by the sheer intensity? He didn’t have much time to dwell on his thoughts though, because a dainty hand flew his way and slapped his hand away. 

“You-“ you nearly growled in anger, tears once again coating your eyes because of him. “You rude, barbaric, selfish, egoistical “jerk!” You shouted at him. Why were you this angry? 

“Just when I think you might be a decent person.” You rub furiously at your eyes, shoulders slouched in disappointment as you disappeared deeper into the cave and out of his sight. You were always so naive and easy to fool. 

Bakugou felt the full weight of your words weighing down on him, but he tried to shrug it off. He walked out, silently brooding with his thoughts until a servant came and delivered dinner. 

He stood up, walking to you with tje food in his arms, hoping he could butter you up with it. He found you in the deepest part of the cave, face hidden behind your knees, unmoving. 

You were sleeping. 

He set the food down, bending down to try and confirm his observation, only for a remorse to hit him like a truckload after he saw the semi dried tear tracks. He didn’t have to be that mean to you. Maybe his dragon subjects can handle it because they have thicker skin, naturally, and they’re used to him. But you were just thrust into his life today and he’d been laying it thick on you. He’s coming to terms with his attraction to you and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. 

He nudged your shoulder, not wanting to test his voice right now, afraid it might be too gentle. 

You stirred awake, your face relaxed and serene as you blinked blearily. 

“Hm?” You rubbed your eyes, looking at your surroundings with confusion. Your eyes were red. 

He wondered how much you cried. 

He mumbled something unintelligible, you turned your gaze to him, the sleepiness now almost all gone. 

“What? I can’t hear you.” Your tone was sharp and cutting, and your gaze, now devoid of all confusion, was similarly icy. 

“‘didn’t mean to make ya’ cry.” You nearly believed him, nearly. 

“What’s this? Another act to make me lower my guard? Well you don’t need to, I’m at your mercy. You can skip the pleasantries and just laugh at how pathetic I am.” 

He stared at the floor, well, *glared*. 

“You’re not pathetic.” He simply said, glaring at you in a way that dared you to challenge him”-and I’m not going to laugh at you.” 

He could speculate about his feelings all day, drown in this euphoria of infatuation, hate you for making him weak but one thing he knows for sure is that he doesn’t want you to hate him. He wants your eyes to look at him in wonder again, to admire him and fill him with endless pride, to maybe smile at him, he hasn’t seen you smile yet but he bets it’ll be gorgeous. 

It’s only because he wants his treasure to be in optimum condition, nothing more, nothing less. 

“Then why do you go out of your way to demean me?” You questioned accusingly. 

“I don’t, that’s just how I am, you’re going to have to accept it because you’re not going anywhere.” Dread filled you, knowing your days would be filled with humiliation, mocking words echoing in your head like an endless loop. 

You stayed silent, accepting your fate because what else could you do? At least you got your greatest companion to keep away the loneliness; water. He once again waited for a response that never came, and he stood up with a sigh, stretching his limbs. 

“Just eat your food. I guarantee you’ll like it.”

He said, hanging his cape around him once again, reminding you just who he is, making it flutter behind him as he left you all alone. 

He was back early the next day, he found you asleep inside the pool, your head resting on your folded hands on the ledge. The sight had his worry spike so much that a vein was visible on his forehead. He woke you up and scolded you. 

And then he proceeds to lay food in front of you, climbing up to sit on top of his hoard to watch you while you eat, not minding the fact that his gaze was sealed on you for minutes, nor the fact that at some point you scolded him for making you uncomfortable. 

You didn’t like the glint in his eyes. 

In the afternoon he was back with blankets, pillows and other gifts, hoping to sooth the raging waves of your ire. Trying to convince you that he isn’t that bad. 

After a while, his daily visits, gifts…reluctant kindness was all you knew. You were starting to let the memories of your home slip, you were accepting the fact that the previous bonds you forged were inevitably breaking. You were accepting the fact that you’re now stuck in a cave as glorified treasure. 

And it showed, the sadness on your face would linger, numbness in your tone. Even the water was suffocating. 

“CAN YOU STOP ACTING SOULLESS?” And Bakugou eventually couldn’t take it anymore. 

You turned to him, no longer was there a fire raging in your eyes. He’s losing the girl he met in his throne room on a fateful day. He no longer cares whether he has to bare his raw feelings to you, the intimidate, gushy, soft, mushy feelings he feels every time he sees you. He wants to hold you everyday, not like you’re an exotic treasure, *but his* treasure. He wants you have his hatchlings with you, and he wants to see you smile at him. 

“Why should I?” You replied with dullness, not particularly moved. 

“Because…” he looked constipated, his lips clamped together while his cheeks were dusted a cherry red. 

“Because?” You didn’t get it. You’re just like a piece of jewelry right? Why does it matter if you become quiet and compliant? 

“Because I love you.” He said softly, too softly for someone who looks as rugged and rough as him. Now that broke your composure. Your eyes widened, surprise painting your features as the dragon king Bakugou Katsuki just confessed to you. The greatest soldier in the land, the most terrifying shifter. 

He cupped your cheeks, softly stroking the skin, appreciating the soft texture against his scarred hand. His face was so red, even his ears but he was smiling. He was smiling so hard that you wondered whether this was the same person. “I love you, I want you to be happy.” He said, now louder, prouder and more confident in his honeyed words. 

You slapped his hand away. 

“I don’t believe you.” You cruelly stomped on his confession, making his smile fall. 

“But why? Have I not treated you well? I’ve never cared about someone as much as you” 

“Prove you love me.” You challenged, staring him in the eye before adding. 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t though.” 

You turned around and walked away from him, but he decided that wasn’t the end of the conversation and he grabbed your wrist. 

“How?!” Frustration was evident in his voice, but so was desperation. He was genuine about wanting to prove his love to you, what would people think if they saw the great dragon king behaving like this over a woman? 

You ripped yourself from his hold and spat “figure it out.” 

He came back at the dead of night, grunting, laughing and calling your name. You stirred from slumber, eyes fluttering open and peaking out from the blanket you cocooned yourself in. Yoy felt a hand brushing the hair away from your face, lips pressing to your forehead before the fog cleared away to reveal a bloodied Bakugou. 

You screamed, scrambling to move away from him, but he held you back, keeping your supine form in place. With his arms on either side of you, not only holding your arms in place but also supporting his weight above you as he stared down at you like some sort of predator. 

He laughed heartily, and if he wasn’t drenched in blood you’d find it kind of cute. 

“What? Ya’ scared of a little blood? That’s cute.” You swallowed the lump in your throat, asking shakily whose blood it is. 

His eyebrows rose, humming at your question before a cocky smirk took over. 

“You’ll see. This will show you for sure that I love your bratty ass.” He got off you, walking towards the entrance of the cave, dragging a lifeless figure with him before discarding it carelessly in front of you. 

It was the chief of water nymphs. Her old and withered frame looked pale and lifeless, yet brutal gashes littered her body.

“She was the one who sent you here, right?”  

You wordlessly nodded, eyes glued to the corpse in front of you. 

“I couldn’t set you free, ‘cuz I loved you, I won’t stand to have you around. But she hurt you a lot didn’t she? If she didn’t send you here as simply a peace offering, I would have found my way to you eventually and fell in love with you anyway. I don’t keep you because you’re another treasure on my hoard.” Despite the flaw in his justifications, his manic ramblings and his lovesick eyes, you weren’t repulsed, you weren’t mourning the death of the monster who sent you as a peace offering for objecting to her new rules. 

No. Maybe you’re as fucked up as he is, but in a moment of pettiness, you turned to him and smiled. 

You weren’t sure whether the redness on his cheeks were blood or a blush. But his eyes were looking at you like you were a miracle, a shining star, it’s like he had heart for eyes but who can blame him? Who can blame the wild thumping of his heart, that’s hammering against his ribcage like a woodpecker does to a tree? He finally got to see you smile. 

“Do you believe me now?” He said, leaning closer to you, his eyes looking misty, glistening like the ruby on your neck. 

“I do, Katsuki.” You replied, letting your eyes hold his own as you also moved closer to him, cupping his cheek, hand tangling in his surprisingly soft hair. 

He was mesmerised, breath lost at your soft touch. The only physical contact he’s had before was when he was out in the field slaughtering enemies, hurting, grabbing. Not being caressed, because that’s soft and he’s never done soft until he met you. 

You pecked him softly, lovingly. But you soon moved towards his ear, whispering carelessly. 

“You know this could cause war with the forest creatures, right? You broke a centuries long treaty.” 

He growled, giving you a bloodied grin. “Whatever those shitty extras throw at me, I can handle it. They wouldn’t pick a fight with me if they are smart.” 

You squeezed his bicep, marvelling at how hard it was, he’s not infamous for nothing. 

Is that all it takes to win you over? 

You looked down at the chief, or ex-chief. You could still remember her cold, cruel grin as she saddled you up, to make an example out of you. No one questions her rule, no one has the right to, even if she endangers them, even if she takes the land that they always freely enjoyed. 

Yeah, maybe that’s enough, you believed him. Or maybe you’re picking your own poison. 

#bnha #bnha scenarios #bakugou katsuki #bakugo #bakugou x reader #yandere bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #yandere bakugou #yandere katsuki #yandere bakugou katsuki #yandere bnha #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #bnha fanfiction

[ijustwant2write]

His Protector-Fred Weasley x Reader

(GIF credit to @winter-and-zombies​)

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Prompts Lists

Summary: At the Battle of Hogwarts, Fred is saved by (Y/N), a close friend of the twins. Both have always had feelings for the other, and in true cliche fashion, neither have admitted this. Years after the battle (where things are somewhat back to normal), the twins have remained friends with her, but it’s only at a Weasley family party does (Y/N) finally say something.

Characters: Fred Weasley x Reader, George Weasley x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Mentions of death, PTSD, injuries, blood, lots of fluff

(A/N: This is quite long! And also the first time I’ve written for Harry Potter, blame it on my FYP on Tik Tok)

                                     *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There were no dry eyes from anyone gathered in the Great Hall. It was full of students, resting from the battle and treating injuries, or mourning over friends who didn't make it. Some were huddled together as they sobbed, others keeping to themselves as they tried to stop the horrifying images keep playing in their minds.

The Weasley’s were gathered around Fred, who was laid out on a makeshift stretcher, tears streaming down their faces as they waited for some sign of him waking up. He had dried blood on his face and partly in his hair. When he was first carried in, their immediate thoughts had been he was dead, because he seemed so lifeless. They were extremely grateful when they realised he was breathing, and he had a heartbeat.

Molly stroked back her son’s hair, trying to calm herself down as to not alarm her children. Never in her life did she think they would have to go through something like this, especially at such a young age. These were her babies, and she was going to protect them with her life like any mother would. George sat beside Fred opposite his mum, praying that his brother's eyes would soon open. Although it had been confirmed that he would be alright, albeit with a few injuries, seeing him lying there made it feel like he wasn’t with them anymore. Suddenly, Fred began to stir, scrunching up his eyes and moaning as he felt the pain throbbing through his body.

“How you feeling Freddie?” George quickly asked as the family got closer.

Fred mumbled something, but no one could understand. 

“What was that Fred?” Molly quietly said.

“(Y/N)...”

“Who? Who are you talking about?” Molly was sure she had heard the name before, perhaps when the boys were still at school. 

“(Y/N), where is she?” Fred moaned.

“I don’t know Freddie.” George replied.“I haven’t seen her since you were brought in.”

“Is..is sh-sh-she a-alive?” Fred was still weak, struggling to speak.

“Fred, please, just rest for now.” Molly begged, not wanting to see him in pain any longer.

“Sh-she’s d-dead?”

As the family struggled to keep Fred still and stop him from panicking, Ginny backed away, knowing the only way Fred would settle was if she found (Y/N). When Fred was carried in, (Y/N) had also been brought him right behind him, but they were separated. She was taken off towards her friends, and in the heat of the moment, Ginny hadn’t questioned if she was alright, making her feel awful.

Although (Y/N) had been close to the twins, she hadn’t been as mischievous as them, not wanting multiple detentions or to get in any trouble as much as they did. It was a surprising friendship between them, especially when (Y/N) was so nice to Ginny, despite the age difference; she was always surprised that the boys never invited her round to their home during the holidays. Because she saw how Fred would sneak glances at the girl, always rolling her eyes at how obvious he was being with his feelings, yet neither one did anything about it. 

Ginny ignored the calls from her dad when she set off in the hall to find (Y/N), bombarding her peers with questions, desperate to find her as quickly as possible. Luckily amongst everyone, she spotted (Y/N)’s friends huddled on the floor, holding onto the unconscious girl’s hands. Ginny startled them as she rushed over.

“Is she...” Ginny started.

“She’s alive. But she’s weak.” one of her friends sniffled.

“We need to move (Y/N).” Ginny demanded.

“What?” 

“She needs to be beside Fred.”

“Why?”

“She just does! Come on, help me move her. Please!”

The girls glanced between each other, and they knew Ginny wouldn’t be requesting such a thing for no reason. They struggled to navigate her body on the stretcher through the people, Ginny going ahead and commanding that they move out of the way. All eyes were on (Y/N), wondering why they were moving her. Ginny gently ushered George and her father out of the way, the men helping lay (Y/N) down on the floor. Fred also watched, slowly turning his head to look at her, expecting to see her beautiful eyes staring back. But when he saw they were shut, he panicked. He shakily reached out for her hand, struggling to find it as they were crossed over on her stomach. George took on her hands, placing it in Fred’s, smiling at the size difference.

Molly and Arthur looked at each other, wondering why this girl was so special to Fred and also why they hadn’t been told much about her.

“This is (Y/N). She saved Fred’s life.” Ginny explained to her parents."She's alive Fred."

Fred didn't reply, still staring at her and grasping onto her hand. His mind flashed back to seeing her save him, hearing how angry and upset she was as she shouted out her spell, somehow defending him from his death and saving herself. He had blacked out before he could see if she was safe. Although he heard Ginny, it didn't make him feel any better. He just wanted to see her eyes open. That was it.

"(Y/N)." he tried to raise his voice, but his throat was so hoarse that it came out as a whisper. He tried shaking her hand slightly, and again, he was too weak to even do that.

George held (Y/N)'s other hand, trying to help his brother wake up their friend. He too wanted her to wake up, and not just for his brother's sake. Her eyes fluttered open, then quickly shut again. Instinctively she was going to rub her eyes until she realised her hands were preoccupied.

"What's happening?" she breathed out, looking around at the Weasley family.

"You're safe dear." Molly reassured her.

"You're alive." Fred smiled, relief flooding through him.

(Y/N) only realised it was Fred talking beside her, breathlessly laughing as her head lulled to the side. There he was, alive just as she was.

"Fred? Oh my...Y-you're here."

"All thanks to you." George smiled, squeezing her hand.

"I'm so..." she gulped before continuing."I'm so happy you're both safe."

"Please don't do that again." Fred begged.

"Do what?"

"Put yourself in danger to save me."

"Don't be stupid Freddie. You can thank me later."

"Let me guess...lots and lots of chocolates."

"Exactly."

                                         *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

(Y/N) yawned as she packed up her things from work, tired after another long week. She passed co-workers, waving goodbye and smiling as she left the building. As she put on her hat, she looked up at the sky, smiling at the sight of snow falling. It was turning dark, and seeing the snowflakes illuminated by the street lights made the street she walked down everyday look beautiful. (Y/N) took her first few steps towards her route home, suddenly stopping for an unknown reason. Something was pulling her in the other direction, she wanted to take a different path today.

Following her instincts, she walked in the opposite direction, hypnotised by the weather around her. Once she reached the end of the street, she looked up at the sign post, and the only part of it not covered in snow was the one that said 'Diagon Alley'. She hadn't been down there for so long, she hadn't seen two certain men for so long.

Why was she headed there? And of all the times to go, why now? She hadn't seen the twins for months, not because she didn't want to, but because she was so busy, as were they. Continuing her walk, she thought back to how often they would spend time together, especially after what happened to Hogwarts. She needed solidarity, she needed to be reminded that Fred was still there, that she didn't dream saving him, it had to be real. (Y/N) would regularly visit them, or vice versa, trying to act like everything was normal and that they weren't effected by anything that had happened.

The shops were closed, she could see the owners locking up, beginning to tidy everything away. Lights were dim, signs now said 'closed' and she was one of the few people left in the street after a busy day of shopping. As (Y/N) approached 'Weasleys Wizard Wheezes', she grew nervous, wondering if this really was a good idea. She hadn't seen them for all this time and now she was suddenly turning up on their shop doorstep? Was it rude? Was she being stupid in thinking that they would be totally fine seeing her after a working day?

Mustering up as much courage as she could, (Y/N) forced herself to the front door, seeing that no last minute customers were left. She tried opening the door, luckily it was open, and let herself in.

"Sorry, we're closed!" a voice shouted out.

"Even for me?" she cheekily called back, giggling when a confused George poked his head around a pile of boxes.

He grinned, practically running towards (Y/N) with his arms open wide."Where have you been little miss?"

"I'm sorry, I know this is a random visit but...I don't know, I just thought of coming to see you and Freddie."

"You're welcome here any time of any day. You know that."

They pulled apart, still smiling."Thanks, I just feel bad that I've not made much effort."

"Hey, we're all busy now. Don't worry about it. I'll go get Fred, he's going to love this!"

George was ecstatic as he dashed off to find his brother. All of them were to blame for not catching up more often than they used to, and he had seen how it effected Fred. They had all been each others support system after the battle, but it was clear that Fred and (Y/N) hugged a little tighter than they used to, looked into each others eyes longer, and smiled as much as possible when together. George had always wanted to set them up (he would have preferred involving pranks somehow) and that old itch was back. These two were hopeless with their feelings for one another, he just had to give them a little push in the right direction...into each others arms.

"Freddie!" George exclaimed, laughing when his brother almost dropped a box out of fright.

"What?" Fred sighed as he recovered, placing the box on the floor. He just wanted to get the stock out for the next morning and go home.

"Come see who has paid us a visit."

George said no more, going back to the shop floor, leaving Fred rolling his eyes as he followed. He rolled up his shirt sleeves as they slid down his arms, not paying much attention to his surroundings. So when he looked up and he saw her, his mouth dropped open, shocked to see (Y/N) standing there.

"Would you just get over here and hug me?" (Y/N) joked, though not as boldly as she used to.

Fred just laughed as he did what she said, reaching down to wrap his long arms around her. She had miss how he held her, how tightly he clung onto her, as if it were their last hug ever. George just stood there, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for them to finish.

"What are you doing here?" Fred asked.

"Just wanted to see you both." (Y/N) simply stated.

"Well I'm glad you did."

"How about we go for some drinks? It is the end of the week after all." George suggested.

(Y/N) nodded."Yeah, I'm up for that."

"Well then, let's get packed up Freddie."

(Y/N) offered to help, but the twins refused. They came in and out of the stock room, being as quick as they could. (Y/N) took the opportunity to walk around, see what items they were selling. There were some new products, but most were older classics. She reminisced over all the times the boys used pranks such as the ones in the shop, and how they could sometimes get a lighter punishment, just because everyone loved them. She took part in a few schemes here and there, but only the harmless ones, the ones that would only land her in detention if they got caught.

She came to a stand that held numerous love potions. She smiled as she remembered making Amortentia in her lessons. That had been an awkward class. No one wanted to be picked on and asked what theirs smelt like, not in front of their peers. (Y/N) knew who's hers smelt like as soon as the lid of the bottle popped off.

"No luck in the love department then?" George smirked as he put on his coat.

"Hm?" (Y/N) hadn't been paying attention, thinking back on old times.

"Still not found 'the one'?"

"Oh, no, I don't have time for any of that."

"Well, hopefully Mr Right just stumbles into your life." George was growing more excited by the second.

"Yeah, hopefully."

"Right, ready to go?" Fred appeared.

"Yes-Oh!" George startled them."Freddie, I just had a great idea."

"Oh here we go." (Y/N) joked.

"(Y/N) should come home with us, to the Burrow, for mum's party!"

"A party? Why is your mum throwing a party?"

"Dad got a little bonus at work, mum thinks it's something to celebrate. And it's an excuse for her to get the whole family back together."

"That is an amazing idea actually." Fred beamed.

"I can't impose on something like that. Especially since it's a family thing."

"Nonsense." the twins said in unison.

"Are you sure? I mean, I haven't seen your family for so long."

"Mum would love it." Fred reassured her.

"OK then!" (Y/N) grinned."I've always loved a Weasley party."

"That's settled then," George opened the door,"we'll discuss the details over those drinks that are waiting for us."

                                       *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Smoothing down her dress once again, (Y/N) checked her tights for any holes or ladders. She had planned her outfit a week before the party, changing her mind countless times before she finally decided on what she wanted to wear. All morning, her heart had been racing, stomach twisting into knots as nerves got the better of her. Why was she so nervous? She had met the Weasley’s many times, she even stayed the Burrow!

There was a knock at the door, meaning the boys were here to pick her up. Sighing, she checked herself one last time in the mirror before going to answer the door. As she opened it, she noticed it was only Fred standing there, no sign of George.

"Hi, where's George?" she asked as she let Fred inside the flat. She took a note of the smart-casual shirt he was wearing; thank god, she was dressed correctly.

"He's waiting downstairs. Said he can't be arsed to walk up all those stairs. Even though there is a lift..."

"Since when did he become so lazy?" (Y/N) giggled, grabbing her handbag and keys. Turning back around, she saw Fred staring at her.

"(Y/N), you look..." Fred was speechless, which was rare for him. He always had a witty remark, a joke or a flirty comment at the ready, but when he was around (Y/N), those words seemed to get stuck in his throat,"...beautiful."

(Y/N) smiled, ducking her head to hide her blush."Th-thanks Freddie. You look very handsome too."

There were so many more words that he wanted to use to compliment her. He wanted to slap himself for using such a basic word. (Y/N) was gorgeous, she was dazzling, he could believe such a smart, independant and caring woman was in his life. Why did he have to stutter or forget how to speak when he was around her? The real words he wanted to say were on the tip of his tongue, but they would never leave there.

Awkwardly laughing, they left the flat, meeting George outside. George noticed their pink cheeks but didn't mention it, knowing they had embarrassed themselves enough in front of each other.

The journey was full of banter and inside jokes, making it seem like they were students again at Hogwarts. (Y/N)'s nerves about seeing the Weasley’s again had disappeared, but new ones emerged. And they were all because of Fred. (Y/N) wasn't stupid, she had always had feelings for him. But after the battle, she hadn't snatched him up, something held her back, and she just couldn't bring herself to even talk to Fred about it, like any other normal adult would.

The Burrow was just ahead, now the nerves were taken over by excitement. Fred and George reminded (well, warned) (Y/N) how excited their mum was going to be, but she didn't mind. It would be great to receive such an inviting reception. She walked between the twins up to the house, letting them go in first, hesitating slightly as she took in how many people were there; they weren't joking when they said everyone would be there.

"Mum, look who else we brought." Fred struggled to say as he was smothered with kisses across his face.

Molly finally let him go, her smile turning into a shocked expression before letting out a scream, making everyone jump. She didn't waste time bringing (Y/N) into a bone crushing hug. (Y/N) would have laughed if she could breathe, but didn't complain.

"Oh, it's so good to see you dear! It's been too long since you've been back here." Molly held (Y/N)'s cheeks in her hands, looking at how the young girl she knew had turned into a beautiful woman.

“I couldn’t say no when Fred and George invited me.” (Y/N) said through squished lips. 

“Alright mum, give her some air.” George gently chuckled.

“Oh, this is so nice.” Molly beamed, glancing between (Y/N) and Fred, who was already looking at her. 

It took a good ten minutes for the twins and (Y/N) to greet everyone. She always forgot how many Weasley’s there were, some she had not seen for years. Homemade food was laid out on the table (far more than what was needed), everyone nibbling at anything they fancied as they spoke over drinks. There was a toast held for Arthur, who humbly thanked everyone, bashful over Molly’s speech; and she didn’t leave out mentioning how lovely it was that the family was extending, referring to (Y/N). She had blushed too much recently, avoiding eye contact with Fred as everyone stared at the pair who were stood together.

The day was moving on too quickly, it was becoming dark outside, and she didn’t want the night to end. The family had split into groups, still having much to talk about. (Y/N) decided to refill her drink, parting from the others to head to the kitchen. Just as she found another bottle to open, someone appeared beside her. Craning her neck upwards, she flinched back as Fred held out her coat to her, along with her hat, scarves and gloves.

“We’re not leaving are we?” (Y/N) frowned, not wanting to leave.

“Just popping out.” Fred smiled.

After getting wrapped up, (Y/N) followed Fred outside. Once again, it was lightly snowing, starting to stick to the ground which was already frosty, the sound of grass crunching underneath their shoes. She nonchalantly looped her arm through his, snuggling into him (if he asked, she would blame it on the cold), her heart fluttering when Fred instead wrapped his arm around her shoulders, meaning they could be closer. They didn’t stray too far from the house, Fred casting Lumos to light the way. There was a crumbling stone wall which Fred confidently hopped onto. (Y/N) waited for some part of it to collapse, and when it didn't, she joined him, having to jump higher to reach the top. He laughed, forgetting how much advantage his height have him almost everyday.

"We've never sat here before." (Y/N) commented.

"Honestly, I didn't even know it was here."

"So we were just wandering around?" (Y/N) smiled.

"Yeah." Fred confessed.

“How come you wanted to get out of the house?”

“Uh...I wanted to, well, I thought we could talk.”

“About?” she dragged out the word.

“When I saw you again, after all this time, I realised what an idiot I’ve been.”

“What do you mean?”

“Obviously we’re busy, we’ve both got jobs and it’s always harder to meet up. But I regret that so much. After...what happened at Hogwarts, you were my rock, I always felt normal around you, as if nothing had happened. We were able to carry on with our lives like we had planned. When I didn’t see you, I would lie awake all night with that image of you beside me in the hall. It would never go away.”

“Why have you never told me any of this?” 

“I’ve been too scared to reveal anything. I didn’t want to bring anything up, because who would want to be with someone who is still stuck in the past?”

“I would. Fred, you’re not alone in this. I’ve always felt the same. I visited you all those times because my mind would make me think that I never saved you. And if I hadn’t....I don’t know how I would have gone on. Because if I didn’t have you in my life-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, please. We’ve been through so much that we shouldn’t have. But we’re here now, together again.”

Fred held her hand, slowly interlocking their fingers. They both looked down, butterflies erupting in their stomach. The pair glanced at each other, quickly looking away when they realised how close their faces were.

“Why are we acting like kids at school again?” (Y/N) laughed.

“You’re asking the guy who owns and runs a joke shop with his brother, I don’t think I’ve ever stopped being a kid.”

“We did, once.”

“(Y/N), we don’t have to think about that anymore. It’s in the past.”

“Freddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember the last time we were in a situation like this? When you actually had the courage to ask me to the Yule ball?”

“And we went as friends?”

She nodded.“Yep. You know, I was a little disappointed when you added that part.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I was sort of hoping you would ask me out as well. Then when you said that, and I just gave up trying. You never noticed me flirting anyway.”

“I never asked you because I never knew. And you also had guys after you so I didn’t think I had a chance.”

“Are you joking? Fred, no one else was wanting to date me.”

“Now you’re the one who is joking.”

“Well...”

“Well?”

“Let’s not make this more awkward than it already is.”

“Oh it’s awkward now?”

“Fred!” (Y/N) exclaimed but couldn’t help laughing along with him.

“No, no, I’m enjoying this.”

“Fred Weasley, after all this time being idiots and wasting time not being together...”

“What? Did you change your mind-”

(Y/N) didn’t know how to say it, instead closing the already small gap them and kissing him. Fred was shocked by how forward she was, but wasted no time kissing back. Her hands cupped his cheeks as Fred’s hands wound themselves around her waist. This had been long overdue. As they pulled away, breathless from the passionate kiss, Fred started to chuckle.

“What is it?” (Y/N) asked.

“Mum is gonna scream when she finds out about this.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley x reader #weasley twins #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter one shot #harry potter x reader #hogwarts #george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley one shot #george weasley x reader

[bambolinawrites]

Masterlist

BNHA

Scream

TWD

TUA

AHS

Art from Pinterest

#masterlist #ignore just tidying my navigation

[hypnomicimagines]

Fateful Meeting [Ninja!Harai Kuko/Reader]

The young ninja’s eyes were sharp, intense, so much so it felt like you were looking into the sun.

You looked down and away from his glare as you continued to tend to his wounds, ignoring the way he shifted uncomfortably, like he didn’t want you touching him at all. But he was the one who had stumbled upon your home a complete bloody mess, barely conscious as he looked up at you with pleading eyes, a moment of weakness when he thought he was on death’s door. Now that you had given him water and stopped his wound from bleeding his normal temperament had come back, and something told you he wasn’t the most pleasant dinner guest to have.

You had just finished bandaging him up when he abruptly stood, grabbing your wrist to stop you from reaching out to touch him again. You shared a look, wondering if he was the type of ninja to have taken a vow of silence before he opened his mouth for the first time.

“What do you want?” His tone is harsh but you think it’s likely just the way he sounds, if his looks are anything to go by. “You wasted your healing supplies on me, so what is it you want in return?”

“I don’t expect you to repay my kindness. Kindness isn’t kindness if it’s done expecting gratitude. Although I do suggest you spend some more time here recovering before you go anywhere…” Kuko’s eyes widened ever so slightly at your words but he doesn’t allow you to fully see his surprise, his neutral expression returning just as quickly as it had left. He adjusted the mask on his face as he stepped towards the door, ignoring your pleas for him to sit and rest a while longer.

“I always repay my debts.”

“Wait! Can’t you tell me your name at least? Or is that part of the whole secretive ninja clan thing you clearly have going on?” He hesitated for a second at your request, so simple to you yet to him… it was a show of trust. To willingly give your name to a stranger could mean terrible things for someone whose job was to blend in with the night; it would be better if you could forget he was ever even there which is why he becomes even more surprised when he spoke.

“Harai Kuko. Don’t forget it!” There’s a little more emotion in his introduction, a little less cold and far more personality shining through (which reaffirmed your assumption he was not the type of guest to bring home to your parents). But you found yourself charmed by him all the same, gentle smile on your face as you waved goodbye, his name just a whisper on the wind with how quickly he was gone.

You’re in awe at how such a bright shock of red hair managed to fade perfectly into the darkness but he’s gone from your view within seconds, leaving you reeling at the experience, wondering if it had only been a dream. The bloodied bed where he laid as you tended to him told otherwise but you tried not to think too deeply on it, grabbing the sheets to toss into your laundry pile to clean later. You cleaned up the scraps of your bandages and tidied your home like no one had been there, knowing that you had to sleep soon as you couldn’t burn the candle at both ends. You had to be up early for your patients the next morning as well since the work never seemed to end in the midst of the war.

As you’re finishing up there’s several aggressive knocks at your door, your body suddenly tensed as something feels off. Ever since your late-night visitor had left you felt an odd sensation in your chest, this anxiety unwavering in the heavy night air as you wondered how things could possibly get more interesting. When you’re greeted with the sight of two heavy-set men your anxiety finds itself skyrocketing, finding yourself backed into the corner of your own home as they make themselves comfortable.

“Excuse us for intruding. We just happened to see a trail of blood leading here… Are you alright?” His tone indicated he was not at all concerned about your well-being so you didn’t reply, instead trying to fix him with a steady stare that said ‘I’ve done nothing wrong’. “Ah, I see, the quiet type. I don’t mind that however… we’re tracking down a certain menace. A man with bright red hair who we heavily injured earlier today.”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Are you not the resident healer?”

“I am… but that blood trail could have just as easily been from an injured boar who was fighting for territory in the woods. Assuming it was human is a leap.”

“Might I ask why you’re still awake?”

“Some nights my mind keeps me awake with all sorts of thoughts, like whether or not I have to go into town to get more herbs and the like. You’re awfully inquisitive, are you perhaps looking to become a healer rather than being a person who supplies me patients?”

Your temper started to flare up despite you trying to carefully navigate the conversation, wanting these people who clearly came here to threaten you out of your home. You’d dealt with their type before, absolute savages, and you don’t appreciate their intrusion. You’re fonder of the random man who was bleeding out on your doorstep than these people who hurt just because they could, who bullied because they knew people were too afraid to stand up to them. Your irritation doesn’t go unnoticed but is returned with a heavy silence and glares, the two men who had forced their way in their home looming over you menacingly.

Perhaps you should’ve just gone straight to bed.

Kuko hadn’t made it far.

As headstrong as he was even he couldn’t deny the pain his body was in, his wounds aching as they hadn’t closed properly. He was normally far more respectful of the healers back at the temple but he was in a hurry, needing to report back to his father his findings immediately. He didn’t want to bring those hunting him to you either, it would be bad news as they seemed to have no issue slaughtering innocents left and right. He felt like there was a boulder in his gut that was slowing his movements, his body not able to move as nimbly until he’s finally forced to stop. He doesn’t know how far he’s gotten nor how much time has passed but he’s bleeding again.

It’s either turn back towards your hut or continue forward in hopes of finding another healer.

Something else is pulling him back towards you, like you’d attached strings to his body and were pulling at him to come back behind the curtain. Kuko bit his tongue hard to keep himself conscious, leaning against a tree, taking a deep breath, and then starting the journey back to your home. He’d have to prepare a proper apology for impeding on you so late at night but the sudden sense of urgency that rushed through his body stopped his needless worrying, walking forward with a huff.

He didn’t know why but he had to get back to you.

Now.

Your head is pounding as you lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, hands raising to cover your head to prevent further damage to your skull. You’d be in more pain if you were fully conscious but you’re only partially aware of what’s happening to you, your house in shambles around you. The place had been torn apart, the bloody bandages from earlier thrown across the room as they had been found during a ‘mandatory search’. The table you had been sitting at was flipped over and jars of needed herbs were tossed on the floor, even worse, now your own blood was staining the floor.

You’re fighting to stay awake, eyes scanning the floor for anything to defend yourself with but it was a fruitless endeavor. Your hands were meant to heal not harm, you weren’t suited for anything like this, and your assailants were clearly far more skilled than the average soldier. You wished you could say you put up a better fight than the pathetic mess that actually happened but there wasn’t time for self-pity.

“Hey you bastards! Didn’t hurt your pride enough after round one?”

Ninja’s are supposed to be quiet, stealthy, but Kuko had burst onto the scene like some sort of hero in a play. You’re wide-eyed as you spot the shock of red hair but your vision is so blurry and your brain so scrambled you’re worried you’re just hallucinating him. Your eyes met his for a second, your pleading reaching Kuko’s heart immediately; if he hadn’t been so carefully trained his entire life, he thinks his anger might’ve exploded in that moment, causing him to do something he’d regret. To see someone who had treated him with kindness, without asking any extra questions about who he was, someone who was likely innocent and had no means of defending themselves…

It pissed him off.

You hear the sound of skin on skin, some cackling that you’re sure is your ninja savior despite how high-pitched and wicked it sounded, and what you hope isn’t your house getting torn into even more pieces. Your face was buried in your arms as you were growing more exhausted, knowing the moon must be high in the sky at this point. You should’ve been in bed hours ago. Who would help your patients tomorrow when you could hardly help yourself? You weakly managed to bring your head up to survey the room around you but it’s suddenly silent, not a soul in sight until Kuko re-enters your home from the front door.

“Should I ask where you took them or just rely on blind faith?”

“You don’t have to blindly trust me but those assholes got what they deserved,” Kuko scoffed as he walked over to you, lifting you effortlessly so he could bring you over to your little bed (which had stayed clear of any debris). “Shit, I’m tired.”

Your eyes widened as Kuko lowered the mask so he could breathe a little easier, his face so smooth except for a scar on the underside of his chin. You can see a few more scars peeking out from the tears in his clothes but you don’t allow your mind to wander. Kuko is currently questioning why he just revealed his face in front of a civilian without thinking twice about the consequences, knowing this was yet another rule he had broken. There was a strict code all ninja were expected to follow and he’d already broken at least two rules, even more because he actually found himself liking you. He would be lucky if he got out of this unscathed by his father, not that he gave a damn what that shitty old man had to say to him, but he’d rather make his life easier.

“You’re bleeding… your wound from before reopened, didn’t it? I need to help you…”

Kuko shied away from your touch but you can see he’s actively fighting his body’s natural response to protect himself, freezing in place to allow you to place a hand on his shoulder. You kept your movements deliberately slow to prove you meant no harm, not like you could even consider raising a hand to him after he had saved you from who knows what kind of fate. He had half a mind to argue with you about trying to help him when you were injured yourself but he was too tired to even argue, his dad would’ve laughed if he heard that one.

“We should sleep…” After you had replaced his bandages with clean one you sent an exasperated look to your home, disliking the fact it was so messy despite none of it being your fault.

“We can just clean tomorrow.” Kuko flopped himself unceremoniously onto the floor beside your bed, hands behind his head like a pillow with his legs crossed; he winced a bit at the impact but otherwise gave no indication he was uncomfortable. You’re about to question his decision to sleep directly beside you but there really didn’t seem to be enough room in your home with a table flipped over in the middle of it, so it was easier to just settle yourself in beside him and hope he wasn’t secretly some pervert.  

Wait, did he say we?

“So, you’re going to stay this time?” You turned on your side to look at him, “I could use some extra help in the woods tomorrow… It shouldn’t be too rough a walk with your injuries… but I guess it’s selfish of me to ask a stranger to just help me out with my own chores…”

“Hmph. I guess I can help.” Kuko’s eyes are closed yet he’s unable to sleep, peaking one open when he hears you shuffling around next to him in an attempt to get comfortable. Even with a bruise forming on your temple you’re as stunning as ever, the young ninja biting his lip as he wondered how much of this was a sense of duty and how much was just him indulging his personal desires.

“Thank you…” You finally whispered out as sleep overcame you.

Kuko is left speechless, cheeks warm as he tries to settle his rapidly beating heart.

#Harai Kuko #Kuko Harai #Hypnosis Mic #Hypnosis Microphone #Hypnomic #Hypnosis Mic Imagines #Hypnosis Microphone Imagines #Hypnosis Mic x Reader #Hypnosis Microphone x Reader #Harai Kuko x Reader #Hypnosis Mic Scenario #Scenario #AU

[archerdaryl]

Oblivious.

Daryl gets it into his head that the girl he’s infatuated with doesn’t like him one bit. What he fails to remember is that when it comes to people, she’s about as oblivious as he is. 

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Tags: moody?? angsty?? idiot meets bigger idiot | @madshelily​​ Word Count: 2.7k (approximately) Notes: Request by @petrified-teeth​​ ♥ This is my first time trying something angsty since getting back into writing -- I’d love to hear what people think!

Whispers echoed through the canteen hall as Daryl lumbered through, his crossbow bloody and slung over his shoulder. There was a particularly scathing scowl painted across his grizzly features, one that unfortunately wasn’t the result of a hard day’s work outside the prison walls, and people were quick to move or look away as he grumpily made his way through the building.

To say it had been a long week was an understatement, but he was used to getting his hands dirty. He didn’t mind the aching muscles or the sweat that came with working under the scorching Georgia sun. If anything, he was happiest when he was put to work. He felt useful, like he was needed, which was something he hadn’t ever felt much of in his life.

No, that wasn’t what had been bothering him at all. Not even close.

When Daryl eventually reached his cell, he threw down his crossbow before collapsing onto his bunk. He adjusted his pillow so that he could sit up a little against the wall, eventually settling into the thin mattress with a long, heavy exhale. He was glad to finally be alone, but he still had to simmer in his thoughts which were only getting louder. 

Why hadn’t you talked to him this week? Shit, you’d barely even looked at him. 

None of it made sense. 

From the very first moment that you arrived at the prison, something about you set the archer on edge. You had been on your own, somehow surviving against the world and all its horrors for God knows how long, and yet you hadn’t turned to stone. You were everything he wasn’t in many ways. Unabashedly emotional and full of faith despite it all even though he knew you had experienced some of the worst things a person could. 

He didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand you, but that didn’t matter. He just wanted to make sure nothing ever smacked that smile off your face again. 

Daryl’s stomach stirred. His own features softened at the mere thought of your smile, which only made him forcibly frown again. What the fuck was his problem? He had to be overthinking this. Maybe he was just tired, but that couldn’t be it. 

You hadn’t spoken to him all week.

It was driving him insane. 

Looking back, he really wasn’t sure when his feelings for you snuck up on him. He could only pinpoint the moment he realised it for himself that he liked you at all. You had gotten separated from the group on a run, took it upon yourself to divert a small herd away from everyone. You ended up bloody and bruised. Damn well nearly got yourself bit, but you still giggled and told him he worried too much.

It took almost losing you to realise you had chiselled away at the walls he built around himself. You’d made a little home for yourself in his heart and the idea of you turning on him now was making him spiral.

Daryl shifted in his bunk and began to absentmindedly pick at the skin around his fingernails. One soon started to bleed, but he was too lost in thought to notice. 

There was no fucking way you felt the same as he did. How could a girl like you possibly want a guy like him? You personified sunshine and he was a weed that had absolutely no business taking up your time and energy. 

God, if his brother could see him now.  He was pathetic. Merle would tell him just that, laughing in his face and reminding him that he told him so, that no one would ever care about his baby brother Daryl but him. 

And the worst thing was that he could live with that. He could live with you not wanting to be with him. It kept him awake at night and gnawed away at whatever little sense of self he had left but as long as you liked him just a little bit and wanted him around he could live with it. 

So why the fuck weren’t you talking to him?

Daryl started to retrace his steps, trying to figure out if he had done something wrong. He knew he could be blunt, often rude at times, but he meant well. Maybe meaning well wasn’t enough. Maybe he just had to suck it up and apologise and hope it was enough despite not having a damn clue what he had done wrong. 

But maybe that was just it. Maybe he hadn’t done anything at all. Maybe there was something wrong with him.

He was breathing heavily now, eyes squeezed shut and anger building further in his chest. He couldn’t fix this. He wanted to but he couldn’t. The echoes of Merle’s laughter haunted him. He’d been thrown away like he’d been countless times before and he only had himself to blame.

“Hey Da-” A familiar voice interrupted him, quickly sounding concerned, “What’s going on?”

Daryl’s eyes shot open, scowling at the figure who had approached his cell. It was just Rick, but he didn’t want to talk to Rick right now. He didn’t want to talk to anyone.

“Nothin’.” He spat angrily, “Get lost.”

Rick sighed and stepped into Daryl’s cell, drawing the thin curtain behind him to try and give Daryl the illusion of privacy. 

“Daryl you can’t keep storming around the prison like this. People are uncomfortable.” He paused, lowering his gaze to shake his head before looking at his friend with sympathetic eyes, “Now what is it? Is it her?”

The archer blinked up at him, unable to respond.

“You think I ain’t noticed?” Rick chuckled, “Like a dog to a bone whenever she’s around.”

“Well she ain’t around. She ain’t fuckin’ talkin’ to me.”

Daryl sat up from his bunk and threw his legs over the side, leaning onto them with his elbows. He couldn’t deny it even if he wanted to. He may not have said anything, but Daryl had a language of his own only those closest to him could understand. Rick was one of those people. 

“She’s been bouncin’ around all week helpin’ out with the library. Have you talked to her?”

Again, Daryl was stuck for words. He was starting to feel stupid. 

“Why don’t you just tell her man?”

“Tell her what?” He snarled back, now massaging his fists as if he were in pain. 

He couldn’t fathom trying to tell you how he really felt. How could he? He was no good. He never understood why you insisted on talking to him in the first place, he was just glad you did. Every moment he got to spend with you made him want to make the world a better place for you to be in so that faith of yours never betrayed you again.

“C’mon now. You can lie to everyone else but I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Daryl shot Rick another scowl but didn’t bother trying to tell him otherwise. 

“You talk too damn much.”

“She won’t figure it out for herself, man. D’ya think if she could take a hint you’d be sulkin’ like this right now?”

Dary’s brows knitted together and a sigh of defeat drew slowly from his lips. Rick had a point whether he liked it or not. You weren’t exactly… the most cognizant person when it came to others. You did good and hoped people were good to you in return, but unless someone spelled out their intentions or desires for you, you were left with simply navigating the waters the best you could. 

That was why you got on so well with Michonne. There was no bullshit with her. She told you what she thought, what she wanted, or where to go if you were pissing her off. You were better off for it, never having to second guess yourself, but not everyone was like that. 

Daryl certainly wasn’t. Did you have any idea where you stood with him at all? Did you see him like you saw everyone else? He swallowed hard. 

“Rick?” A voice then called out, “Are you down here?”

“In here!”

Footsteps approached Daryl’s cell and the curtain was pulled open, “Maggie wants you. Something about the library? She should be still in there.”

Daryl glanced up at the new arrival who met his crystalline gaze with a sweet smile. 

It was you. 

His mouth suddenly felt incredibly dry. 

Rick turned to Daryl and cocked a brow suggestively before making his departure. Daryl wanted to shove the smug bastard against a wall, but he stayed silent, clearing his throat and waiting for you to follow Rick without bothering to say another word.

Instead, you stayed and perched yourself on the edge of his squeaky metal desk which was covered in borrowed books and makeshift arrows. He silently cursed himself for not thinking to tidy up a little, especially with the pile of dirty clothes he kept forgetting about building up in the corner of his cell. 

“You charged right past me in the canteen earlier.” You finally said, voice gentle but steady, “Did something happen out there?”

“Naw.” He responded bluntly, “Just been a long week.”

“Oh.” You paused, unsure of how to proceed, “Do you want me to go?”

He was a difficult man to read, but you felt you knew him well enough by now to know that he often just wanted to be on his own. He wasn’t a talker. He was introspective and quiet, never wanted to bother anyone with anything if he didn’t have to, but over the last few months he seemed to have grown to like having you around. He tolerated you at the very least you thought, because he stopped ignoring you and started to speak in (almost) complete sentences. 

Still, something was nagging at you. You weren’t sure what, but in your experience it was best to come right out with it otherwise you’d be stuck in limbo forever. 

“Have I done -”

Daryl looked down at his hands, “Ain’t seen you all week.”

A frown pulled at your features. Had it really been that long? You weren’t even sure what day it was. Maggie had you running around all week trying to get this library in order for the kids and you had never been particularly good at juggling a million things at once. 

Pushing yourself up off the desk, you approached the bunk and nudged his feet with your shoe in a silent request for him to shuffle over. He obliged and you took a seat next to him. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, “I’ve been so caught up in the library I didn’t even realise I hadn’t spoken much to anyone.”

Silence followed. Daryl was chewing the inside of his lip to keep himself from running, unable to meet your eyes that were fixated on him with such care and curiosity. He’d never felt so fuckin’ stupid. 

“Funny.” You continued, “I wouldn’t have thought you cared.”

“What?”

“I don’t know where I stand with you at all, truthfully.”

This girl had to be joking. From an outside perspective, it likely made perfect sense, but he thought about you all the damn time. He wanted to know if you slept well, how your day went, wanted to know the little stories behind the things you did and why you never seemed to give up on anybody or anything. 

He felt like a damn school girl. He liked you so much that he could have laughed at the idea of you not thinking he liked you at all. 

“I mean, I hope you like me. I pretend you do and keep buggin’ you anyways, but I don’t know that you do.”

“Of course I like ya.” He finally met your gaze, “Never gave me a choice.”

You studied his face. Sure, he was rough around the edges, but there was also a tenderness to him that made you feel safe. An appreciative grin tugged at your lips, relieved that you hadn’t been making a fool of yourself this entire time. 

“Don’ think I could hate ya’ if I tried.”

“That’s high praise coming from you. Might start getting the wrong idea.”

Daryl forced himself to snort in response as if he found the notion of being interested in you like that funny, though it came out half-heartedly. He didn’t really think it was funny at all.

“Though,” You teased him further, “Worse things have happened.”

Weaving an arm through his, you took it upon yourself to rest your head against his shoulder. You didn’t care that he was grubby. You had nothing to lose anymore. He just said he couldn’t hate you, which honestly made you feel a little giddy inside. You’d have to bug him more often.

Daryl, on the other hand, thought he had lost the ability to breathe. He turned his head slightly, taking in the unmistakable scent of peaches and vanilla. How was it you could smell that good during the Goddamn apocalypse? Not to mention your hands, almost disgustingly soft compared to his. Except, it wasn’t disgusting at all. You were a fleece blanket and he wanted nothing more than to be engulfed by you. 

“Sorry about lunch.” He mumbled quietly into your hair. You hummed happily, not at all bothered by his previous outburst in the canteen before he continued, “Could get dinner?”

“Sure. I gotta talk to Rick about the run tomorrow anyways.”

Daryl frowned. He was going to have to try and spell it out for her. Fuckin’ Rick and his meddling. 

“Naw I meant,” He hesitated for a moment and swallowed hard, “I meant just the two of us. If ya’ want.”

You glanced up from his shoulder, eyes beautiful and wide. This was one of those times you didn’t know what to think -- especially in regards to him --  but your first instinct was to nod, so you did. You nodded and searched his gentle gaze for some sort of sign, something that told you what he was thinking, whether he just wanted to make up for lost time or whether he was actually… nah. 

He couldn’t be.

And he could see that confusion painted across your face. Goddamn it. Just getting his words out at all was like trying to get blood out of a stone. It’s a date. That’s all he had to say, but it sounded so childish. The fuck did he look like asking out a girl on a date with the world gone to shit? He could hear his heart beating in his ears 

“Damn it,” He grunted, that Southern drawl of his getting thicker the more impatient he got. He exhaled heavily through his nose and tried not to roll his eyes, “I’m asking you out.”

“Oh.” Was all you could respond, soft and surprised. 

Ten minutes ago you weren’t even sure he liked you at all. That giddy feeling in your stomach grew stronger and you tried to stop yourself from beaming. 

“I can still say yes, right?”

Daryl shrugged you off of him, “You drive me nuts, you know tha’?”

“Alright, shit, I won’t come.”

“You’re coming, alrigh’? Now get outa here before Maggie bites my head off.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood up and stepped towards the gateway. Daryl watched you, his own gaze drifting from your hair to your waist and up again. That agonising ache in the pit of his stomach was finally starting to subside, though it was being replaced by something entirely different. He sucked in his bottom lip nervously as your hips swayed away from him. 

You only took a couple of steps out of his cell when you stopped in your tracks, turning half-way to glance at him with that sunshine smile spreading across your face. 

Daryl finally smiled back, shy and sweet and more than ready to smack Rick upside the head. 

#the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon #norman reedus #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon oneshot #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #mine

[oreomonsterhunter]

“You’re always calling me a tree”

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Word Count: 1092

Warnings: none

Summary: Namjoon takes you on a picnic

“How much farther?” you called, legs starting to get tired.  It felt like you’d been pedaling for hours, but in reality it was probably only thirty minutes.

Namjoon glanced back over his shoulder at you.  “Almost there,” he promised, flashing you a grin.  You groaned dramatically, and were rewarded by Joon’s deep chuckle.  A smile flitted across your lips, and you eyed the passing scenery thoughtfully.  Nearing the end of spring, flowers were still blooming, but the air hadn’t warmed up enough to be uncomfortably hot yet.  You threw your head back in the cool breeze, thrilled that Namjoon had invited you out for a picnic.  It had been a long week stuck indoors at the office, and now that you were outside, you could admit that you had been aching for some fresh air.  The glowing expression adorning Joon’s features that morning indicated that he felt the same.

Finally, he slowed to a stop along the side of the path, kicking one leg over the bike to stand beside it.  You followed suit, curious as to your destination.  Before you could interrogate him, Namjoon beckoned you to follow, leading the way off the trail and through the trees.

You eyed the nearly non-existent path dubiously.  “Are you sure about this?”

“Sure as the sun rises.  Come on,” he waved to you again.  With a roll of your eyes, you followed, picking a more careful route between the plants.

“Oh, Joonie,” you breathed, stopping when you caught sight of the clearing ahead.  It was something out of a movie, just wildflowers and lush grass and birds and...beautiful.

“I told you to trust me,” he said, brows raised.  Namjoon quickly unstrapped the picnic basket from the back of his bike.  “Shall we?”

You beamed at him, flipping the kickstand on your bike before skipping over to him.  “Absolutely.”

The two of you found a soft patch of grass to spread the blanket on, and you immediately flopped down, rolling around in the sunshine to the music of Namjoon’s laughter.  Finally, you rolled onto your elbows, looking up at him playfully.  “I take it you like this,” he commented, sitting down on the edge of the blanket.

You scooted closer to him, nudging him with one shoulder.  “I love this, thank you,” you murmured, leaning your head against him.

“I figured you could use an escape, and so could I.  We haven’t been able to get away for a while, just the two of us.”

“Well, now we’re not-quite-lost in the middle of the woods, no work in sight.”  Your stomach growled, interrupting anything else you might have said.  You grinned sheepishly, “And a delicious lunch.”

He laughed, tugging the basket closer for you.  “Ladies first.”

You popped a grape in your mouth, then perused the various other snacks you’d packed.  Meanwhile, Joon stretched out in the sun as you had moments earlier, closing his eyes as he soaked in the rays.  You got a little distracted watching him, absentmindedly popping cherry tomatoes while you watched him.  He really was a star.  Not only onstage, but here, shining in a field of flowers with you.

“If you’re too busy watching me to eat, can you pass me the basket?” Namjoon teased, cracking one eye open.  You huffed, shoving some crackers in his direction.  Then you caught sight of those flowers again.  A smile parted your lips as the idea took root, and you scrambled to your feet, kicking off your shoes so you could feel the grass between your toes.  “What are you doing?” Namjoon called, leaning on his elbows to watch you.

“Nothing,” you said, crouching down to inspect some bright yellow blooms.  You nodded, quickly pinching a few at the stem, giving yourself some inches to work with.  Joon hadn’t told you what you were doing today until you’d seen the bikes, so you’d worn a skirt.  It had been hell to navigate while pedaling, but came in handy now, as you gathered the edges to make a bit of a makeshift basket.  Fortunately, it was long enough to do so without showing off the pretty underwear you’d chosen today.

Even so, you were very conscious of Namjoon’s eyes on your newly exposed expanse of leg.  You made your way back to the picnic blanket slowly, toes curling in the grass as you eyed your bounty.  You studiously ignored Namjoon and his dark eyes, falling to your knees at the edge of the blanket and depositing the flowers in a tidy pile.

“What’s all this?” Namjoon asked, voice just a bit deeper than before.

You bit your lip to hold back a smile.  “I’m going to make a flower crown,” you informed him, crossing your legs and picking up a few stems, tying them together neatly.

“Can I help?”

You looked over at him, but Namjoon’s gaze was now intent upon the work in your hands.  Your smile broke free, and you extended your arms to show him better.  “Like this.  We can both make one, I have enough flowers.”

After about five minutes, you were both giggling like mad.  It seemed Namjoon did not have a talent for this, and he reluctantly gave up on his attempt, settling for watching you work instead.

The noon sun beat down on your shoulders, warming them deliciously, but you squinted.  Unfortunately, you hadn’t brought sunglasses or a hat.  Then a shadow fell over your hands.  You assumed it was a cloud, until the shadow didn’t move.  Looking up, you blinked at the empty space Namjoon had occupied.  Twisting around, you found him standing behind you, and you let out a surprised laugh.  “What on earth are you doing?  Can’t you see better from over here?”

“You’re always calling me a tree, it’s about time I lived up to my name,” he joked.  “Besides, you were straining too hard to see.  It’s the least I can do to help, since I’m terrible at weaving, apparently.”

You softened, staring up at your lovely tree.  Seeing your expression, Namjoon ducked down, planting a kiss on your waiting lips.  “Thank you,” you murmured, mouth brushing his.

“Always.”

Heart fit to burst, you didn’t stop smiling once while you finished your flower crown.  You patted the blanket beside you, signaling that you were done, and Joon plopped down, leaning into your side.  “What do you think?” you asked, holding it up to him.

“It’s almost as lovely as you are,” he said, scrunching his face adorably.

You giggled, lifting it up and placing it on his head.  “Perfect.”

* * * * *

Masterlist

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts scenarios #namjoon fluff #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon x reader #namjoon fanfic #bts namjoon #bts namjoon fanfic #bts namjoon fluff #complete and total impulse #literally a thirty min writing sesh that proofed out of me and into the page with zero proofreading so...........whoops #enjoyyyyy

[kpopmalereader]

make ; choi chanhee

• summary: you’re very friendly with all of the boys but they notice you getting shy and nervous around chanhee and figure out you have a crush on him • pairing: choi chanhee x male!reader • word count: 2517 • to do

You lean down, knocking the excess powder off the makeup brush. You hold Kevin’s chin with your pinky, steadying your brush against his eyes. You bring a fair amount of red eyeshadow from the center of his eyelids outwards, smoking and fading out the ends. You look at him for a second and nod, repeating the action on the other side. You add the slightest bit more red and blend it out.

You narrow your eyes and pull back, holding a mirror in front of Kevin’s face. He examines himself in the mirror. He tilts his head, looking at himself in different angles and lighting.

“It-”

Kevin’s words are drowned out by Chanhee walking into the room.

Your body stiffens as Chanhee shouts your name. Kevin notices your ears beginning to turn red but chalks it up to you being distracted. The brush feels foreign in your hands, and you put it down. You smile at Kevin and turn to Chanhee.

He stumbles slightly as he makes his way to you, smiling as he navigates through the mess. He smiles the whole way. “Hey! I was wondering if you could do my makeup for me? I like it when you do my makeup.”

You nod a bit too quickly at him, your smile growing. You have a strange mix of excitement and dread on your face as you turn around back to Kevin. “Let me finish with this, and I’ll do your makeup.”

Chanhee hugs your back quickly, and you choke on your breath. He runs off, yelling back at you. “You’re the best!”

Kevin almost thinks he can hear a squeak out of you as Chanhee crushes you. He raises an eyebrow, and you clear your throat. You lean down and examine the rest of his face makeup, tilting his chin so he can no longer make eye contact with you.

You finish up with Kevin’s face and let him out of the chair. You fidget with your hands for a second, stretching out your fingers. You clean off the makeup brush and tidy up your space. You calm yourself and attempt to eliminate your face and ears’ redness before you stand up fully.

Chanhee notices your free seat and hops over with a goofy smile. He points at the space, and you nod. He takes it and settles in, pulling his phone out to show you the picture. 

You look at it for a second. “I can do that.”

“Really?” He looks at you with full eyes. 

The blush you dissipated begins to return. You nod slowly and try to steady your hands. You pull out the black eyeliner, pretending to search for it to attempt nonchalance. You roll your shoulders back and lean down.

Chanhee’s eyes follow you, even as you get closer, and you find it difficult to concentrate. You shake your head and focus on drawing straight lines.

“Can you close your eyes for a moment?” 

Your voice is small when it would typically be boisterous and fun around the boys, which a few (including Kevin once more) take notice of.

You draw a curved line across his eyelid, winging out the eyeliner. You go over the lines to add a fuller look and step back, looking at him closely. He opens his eyes and looks up at you. He watches your face move. Your eyes are scrutinizing every aspect of it. You lock eyes and your heart rate picks up. Your face begins to flush, causing him to tilt his head to the side. You ignore it and lean back in, reaching for a light reddish-brown color. You place the stain lightly, dragging it along his bottom water-line.

He follows you, waiting for the nod of completion. He turns to look at himself, and you busy yourself with putting the rest of your brushes away, knowing you would openly gawk at him if you had the chance.

He poses in the mirror for a few seconds before breaking out in a small laugh. He nods and stands, ruffling your hair. “You’re the best! It’s perfect!”

You stutter over your gratitude, barely barking out the words “thank you.” He walks away. You take the moment of peace to lean forward on the chair. You scratch at your neck and begin packing up your things. Changmin walks up to you. He raises an eyebrow at your movements, so you smile at him and feign ignorance. He rolls his eyes at you.

“I don’t know why you are doing that.” You start. “And I do not want to know.”

He doesn’t shift his expression, a raised eyebrow look you don’t like much. “Why-”

You repeat. “I don’t want to know.”

He switches tactics suddenly. It almost knocks you off your feet. “Are we friends?”

“Yeah- Yes?”

He waits. “Are you and Chanhee friends?”

You look around. Your eyes finally settle on your workspace, too long after Changmin asked the question. You finally begin to nod. “Yeah, Chanhee and I are friends.”

“Then why do you look at him like that?”

“I don’t look at him like anything.” You stop him before he says anything else and shrug your shoulders. You zip up your crate and smile. “Have fun with your performance. I have to go.”

Everyone yells bye to you, and you wave at them. Chanhee jumps up before you can get to the door. You startle slightly and look at him, blinking twice.

“Thank you for the makeup today. I appreciate it.”

*

“He’s here!” Jacob turns his head and yells through the apartment before greeting you at the door. He smiles and waves you inside.

He shuts the door behind you and takes your bag. You watch as he rushes into the living room. You follow him slowly, apprehensive. Hyunjae is the first you notice as you walk into the living room. He can’t, or doesn’t, hide the weird smile he gets on his face and the glances between you and Chanhee. You watch him for a second and shake your head, willing him to stop whatever it is that he’s beginning.

Kevin is the next to get your attention, a confident smirk over his face. He stands and looks at the clock. He moves to stare at you, amusement bubbling in his eyes. “Since you’re here and we want to hang out for a while, we figured we could get some food.”

“Oh, I’ll go!” Changmin volunteers first, giggling at you as he passes to the door.

The rest of the boys follow in suit, offering their services to pick up food. Soon the only ones left in the room with you are Sangyeon, Eric, and Chanhee. You glare at Kevin, trying to grab his wrist as he passes.

“I have to keep my word. I already said I would go.” 

Sangyeon and Eric look at each other. Suddenly, they nod at the same time and stand together. They mumble different things they need to do and walk out of the room simultaneously.

Sangyeon winks at you, almost running himself into the wall after he turns around.

You roll your eyes at them and look over at Chanhee, who’s now decided it’s the perfect time to look at you with the prettiest expression you’ve ever seen. You smile, nervousness seeping out of your pores. He sits with one of his headphones in, tapping the side of his phone.

“Have fun!” Kevin calls out before a bedroom door slams shut.

You look around for a second and sit down on the couch. You sit on one of your hands, trying to stifle the shaking you know will occur if you don’t. Chanhee pulls his headphones out and draws himself closer.

“Do you-” You sigh and pause. “Do you know why I was invited over here today?”

Chanhee shrugs his shoulders. He looks at you with an expression spelling out innocence. “We wanted to hang out with you. We don’t get to see you outside of work often.”

You nod and clear your throat. “Right, right.”

He stands up and moves along the couch, finding a seat next to you. He smiles and looks down, watching your hands pick at the seams of your jeans. “Why did you think you were invited?”

“I didn’t know. I was just wondering if Kevin was getting at something.”

“Why would he do that?”

You look up at him and shake your head. “He does things like that sometimes.”

Chanhee nods his head and taps the back of his phone. He pokes at his leg, not broaching the silent territory. His voice stops in his throat, halts before he can get the question out, and he changes his mind.

“What’s your favorite color?” His eyes are shining. 

Your heart stops in your chest before picking up in double time. The question doesn’t make sense in your head. “What?”

He smiles and repeats himself. “What’s your favorite color? I thought it was yellow, but I didn’t know if that’s what it was. Do you like yellow?”

You turn towards him, the slightest smile creeping on your face. You pull at your fingers. “Yeah... I didn’t know you knew that about me.”

Chanhee shrugs. “I know we’re not as close as you and Kevin or some of the others, but I listen when you speak. I like hearing your opinions and your stories. I like your laugh and your smile too.”

You giggle slightly before calming yourself. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I just- I didn’t think anyone noticed those things about me. I don’t remember ever saying what I liked the color.”

“You did. I don’t remember who’s makeup you were doing. I really couldn’t focus on anything other than you.” He pauses for a second in his retelling, taking a long look at your increasingly more red cheeks. “But anyway, you said you liked certain colors more than others. You talked about color combinations and said you liked every combination that had yellow in it even if other people thought they were ugly.”

You furrow your eyebrows, not remembering any of that conversation.

“And you have this yellow shirt. It’s just a plain yellow shirt, but you wear it so often. It’s a good shirt. I know you’re hesitant to say it’s your favorite color, but it’s the color of your favorite shirt.” He nods his head and smiles, thinking up random facts and stories you don’t know of. “It’s also the most used color in all of your makeup.”

You blush darker. The color travels up your cheekbones and to your ears. “I like all colors.”

He smiles and looks in your eyes. “I like all colors too.”

You try to look in his eyes but, in the moment, you can’t stand being so close to him for much longer. You pinch your arm lightly and look down. The feeling of his eyes trailed on your face feels hot. Hot and overwhelming.

“Do you- Do you like Kevin more than you like the rest of us?”

“What? No, no.” You laugh and shake your head. You scrunch your nose up at the thought of it.

Chanhee leans ever-so-closer, probably not much to him, not much to the world, but your heart beats faster and faster, jumping further and further up your chest into your throat. The air around you feels heavy. It’s dense and makes you droop your shoulders.

“Do you not like Kevin more in the same way you don’t like yellow more?”

“No.” You shake your head immediately. “I don’t like Kevin like that.”

Chanhee finally stops looking at you. He looks forward, not long enough for you to calm yourself, before he gazes back at you. “Do you like anyone like that?”

You clear your throat, hoping the red on your face isn’t too noticeable but knowing it is. “Yeah? I don’t know.”

“Really?” Chanhee lights up and smiles. “Who? Are they nice? Do they... like the color yellow?”

You smile, the beginnings of a laugh bubbling in your chest, and you nod. “Yeah, they’re nice. They-”

You roll your eyes at yourself before you even say the next sentence.

“They remind me of the color yellow. Bright, happy, endlessly comforting. He’s-”

“He?” Chanhee asks.

It almost sounds hopeful. If you were anyone else, if he was anyone else, you’re sure it wouldn’t, and you’re aware you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You tell yourself it’s only the shock. You tell yourself these things but know you don’t believe them.

“He.” You answer. “It’s not a big deal.”

“No! No, it’s not. It’s not a big deal. I just didn’t know. So, color yellow?”

You laugh at yourself and lean back, shaking your head. “Yeah. It’s stupid. It’s stupid, but he is. I like him, though he doesn’t know how much.”

He stops. He turns forward and holds. He squints at the wall in front of him.

“I...” He begins to speak slowly. Too slowly for your liking. “I hope the “he” you like, the personification of the color yellow, the one that makes you get the distant look and beautiful smile on your face, I hope that’s me.”

Your brain computes slower than ever. Your mind can’t take in the meaning of his words, and he waits. He waits, patient, with a worried yet calm look on his face. You finally shake your brain into functioning and lean forward.

You whisper, eyes darting around the room. “Are you- Did Kevin put you up to this?”

Chanhee shakes his head. He holds your knee. “I’m not lying; it’s not a joke. I want the person that you’re blushing about to be me. So, I ask you, is it me? Could it ever be me?”

“It is you.” You breathe out the words. Not a whisper but nothing above it. “It is you. You’re the person that reminds me of the color yellow. You’re the reason eight people went to pick up food, and two others ran away so they could force me into a room alone with you without handcuffing me. You’re the reason every time I look at you or talk to you or do your makeup, they stand and giggle and gawk.”

He leans forward, the beginnings of a bright and confident but still nervous smile forming. He speaks at the same level as you. “Kevin has been badgering me for a week about talking to you. I may or may not have confessed everything I felt for you and told him I wouldn’t blame him if you had feelings for him instead of me.”

You and Chanhee nod simultaneously before he continues.

“He laughed.”

“He laughed at me when I told him I was scared to tell you. He said it would be easy.” You shake your head and smile at him. You start to laugh, and Chanhee’s smile grows next to yours.  “I guess it was pretty easy. Though I think it was only because you said it was first.”

He leans back. He pauses, giving you the last few moments of peace before he asks. “You think I’m the color yellow?”

#the boyz #kpop #kpop scenario #the boyz x reader #male reader #the boyz imagine #the boyz scenario #new #choi chanhee #kpop male reader #kpop x reader #kpop x male reader #teh boyz male reader #new x reader #new x male reader #new x male!reader #choi chanhee x reader #choi chanhee x male reader #choi chanhee x male!reader

[apiratewhopines]

Thanks to @jrob64 and @teamhook for the gorgeous artwork. Heart eyes for days…

Killian, Persuaded

Chapter Seventeen — A Banquet of Consequences

Summary: In which our hero has massive success

Chapter Seventeen on AO3

“I’ll think of you

Wherever you go”

-2000 Miles, The Pretenders

Killian shut the door to the relentless questions from the few lingering paparazzi hoping to get a reaction from him on the newest bevy of lies his ex-fiancée spewed. He should have known she would retaliate when he refused to cater to her every whim. With his newfound zen, he would have let it go had she not come after Emma.

How Nimue could have known about his love was a matter that deserved some attention after he settled his debts. For now, his focus was making her pay. She would rue the day she ever crossed him.

Emma took the scrutiny of being labeled the other woman with an aplomb he admired. The papers, starved for scandal and screaming for blood, speculated on every aspect of her life from her childhood as a foster to her career in a male-dominated profession. Fed by the falsehoods Nimue relayed with a tear-stained face, a web of betrayal far from reality was printed like it was somehow Emma’s fault the famous heiress ran off with the elder Mr. Jones.

If anyone was the victim in this contrived tragedy, it was Emma. However, victim was a role she never felt comfortable playing so she carried on like being painted a scarlet woman was all par for the course. She was a marvel and he felt himself falling more under her spell with each passing day.

His offer to keep his distance was genuine but he was eternally grateful she pushed it aside. If he hadn’t been able to spend nearly every night with her and Henry over the last couple of weeks, he feared his thirst for vengeance would have gotten the better of him and he would have done something rash.

Much like the plan floating in his mind now.

At first it was only an inkling of an idea, a errant thought of an exasperated mind. Offshore accounts, wayward navigational systems, email exchanges, and meeting minutes all swirled like eddies in his brain, the beginning of a far-fetched scheme just this side of legal. Or maybe slightly on the other side of it.

He would need his brother’s help but judging from the way Liam glared at the newspapers anytime he saw the coverage of the scandal-that-wasn’t made him think he wouldn’t have to convince the other man to join in the venture.

“Wow, beware of lurking millionaires,” came a sardonic voice from his kitchen.

Smiling when he saw Emma’s form leaning against the entrance to the living room, he made his way over and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, love, but how did you get in?”

“I picked the lock on the back door,” she said nonchalantly as if it were a common occurrence. “Henry made ice cream in his science class. He wanted to share with you and as cold as it is, we’re still above freezing. I was afraid it would melt if I left it outside. What were you thinking about? You looked devious.”

Ignoring her question, he moved past her and opened his junk drawer, a wonderful concept Elsa explained was the key to a tidy kitchen. One simply swept all the clutter into a single space, a drawer or closet, and no one was the wiser. He hadn’t really lived in his home long enough to be that far gone so it took only a second to pull out a key and toss it to her. He’d held onto it for weeks waiting for the right time to give it to her. “I’d hate to have to report you to Smee for breaking and entering. Feel free to use it whenever you want to drop by.” Or perhaps just move in…

He kept the last part to himself since her expression was already a little spooked at the casual way he invited her into his space. He knew she felt it was fast but he hoped if he didn’t make a big deal about their progress, she would accept it as the normal course of business between them.

“You also left your phone at my place last night.” Coughing uncomfortably, she added, “You might want to check your messages.”

Her tone left him with no doubt she had seen something come through. He had no secrets from her—well, no real secrets other vague plots of revenge—so he was bewildered as to what could have possibly made her so skittish. Taking the phone from her hand with a cocked eyebrow, he looked down to see a few dozen missed calls and as many text messages from She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The woman seemed determined to ruin the best thing in his life. “Ah, I suppose you’re referring to the desperate outreach of a deranged woman.”

“You didn’t tell me she was in contact.”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“You didn’t think the fact the woman who is making your life a living hell with an international smear campaign is also directly harassing you was worthy of discussion,” she commented wryly. “Clearly your life is more interesting than mine.”

“You, Henry, and my family are my life and the only subjects I want to talk about,” he replied smoothly. Pulling her into his arms, he took a deep breath and relaxed as the familiar scent of her shampoo filled his senses. “Speaking of which, Henry and I are picking up your Christmas present tonight. What would you like for us to bring back for dinner?”

In truth, Henry had been helping put the finishing touches on her gift for the last week but she didn’t need to know about their partnership just yet.

“Killian,” she said on a sigh, “this isn’t going to work if we aren’t open with each other.”

“Fine, I didn’t say anything because I already dragged you far enough into this mess. The only reason I haven’t blocked her number is because I thought I may need evidence of her malfeasance down the road. It’s simple enough to ignore. I honestly don’t even notice it half the time.”

“She’s escalating, Killian. I’m not sure why she’s decided it is your fault she’s unhappy but maybe you should talk to your father. See if he can reign her in,” she suggested, her words a gentle caress against his chest.

“Are you joking, love? If anything, he’s probably egging her on,” he retorted. Tightening his arms around her, he offered, “Let’s pretend they don’t exist.”

“She wants the money and your mother’s rings. She won’t back off until she gets them. You’re going to have to decide: Give her what she wants so she’ll disappear or fight back. Taking the high road hasn’t gotten you anywhere.”

He chuckled at her pep talk. His Swan was a fighter and she abhorred inaction. Nimue better hope she never comes across Emma in a dark alley. “You’re right. But let’s wait until after our Christmas soirée. I promise it will all be settled before the new year.”

—

The less than melodious sounds of a poor lad who only wanted a dental miracle for the holidays filled the Jones family home. He watched his nieces chase Roland around the enormous Christmas tree that dominated the living room, the LED lights burning into his retinas so the enjoyment of the lurid decorations could continue to entertain even with his eyes closed. Liam was in the corner gleefully explaining to Robin and Regina how he timed his outdoor ornamentation to match the tune of a dozen holiday classics.

Henry and Smee were currently battling it out on Guitar Hero and Killian was surprised his old valet was so adept at hammering out rock music on a plastic guitar. He briefly thought about joining Elsa and Emma in the kitchen but decided against it. Smee had mentioned on his arrival that he needed to talk with him in private and as the Metallica song was finishing its last notes, he realized now was the perfect time. Glancing at his brother, he nodded toward his home office and made his way after catching Smee’s attention.

Minutes later, the three men were huddled around the desk, voices low and eyes constantly flickering to the door to ensure they weren’t overheard.

“Your father broke off the engagement,” Smee announced without ceremony. “He only proposed when it seemed the fortune was gone. Now that you’ve restored the family name and bank accounts, Mr. Jones, he decided to end the association.”

Tamping down on the fleeting feeling of pity for Nimue, Killian said, “So our father only latched on when he thought all hope was lost?”

“He knew you wouldn’t go through with it and he was worried he would end up penniless. Better to bite the bullet himself.”

“I suppose it explains why Nimue is so intent on punishing the family. Although I wish she directed her ire at him rather than me,” he muttered, trying to figure out what this news meant for his plan.

“There’s more,” Smee explained. “Nimue’s father was already upset by her treatment of you. He never liked your father, I believe he was an admirer of your mother long ago. When Nimue went to the press with the cock and bull story about your affair forcing her into the arms of another man and your manipulation of her and your father into exploiting his friends for money, he cut her off entirely.”

“Serves her right,” Liam said, his expression not the least bit troubled at Smee’s revelations. “Too bad she didn’t take Father down with her. No matter what destruction he leaves in his wake, he always manages to come out better on the other side.”

“Perhaps not this time,” Killian murmured. Seeing he had the other men’s attention he continued, “I’ve been thinking. Technically, he can’t access the funds in the family accounts since they were frozen when he left the country but then again, neither can we. That just leaves the offshore accounts at his disposal. But based on what Marco told me, those could keep him afloat indefinitely. Liam, how hard would it be to guide his yacht out of international waters into the range of a country that would extradite him back?”

“You mean tap into his navigational systems and ever-so-slightly alter his course so he anchors in the British Indian Ocean Territory?”

“Sure,” Killian responded, a little concerned at how quickly his brother glommed on to the idea. “Then a well-placed rumor here and an anonymous tip there would bring the full force of the law down on him. I’ve got a stack of incriminating communications just waiting to be handed off that should simplify the case.”

“I don’t think I should be here for this conversation.” With a rueful shake of his head, Smee nodded to the brothers as he left the room in a hurry muttering something about plausible deniability.

Giving into curiosity, he studied his brother’s face. “What exactly did you do in the Navy?”

“A little of this, a little of that…” Liam brushed him off. He supposed it could have been worse. He could have said if he told him, he’d have to kill him. “Are you certain, Killian? I know he was never in the running for Father of the Year but this could send him to prison.”

“Not a real one. It’s a white collar crime and we’ve already made restitution. He’ll get a short sentence at a facility with a golf course.” Looking at his brother, a wild mix of emotions surfaced. Was he ready to pull the trigger knowing there would be no going back?

“Those are only in the movies. Even a minimum security place would be hard on the old chap.”

“Are you seriously trying to talk me out of this?”

“This is a big decision. I’m with you until the bitter end, little brother, make no mistake. I just want you to go into it with eyes wide open.”

“I think he would benefit from a time out,” he answered after a moment of reflection. “How quickly can you do it? I’m ready to put an end to the whole thing.”

“Consider it done.”

Hours later, the fireplace gently crackled away causing the discarded wrapping paper to glitter from every corner of the room. The children had long since retreated to their rooms to play with their new toys. Robin and Regina left over an hour ago, Roland staying behind for the night as his father took his life in his own hands by proposing to the fearsome brunette he had fallen in love with against all odds and better reason. Smee followed them out the door, planning for a night of packing and intent on catching a plane in the morning to visit his mother for the reminder of the year.

Emma and Liam were in the kitchen pouring wine and waiting for the Jones Family cookies to finish baking. He was left in the living room with Elsa, the two of them vegging out on the couch after an eventful night corralling kids and making tacos.

Appraising him with shrewd eyes and a calculating expression, Elsa asked, “What were you and Liam closeted away discussing so intently?”

Fearing his sister-in-law may be on to them, he quickly replied, “Our escape plan if you forgot to turn on the kitchen appliances again.”

“How Emma finds you charming is beyond me,” she retorted.

“She said that? She thinks I’m charming?”

“For goodness sake, Killian, you two are clueless to the point of it being painful to watch. Yes, she does otherwise she wouldn’t spend every waking moment with you and more than a few sleeping ones. Now can we stop talking about your love life and you tell me what you’re planning with my husband.”

“Why do you think we’re planning anything? We simply had some business to discuss,” he evaded.

“On Christmas Eve? I think not.”

“Think what you want, doesn’t change the facts.” Smee’s words echoed in his mind and he knew all his loved ones needed plausible deniability. “Did you like your present?”

“Yes, the oven mitts were lovely, little brother. I will treasure them and pass them down to one of your lovely nieces as a family heirloom. Perhaps if some future husband of theirs squanders the family fortune we can look forward to seeing them in an auction catalog at some point.”

“We can’t all be so lucky, darling,” Killian joked with a gentle nudge to her ribs. She immediately shifted her position and plopped her feet into his lap which had become her way of asking for a foot massage. Hoping his compliance would bring an end to her questions, he began his task resignedly.

“I noticed there wasn’t a present for Emma under the tree from you. I think considering we all had to endure the months of pining and forlorn gazes, we should be able to watch her open her gift.”

“It wouldn’t fit through the front door or under the tree so you’ll just have to be patient.”

With a quizzical look, she repeated, “Wouldn’t fit under the tree? What in the world did you get her?”

He certainly wasn’t going to tell Elsa before he had a chance to give it to Emma. There was no way the woman would be able to keep it a secret and besides, no one other than Emma would understand the true meaning behind the gesture. It had taken him weeks to find it, another month to get it in working order, and a large part of his hard-earned paycheck to make it perfect for her.

A piece of their history, restored and improved, ready for any future path they may choose to take.

He could have dipped into his trust fund or the proceeds from the sale of his penthouse once it was finalized but it had been important for him to fund this little endeavor with money he earned himself. He needed to prove he was a different man, a better man, and taking the easy way didn’t seem right in this case.

He was confident she would love it. He was also confident she would be angry with him for going to the trouble.

“Something to show her how much she means to me.” His fuzzy response drew a groan from Elsa, or perhaps it was the pressure he applied to the arch of her foot.

Her groggy voice drifted across the couch. “I think you’re perfect for each other so don’t be an idiot and mess it up again.”

“That’s truly inspirational, darling. You should cross-stitch it on a pillow and give it to me next Christmas,” he teased. Unfortunately, his reply fell on deaf ears because when he looked over to see her reaction, she was already asleep.

—

“I thought you had given up being an International Man of Mystery,” Emma murmured as she allowed him to lead her into the garage at his place. Henry decided to stay at Liam’s, claiming he wanted to have the French toast breakfast Elsa promised. Killian suspected the young man really wanted to give his foster mom a chance to react to her gift without an audience.

“The life chooses you, darling, not the other way around. Close your eyes.”

With a snort she squeezed his hand while complying to his request. The sound of the garage door clanging open kept them both silent. The automatic light bathed them in a golden glow as the metal moved slowly to reveal her Christmas present. He glanced over at her to make sure she wasn’t peeking. When he was sure she hadn’t caught a glimpse, he took a deep breath and said quietly, “Surprise.”

The grin crossing her face at his theatrics transformed into shocked awe when she saw the antique yellow Beetle parked in one of the bays. Speechless, her eyes darted between him and the car before tentatively moving closer to the vehicle.

“You got me a car?”

“Not just any car, love.”

“Wait…you don’t mean…”

“Aye. It’s your beloved Bug. Well, I should say it’s partially your beloved car. You weren’t kidding when you said it was totaled. Luckily, Billy happens to restore old cars and there is a junkyard a few states away specializing in vintage VW Bugs so while not all the parts are original to your car, they are original to someone’s old Beetle.”

He knew he was rambling but he couldn’t take the anticipation. Her reaction was quieter than he expected, much more muted than her normal exasperation with his grand gestures. Perhaps he had misstepped.

She continued to silently circle the car, taking in the flawless paint job and reupholstered interior. He could tell the exact moment when she noticed the tacky air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror, a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt scented of coconut and lime. “I know I should refuse this but I don’t think I have it in me.”

Relieved, he let out a breath he didn’t realized he had been holding. “No use, love. Even if you refuse, Henry already called dibs when he gets his driver’s license. You like it then?”

“Killian, there aren’t really words. I…I don’t know how or why you did this but thank you.”

She tore herself away from the reunion with her car and rushed into his arms, peppering him with kisses in a type of wanton abandonment that was extremely rare for her. Feeling the ecstatic energy coursing through her, he enjoyed her very physical efforts to demonstrate her gratitude.

“Emma, I love you. I want nothing but your happiness. I would fill Storybrooke with old clunkers if that was what your heart desired.”

“I can’t be bought,” she teased with mock sternness.

“I’m not trying to buy you, darling. I’m trying to be worthy of you. And maybe promise some things too,” he explained, kissing her temple in the cold night air. “Would you like to take her for a spin?”

“Her? I’ll have you know that Neal is a he and I think I’ll let him rest up tonight before I put him through his paces tomorrow.”

“Why do I suddenly feel jealous of a car? This may have been a bad idea…”

“Shut up and kiss me, Killian.”

“As you wish.”

He poured every ounce of emotion into the kiss, hoping she could feel his sincerity. The pain of the past faded, the uncertainty of the present and the knowledge of what his brother was doing on the other side of town disappeared as he melted into the arms of the woman he loved and offered up a unspoken wish they would all find their happy endings.

@kmomof4 @jrob64 @teamhook @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @klynn-stormz



[perfectfoil]

@gutsymmetry said: ❛   cook .   present  my  muse  with  home - cooked  food . plus a barely audible mutter that might be something like "this is yours" but as if joan's worried she's mispronouncing the words and doesn't want vera to hear / 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 (a  series  of  nonverbal  prompts .   mature  themes  present ,   ‘ my ’  muse  belongs  to  the  one who  posted  the  meme  -  send   “ + REVERSE ”   to  reverse  the  prompts .)

Déjà vu. The Governor fills the kitchen as if she lives here, as if she owns the place. The space around her is navigated with ease, the familiarity of her movements at odds with the staccato quality of her speech as it delivers words barely above a murmur and Vera stands there, idle and pointless and wary. Once, twice, she makes to speak ,to move, to respond in any way other than that of the opening and closing of her mouth, of the uncertain rise of her hand when it makes for the small plastic container, of the tentative shuffling of slippers-clad feet across the floor. She's watching her, head canted towards the meal (the meal thought, cooked, packed for her) and eyes lifted from under knitted brows. If only Joan would look at her... Or even glance. Oh she'd take even a glance in her direction. Please. There's gratitude suffusing her gaze - and something else in the pit of her stomach, something that coils and uncoils as it squirms upward to find a nest in her chest, in between her ribs, around her throat. Vera bites her lip. It only takes a handful of seconds for her to finally take the tub of food and open the fridge but hours seem to have bled in the space between them where some unnameable creature sits and swells, its belly full of the unspeakable. The fridge door slams shut behind her.

"Thank you, Governor, I ... I haven't felt like cooking so this is .... Ah...thank you ." It's pathetic. A paltry recognition. Unworthy. Vera tries to not look askance, tries to ignore the empty boxes of take-away food she's lined up to dispose of in the recycling bin, tries to find her bearings again. "You shouldn't have." It spills out of her mouth as though of its own accord. With a shake of her head, she frowns, grimaces a smile of apology. She wants to take it back and start all over again, wants to tidy the mess of flowers and condolences cards and bills, wants to show her that she's not usually that messy, that unprepared. Unlike Joan. Joan who stands there, pristine and collected, patient and calm. There isn't a hair, long and shiny, out of place. Even the way creases form in specific places of her outfit only seem to do so because she allows it. There's that twitch again, that flutter in her stomach. Her ears, she can feel, are warmer. It's the first time, she should tell her. The first time someone's done this. Thought of her. Made something for her. Cooked something just for her. Something that smells good, so good.

"I feel ready," she assures the Governor. "To come back to work in a couple of days. I do. I am ready."

#gutsymmetry #writing ;; answer #verse ;; wentworth 01

[noctuaas]

AS YOU WISH; t. kuroo

synopsis; in this tale of romance, revenge, and treason, you, a beautiful commoner, are set to become the princess of aobajousai. will your one true love be able to save you in time?

pairing; kuroo tetsurou x reader

content; princess bride au (heavily based on both the movie and novel), medieval au, torture, mild violence, drama, fantasy/adventure, murder, fem!reader

fic navigation

01 ; THE BRIDE

TO BE THE MOST beautiful girl in the world was a concept far past your concern. Those around you certainly saw the potential, but at 16 years old, you simply could not care less to capitalize on your natural beauty. (Beauty routines were exhausting in your eyes. You only washed your face so as not to feel filthy, taking a razor to your leg hair was far more trouble than it seemed worth, and you were quite sick of brushing your hair, so you did so as little as possible.) All you really wanted to do was ride your horse and pester the farm boy that worked for your parents.

Prince, as you had taken to calling the horse when he was just a yearling, was a loyal companion. Other girls your age grew attached to one of their herding dogs’ pups, or the kitten of a barn cat, but you had Prince. He always came when you called, steered where you told him even on a loose rein, nuzzled your face on bad days. 

For all the time you spent taunting and bossing the farm boy around—“Farm Boy, fetch me this,” and “Farm Boy, take care of that,”—he always had one thing in common with the horse: he always did as he was told.

(Perhaps you knew that he was really a young man now—he was a year or two older than you—but he had been just an orphaned boy when he first came to work for your father, so that was what you referred to him as: Farm Boy.)

“As you wish,” he always replied, without fail.

Your father was fond of the farm boy, often remarking how he should leave him an acre of land in his will for all his hard work. These conversations never lasted long though, not before your parents would turn to you and chide you for needing to go bathe again and clean yourself up after spending the day in the barn.

Despite your disdain for taking care of yourself like a “proper lady,” as your mother liked to say, your natural beauty was still enough to cause the village boys to flock to you. Those dimwits always liked to badger you with stupid questions whenever you rode into town, offering silly favors and making awkward small talk, much to dismay of the rest of the girls in the village. The boys were always so annoying, and you often noted how much more tolerable Farm Boy was as you dismissed their advances. Eventually they took to making fun of you, laughing over snide remarks about you because they must have been embarrassed about being shot down. Sometimes the insults were too much to ignore, and when that was the case, Farm Boy took matters into his own hands. You always thanked him after he sent a village boy home bloodied and crying, and he always answered, “As you wish.”

You came to realize that Farm Boy was the only boy your age whose presence you seemed to enjoy. One night, you lied awake with the dim light from a full moon crawling through your window, thinking about how he was always kind and respectful to you, how he protected you and your honor, how he seemed to smile at you differently than he ever smiled at the other girls in town. (You also let yourself admit that he was quite handsome, with his amber eyes and ebony hair that was always in a perfect bedhead state, which was something you had never bothered caring about before.)

After that, your time was no longer divided between riding your horse and pestering the farm boy; now, ‘pestering’ was to be replaced with ‘falling for’. You let him join you on rides through the woods on Prince; you began doing your morning reading in the barn to keep him company while he fed the animals; you took it upon yourself to take out any extra supper your mother cooked to him. You even decided to stop calling him ‘Farm Boy’.

“What’s your actual name, Farm Boy?” you asked out of the blue.

“Why do you ask?” he had replied, and you snorted in mild amusement.

“Well, after having known you all these years, it must be quite rude of me to still call you ‘Farm Boy’.”

He paused and grinned that endearing grin of his, “Just call me Kuroo, then.”

Everything was so blissful for the year following. You loved Kuroo, and he loved you. Even on the day the royal Count and Countess of Aobajousai had strangely paid your family a visit, you both were sure of this; because while the Countess took Kuroo’s arm gently for him to show her the dairy cows and the Count watched you intently as you followed the small procession on your horse, you and Kuroo both stared at each other.

At the end of one year though, Kuroo unexpectedly showed up at your window in the middle of the night.

“I’ve come to say goodbye.”

You shot up straight in your bed, cocking your head incredulously, “What do you mean, ‘goodbye’?”

“I mean I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? Have I done—”

“I’m taking to the sea to seek my fortune,” he cut you off. “There’s a ship that sails out of Karasuno, to the new country of Inarizaki. There’s great opportunity there, so I’m going.”

You were shell-shocked for a moment. Leaving? Sailing to Inarizaki? Where was this all coming from?

“But why? What about the farm? What about us?” You finally said. Your voice was already beginning to quiver pathetically as tears brimmed in your eyes.

“I’ve been training at night, so I hardly need sleep or food, and I’ll get two 10-hour-a-day jobs. I’m gonna save every penny, and in just a couple years I’ll have enough to buy a big farm and build a brand new house just for the two of us.”

“For the two of us?” Your brows furrowed and your voice was meek.

“Yes, (y/n). I love you. All these years I’ve stayed here because of you. I’ve taught myself foreign languages, made my body strong, everything, for you. I’ve been head over heels for you since I was a kid. Do you understand what I’m saying, or should I keep going?”

(By now, Kuroo had squeezed his broad frame through your window, somehow landing gracefully on the floor and sliding next to you on your bed so he could wipe away your tears with his thumb. It was a good thing he was athletic enough to do so quietly, because if your parents caught him in your room, all hell might break loose.)

“Never stop,” you mumbled dreamily.

“There hasn’t been a day—”

“You better not be teasing me, Kuroo, or I’ll have your hide,” you broke in this time. Kuroo loved to tease you, and it was normally all in good fun, but if that was the case now, then he was taking it way too far.

“I’d never joke about loving you,” he replied. “Remember all those years when you would tell me, ‘Farm Boy, do this, Farm Boy, do that’? What did I always say?”

“‘As you wish’.”

“Well, that’s just what you thought I was saying. I was actually saying ‘I love you’,” Kuroo smiled gently and ran his fingers through your hair.

All that time? You couldn’t even recall the first time Kuroo started saying ‘As you wish’ to all your commands, but apparently he had been in love with you. Before you had ever even noticed him, he was devoted to you. It sounded like a fairy tale.

“I love you too, Kuroo. I’ll never stop loving you, I swear,” you finally said.

“I’ll hold you to it, princess. I have to go now if I want to make it to Karasuno in time, but I’ll send for you soon. Promise.”

You nodded in understanding, but you couldn’t let him leave without one last kiss.

There had been five great kisses since the beginning of time. Though the precise rating of kisses is a bit convoluted and controversial (everyone knows that the formula for a great kiss is comprised of timing, affection, intensity, and duration, but there has never been a universal agreement on each element’s weight), there was no doubt that this kiss left every other in the dust.

The following morning, all you wanted to do was lay around and mope. It was perfectly justifiable, considering the love of your life had just left the country, and you wouldn’t see him for God knows how long. You wallowed in self pity for about an hour before realizing that Kuroo was out in the great big world now, and with as handsome as he was, he would surely have women throwing themselves at him.

What if all this moping destroys my beauty, and when he sends for me, I’ll arrive in Inarizaki, and he’ll take one look at me and send me back?

“Mother,” you ran downstairs, interrupting whatever petty argument your parents were having. “I need your advice. How can I better take care of my appearance?”

“You’ve never cared about your appearance, honey. Why are you asking this all of a sudden?”

“Well, I’m nearly 18 now. I figure it’s about time I start behaving a little more like a lady,” you lied. It was enough to appease your mother, and she grabbed your arm and began dragging you to the washroom in delight.

You quickly learned that taking such care of yourself was hard work; the saying, ‘beauty is pain,’ made an awful lot of sense now. But for Kuroo, nothing was too much. Every morning, you awoke at dawn to start the farm chores. You had to pick up all the slack left by Kuroo, so there wasn’t really any time for self-improvement until the afternoon, but once you started, you took it very seriously. Daily baths, simple exercises, and all the time it took to brush your hair out perfectly before bed.

If the whole town thought you were beautiful before, now they all knew you must be a contender for the most beautiful girl in the world. You, however, still had no care for how beautiful the rest of the world found you; as long as Kuroo found you beautiful. (In the coming years, you would learn that you were beautiful no matter what, and simplify your beauty routine to what you liked. As long as you felt clean and tidy, that was sufficient.)

Kuroo wrote you letters every few months, and you kept every one of them. Sometimes people would ask you how he was doing, which was a mistake unless they had a lot of spare time, because you could talk about him for hours. It was obvious that you were completely and utterly in love, and so the village boys eventually stopped trying, and the village girls warmed back up to you.

It made sense the way Kuroo’s death hit you the way it did.

The news reached your parents first. The Count (a new fellow named Iwaizumi, appointed by Prince Oikawa shortly after the last one’s death) was sent to your farm to deliver the news since it was Kuroo’s last known place of residence. You were returning from town on your horse when Count Iwaizumi was leaving your property.

“Miss,” he nodded politely as you crossed paths. You rode on in confusion, and the new Count watched you intently, much like the last one.

When you made it into the house, both your parents hushed up and looked at you with pity.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s The Crow’s Wing, darling. It was attacked,” your mother told you.

Kuroo’s ship was attacked? You furrowed your brows, “What?”

“Pirates. In the night,” your father explained.

You knew the trip across the sea would be dangerous, but you never thought it would happen to him. Sliding into a chair, you decided it might be best to sit down.

The room was quiet until you managed to squeak out, “So Kuroo’s been taken prisoner, then?”

A long sigh from your parents, and then, a, “No.”

“It was the Dread Pirate Nekomata.”

You blinked, willing back tears. The Dread Pirate Nekomata was the most famous pirate in all the world, and he never took prisoners. In all these years in his reign of terror, no one survived an attack from the Dread Pirate Nekomata.

You went to your room, and this time around, you allowed yourself to mope. For six days, you sulked, and cried, and mourned. Not once did you come out of your room, so your parents took to leaving food outside your door, which you only ever picked at meekly. During those six days in your room, you decided you would never love again.

#ITS HAPPENING YES #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu imagine #hq fanfic #hq x reader #hq imagine #hq scenario #kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo imagine #kuroo fanfic #kuroo scenario #my writing

[glitterge1pen]

Tired

Iwaizumi Hajime x reader, sfw, word count 1,424

You were so tired. Tired in your bones, in your eyes, the heaviness of your hair on your head. Your entire being was exhausted. You had work, and projects, and due dates. Friends that needed help, family that called you one too many times. It had been this way for weeks. The work kept coming. It didn't stop. There was always something to do.

Even in the late hours of the night when you found moments of free time, the things you enjoyed didn't seem fun. You didn't want to draw, or paint, or play video games, even watching the tv felt draining. You were so utterly exhausted that it hurt.

But it was Friday night now, and you had nothing booked. You had ignored the few texts on your phone. Turned off your notifications for work emails. You trudged through your front door. Not bothering to kick off your shoes and coat. You headed straight for your bedroom, landing on your bed with a thump. It was 6:30pm and you were going to sleep. You were going to sleep forever you decided.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　

At 7:00 Iwaizumi appeared at your front door with two boxes of takeout. You had been really busy lately and hadn't had time to hang out with him. But you had said Friday was free, that he should come over. He stood there for a couple minutes after he had knocked and rang the doorbell. He texted you again but no answer. He wondered if you were home. He couldn't see if any of the lights were on, you weren't answering.

Maybe something had come up?

Then he got concerned. What if something had happened? He hadn't heard one peep from you all day which was a little odd, you weren't one to blow him off without at least sending a text message either. He checked social media, trying to see if you had posted anything but you had been radio silent on all platforms for the day.

He looked this way and that. Not sure exactly what he should do. He decided that he wouldn't be able to eat all this take out. The best option would be to go inside, spoon some out into a container, put it in your fridge and then leave.

And he was curious.

Iwaizumi went to your mailbox. He stuck his hand inside, grazing his palm on the inside of the mailbox until he found the extra key you had duct taped there. He had seen you do this on many a drunk night.

He unlocked the door quietly. Even though he wasn't doing anything wrong it felt strange to be in your home without you. He crept into the kitchen, setting the food down quietly. Before he got to banging open the cabinets to find a container, he wanted to look around.

All the lights were off so he flicked the hallway switch on. He poked his head into your bedroom. There you were. A lump amongst the blankets and pillows. Laying face down, fully clothed, you hadn't even bothered to crawl under the covers.

And your room. God it was a mess. Iwaizmumi felt bad for judging you on that. But it was really messy. Then it struck him. How busy you said you were, how you haven't hung out as much, how you were texting and calling less. You must have been so fatigued.

He quickly went back to the kitchen, putting the food in the fridge. Then he found a trash bag from under your sink and got to work. Back in your room he tossed away crumpled receipts, some food wrappers, an empty amazon box, junk mail that had piled up next to your bed.

He thought it might be creepy what he was doing. Especially because he kept looking at you to make sure you were still asleep. He wasn't sure if he could handle the awkwardness that would be you waking up to him sorting through your trash.

He moved so quietly, stiff and still. He could hear your breathing. The lull of it made himself sleepy. He thought about what it would be like to lay with you. He noticed your feet hanging off the bed, he wondered if he should push them onto the mattress. You’d be terribly sore if he left you hanging off the bed like that. But he was much too scared of waking you to do so. He’d look at your resting face, see how empty and overworked you were, and start cleaning in vigor again.

Iwaizumi hung up jackets and cardigans. Turned away as he tossed a pile of t-shirts and bras into a hamper. Lined up your shoes into proper pairs in the closet. Straightened up the books, stationery and knick-knacks on your desk. Rid the nightstand of dirty glasses of water. Ran a rag over your lights to get rid of the dust. He even swept the floor.

The only thing he couldn't do was make the bed. He felt proud himself as he scanned the room in its new state of perfection. But that feeling faltered when he thought of what Oikawa would say in this moment. There would have definitely been some heavy teasing. It didn't matter. If you weren't going to take care of yourself, Iwaizumi would do his best to pick up the slack.

In the kitchen he took some of the food for himself, and left the rest for you. Leaving the extra key on top of the container in the fridge. He wrote a simple message on a sticky note. Tacking it to the food. Before leaving he gave the place one more scan. Making sure his presence was not there at all.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　

Saturday morning you woke up feeling as if you had returned from vacation. It was as if you hadn’t actually been in your body for a while. You were also unusually optimistic for just waking up. This good feeling wore off fast. The waves of exhaustion had ceased their attacks, but your body was sore. Specifically your legs. And you were hot, sweaty from sleeping in your clothes. Your face felt dirty. Mouth gross and dry. You had skipped the night routine.

Rolling over onto your back was when you noticed. Your room was spotless. You definitely had not cleaned last night. Or at all in the past few weeks for that matter. Suddenly you felt uneasy.

Had some creep broke in? Was this going to be one of those bizarre news articles about a girl getting murdered in an elaborate way? You glance around for your phone. You thought you had tossed it next to you upon getting home but found it on your nightstand plugged in.

You snatch it up, surprised that it is already 11:45am. There is a missed facetime call from your best friend, a couple instagram notifications, and then a small barrage of texts from Iwaizumi.

“Oh my god”

You say out loud. This was definitely the work of Iwaizumi. Then the rush of guilt flooded into you. You had completely forgotten about him. You winced and then flopped back on the bed. Even worse was that he had seen the total wreck that was your room. It wasn't usually so unkempt but you hadn't had the time or energy to clean at all.

Unsure if this was a calling or texting matter you push it aside for the moment. You needed food. As if on cue you felt how barren your stomach was. You could text Iwaizumi back after you got at least a slice of bread.

Your heart dropped off a cliff when you saw the takeout. It was your favorite, you knew just from the box. In Iwaizumi’s long precise handwriting was his very curt note.

Came with food. Cleaned.

-Hajime

You didn't even warm the food up. Just started eating. You felt as if you should cry. He hadn't even woke you up. You were so overwhelmed by what he had done. It was so much, he had just brought over food and tidied up but it was so much. You laughed at what his reaction would be, if you called him with tears pouring down your face, trying to eat. You were so happy that he had done any of this for you at all.

Phone in hand you hovered over his contact, hesitating. But you know you have to call.

“Hey, you're awake”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　

A/N: I've never posted writing on Tumblr before so tell me how this goes? I'm working on making some navigation for the blog, hopefully that stuff will be here by the end of the week.

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