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rinaskoo · 10 months

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after stream

jjk x gn!reader | ⋆ masterlist ⋆

sypnosis ⋆ — your boyfriend jeon jungkook does a workout stream at midnight and cuddles with you after.

warnings ⋆— there's a part where it's a bit suggestive but not too bad! just really, really slight.

genre ⋆— fluff.

recommended song ⋆ — my jinji by sunset rollercoaster

[a/n] ⋆ — this one's short but i really think it's cute and i hope i'd be in this kind of cute relationship in the future :c the whole time jk was trying to make a heart with his arms in last night's stream was so cute 😭💕

you laid on your bed in your shared bedroom with jungkook, scrolling through your phone at one a.m. your boyfriend had started his stream at around eleven thirty and now he was working out in the living room.

he can be random at times. he'd do cooking streams with you, movie marathon streams, or karaoke streams, mostly at midnight. he was doing a workout stream this time.

with half lidded eyes, you tapped on his ongoing live, the corners of your mouth curling up into a lazy smile as you watched him workout on stream. fans were going crazy on the live chat as his face was red, his hair a mess, and sweat lining his temples and shirt. he looked so majestic. he always does.

after a few more minutes of working out and talking to his fans, he had bid his goodbye and finally ended his stream. he was exhausted and forced to drag himself to your bedroom. he opened the door and found you on bed, still on your phone.

a small smile displayed on his lips as he walked over to you and sat down on the bed beside you, arms on his knees and hands hanging. he was all sweaty from the workout but he didn't seem to care.

"hey," he says, not waiting for your response and put his arms around you, tugging your closer toward him. he plants a sweet kiss on your cheek.

you hummed in content into his arms as he planted more sweet, playful kisses on your cheek, making your grin wider. "you're really something else, you know that? doing a workout stream at one a.m." you said with a small giggle.

"hey, i've still got so much energy left to use up, ya know?" he said, nudging him closer to you and sat up straight before resting his head on your shoulder with his arms still wrapped around you. "besides, you're always up this late, so i thought you'd be here if i did a workout live." he added, leaning up to kiss you.

his face was still flushed and his hair damp, but he still looks absolutely adorable.

you hummed as you ran your fingers through his hair. "mm, but we should start sleeping early. it's unhealthy to always stay up late." you said with a gentle voice, poking his cheek as he kept his eyes closed.

jungkook lets out a playful sigh, his face scrunching up a little as you poked his cheek, his eyes fluttering open. he stares at you, his face now even more flushed, his pupils dilated and his lips parted. he looks so attractive, and so adorable, that it's hard for you not to grab him by his shirt and pull him close for a deep, deep kiss.

you let out a chuckle and patted him on his back. "now get up and wash up because you stink!" you teased with a laugh, playfully scrunching your nose up.

jungkook laughed back, the sound making your heart skip a beat. it was like music to your ears. he let you push him off the bed. "fine, fine. i'll go have a quick shower and i'll be right back," he said, walking towards the bathroom door, but he turns back to you with a playful smirk on his face. "do you want to shower together?" he asked, flashing you a wink.

you thought the flirtations in his voice and looks were so adorable. you jumped off the bed as you glared at him and pushed him into the bathroom. "shush and just go shower already!" you said, face flushed as you ignored his teasing laughter and quickly shut the bathroom door.

you could hear the shower run and jungkook's muffled laughs, which made you roll your eyes before going back to bed and scrolling through your phone. as you were deep into your browsing, your boyfriend stepped out of the bathroom, now just in his boxers and a shirt, hair wet. you smiled and looked at him, then quickly glanced back down to your phone.

you feel him plopping himself down on the bed beside you with a soft grunt. it was obvious that he was tired from all that working out. he plants a kiss on your cheek and takes your phone from your hand before placing it down on the bedside table.

"let's go to sleep, love," he whispered softly, yet again planting another kiss on your head.

you lazily nod before he pulled you to him and wrapping his arms around you, heaving a sigh of content that was loud enough for you to hear. "i really need to sleep more," he said, his voice sounding relaxed. he was tired, but then, you were tired too. after all, you were up around a few hours past your supposed bedtime.

"yea you do," you said against his neck, your voice coming out muffled.

you felt jungkook's arms tighten around you, and you smiled, closing your eyes. your face was still pressed against his neck as he held you close, and you could smell his shampoo that was so comforting to you. it made you feel safe, knowing that he's just there beside you.

"i love you," he whispered against your hair.

you smiled with your eyes closed. "i love you more, koo."

"that's impossible, because i love you most," he whispered back, tightening his hug and softly kissed the top of your head before closing his eyes, the two of you finally drifting off into a sweet, warm, goodnight's sleep.

[a/n] ⋆ — crying because i miss jk so much even though he went live last night</3 (i miss him all day everyday😍) also i love how last night, i was going through his previous lives on weverse cuz i wanted to get a clip since i wanted to do an edit and literally right when i refreshed, he went live😭 i lavvett<3 anyways, reblogs, likes, and replies are appreciated!!

#⋆ — kat's writing #jeon jungkook #jjk #jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jk x you #jk x reader #jk x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fluff #bts jk #<3 #jungkook fanfic #reblogs are appreciated!

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bethelighthalazia · 22 days

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9 makes 1 team!

Masterlist.

Summary: What if ATEEZ had debuted with one more member? What if they had debuted with a young woman? Her name is Choi Hwa Young, younger sister of Choi Jongho.

Genre: Stated separately per chapter.

Pairing: ot8 & fem!OC Choi Hwa Young

Word Count: stated separately per chapter

Warnings: none, stated separately per chapter

networks: @newworldnet

© by bethelighthalazia. Do not repost, copy or translate. Unless stated otherwise, those works are mine and born from my own ideas. I don't have any claim on the mentioned real existing Idols whatsoever.

Infodumps:

🐹 About Hwa 🐹 Group Info 🐹 Hwa´s Phone 🐹 jagiHwa 🐹

Written chapters:

🐹 Ch 1: Promise 🐹 Ch 2: "Family" 🐹

ATEEZ Lore bits:

🐹 Fever : EP 1 Diary entry 🐹

Other drabbles:

🐹 Fact check with Hwa 🐹

social media/chat screenshots:

🐹 Groupchat 1 🐹

taglist: @mingis-mizu,@tinyelfperson

(if you want to be added to a taglist, follow the taglist-link in my pinned post)

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anthotneystark · 6 months

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But when it's your brother (Sometimes you look the other way)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50990221

Dustin turns seventeen on a perfect day. It’s warm, but hasn’t quite hit that heavy, draining heat that summer promises, the one that can only be beat by decent air conditioning or free ice cream.

He turns seventeen and his mom looks like she’s going to cry, but it’s good, it’s great, it’s a perfect day.

(Or, I finished writing a lot of thoughts about Dustin turning the same age as Steve was when they became friends - started over here with @thefreakandthehair)

#kat writes #kat's fics #Lex I did it! I finished writing!

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katballesteros · 1 year

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“I felt him, mama, he moved! He moved!”

#inukag had more babies after moroha in my headcanon #it is only right #moroha calling the baby a him because she wants a brother to rough house with aside from her dad #but then he turns out to be a gentle boy like his mama #somebody write me this fic I will love you forever #inukag #kat draws #inuyasha #moroha #inukagmor

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darling-archeron · 8 months

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For Feysand Week - Day 6 - Mates. @officialfeysandweek2023

Everything changes for Rhysand after he's freed from Under the Mountain. And things should go back to normal, but how can they? He has a mate now, one who's promised or another male, and he can barely hold himself together to run his court. Across Prythian, Feyre grapples with her own pain and loneliness.

Rated T, 3.9k words

Rhys dipped into a bow before Feyre, the light of the morning sun warm on his back. Based on her expression, she probably thought he was mocking her, but he felt ready to drop to his knees and pledge his devotion in earnest. All she would have to do is ask.

He was rising back up, back nearly straight, when his eyes met hers.

All at once, his vision went white as he was hit with the full force of the words he had been avoiding for months.

Mymatemymatemymate

The words were a lightning strike that restarted his wounded heart. Rhys had enough time to catch a glimpse of Feyre’s confused expression before he fell backward – and then he was gone, winnowed away. His body, at least, had been able to seize control of his magic.

My mate, my mate, my mate -

Cauldron, had he ever felt so alive? Every bone in his body felt like it was burning – not in pain, but in longing, with the urge to claim her that he was barely holding back. That was the sole thought keeping him from insanity – he couldn’t take her unless she wanted to go.

It had been a long time since Rhys winnowed this far north. He could feel the fabric of the world as he sped through it, trying to keep some measure of focus so he didn’t end up stopping in the middle of enemy territory.

And then, before he had any longer to spiral, he was home.

He landed in the townhouse’s living room, and the first thing he saw was Mor, bright and vibrant and right in front of him for the first time in fifty years.

She let out a shriek of joy and moved to embrace him, tears streaming down her face as she clung tight, trying to fit fifty years of hugs into a single moment. Rhys let her, but everything was still spinning, faster than he could comprehend. His thoughts were entirely of her.

Mymatemymatemymate.

Feyre, with her eyes like the sea and her artist’s hands, painting flowers on a table. Feyre, with enough determination and ferocity to save them all. Feyre, human and dead, alive and remade as fae.

His mate, to claim and have and hold.

His very being screamed at him to go back for her. It would be so easy to stride into the gates of the Spring Court and whisk her away here –

No, he couldn’t. For the same reason he hadn’t reached for her back on the balcony. She didn’t love him, and would never forgive him for doing something like that. And she deserved peace.

Mor’s arms around him brought him back to the present. Her hug squeezed him like a vice, but he hadn’t been embracing her back.

“Rhys?” she asked with hesitation.

“She’s my mate,” he said, voice raspy.

He drew back from Mor, pacing across the worn wooden floor. “She’s my mate – and she’s with him.”

Concern was radiating off of Mor as she stood, eyes tracking his every movement. “Who is your mate? Rhys, talk to me.”

Go get her, go get her. You belong together, you are hers, and she is yours. Mate, mate, mate.

Mor drew back, keeping her hands on his shoulders. “Who is your mate?” she asked cautiously, and Rhys could see her thoughts of the worst spelled out in her eyes.

“Feyre,” he said, and he couldn’t keep the wonder and pain out of his voice. “I thought she might be – but I couldn’t say anything. And now I know – fuck. She’s my mate.”

It didn’t even make sense. Courageous, bright Feyre, paired with someone like him?

“Where is she?” Mor asked, confusion still dancing in her eyes. She probably didn’t even know who Feyre was.

“She…she’s with Tamlin. They’re in love.”

“Tell me everything,” Mor said.

Rhys hadn’t told anyone more than a fraction of the truth in years. It all came spilling out, his cousin was looking at him with such love and heartbreak.

He told her the main points, at least. Skating over some major details that were best left unspoken forever, but telling enough to give a mostly complete picture. Unable to summon any of his dramatic flairs, he explained the curse, Amarantha’s iron rule, and the dreams he had started having three years ago. A knowing gleam came into Mor’s eyes when he told of his first meeting with Feyre at Calanmai.

Though he took no joy in what Feyre – his mate had gone through, he went into more detail explaining her time Under the Mountain. The trials, the chores, her broken arm, and their bargain. Throughout it all, Mor was silent, though he could see a thousand questions burning behind her eyes. Still, she kept silent and listened to his story.

When he was done, it felt like some kind of pent-up energy had at last left him. There was relief in being able to tell someone about what had occurred. Even if he couldn’t bear to tell Mor the worst bits, part of the burden had been lifted.

Mor reached for him and wrapped him up in another hug, sorrow in her eyes.

“Oh, Rhys,” she said mournfully, in that silken voice he hadn’t heard for so long. Her faint Night Court accent nearly sounded foreign to him. “Once the relief of having you back has worn off, everyone is going to be ready to give you an earful for all this self-sacrificing. But thank you for being there for us, and protecting this court. Feyre will come here, and she’ll fall in love with this court. I know she will.”

This time, Rhys did squeeze her back, giving her all the love he hadn’t been able to over the decades. It registered that these were the first loving touches he had received in a long, long time. Other than an occasional supportive hand on his shoulder from Nuala and Cerridwen, nobody besides Amarantha had touched him for fifty years.

Mor gave him another squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re home,” she said, sounding a little teary-eyed.

“I missed you,” he murmured into her hair. “I missed you all so much."

As much as the days had dragged Under the Mountain, they flew by now that he was free. There was so much to be done – he had fifty years of legislation and political developments to catch up on. The war bands needed settling, as did the Court of Nightmares – both of which had gone back to doing things that made his blood boil.

He tried to make time to just be, lounging in front of the fire with Mor and playing cards with his brothers like he used to. But it was in those times, when he tried to relax, that his mind wouldn’t shut up about the last fifty years.

He had suffered for so long, why couldn’t he be free now?

But being bitter about it didn’t stop the memories, so he kept himself busy instead. If he kept his appearance and demeanor perfect, it made him feel a little less like things were falling apart.

And yet, there was one thought that he couldn’t seem to block out. Maybe it was because, deep down, he didn’t want to. It echoed in his head with every document he signed, every swing of his sword and every flip of a page.

FeyreFeyreFeyreFeyreFeyre.

My mate, my mate, my mate.

A constant thrum in his mind, it grounded him as much as it drove him insane. Like a buzzing he couldn’t block out.

One rainy day, just over a month after his return, Rhys found himself in his office, staring down another mountain of paperwork. Mor had handed it off to him that morning. Clearly, she intended to get back at him for all the documents she had handled alone for the past half-century.

He hadn’t been at it for more than half an hour before he felt eyes boring into the back of his head.

“You know I know you’re there,” Rhys said dryly. “Do you have something to say, or are you admiring the back of my head?”

Azriel didn’t respond to his sarcasm, only stepping out into the light of the office where Rhys could see him. Shadows danced around his brother, curling around his hands and neck.

“I have a report from the Spring Court.”

His heart didn’t skip a beat – it didn’t.

“Go on,” Rhys said, meeting Azriel’s eyes.

“Feyre Cursebreaker is engaged to Tamlin. He proposed yesterday, and they’re going for a short engagement – just two months. The wedding planning has already started.”

Rhys clenched the armrest of his chair, willing his mind to be quiet. Azriel watched him for a long moment, looking like he was debating saying something.

He hadn’t told anyone besides Mor and Amren about what Feyre was to him, but Azriel was clearly aware of his attachment, even if he didn’t know the full extent of it.

“This changes nothing,” Rhys finally said after a long pause, before Az could decide to start talking and inevitably said something well-meaning that made him feel worse. “We expected that this would happen. Feyre deserves to be happy.”

“You don’t plan to make your feelings known?”

“That wouldn’t serve any purpose. I won’t be the villain in this story,” Rhys insisted. “She’s only ever wanted a life with Tamlin. Enough that she died for him. And she deserves peace.”

“Is that what she’s getting?” his brother said with a raised eyebrow. “She deserves to know, Rhys.”

Rhys didn’t respond, turning back to his pile of papers instead, silently holding his breath until Az gave up on waiting for an answer and left.

Late that night, Rhys couldn’t sleep.

These days, he had taken to staying at the townhouse instead of the House of Wind. Objectively, the House of Wind would have been a better choice. It was far more open and overlooked the whole city. But everyone else was there, too.

The Inner Circle all had their own places in Velaris, but it seemed that Cassian, Azriel, and Mor had taken to staying in the House of Wind half the time. He gathered that during those fifty long years trapped, albeit in a very different place than he was, it had been their central place.

Which was exactly why he couldn’t be there now.

He hadn’t had any nightmares of his own yet tonight, but that was because the moment he fell asleep, he had been thrust into one of Feyre’s.

That night was a particularly bad one.

His mate had the most horrendous nightmares, Rhys had discovered shortly after they were freed.

Was that not another way they were matched?

Some nights he was dragged from his own hellscapes straight into hers. It was easier, he found, to try and soothe her terror than it was his own, even if he didn’t know where to begin, and hers broke his heart in a way that he didn't know how to express.

She didn’t deserve any of this. A year ago, she was a human on the other side of the wall, daring to dream of a better life. Now, her only dreams were hellish.

Tonight, he watched through Feyre’s eyes – she was back in Amarantha’s dimly lit throne room. The silent faces watching her flickered in the torchlight as she surveyed the three faceless figures before her in horror.

It’s the third trial all over again.

He felt his hands - her hands - shake as she removed the first faerie’s hood.

A knife in hand, a quick motion, and the first was done. The boy falls into Feyre, red staining her own dirty tunic. The second one is just how he remembers it, too. The prayer, the serene eyes that forgave Feyre as she broke apart.

When the third faerie was unmasked, Rhys wasn’t surprised to see Tamlin’s face staring up at him. What he wasn’t expecting for Tamlin to be clutching an emerald engagement ring in his hand. Blood started spilling out of the High Lord’s chest before Feyre could even stab him – and nothing prepared Rhys for Feyre to angle the blade inward, stabbing herself in the heart as she had been meant to do to her lover.

She screamed as the blade found its mark, sinking to her knees – and taking Rhys with her. Everything he saw was through her eyes, he had no body here.

Why wasn’t Tamlin waking her up? Surely he could hear her thrashing around and making noise.

Rhys scrambled for something – anything he could do to intercede. He might not have been there physically, but he had one thing Tamlin did not – a link with Feyre’s mind.

He scrambled for a solution as Amarantha rose from her throne, presumably to torture Feyre as she had done- but no.

Another woman with dark blonde hair was on the floor before Amarantha, screaming as her body contorted and bones broke at unnatural angles. Feyre's sister?

In that moment, he did the only thing he could think of. It was what he had done all those months ago - sent images of the night sky to her, and bits of one of his favorite melodies – the one he had sent to her before, Under the Mountain.

Please, don’t give up, darling. There’s so much for you to live for.

It was so much easier to say the words to her than for him to tell them to himself.

Their pain was so similar, it seemed, and it was the kind of thing he would have wanted someone to tell him.

He kept sending the music – his memory of the melody was renewed, after only hearing it the week before. Dream Feyre’s screams subsided as the dark hell of the throne room gave way to the clear night sky.

Suddenly, it all disappeared as Rhys was thrust out of Feyre’s mind entirely. Relief coursed through him.

She must have finally woken up. Thank the Cauldron

Feyre jolted awake in bed, thrashing out of the covers as she struggled to breathe.

Tamlin, the faeries she had murdered, Elain –

Not real, not real, not real.

You got out, Amarantha is dead.

Gods, she prayed she would never hear her sister scream like that.

The dream had been so terrible this time.

The night was warm and sticky – a side effect of living in perpetual spring – but Feyre couldn’t stop her hands from shaking, the images burned in her head.

You got out.

She mouthed the words over and over to herself as she rose from the bed and lit a candle.

Silently, she placed the candle on her bedside table and curled up in the bay window. It was her favorite spot in the room, overlooking the whole front yard. If she turned partially, she could watch Tamlin, still fast asleep in their bed.

This was real.

How many nights Under the Mountain had she prayed for the chance to be with him like this? And maybe the Mother had listened to her prayers, because she had gotten out, but she still couldn’t settle herself.

At least she hadn’t woken him up. Tamlin never woke during her nightmares, and if he was having them, he hadn’t given any indication. She had tried to talk to him about it, to no avail.

So, it was better if he didn’t know about her nightmares.

Feyre had thought that tonight she might have been able to have a peaceful sleep. It had been a happy day, after all. Tamlin had asked her to marry him, and she had said yes.

It was everything she had wanted, once upon a time.

It was still everything she wanted. Things were just more complicated, nowadays. This would be enough, it would just take some adjusting.

She let out a long, slow breath, trying to beat back the dread of sleeping. Tamlin was still deep asleep on his back, golden hair spread across the pillow.

He never seemed to wake at night – how, she couldn’t guess. She had plenty of dreams of him being torn from her in the worst ways. Hell, she even had ones of Rhys – hearing him scream her name as he hit the marble so hard it cracked. Over and over.

She hadn’t heard anything from Rhysand in the past month and a half. Tamlin had not-so-discreetly been searching for ways to break the bargain between them, but so far, Rhys hadn’t come to collect.

How was he doing? He had been through a lot, too. At least Tamlin had the freedom to live in his manor most of the time. However horrible the Night Court might be, Rhys had been separated from it for fifty years. It couldn’t have been easy.

The thought of the night sky teased a thought at the edge of her brain, and she frowned.

Something about this nightmare had been different. It had changed, at the very end, almost been pleasant. There had been a night sky and the same music she had hallucinated during her fever Under the Mountain. It was what had snapped her out of her fear and woken her up.

Strange.

She highly doubted that was what the Night Court looked like – she had poked around in the library a few weeks ago, and the only descriptions of it depicted endless night and countless terrors.

I suppose I’ll be experiencing those firsthand, whenever Rhys comes to collect.

How would she be treated, during those weeks?

A week in a Night Court prison cell could hardly be worse than what she had already experienced. If he had chores for her, she was plenty used to hard work. Although – he had gotten her out of both of those things Under the Mountain. In his own way.

She knew she was supposed to hate Rhys. Tamlin and Lucien certainly did.

But – he had fought for her. Bet on her when no one else had.

And now, apparently, he had turned his attentions elsewhere. Which was perfectly fine.

The entire thing was a mystery, and Feyre knew she would get nowhere with it tonight. Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to go back to Tamlin’s side in bed. Sleep wouldn’t be coming to her now, anyways.

So she leaned her cheek against the cool window and watched the passing of the night.

Another week went by, and Rhys tried to keep himself out of Feyre’s mind. He only ever felt two things through their bond – overwhelming fear during her nightmares, or absolutely nothing. It seemed that she went through her days like a ghost, being dragged through wedding planning and meaningless duties.

He wouldn’t deny that a thrum of wonder pulsed through his veins each time he got a glimpse into her thoughts. They were rarely positive, but all the same, it was another undeniable sign that they were bound, and meant for each other.

But it was also incredibly overwhelming. Especially when her thoughts were so bleak, and she had no one to help her with them.

Tamlin’s problem had always been that when a crisis hit, he was a bystander. He had done nothing to warn Rhys about the hunt for his mother and sister, he had done nothing when Feyre was in the depths of despair Under the Mountain. And it seemed like he intended to continue down that road now.

It drove Rhys insane, to watch him do nothing.

If he had been there, Feyre would never have doubted how much he cared for her. She wouldn’t have to face her pain alone. She wasn’t painting, eating, or leaving the manor’s grounds – Tamlin always put the latter idea down when she brought it up.

Cauldron, he wanted to kill Tamlin.

A month had already come and gone, and Rhys hadn’t collected on his bargain, as he promised himself he wouldn’t. He was giving Feyre the time she needed to sort her shit out – and giving Tamlin time to heal alongside her, too.

So why wasn’t the bastard doing anything?

Maybe his promise to himself had been a mistake. If he just called it in once –

If you call it in once, you whisk her away from everything she cares about and she hates you forever. Things will get better in the Spring Court. Tamlin won’t just let her wither away.

Two months went by, and Rhys still wasn’t sure if he was making a mistake. Every day, he contemplated winnowing into the Spring Court and bringing his mate back with him. He imagined what it would be like to show her Velaris, especially the Rainbow. She would probably be terrified of letting him fly her across the city – but perhaps she would come to enjoy it. She could meet Nuala and Cerridwen again, and see who they truly were. And he could introduce her to his family.

It was thoughts like these that meant every day, his resolve got a little thinner, but it hadn’t snapped yet.

He would make sure it wouldn’t. Despite what his ridiculous fantasies suggested, nothing good could come of it – which was why he had made plans to distract himself today.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you day drunk,” Cassian commented with a snort. “Are you sure you can handle all of this hard liquor?”

He had a point. Rhys hadn’t really gotten drunk in over 50 years. Cassian could definitely drink him under the table – not that Rhys had any plans to admit that anytime soon.

“Last time the three of us had a weekend at the cabin, I wasn’t the one who passed out in a snowbank in my undershorts,” Rhys retorted.

Cassian chuckled. “That was a damn good weekend, though. Is there an occasion this time?’

“Do I need an occasion do drink with my brother?” Rhys asked. “I thought you’d be thrilled I was breaking out my expensive stash.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Cassian replied.

“Cheers to another weekend of reckless self-indulgence?” Rhys said, raising his glass of whiskey.

“I’ll drink to that,” Cassian said, clinking his glass against Rhys’s and downing the whole thing in an instant.

The whiskey was stronger than Rhys remembered, but he downed his glass in one go, too.

He reached for the bottle to pour them another, when suddenly pure panic speared through his entire body.

Not his own, he knew instantly – Feyre’s.

Help, someone. Stop this, get me out.

He didn’t register what Cassian was saying – he was on his feet and winnowing away before he even realized what he was doing.

His mate was asking for help – finally. He wouldn’t let her suffer alone.

He winnowed in with a dramatic flare, sending out a cloud of darkness as he appeared. He vaguely registered that people were screaming and winnowing away – good. None of them mattered.

Feyre looked up at him, and he laid eyes on her for the first time in three months.

Cauldron – she never looked in a mirror, so he had never truly seen her.

She was much too thin, drowning in a gigantic white dress, lovely eyes blotted out by panic.

It was a good thing he hadn’t actually gotten drunk, or he really might have killed Tamlin.

Instead, he smiled as people scrambled away from him in fear.

“Hello, Feyre darling.”

taglist: @thron3ofbooks @the-lonelybarricade @swankii-art-teacher @ghostlyrose2 @brieq @cretaceous-therapod @live-the-fangirl-life @achernarlight @reverie-tales @starfall-spirit @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @highladysith @areyoudreamingof

#feysand #feysandweek2023 #feysand fic #feyre archeron #rhysand #kat's writing

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kat-hearts · 2 years

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Father's Day | Chris Evans

summary: Chris finds out he’s going to be a dad!!

word count: 1k

warnings: it’s a pregnancy blurb (okay maybe a long blurb if it’s 1k) so pregnancy?

I usually only write hockey players so I can’t promise this will become a thing but the idea wouldn’t leave my brain until I wrote it so here it is!! (I'm gonna need to make a masterlist soon aren't I)

The card looked like it was “from” Dodger. Just the way you wanted it. He’d laugh, he’d open it, and he’d be caught completely off guard. You knew how much it would mean to him, and that’s why it had to be casual, a complete surprise. You threw the card in the shopping basket before making your way to the register, trying to figure out the further logistics of how you would tell him.

It went exactly as you planned, for once.

“I have something for you,” you said after dinner. “Dodger got you a card for Father’s Day.”

You got up, pushing in your chair and pulling the card from where you’d hidden it on top of the fridge. You were sure you looked ridiculous, your brain making you hyper-aware of every slight movement you made; conscious of every shift of your weight and each breath you took. You had to be deliberately casual in your motions to try to hide your excitement, which probably defeated the purpose, but Chris seemed none the wiser. While your back was turned, you set your phone up to record his reaction.

“So what you really mean is Dodger has something for me,” he laughed as you returned to the table. “Thanks, pal, you shouldn’t have!” he called to where Dodger rested on his bed by the back door.

Handing the card to him, you took a step back and clasped your hands together in anticipation, holding them in front of your mouth to try to hide your growing grin. He opened the card and laughed again when he read what was on the front.

“You’re the Best Dog Dad Ever!”

When he opened it, two Polaroid pictures fell in his lap. Chris picked them up and awwed at the one on top of Dodger. He didn’t look closely enough to notice the “Big Brother” bandana around his neck in the photo.

The other picture was of a positive pregnancy test, laying on your bed.

He froze, brain trying to process the unexpected information. His brow knit together and he glanced up at you quickly.

“Read the card,” was your quiet response. You didn’t trust your words right now, if you tried to tell him you knew you’d burst into tears.

He stared at you another moment before reading the words you’d scrawled in a loopy cursive script inside the card.

And you’ll be the best human dad, too.

I couldn’t fit the test in the envelope, so I took a picture instead. Happy first Father’s Day, my love.

He looked at you for a moment.

“Nope. Nuh-uh. No way,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t joke about this, babe. There’s no way.”

“I’m not! I wouldn’t,” you insisted, your smile growing. It was still far too early to be showing, but your hands came down to rest on your stomach, as if to show him you were telling the truth.

“Are you serious?” he asked, setting the card down in front of him to focus on you. “I- you know all I want is to be a father, please don’t joke about this.”

“I’m serious, Chris. You’re gonna be a dad,” you said. The words brought tears to your eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

“You’re– for real? I’m gonna be a dad?” he repeated in disbelief. He still didn’t move from his seat, but you could see the tears start to form in his eyes too. “We’re gonna have a baby?” he choked out.

You nodded, moving towards him, smiling ear to ear. He stood as you approached him, placing a hand hesitantly on your stomach like he was afraid to touch you or it would cease to be real. You cupped his face in your hands as you whispered, “We’re gonna have a baby, Chris.”

“Oh, my god. Oh, my god,” he murmured, pulling you tight. “I love you so much. We’re gonna have a baby.” He buried his face in your shoulder and you could feel his shoulders begin to shake as he cried happy tears. You weren’t far behind him, but you also knew how meaningful this moment was for him specifically. This was the one thing he’d told you he felt was missing from his life, though never pressuring you about it, and it was finally happening. After a moment, he straightened up, but didn’t loosen his grip. He pressed a few kisses to the side of your head, rocking the two of you back and forth in your kitchen.

“I can’t believe it,” he laughed, pulling away only enough to look at you. You wiped at the tears wetting his cheeks, knowing yours matched his. “I love you. I love you and this little baby, so much already,” he whispered. He leaned down and kissed you, long and soft, but with as much love in the world as he could convey.

Dodger, not to be left out, shoved his way between you with a soft whine, nosing at your belly. Chris bent down with a laugh and hugged him, ruffling his fur. “Did you hear that? You’re gonna be a big brother, buster! Mama’s pregnant!”

“I think he actually knew before I did,” you laughed, “he tries to give my stomach kisses practically every time I pass by him now.”

“Y’know, I did notice how he’s been curling up next to you instead of me when we go to bed, but I thought he was just mad that I’ve been away,” he stated, looking up at you from where he crouched before backtracking. “Wait - when did you know? How far along are you? God, I have so many questions!”

“Only five weeks,” you said, “so we still have a ways to go. I took a test three days ago and the doctor confirmed it this morning.”

“We’re really having a baby,” he murmured, pulling his hands away from Dodger to lightly grasp your hips. Now that he was eye level with your stomach, he lifted your shirt just slightly to place a gentle kiss below your belly button. “This has gotta be the happiest day of my life.”

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans blurb #chris evans fic #chris evans imagine #kat-hearts writing tag

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