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seeingivy · 3 months ago

Text

pillowtalk

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my dream girl fic

previous part linked here

sukuna takes the brief minute that he’s afforded – your preoccupation with pulling the blinds on each of the windows and hanging your coat up on the rack the second that you enter the apartment – to observe the room in earnest.

your home is a collection of what you love. it’s the first thing that comes to sukuna’s mind – a shitty quote that he saw on a doormat on his neighbor’s porch – as he tries to figure out what exactly that is from the room that he’s looking at.

dark brown cabinets and a gray granite counter, that by the looks of it, is in pristine condition. a space that had to be slightly used, but was most definitely well maintained. a fancy nespresso machine, a kitchenaid mixer, and a quick rice cooker.

seven locks on the front door. big black ones on each of the windows, and a glass cake stand with a loaf of bread in it.

you love fancy kitchen appliances. and advanced security systems, it seems like.

“i wouldn’t dream of trying to break into here.” sukuna murmurs.

he notes that his comment is enough to make you pause, your ears perked up from the premise, and that whatever it was that he said warranted you turning around to narrow your eyes at him.

“no one could break into here.” you state.

sukuna glares.

“i know? that’s why i wouldn’t even dream of trying?” sukuna clarifies.

sukuna notes that you ignore the conversation, barely even give a consideration to his comment, and continue on without sparing him a second glance.

“is there a reason that you asked me to stay?” he asks.

“come here.”

sukuna retreats to your side, your fingers still tightly clutching to the last curtain you had left to draw, and point to the cars on the sidewalk. he notes that there’s five that he can count on the street and that it’s particularly full compared to the streets he was driving up on.

“the cars?”

“paparazzi. usually here pretty often, sometimes they just hang out over here. it would look really weird if you came in and left right after. or just dropped me off on the curb.” you respond.

sukuna notes that the particularly feeling of warmth that he had in his chest when you first offered was wiped fresh clean with your swift words.

he ignores the thought and watches as you tightly pull the curtain to the hook on the wall, before retreating and disappearing down the hall. it’s an eerily quiet silence the second that you depart, noting that the apartment seems to settle around him, and it sends a quiet chill down his spine that he attempts to ignore by observing the cake in the glass.

the swirl in between each of the cut slices isn’t foreign to him and nearly identical to the coffee loaf cake that he used to make every thursday at the cafe. he notes that directly beneath it, there’s a dark green leather notebook, still open to one of the pages, with messy handwriting on the page and slight splotches of stains – which he’s assuming were created in the rush of cooking.

a recipe. that from the looks of it, with the crossed out ingredients and switching measurements, is something you were attempting to perfect. that much is confirmed when he switches to the previous page, almost identical in a slightly different iteration, and the page before it the same as well.

there’s a pair of swift footsteps leading right to his side, where you’ve materialized again, clothed in a pair of plain pajamas and a pair of clothes in your hands. he shoots you a smile, his earnest attempt at thanking you for the thoughtfulness, before eyeing the stack of clothes.

“i only have one shirt that would fit you, but i think you should save that for when you try to dye your hair tomorrow. and these shorts should fit. otherwise…i don’t know. you can sleep in your underwear in the guest room or something.” you state.

“wouldn’t you like to see that?” he asks.

sukuna notes that you roll your eyes – with a smile on your face that almost deceives you entirely.

“well, not exactly. that’s why i’m banishing you to the guest room, natsu.” you state.

sukuna gives a polite smile, before eyeing the shorts.

“do you google fictional characters that have pink hair so that you always have a nickname for me, lucy?” sukuna asks.

you shrug.

“do you google the fictional partners of characters that have pink hair so that you can always have a nickname to retort back to me?” you ask.

sukuna smiles, albeit so softly that you nearly step back, just to put space between the two of you.

“yes. i do. part of me thinks that it’s a little bit on the nose, but it’s seemed to work in my favor so far.” sukuna states.

you hum, lifting the glass cover over the stand and reaching for one of the pieces of the loaf. the coffee taste is still as bitterly overwhelming as when you made it the night prior – and still every bit as horrible as you remember.

“the first few times it came naturally. but i do have a list in my phone for less common ones in case i start running out. just so i can keep you on your toes.” you respond.

sukuna leans forward, mimicking the way you’re leaning against the counter, and moving just the slightest bit closer to where you’re standing.

“do you anticipate that much time passing? that you would run out?” sukuna asks.

you shrug.

“i guess we’ll just have to see where this goes. though it seems like you’ve given more thought to this entire thing than i have.”

sukuna hums in response, his fingers ghosting down the length of your forearm, before he finally leaps and intertwines his fingers in with yours, the same way they were knitted together in the car. you look down to see the same red mark in the car, properly illuminated this time, and wonder how often that happens in that line of profession.

how many coffee stained marks are indented on his pants, how many burns the coffee machine has given him when he works too fast.

“i appreciate how much thought you put into our little game. most effort someone’s put in a really long time.”

“been a long time since i’ve played. and the first time i’ve overtly pretended to be someone’s …whatever i’m supposed to be.” you offer.

sukuna grins.

“don’t tell me i’m your first.” he jokes.

“and i’m not?” you ask.

“jealous already?”

“god forbid i’m territorial over my pretend boyfriend. that much should be a given.” you joke.

sukuna reaches for the shorts on the counter before he holds them up in the air. his eyes are wide – like they almost always are – and you wonder if he looks at everything with such careful scrutiny.

“an old boyfriends? are you giving me someone’s sloppy seconds?” he asks.

sukuna watches as you finally meet his eyes, for the first time since he dragged you out of the after party, and notes the red. the smudged black around the bottom of your eyes. and tries to annoy the slight twinge it gives him in his chest.

“no. my junkie dad’s actually.” you deadpan.

sukuna gives you a quiet nod and seems to retreat from the topic entirely – most likely a byproduct of the fact that those same words elicited such an angry outburst from you an hour prior, and folds them back onto the counter.

“so? what gives? you didn’t have to interrupt that fight. it was actually none of your business.” you ask.

“well, i’m not just going to let you fight it out with a girl who does kickboxing everyday at six in the morning. and it kind of is my business. girlfriend and all.”

you roll your eyes.

“i don’t understand that. you do realize no one really thinks we’re dating, right? and if they do, they’re going to realize very quickly what’s going on. what are we even doing?”

“you’re eating a piece of coffee cake and very rudely not offering it to your guest. and i…guess i’m just trying to make sense of everything that’s in here. you, primarily.”

“do you have to find a reason for everything? except, clearly, the one thing i keep asking you about.”

“i heard you’re not fond of coffee. and yet, i can distinctly recall that not only did you drink coffee the second time i met you but you’re also eating it right now, in the form of a dessert. you also have one of the nicest nespresso machines on the market.”

“trying to get myself to like it.”

sukuna narrows his eyes.

“are you so keen on forcing yourself to like something that you’re not particularly fond of?” he asks.

you fight the urge to scoff, before looking down at the cake, the bitter mess of crumbs still on your hand. you shake the unsettling feeling it gives you – the accusation in his words and the taste in your mouth – before dusting your hands and tucking them into the crooks of your armpits.

“i’ve been told that coffee is an acquired taste. i’m trying to acquire it.”

“that didn’t exactly answer my question.” he responds.

you shrug, before giving into defeat.

“i’ve been told that i don’t necessarily go out of my comfort zone too often. by my producer, her name is mimi. and so, i’m going on a bender of eating and drinking everything coffee flavored – drinks, desserts – until i can finally find something that i like. or make something that i like. and prove to her that i do go out of my comfort zone.”

sukuna smiles.

“so the stubbornness isn’t something you just reserve for me?” he asks.

you push the napkin with the loaf on it closer to him, gesturing for him to take a bite.

“i suppose not.”

“do you think you’re out of your comfort zone right now? with me?”

you shake your head, before leaning down on the counter, sticking your cheek in your palm.

“you’re far from the comfort zone. all the way on the other end, actually.” you confess.

“and why’s that?”

you shrug.

“you’re a random person. and you’re in my apartment in the middle of the night.”

“what’s so uncomfortable about that?”

“nothing i just said necessitates me being uncomfortable. it’s just…you. me. our secret. the fact that everything you know about me, which i’m not even sure of at this point, is something that you’ve heard from someone else. i have no control over what conclusion you draw, no idea of what it is that you really want from me, and for someone who likes to usually control all those factors, every conversation with you almost feels like…an argument. or a game i’m trying to win. a puzzle i’m trying to figure out.”

sukuna hums in response.

“can i tell you something?”

“i have a feeling you’re going to say it anyway.”

sukuna hums in response.

“that’s true, cricket, but having your permission would be nice.”

you tilt your head to the side in confusion.

“cricket?”

“you chirp a lot. like a cricket.”

“hilarious.” you deadpan.

sukuna gives you an exasperated smile.

“i did a very modest google search of you the first day after we met. i’ve listened to…about half of your discography by now? i try to listen to each song a few times so that i can remember it. will admit that the songs themselves prevented me from needing to do a further google search, since i basically know what you think about the three ex-boyfriends and one ex-friend that i counted.”

“i do that on purpose.”

“i like it. no way to tell them off than singing about it, i suppose. and they don’t seem to hold back either, for what it’s worth. after i did that, i talked to megumi, since i remembered that you two were childhood best friends. this was after the basketball game, so most of the conversation revolved around your favorite types of foods, what kinds of drinks you like…since you were eating breakfast that i was going to be providing. i heard aimee mention a few words that i will admit piqued my interest…something along the lines of…”

“i remember what she said.” you respond.

“well, that’s it. that’s everything that i know about you. i have a feeling that i’m just cracking the surface, but i would be remiss in…whatever it is that we’re doing…if i wasn’t honest and pretended like i didn’t want to know more.”

“remiss?”

sukuna scrunches his nose.

“i’m auditioning for a period piece sometime later this month. the big words are somehow making their way into my vernacular, so you’ll have to excuse me.” sukuna responds, almost exaggerating.

you can’t help but laugh.

“would you tell me more? maybe what you know about me, so we can be even?” he adds.

you shrug.

“i did a very extensive google search of you. ryomen sukuna, fraternal twin brother of yuuji itadori. you have an adopted brother who is also an actor, choso, and a sister-in-law too. yuki. niece that you’ve talked about in a few interviews, her favorite show is bluey. you like to take nature walks, which i’m assuming is why you thought of the whole cricket thing when you listened to me.”

sukuna scoffs.

“you wouldn’t believe the things i’m thinking when i listen to you.”

you ignore the implication for the time being.

“you love the coffee shop that you work at because you’ve been there forever, you met aimee lynch at a party in dallas, and you’re probably regretting every talking to her at this point in time. got a manager that’s pretty strict about your pr, which is a given, since you’re a new actor. your career means a lot to you if you’re able to risk everything on it. you’re also stupid if you’re banking that entire career on the help of a stranger that you don’t know either, who just got into an attempted fist fight a little while ago.”

you pause.

“for some strange reason, you’re sticking around, even after my attempts to nip this in the bud. for both of our sakes by the way, since we’re clearly ruffling feathers we both most likely made a vow to never even go near again. and especially when it’s something that’s not going to help you anywhere, not when i can’t even control my temper against someone who was very clearly trying to goad me into fighting in the first place.”

sukuna reaches for the slice of the loaf left on the napkin, slicing it in half before tilting his head backwards, and slowly chewing. he makes the same look as before – like he’s so thoughtfully thinking about the taste that it’s present on his face – before giving you a smile.

“it’s a little crumbly. how much butter did you put in it?”

“i hope you can read, huckleberry finn.” you respond, pointing to the page.

“i’d be inclined to take the proposition that you gave me the other day. to…let it fizzle out, as you so keenly put it. but i’ve spent a long time letting people dictate what i can and can’t do. followed things i should just because i was going along with something, left other things behind just because people told me not to. i’m not going to stop talking to you, when i actually find it quite enjoyable, especially not for aimee lynch or a stupid pr manager. and there’s still a lot of benefit that you could pose to my career. and your own, if you think about it too.”

you shake your head.

“i’m not giving into fear, if that’s what you’re insinuating” you defend.

“then what are you giving in to?”

you shrug.

sukuna reaches forward, his hand warm on your cheek, and his touch feathers as he rubs at the spot underneath your eye. you watch as he looks back, at the smudged darkness on his finger, before picking up the stack of clothes.

“something comfortable, i suppose.” sukuna murmurs, before trailing away.

“you’re missing a few spots in the back.” you state, consequently calling attention to your unexpected presence in the bathroom by knocking on the door.

sukuna’s startled by the sound in your voice, evident from the fact that he nearly jumps at the sound, before quickly decking his head back to look at you. his hair is a matted, red mess – the smell of chemicals thick in the air as you give him a wave, and a dark pink stain on his hairline.

“am i really?” he groans.

you give him a polite nod.

“if you’re going for an ombre look, then you can ignore me by all means.”

sukuna glares.

“not exactly what i was thinking. my brother usually helps me with this type of thing.” he states.

you give him a shrug, before walking closer to the counter, where the little black tin is filled with an almost red goop. you give him a quick glance, noting that the shorts that you were able to dig out of the box in the back of your closet did fit, before reaching for the spare pair of gloves in the box.

“you guys do touch-ups together?”

“helps us get to the spots that are kind of hard to reach. and my arms start hurting at some point.” he responds, before placing the black tin in your extended hands and shooting you an almost too grateful smile.

you touch the back of his hair, an entire ring of hair around his neck untouched, before you reach for the brush in the tin.

“was the guest room okay?” you ask.

“very nice. breath mints on the side table is a fancy touch.”

“i live to please. but also have some friends who are very high maintenance.” you respond.

“i can imagine.” he responds.

you spare him a look in the mirror, before placing your hands on the side of his head and angling his face down. he slightly shifts the second you spread the dye over his hair, as you lean forward to get every last strand.

“are you performing at the show tomorrow?” he asks.

“i sure am.”

“have you figured out what songs you’re singing yet?”

“i’m thinking something new. this is a pretty big stage, has pretty far reach in terms of getting fans or streams from people i haven’t necessarily reached before, so it has to be something good. that catches people’s attention.”

sukuna hums in response.

“it’s not very difficult for you to do that. i’d gather that you have unwanted attention more often than you like.”

you purse your lips.

“well, anyone could have figured that one out. it’s not exactly something that came by design.” you mutter.

“one of the first things that i learned when it came to acting was from my first manager. and she basically harped on, for hours, about the fact that brand was everything. how’d you pick your brand?” he asks.

you smile.

“you think i have a certain brand?” you ask.

“sure. some of your biggest songs are scathing. would hate to be on the receiving end of your wrath. it seems like every time something happens, you’re always singing in response, instead of actually talking. i actually couldn’t find a single song that wasn’t a response to something that someone said about you. which is why i’m shocked you say it’s not by design, because it almost always seems like that’s the intention.”

“well, don’t get on my bad side and that won’t ever happen. not sure how it works for acting necessarily, i was pretty young when i used to be on that side of things, but a brand like mine isn’t exactly what i think my producer wants from me. it’s tried and true – it’s definitely easy for me to write songs like that. but i guess she just wants to see if i can write something new. branch out a little bit. but i’m just trying to be honest when i write.”

“nothing as honest as anger.”

sukuna takes a beat, very clearly thinking of what to say next. how to articulate it properly. you figure that the time he takes to choose his words so carefully is the precise reason that they always seem to hit too hard.

“what are you trying to do exactly anyways?” he asks.

“what do you mean?”

“do you have a really big goal in mind? when it comes to music?” he asks.

you pause, twisting the brush twice in your hand, and wonder if you should tell him. if it would help you to tell him, if it would push you closer to what you wanted.

“promise you won’t tell?”

“it’s our secret.” he offers.

there’s that word again. secret.

“music was something that i decided to do on my own. i used to do acting when i started out, musicals when i was little and then a few small tv shows. i guess i pivoted for a while to do modeling, which was horrible, and then…decided i wanted to do music. and now that it’s what i picked on my own, as what i want to do, i…want to be one of the greats.” you murmur.

sukuna pauses.

“is modeling how you met aimee?” he asks.

“was scouted for modeling from the acting career. by her dad, not sure if you ever met him.”

sukuna narrows his eyes.

“can’t say i ever had the pleasure.” he respond.

“count yourself lucky. but i really want to be recognized for an entire record. not just one song, not just one big hit. an entire record. something i put together, curated as an entire listening experience.”

sukuna nods.

“is that why you’re being asked to go out of your comfort zone?”

“maybe. my producer just think that i have a lot more to say than what i’m…currently saying. metaphorically speaking.” you resopnd.

“and you’re scared to go out of your comfort zone, since you know the music you write currently gets you some level of industrial success.” he finishes.

“i think when i have something that’s really special, i’ll know it when i write it.” you finish.

you shift around to the side, ignoring the fact that sukuna’s forearm is brushing against your knee, and continue to smear his hair in the dye.

“you don’t think your current music is special?”

“my current music is just my way of fighting back. and while i can recognize that engaging is, in some way, helping the case, drama is what sells music. gets people to listen. and i have to defend myself someway or another. it’s not special at all, it’s just survival. i’m just angry. like i said, it’s not by design. not my intention at all.”

you can feel the lump stuck in your throat. sukuna takes a beat. and the next sentence that he says comes out so uncharacteristically soft, that some part of you feels like you imagined it all together.

“you don’t have to be so angry all the time.”

“you don’t have to worry. the song i have in mind for tomorrow isn’t blatantly angry, if that’s what you’re worried about. your pr manager can sleep well knowing i won’t fight with someone tomorrow.”

“i know. but i was just saying, your go to response doesn’t always have to be angry. hell, i’m sure it probably isn’t always angry either. you can feel sad that people treat you the way you do, especially when, from what i’m gathering, you hardly ever do anything to deserve it.”

you smile.

“you would love my producer.” you state.

“just being honest, as a one week fanatic of your music and of you. and i’m not too big on the whole manager/producer dynamic. i’m sure she’s great, but…my experience hasn’t always been so…liberal. i’ve actually switched two or three times.”

you pause.

“can i ask you a question?”

“go ahead, cricket.”

“how are you so comfortable going with the flow all the time? changing things up so much? is it because you know that backing out at the last second is an option that’s not impractical for you?”

sukuna nearly shivers as you spread another swatch of cold dye on his hair. he notes that you must notice because you mouth a polite sorry to him through the mirror, before returning your attentive eyes back to his hair.

clearly you were thinking about what aimee had said just as much as he had been.

he watches as you make your way around to the front, leaning against the back of the counter to get the strands in the front, properly distributing each strand with the dark red color. you can tell that he’s attentively watching you, his eyes shifting upwards, as you look down and purse your lips at him.

“that’s really bad posture.”

“are your parents pilates instructors?” you ask.

“so close. they’re both teachers. but really, that can’t be comfortable.” he states.

you roll your eyes.

“well, learn how to dye your hair on your own then.” you complain.

sukuna reaches up, placing his hands firmly on your waist and pulling you down to sit on top of his legs. you glare at him, feeling a slight flush from only being a few inches away from each other, and squint at him.

“really?”

“making your job easier for you. since you’re so intent on doing it the difficult way. come on, readjust so you’re comfortable and keep going.”

you give him one last glare, before shuffling in his lap, carefully keeping your balance on his legs, and making your best attempts to ignore looking at him so close by continuing with the front.

“i do get called a chronic flight risk here and there. but i’ve been trying to stick with things more consistently.”

“since when?” you ask.

“when did we meet again?”

you lightly tug on his hair, earning you a laugh from him, before continuing the side you were working on.

“you’re so stupid.” you mutter.

“i am being serious. i’ve been like that since i was a kid. find it difficult to stick to things, commit to one because i don’t want to leave anything else behind. sometimes i find myself in situations that i don’t even realized i walked into in the first place.”

“or you’re too scared to see something through. pick something you really like.” you offer.

“what do you mean?”

“just saying. what you’re saying makes sense, but in my experience, a failure to see things through is…a fear of failing. if you see something through, all the way to the end, there’s a possibility it doesn’t work out. and maybe the fear of failing at something you really tried at is scary. debilitating. better to just throw the towel in and live with the fact that you’re not actually bad at something or dysfunctional – because you didn’t really try in the first place, did you? if you’re not actually the one who picks, there’s no fear of knowing that you’re the one who made the mistake by picking wrong. ”

sukuna can feel a dry patch in his throat. and feels eternally grateful that you decide to fill the silence from his lack of a response.

“for someone who hates to commit to things, i will say that pink is an interesting choice.”

“one of a kind.” he responds.

“it would be. you know, except for the whole fraternal twin brother who has the same thing going on.” you respond.

sukuna grins.

“speaking of. can i have his phone number? i need to ask him for a favor.” you state.

“what are you going to give me if i do?” he asks.

you roll your eyes.

“sukuna.”

“am i next on your list of things that you’re trying? coffee…fake boyfriend?” he asks.

you yank on his hair again for good measure.

“you’re still here, aren’t you?” you murmur.

sukuna gives you an elated smile, one that spreads all the way across his face, before reaching for his phone. consequently, there’s a resounding ping from your phone that follows.

“are you ready to perform?”

you jump at the sound of sukuna’s voice, before turning around to look at him, and glare. he’s accompanied by yuuji and megumi, the latter of which gives you such a bright smile that it nearly melts some of your nervousness.

you wonder if he was just as nervous as you.

“more nervous about watching whatever this train wreck is.” you mumble, before turning back around to view the stage, hiding in the dimmed lights of the curtains.

sukuna places his hand on your shoulder, squeezing twice in reassurance, before holding out a glass in front of you. you look down, taking the glass from him, before looking back at him. for some reason, that you’re almost positive was in no way an accident, your performance is slated to be right after jake’s at the award show.

a slot that you were originally going to use to perform your last star girl set before your hiatus that you now repurposed for something else entirely.

“megumi and i spent half an hour trying to find this coffee for you. now’s a better time than any to acquire the taste.” sukuna states.

you shoot him a smile, looping your arm around his waist, and leaning your head against his shoulder. you can tell that sukuna’s slightly confused from how tense he is, but makes no effort of pushing you away. he responds in earnest by leaning his head against your own, and rubbing a small circle into your bicep.

you can tell that megumi’s staring at you from the corner of his eye and you make a mental note to shut him up later. there were eyes everywhere. you were almost positive this interaction would be somewhere on the internet later today.

not that he knew that you guys were pretending. or had any reason to question anything in the first place.

you nervously sip on the drink, irritated by the bitter taste in your mouth from the lack of sweetener, as the lights go back up, the entire backstage crew counting down to when they’re back on the air. both you and sukuna instinctively hunch forward the second jake starts singing, teetering on your heels to get closer, and hear exactly what he’s saying.

Climb on board We'll go slow and high tempo Light and dark Hold me hard and mellow

I'm seeing the pain, seeing the pleasure Nobody but you, 'body but me 'Body but us, bodies together I love to hold you close, tonight and always I love to wake up next to you I love to hold you close, tonight and always I love to wake up next to you

So we'll piss off the neighbors In the place that feels the tears The place to lose your fears Yeah, reckless behavior A place that is so pure, so dirty and raw

In the bed all day, bed all day, bed all day Fucking and fighting on It's our paradise and it's our war zone It's our paradise and it's our war zone

“is he singing about…?” yuuji asks, the tone in his voice so careful that you can tell he’s trying to be polite.

“sex. he’s singing about sex.” megumi finishes.

you can’t help but shrink at their side, turning over to give megumi a particularly miserable look, one that he only narrows his eyes at. you can hear his voice in your head.

it could be worse. though you’re not sure what could be worse than this.

“so much for a guy who spent six months complaining about you….what was the term he used?” megumi asks.

“not putting out.”

“i don’t understand what’s happening here. i thought he didn’t like you anymore.” yuuji states.

you turn to look at yuuji, who is almost instantly embarrassed at the lack of care with his words, and you can’t help but think about how he’s the opposite of sukuna. in demeanour and attributes – sukuna picked his words so carefully that you would imagine that he’d never dream of making a misstep like that.

“not that he doesn’t like you. i mean, he doesn’t like you. but you’re not unlikeable, clearly you have no trouble at all since you’re with my brother. i just mean…”

“every word gets worse, dude.” sukuna mutters.

“i’m not offended. and i understand the confusion, but trust me. i know jake and his team very well. i’m pretty sure he’s realized he’s made some misstep with me. maybe wants to stay friends or get back together. he sure has an interesting way of pursuing that.”

Pillow talk My enemy, my ally Prisoners Then we're free, it's a thin line

I'm seeing the pain, seeing the pleasure Nobody but you, 'body but me 'Body but us, bodies together I love to hold you close, tonight and always I love to wake up next to you

“i get it. he’s trying to take back what he said to aimee by singing a song about the opposite. the words that she’s been repeating this entire time…that you don’t put out. she knew that you would recognize those words as the ones that he said and know that he told her, something he clearly regrets now.” sukuna finishes.

you give sukuna a nod.

“you’re getting quite good at gleaning these types of things.”

“learned from the best. plus, the fact that he has texted me three times now about you made it easy to guess.”

sukuna wonders how exhausting it must be to be a musician. or to just be you – having to deal with an assault on your character at all times, having to think of clever responses to defend yourself from it almost right after. he had a small taste of it for three days and could barely happen it; and from the very limited knowledge that he had, this had been going on, at a minimum, for at least three years.

he wonders if he made things worse by putting a target on your back. an even bigger one than the one that was already there.

“does the song still work the way that you intended it?” yuuji asks.

you sigh.

“not sure. i was expecting him to go the other way, not…sing a song about having sex with me, if we’re even sure it’s about me.”

“it’s you. he posted a tweet earlier that mikasa sent me a screenshot of.” megumi offers.

“what are you singing a song about?” sukuna asks.

you can’t help but internally groan.

“being horny?” you mumble.

“what?”

you shake your head.

“it made more sense before all of this. now it’s just going to look like we both planned it.” you respond.

“wait, i have an idea. how to fix it. to make it really obvious that you planned it with me instead.” yuuji states.

“planned it with you? what are you talking about?” sukuna asks.

you turn to your side, to where yuuji’s standing and smiling at you so excitedly, before he drags you almost five feet away from sukuna and megumi, and whispers in your ear.

his pure conviction that this plan could save you is the only reason that you go along with it in the first place.

an: I lied. NOW the next chapter is actually called juno (this one went on for too long)

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @timmytimmytuckyy @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga @skunabby @meisque @hoseokslefteyebrow @thepurpleempath @shrimphutao4ever @monic19 @najaemism @haitanibros0007 @luvs4kim @ri-sa20 @thejujvtsupost @invisible-mori @satoruslipbalm @kyo-kyo1 @telepathicheartss @huhsthccvjh @sxnkuna @w31rdg1rl @lilalia3945 @multiplefandomthings @shotovhs @voids-universe @timetobegone @deeeeexx @livelovelaughisagiyochi @pelicanpizza @cowgirlikets @jeon-blue @phantomasmaniac @yoontaedotin @cowgirlikets @estrella-novella @theauthorunicorn @catastayy @ryumurin @kindadolly @th0tformikasa @r0ckst4rjk @you-always-made-me-blush

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writingchalamet · 11 months ago

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Angels Like You II

Angels Like You Chapter I

A.N: Hope you enjoyed part 1, things will be heating up from here and we will be getting a lot more Y/n and Bucky interaction!

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, violence, blood, mentions of S/A, mentions of graphic physical abuse, fluff, y/n has a child, Bucky being protective

Chapter II

Your day had begun like any other, waking to the sound of Forrest stirring on your baby monitor. You walk into his bedroom finding him sitting in his cot a beautiful smile instantly gracing his face as you enter the room, rambling the word 'mama' or an iteration of the sort over and over, you were both all smiles all morning as you most days, getting Forrest ready for day care was perhaps your least favourite part of the day, he still cried when you dropped him off and it broke your heart in two everyday. After Forrest was dropped off at day care, you start your day at work, keeping the door to the Bakery locked until your other baker joins you in an hour, you make a start on your breads taking your premade doughs out the fridge, giving them a quick kneed before placing them in their baking trays. Then onto pastries and cakes you can whip up from scratch, deciding on lemon and blueberry cupcakes with cream-cheese frosting as your 'chefs choice' for the week.

You hear a tap on the glass door and go through kitchen into the main shop to kind your employee Kay standing at the door smiling, clutching a bunch of flowers in her arms. You unlocked the door opening enough to let her in before securing the lock again, "Hey Kay, how are you?" you embrace her in a side hug "I'm good thanks, I got these flowers for the counter, I saw them yesterday and they reminded me of you, so you know" the thought brought a smile to your face in an instant. "Oh thank you, that's so cute" You find a jug to put them in, arranging the carnations on the counter next to the till. Yourself and Kay continue baking and prepping for the day ahead, finishing off some icing and glazing before placing the first batches into the display counter and finishing setting up.

The morning flew by, your regulars came in for their morning coffee and pastries, the couple of old ladies who come by once a week to pick up a loaf of bread and some cakes stopped by and had a chat, and a few college students stopped in, you were happy with how business was going, until you saw a certain head of curls across the street, dark eyes looking your way, his figure loomed over you like a dark omen, you just knew something terrible was about to happen, you could tell by the way he sat there chain smoking and swigging from his coffee cup, that was most likely not coffee, he wore a smug smile across his face while he continued to stare at you.

"Okay Boss, I'm gonna run down the road and grab some lunch, you want anything?" You tore your gaze away from the menacing stare of your ex to meet Kay's. "Uh, no I'm good thanks" she nodded and headed out the door, down the street and out of sight. You were alone. Shit. You look up again and see that Matt had moved from his spot on the wall across your shop, and was moving hastily towards you. You clamber over the counter and try to make it to the door before him, but you're too late. The sweet ding off the bell above the door ringing leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. "Get out Matt, you can't be here" you try to be firm but your voice only comes out broken.

"Or what, you gonna call the cops? You know they won't do anything" He stalks towards you until your backed up against your counter, the hard wood digging into your back. "Matt seriously, leave me alone, please" you were willing yourself not to cry but couldn't help the few stray tears that slipped down your cheeks. Matt picked up the jug of flowers smashing them down against the counter with force causing the glass to shatter, a few shards cutting your arm in the process. "Don't you fucking cry or I'll give you something to cry about" His hands wrapped around your neck cutting off your supply of oxygen while he threw you against the window, keeping you pinned there by your neck. You sputtered out a choke as tears slipped down your face, only making him grip you impossibly tighter, "You wanna fucking cry, you ran away while you were pregnant with my child, I have a right to see them, huh, where is the little brat" He shook your neck bashing your head against the glass. You only hoped he would tire himself out, he usually didn't last long when he'd had a drink anyway.

Over all the commotion you didn't hear the bell of the door opening, and you didn't see Bucky coming to stand behind Matt but thank the lord he did. "You're gonna wanna let the lady go" As soon as you heard his voice your senses ignited, your eyes opened and the tears stopped flowing immediately. Matt loosened his grip but refused to let go. "yeah or what" he scoffed before throwing his head over his shoulder catching a glimpse of your rescuer. You could have sworn you saw him recoil into himself, something you had never once seen. However his fear was short lived and soon replaced by anger once more. "Who's this guy huh? what you just opened your legs for the first guy you said hi to here, you whor-" the second his grip tightened around your neck once more it was enough to send Bucky into overdrive.

He reached forwards wrapping his hand around Matts wrist bending it backwards until you were sure you heard a snap, while Matt screamed Bucky secured an arm around you, giving you the once over, not stopping until you gave him a nod. "Oh I'm gonna fucking kill you, you stupid bitch" in a poor attempt to throw a punch Matt practically threw himself at Bucky, who didn't seem the slightest bit phased, caught Matt by his throat with his vibranium arm, squeezing until he was red in the face. Matt coughed attempting to pull back, Bucky only pulled him closer, clenching his fist all that bit harder. He pulled him close enough that his mouth reached Matts ear. "If you come near her again, I'll fucking finish the job" with those words he pushed Matt away from the two of them, Matt scrambling away and out the door nearly falling to the floor in the process. You let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding, feeling the weight of the world fall off your shoulders for just a moment.

Hot tears spill down your cheeks again in slow steady streams, burning the skin in their wake. "Thank you" you breathed out, your shaking hands reaching up to wipe your face, it's then your realise the blood dripping from a glass made gash on your arm, dripping down your fingers and onto the floor. "Hey, let me take a look at that, make sure you don't need stitches" you pull your arm away from him recoiling into yourself, "no it's fine, you've done enough, you can go, thank you Bucky" You stare at the floor the entire time watching as small droplets of blood begin to litter the tiles. "I'm not leaving in case he comes back, in fact I'm gonna patch you up and we're gonna get Forrest and go home, okay, sound good?" His hand raised to your cheek gaining your attention from your disoriented state, he wipes away the tears as they form under your eyes, brushing them away from your skin, you close your eyes for a moment allowing the feeling to sooth you.

"Alright lets get you cleaned up"

After the incident at the bakery Sam, Bucky and Sarah had been on high alert, Sam brought up the fact that they could have Torres flown in to be your own personal bodyguard, the thought daunting, that you might actually need one. Then Sarah brough up the fact that there are two more than capable 'bodyguards' here if they want to help. And that's how you ended up here, with Bucky living in your spare room for the past two nights, seemingly watching your every move afraid you'll shatter like glass.

What shocked you the most was how quickly Forrest had taken to Bucky, usually he was shy around people for weeks, hell he’s been going to nursery for a year and still won’t let some of the day care assistants hold or play with him. In a way you were glad he was so reserved, made you think that he would never just run off with a stranger, or your psycho ex. But with Bucky he was different, he seemed to open up pretty much straight away, showing him his favourite toys, wanting to sit next to him on the sofa, wherever you looked you would see Forrest’s little hand reaching up for Buck’s trying to show him something, the sight bringing a dull ache to your chest. Maybe it was the lack of a male presence in his life that made him take to Bucky so well, but you were grateful either way.

You were settling down for the evening after feeding Forrest his dinner, the three of you snuggled up on the couch watching a Disney movie before you put Forrest down for bed. You couldn’t help the warm fuzzy feeling filling your body as you watched Forrest nuzzle into Bucky’s side, his head leaning on his chest. You found your head lulling to the side more often than watching the film, admiring the pair of them, Forrest occasionally pointing to the screen and muttering some gibberish to Bucky excitedly. Towards the end of the film, Forrest had fallen asleep, cuddled into Buck’s side. “I better get him up to bed” you sighed in content beginning to sit up from your comfy seated position. “I can take him up if you want” Bucky spoke in a hushed tone, already slipping his arms around the boy and standing from the sofa. “Why don’t we go up together?" You smiled, getting up from the sofa and following Bucky up the stairs into your sons’ room, you admired the way Bucky gently placed him down on the changing table as if he had done it a thousand times, and stood aside letting you get the baby changed ready for bed. Once he had a fresh nappy and pyjamas on, Bucky picked him up once more, leaning over the side of the cot and smoothly placed Forrest down into his bed, without him stirring once. You both stood there and smiled over the sleeping baby for a moment before retreating back downstairs.

You opened a bottle of wine grabbing two glasses, heading back into the living room finding Bucky back in his original spot on the sofa once more. “I never really got the chance to thank you for the other day, or explain…” You avoided eye contact as you sat down, fiddling with the stem of your wine glass in an attempt to distract yourself. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, I’m just glad I was able to help is all” Bucky responds coyly, wrapping a hand around yours in an attempt to stop your nervous fidgeting around the glass. “Sarah spoke to me… She said that she told you guys about Matt… That you seemed pretty upset” you plucked up the courage to look in his eyes, as you did, he looked away, shaking his head. Almost embarrassed. “I uh… I don’t know what to tell you…” There was a pause after he spoke, neither of you knowing what to say. “Why do you care so much, you don’t know me?”

Bucky scoffed, seeming taken aback by your comment, as if someone caring about your well being was a problem. “Why wouldn’t I care, especially after hearing the shit he put you through, that would be enough to make any sane person mad, no?” His response seemed valid, even if you didn’t want to admit it, if it had been you that had found Sarah pregnant and sleeping in her car, hearing her situation you would have been just as furious. You understood where he was coming from. “I guess…” Your sentence trailed off and you stared into your empty wine glass. Bucky took the hint and opened the bottle of wine, filling your glass more than you normally would have, you giggled side eyeing him, tilting the glass up to your eyeline. “You trying to get me drunk Barnes, you know there’s a sleeping toddler upstairs right” you joked, clinking your glass with his, just as full. He laughed along shaking his head.

After sinking one or two bottles of wine, you felt yourself growing more confident. The wine raising a sweet pink blush to your cheeks which Bucky found undeniably cute, he found himself drawing closer to you and you let him, there was no room between you, his arm encased the back of the sofa around your shoulders, your head occasionally falling back to rest on the limb, your thigh hunched up resting on his own, as you chatted the night away truly getting to know each other. If Sam were to look in through the window Bucky knows he would have a shit eating grin plastered on his face at the sight of his best friend this close to a girl after so many years. And you couldn’t help but admit, it felt nice to be this close to someone, especially after the only relationship you had ever been in was an abusive one, you thought you would find it hard to trust, but Bucky made you feel at ease the second you were near him.

“So, what’s it like being a superhero?” you enquired eyes wide with wonder. He scoffed again shaking his head, and attribute you would soon grow attached to. “I’m no superhero doll” you shook your head, taking his glass out of his hand and placing it on the coffee table, you place yourself directly in his eyeline, practically sitting in his lap. “Oh common! You fought Thanos’ army, helped bring down that Zemo guy and you just stopped the flag smashers! And to top it off you were sergeant of the Howling Commandos. I’d say that’s pretty superhero-esque to me” you wink at him and couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the look on his face. “Okay stalker, someone’s done their homework” he laughs out, he raised his hands in defence, lowering them to rest on your lower back and his Vibranium hand on your thigh, your hands settled on his shoulders, and you gave them a light squeeze, feeling intrigued by the feeling of the metal under his shirt.

“Of course, I had to, I’m not gonna let some strange man I don’t know stay in the same house as my son, am I?” you tilted your head to the side, eyeing him quizzically. “Of course, not” The flesh hand holding your back began to stroke up your back and you forgot to breathe for a moment. His hand stilled in the centre of your back, laying there flat and steady. You stared into the blues of his eyes, realizing now just how deep they really are. How much history they hold behind them, how many horrors he too has seen. You felt his gaze searching your own, tracing every spec on your face, you saw his eyes linger by your eyebrow where your scar was and regrettably you tore your own pair away from his face. Removing yourself from his lap, standing before him. He sat there; brows furrowed slightly in question as to why you were leaving. “I should get to bed, I have to get back to work tomorrow, but thank you Bucky for a lovely evening, thank you for everything…” You spoke to the floor before turning hurriedly towards the stairs. “Yeah, yeah, no problem… No problem at all…” Bucky spoke shallowly to himself wondering what he had done wrong.

Tag List:

@unaxv @mrsnikstan

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

#fanfiction #fanfic #imagines #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes #bucky x you #the winter soldier #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky angst #sam wilson #tfatws #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction

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parveens-kitchen · 6 months ago

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Blueberry Yogurt Loaf Cake

Blueberry Yogurt Loaf Cake Recipe: A Simple and Delightful Treat If you’re looking for a light and fruity dessert that’s easy to make and irresistibly delicious, this Blueberry Yogurt Loaf Cake is your answer. Moist, fluffy, and packed with juicy blueberries, this cake is perfect for breakfast, teatime, or an after-dinner treat. With a simple blend of everyday ingredients and a touch of yogurt…

#blueberry baking ideas #blueberry breakfast loaf #blueberry cake recipe #blueberry dessert ideas #Blueberry recipes #blueberry yogurt bread #blueberry yogurt loaf cake #easy baking recipes #easy blueberry dessert #fluffy yogurt cake #homemade loaf cake #moist blueberry loaf #quick loaf cake recipe #simple yogurt cake #yogurt loaf cake

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kitchenwitchtingss · 2 years ago

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RECIPES I KEEP IN MY ONLINE KITCHEN WITCH JOURNAL #2

I love making these oh my gosh.

Why?

It's really fun

It's been a while since my last one

I get an excuse to try yummy recipes

You all are way too good at what you do

It's fun x2

Teas, Drinks, And Syrups

🍊 Orange Peel Tea 🍊

Violet Lemonade

Coconut Summer Drink

Dandelion Honey

The Best Hot Spiced Cider recipe you’ll ever try

Apple Cider is basically a homesteading spell

Rose Lemonade Syrup

100-Year Garlic (Garlic Honey)

Fire Cider Spell for Winter Protection

Blackberry & Apple Jam

Witchy Recipes - Blackberry Lemonade

Baked Goods + Sweets

Prosperity Bread

Lavender Earl Grey Cookies

Easy Rosemary Focaccia Loaf for Love and Protection

Heavenly Lavender Scones

Honey Vanilla Peach Butter 🍑

Pumpkin Pie Dip 🎃

Vanilla-Pumpkin Cupcakes

Soups, Stews, And Dinners

Super simple secret potato soup

Forest Porridge

Heartwarming potato soup

Perfect Homemade Garlic Bread

Creamy vegetable soup

Springtime Soup

Stuffed Maple dijon glazed roasted butternut squash

Summertime stir fry

Sabbat Stuff

Litha Orange Honey Cake

Litha Thyme Chicken

Stuffed Apples for Mabon

Mabon Mug

Imbolc Pretzel wreath

Oatmeal Bread for Lughnasadh

Samhain Mulled Cider

Samhain Irish Apple Cake

Angel's Best

(my favorite recipe posts I've made over the years, plus backstories that sound like your grandmother's reminiscing over the past.)

LATE WINTER BUTTER ROLLS

My first post I ever made. I was pretty new to the tumblr community at the time. I loved kitchen witchcraft, and I'm the type of person who will ramble on about how much I love cooking and baking. This blog gave me an outlet to express my love of cooking, baking, paganism, and witcraft. And these rolls are very tasty, I make them to this day!

WITCHY TOMATO BASIL SOUP

Tasty, simple, and a crowd-pleaser. It's perfect for a beginner kitchen witch! It was also the second recipe I ever posted.

SWEET CREAM BUNS

It was a recipe given to me by one of my good friends at the time. Every time I make it, it gets devoured in less than 10 minutes. It was also my first recipe to get over 50 notes. I was shocked but ecstatic that so many people would even give it the time of day lol.

WITCHY THUMBPRINT COOKIES

These ones were just fun to make and delicious lol.

A WITCH’S COZY BUTTERNUT WINTER SOUP

A quick soup that feeds a lot of people during the fall season. Fall is my favorite season, so of course I'm very biased lol.

SAMHAIN PUMPKIN BREAD

I love pumpkin bread and apple cider... So why not combine the two? This one was definitely one of my favorites of all time. Moist pumpkin bread and chocolate chips have to be one of my favorite things on this planet. It also makes for the perfect gift for friends and family. Yummy!

ANGEL’S AWARD-WINNING LEMON POPPY SEED BREAD

I love dessert loaves of any kind, so naturally, this would be on the list lol.

MAPLE BUTTER COOKIES

Super simple comfort food! I love any time of cookie with brown sugar.

BRING ME POSITIVITY PECAN FRENCH TOAST BAKE

I love French toast, and I love positivity~

SAMHAIN SOUL CAKES RECIPE

These are really good! And traditional. If you celebrate Samhain, I recommend you make some soul cakes and have friends and family help decorate. I give the littles a bag of orange frosting and let them go crazy lol.

FEEL BETTER CHICKEN SOUP

One of my most recent is my witchy twist on chicken noodle soup!

#witches #kitchen witch #witchy #witch #magick #kitchen witch recipes #food #recipes #witchblr #kitchen magick #foodblogger #sabbats #litha #kitchen witch tips #modern witch #modern witchcraft

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afictionalwhor3 · 1 month ago

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Bake Shop

CEO!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky presents you with a crazy idea. And you just might be crazy enough to buy into it.

Word Count: 1.6k

Divider by @cafekitsune

“Hey Hun I’m just about to head out. What are you doing?” Bucky asks on his way out. You knew he had to be in office for a couple of hours today because of some meetings.

“Oh perfect! Buck, come here real quick. Taste this,” You say, holding a spoonful of frosting up for Bucky to take from. He takes it from you and tastes it. “You know the girls are coming over tomorrow night and I wanted to try this new cupcake recipe,” You say, gauging his reaction.

“Well, it doesn’t taste nearly as good you,” Bucky starts making you roll your eyes and smile, “But this is delicious. I didn’t think you could possibly upgrade an already perfect recipe,” He says licking whatever is left off the plastic spoon.

“Thank you, baby. I’m glad you like it. I’ll make sure to save one for you,” You say, going back to the batter before you start pouring it into the cupcake containers.

“Thank you babe,” Bucky says, kissing your temple. “These are so damn good you could make a business out of this for sure. Have you ever thought about that?” Bucky questions as you shake your head no and laugh softly.

“Oh god no. Just a hobby, something to keep my hands busy,” You say and he smiles

“Well, I gotta run baby. I will see you later, love you,” He says giving you one more kiss

It’s been a month since that conversation with Bucky, but you could not stop thinking about it. There was the possibility that you could make a business out of this. You had been baking for as long as you could remember, but it had always been a hobby. A neat party trick or something to do to make the time pass. You were passionate about it, but passion wasn’t always enough to make a successful enterprise. You also knew you were a good baker, but what if you were only a good home baker. And your skills wouldn’t transfer in the business sense. Your boyfriend, friends, and family always complimented you, but what if they were just blowing smoke up your ass? Running a business was a beast of its own, let alone making it a successful one. You knew Bucky would make it happen regardless of how talented you were, but you didn’t want a handout for this. You wanted to put some elbow grease in of your own, do your own research, and see if you were really up for this.

You spent the last month baking obsessively. Trying new desserts and recipes all the time. “Babe, if you don’t stop, you are going to have to roll me to get me around,” Bucky liked to tell you. And while you appreciated it, you knew you needed a non-biased opinion.

So, you picked a day you knew Bucky would be in the office from sun up to sun down. You bought a one-day booth at the flea market they had in downtown. You didn’t have an elaborate set up. Some cupcakes, a few loafs of bread, and a couple cakes. This is where your idea would either sink or swim and you could not begin to describe how nervous you were. You thought you were going to burst into tears every minute that went by without a customer. Every person you watched walk by your booth without so much as a second glance. Then, an hour in you got your first customer. From there it was smooth sailing. You were sold out by the end of lunch. You left the flea market with enough confidence to finally pitch your idea to Bucky.

A couple of days later Bucky was working from home. You took a deep breath before knocking on his office doors.

“Come in Doll. I’m just about done in here,” Bucky says. You open the door, walking in, and can’t help but nervously gnaw at your bottom lip. Bucky picks up on your nervous tell immediately. As well as the folder you have held impossibly close to your chest. Bucky raises an eyebrow as he looks at you, “What’s up Doll? Everything alright?” He asks, leaning back in his chair and opening his legs-a silent invitation to sit on his lap. You abide by his request, sitting on his thigh as you put the folder down before him.

“This idea might be as crazy as it is dumb or stupid, but I do go out and test it which went quite well. And listen, I know this whole business world is entirely your forte, and I am so out of my depth. Like so out of my depth-” Before you could spiral any further out of control, Bucky placed a comforting hand on your back. Using his thumb to massage small circles along your spine, which began to calm you down.

“Oh, sweet girl, nothing that happens in that beautiful mind is crazy, dumb, or stupid. Take a deep breath and tell me what you got,” He reassures you. You look into his beautiful blue eyes, which have an easy way of bringing you comfort. You take another deep breath before continuing again,

“Well, I don’t know if you remember but a month ago when I was making those cupcakes for girls' night. And you said I could make a business out of it. I laughed it off, but it really got me thinking,” You say as Bucky opens the folder and begins to look through your carefully organized papers. “As you can see, I’ve done a lot of research about this. Yesterday I actually went to the flea market downtown. I bought a booth for the day, and I sold really well. Like really well, Buck, I sold out,” You say, smiling at the thought. When Bucky looks at you again, he can’t help the smile that overtakes his face. He’s never seen you as passionate and excited about something the way you are right now. “The research is cause I wanted to make sure this wasn’t a completely unprofitable business venture for you. I knew you were gonna say yes regardless, but I didn’t want this just because you could give it to me. I wanted to earn it if that makes sense,” You say, wringing your hands together nervously as Bucky stays silent. You try to read his expression and get a hint of what he is thinking, but he keeps his face stoic.

“Done,” Bucky says, closing the folder containing your neatly stapled papers “What?” You question. You watch as Bucky pulls out his phone.

“It’s done. I have a guy in commercial real estate. I’m gonna have him get some properties together for us to look at, and I’m going to clear my calendar tomorrow so we can make it happen.” He says, “And if we can’t find anything, I can have something built from the ground up. A custom building just for you,” Bucky says nonchalantly as he fires off a quick text. You are stunned. You knew Bucky loved you in ways that he could never put into words, and that he would have found a way to make this happen for you. But this was his business, his livelihood. If this went bad in any way, who knew how it could harm Bucky’s professional career.

“Wow, Buck- I… are you sure about this? I know I did a lot of research, but you didn’t even look through the whole folder.” You say still in disbelief.

“Trust me, I will baby. I cannot express how proud of you I am. From what I saw your research is extensive. I wish clients came to me with this much thought,” He tells you, making you smile. “And don’t think I’m saying this just cause you’re my girl. You could have come to me with just a thinkpiece, and yea I would have made it happen for you sweet girl. However, I can tell you did your due diligence and put a lot of work into this idea. It is a good idea, as a first-hand consumer of your product, I can personally attest to how good it is. And I’ve never seen you this excited about something. That right there is enough for me,” He says. You feel hot tears run down your face. The emotions of the moment, and the past month, start to hit you all at once. As a result of the tears, you begin to sniffle, using your hands to wipe your face quickly.

“These are happy tears Buck. I just cannot believe it. Everything is hitting me at once and I am in shock. Happy isn’t even the right word, but what if it fails?” You ask. Bucky aids in wiping the tears from your face, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek,

“It won’t. Because there will be an intelligent, beautiful woman calling the shots the entire time while her lowly boyfriend ensures she has everything she needs,” He explains, making you smile. “In business, you gotta be willing to take risks. For you, baby, I’d be willing to risk it all,” Bucky professes, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. You pull away slightly to look at him. Once again, you can’t help the smile that takes over your face.

“You know you are ridiculous, right?” You tell Bucky, and he doesn’t stop grinning at you

“Absolutely.”

“And just the slightest bit corny,” You add

“But of course,” He retorts, making you roll your eyes playfully and kiss him again. Your hand makes its way to the back of his head to hold him close. Before it can get any further, you two are interrupted by the sound of his phone. He pulls away from you breathlessly to take a look,

“And would you look at that. Our first walkthrough is at 11 am tomorrow.”

#bucky x y/n #CEO!bucky #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel fluff

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coolpointsetta · 2 years ago

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roy looks good doing everything. actually, he almost looks better than that when he’s doing absolutely nothing at all. coming home after a night out or spending the weekend at his mum’s and finding roy curled up on the couch with a book never fails to send that feeling into jamie’s gut.

roy looks good wearing a suit, he looks good wearing nothing. he looks good in the kit he wears for a charity match. he looks good while working out, while cooking, while cleaning.

jamie had always known roy was an attractive man. and he’d always thought that roy had looked his absolute hottest while dominating out on the pitch.

he was sorely mistaken.

roy looks his absolute best buying groceries.

saying it out loud, it sounds like the most unsexy thing in the history of the world, but it’s true! jamie was once an unbeliever, but he has seen the light.

grocery shopping for them is a very important time. jamie’s diet is still held within the boundaries that the nutritionist sets, but roy is a master of creating meals that are nutritious and delicious, so he needs very specific ingredients.

their routine is as follows: roy writes down what they need in the order that they’ll pass it in the store (“the store is organized the way it is to make more money. if we map it exactly right, we won’t be distracted” roy always says) while jamie keeps trying to add sweet treats like jaffa cakes or biscuits. roy always says no.

and there’s something hot about roy giving him a glare that only makes jamie want to tease and press more.

but after the list is made, they get in the car and drive to the store, and the entire way there, roy has one hand on the wheel and the other hand on jamie’s thigh, rubbing his thumb over his skin in a way that drives jamie absolutely insane.

(and if roy gets a blowjob in the parking lot before they go inside, who’s to say?)

but the hottest part of it all? the actual act of grocery shopping.

it’s hypnotic. jamie always finds himself unable to look away as roy walks through the aisles, adding items to their cart as they go. he inspects a loaf of bread, staring at it like he’s playing bad cop and this lump of flour is about to break the case wide open. he carefully turns over each piece of fruit, making sure they’re not bruised or already too far gone to do anything with. the way roy uses all five senses when picking something out; sniffing it, feeling it, sometimes tapping it to try and hear how ripe it is.

and don’t get jamie started on the way roy’s hips sway as he leans against the cart, pushing it along. because sometimes jamie has to stare down the closest produce just to get some of the thoughts out of his head.

jamie himself is utterly useless while grocery shopping, because he still wanders off and tries to add sweet treats to the cart, all of which are removed with a glare. which is extremely hot too. the glare that is, not roy taking out jamie’s favorite candies. that still sucks.

but there’s just something so…secure about going grocery shopping with his boyfriend. maybe secure isn’t the right word but it’s the one jamie has on hand. other words include happy, horny, delighted, and content.

and so they pay for their shit and they leave, passing on the plastic bags and using their reusable ones instead.

the one thing jamie insists on doing while grocery shopping however, is carrying every single bag inside in one go. mama didn’t raise no bitch, and these muscles aren’t just for show. and this would be relatively easy if he just let roy take a bag or two, but this is jamie’s time to shine, so he scoops up their reusable bags in his arms and walks their groceries into their house all by himself.

if roy reaches for something, jamie switches all the groceries to his other arm to take roy’s hand.

(and if jamie gets a quick blowjob before the ice cream melts? who’s to say? maybe roy finds grocery shopping with him just as hot)

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #roy kent #royjamie #roy x jamie #domestic boyfriends #joy #own post

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twohearts-hs · 11 months ago

Text

Always & Forever Fifteen - Marshall Mathers x Reader Series

Words: 7.0k

Pairings: Marshall Mathers x Fem!Reader Series

Synopsis: They loved each other with every fibre and being. They knew that they were meant to be together, but it seemed like every obstacle came in the way. She was twenty-one, he was forty and they knew that it would be hard. Therefore, they promised forever and always as they were meant to be together despite every turmoil that came their way.

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol, Arguments & Angst.

|| Masterlist for Series ||

Hope you enjoy :)

When the morning came, Marshall made Y/N breakfast and packed her a coffee as she got ready. She left her bag with Marshall so he would bring it to the studio for her to pick up later rather than walking around the campus with it.

Mondays were her least favourite day. She had an 8:30 class with Dr. Beau on the High Renaissance followed up by her sexuality art class. Therefore, the couple were up at seven in the morning and Y/N had to wake up Marshall as he refused.

“I don’t need to be at the studio till noon,” he said.

“Yes, I understand but I have to be at my eight-thirty class and you agreed to drive me.”

“Then let me sleep for another hour and I will drive you,” he responded but a kiss was delivered to his cheek. “You said you would make me breakfast.”

“Ugh,” he whispered. “Why did you stay over last night if you had to wake up at seven plus we were fucking till like midnight,” he complained, grabbing a pillow and pushing her with it.

“Marshall. If you don’t want to make me breakfast, I will grab a coffee and a protein bar,” she argued getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom.

“That’s not enough, Y/N.”

“I will get like a banana bread or a lemon loaf on campus. Maybe I will ask Hailie to have a coffee at the library.”

He hummed. “That sounds nice. However, when does your class end?”

“10!” she said over the noise of the shower.

“When’s your next one?”

“10:30 till noon.”

“So you won’t get to that banana bread till noon then?” he cooed. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

Y/N appeared in front of him naked with a brow raised. “Stop daddying me. Sleep for another fifteen and then we can make breakfast.”

He chuckled. “Nope,” he stated, rolling out of bed, “seeing you like that means I am joining you for a shower.”

Y/N rolled her eyes.

Marshall dropped Y/N off at campus before going for a run and hitting his home gym for a few hours. Y/N went to class and she texted Hailie about having a coffee and a cake around noon which she agreed to do.

Y/N pushed open the library walking to the coffee shop that lived in it. She spotted the beautiful brunette who was stirring her latte. Y/N sent her a quick wave before walking over to the counter to order herself a coffee and a banana bread. She settled down across from Hailie in the small, cosy coffee shop on campus as the rain fell. It was spring after all. The air was filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft murmur of students chatting around them. Y/N took a sip of her latte, savouring the warmth and smiled at Hailie who was stirring sugar into her mug.

“I like that shirt on you and your hair like that,” Y/N complimented. “You’re always pretty but-“

She grinned. “Thanks. I have always been jealous of your eyes and freckles, Y/N.”

“Thanks.”

“I can see what Dad sees in you.”

Y/N smiled and nodded. “Honestly, I don’t know what he sees but I feel honoured that he sees something.”

“Stop. You’re gorgeous.”

“I know but when someone that perfect for me likes me… it's like how did I deserve this, ya know?”

She agreed before changing the subject. “How is the art show coming?”

Y/N’s face lit up. “Good! I am just finalising a few pieces. I have to submit my stuff tomorrow. Which means I take the train downtown with all my art.”

“Dad will drive you.”

Y/N sighed. “I would ask but he is adamant that this week is studio week to get the Marshall Mathers LP2 done.”

“Is that what he is naming it?”

Y/N nodded.

“Well,” she stated sipping her mug, “I am so excited about the show. Prosecco going around and finger food. Art critiques and artists… sounds like an episode of Sex and The City. You’re living the Charlotte York lifestyle.”

“And you?” Y/N hummed. “Which character are you?”

“Miranda.”

“Well, as much as Charlotte York is great. I am more of Carrie Bradshaw…with my Mr. Big.”

“Meaning?”

Y/N debated how to tell her but then decided. “Your dad says I can’t talk about this, but you know how Carrie got with Big and they were like meant to be?”

She nodded.

“Then conflicts got in the way, opportunities came so they had to separate?”

Hailie slowly nodded, brow raised.

“I am going to Columbia. I accepted today. Marshall knows and we have agreed to do long distance to try and then maybe get back together-“

“You’re breaking up?”

“No,” Y/N rushed. “We are Carrie and Big. We are meant to be. We will always remain best friends and when we are in each other towns we will see each other, have a passionate night and then meet again when the time works,” Y/N stated. “Hailie, I have to go to Columbia. It’s my destiny.”

“Dad loves you though. He wants his life with you. He talks like you put the stars in the sky and the answer to all his problems,” she said with a worried tone.

Y/N smiled at Hailie, trying to convey her certainty. “I know he does, and I love him too. That’s why this is so hard. But he understands how important this is for me. It’s my dream.”

Hailie looked down at her coffee, her expression conflicted. “I get it, Y/N. I really do. But it’s going to be hard for him. You’ve become such a big part of his life.”

Y/N reached out across the table and took Hailie’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I know. And it’s going to be hard for me too. But we’ll make it work. We’ve talked about it, and we’ve both committed to trying. Besides, it’s only two years. We can handle it. He is my Mr. Big and I am his Carrie Bradshaw. It will be us in the end.”

Hailie sighed, nodding slowly. “Ok, I trust you. I trust Dad. I just don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a rush of gratitude. “Thanks, Hailie. That means a lot to me. I promise we’ll be ok. And I’ll always be here for you too. You can come visit me in New York City.”

Hailie smiled back, her eyes softening. “Thanks, Y/N. You’re like family to me.”

Y/N felt a lump in her throat and blinked back tears. “You’re my family. All of you are, lovely.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, sipping their coffee and letting the conversation settle. Y/N asked about classes, about her dating life and her life in the dorms. There was a sense of calm washed over both of them knowing they support one another. Y/N just hoped that Marshall would handle the distance and that their relationship would come out stronger on the other side.

After finishing their coffee, Y/N glanced at her watch. “I have one more class before I head to the studio. Marshall is recording today, and he wants me there.”

Hailie nodded, standing up and gathering her things. “Give him a hug from me,” she said with a smile.

“I will,” Y/N promised, giving Hailie a quick hug before they went their separate ways. Y/N went to her medieval art through the ages class before heading to the studio. The bus ride was not too bad. However, she could not help but feel a bit relieved with telling Hailie, but she knew that Marshall wanted to wait a little longer. This was her news, her announcement and even though it did evolve Marshall, it was her journey.

Y/N pushed open the heavy door to the studio, the familiar hum of equipment and faint smell of coffee welcomed her. She made her way down the narrow hallway, her footsteps echoing softly against the soundproof walls. Today was just another day of work, but something about it felt different.

As she approached the vocal booth, she could hear a rapid-fire stream of words and beats emanating from inside. Curious, she peeked through the small window and saw Marshall, completely engrossed in his performance. He was freestyling – no notebook in front of him – his words flowing effortlessly in a torrent of rhythm and emotion. She had never seen him like this before – so raw and so powerful.

Marshall’s eyes closed, his hands gesturing wildly as he rapped. His face was a picture of concentration and passion, every line delivered with precision and intensity. He was in his element, and it was mesmerising to watch. Y/N found herself captivated, unable to look away.

She slipped into the control room, where Paul was adjusting levels on the mixing console. He glanced up and gave her a nod, motioning for her to join him. Y/N quietly took a seat beside Paul, her eyes never leaving Marshall.

“He’s been at it for hours,” Paul whispered, a hint of admiration in his words. “Just gets in the zone and goes. Listen…”

Y/N nodded, her heart swelling with pride and awe. She had always known Marshall was talented…she grew up on him but seeing him like this – completely lost in his craft – was something else entirely. It was as if he was revealing a part of himself that few got to see.

The song built to its climax, Marshall’s voice rising and falling with the beat. Y/N felt chills run down her spine as he delivered the final verses with ferocity. That left her breathless. When he finally stopped, there was a moment of silence, the room still vibrating with the energy of his performance.

Marshall opened his eyes and looked around, his gaze landing on Y/N. A slow smile spread across his face, and he gave her a nod of acknowledgement. Y/N felt a rush of warmth, her cheeks flushing as she smiled back.

Paul pressed a button on the console, speaking into the microphone that fed into the booth. “That was incredible, man. Take a break, you’ve earned it. Your girl is here.”

Marshall nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stepped out of the booth. Y/N stood up, meeting him halfway. He looked different – alive, vibrant, almost glowing with the afterglow of his performance.

“That was amazing. What is it called?” she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine admiration.

“Thanks, doll,” he replied, his smile widening. “Um,” he took a moment and looked at Paul, “Rap God.”

Y/N reached out and touched his arm, her eyes locked onto his. “You’re really something else, you know that?”

Marshall chuckled, his hand covering hers for a moment. “So are you,” he whispered, voice low and sincere. “How was your day? Did you meet with Hailie?”

“I did. We talked…I told her about Columbia as it just came out…”

“You haven’t accepted so I don’t understand-“

“I did. I put money down this morning. It is happening.”

Marshall’s face fell and he slowly nodded. “Right, Columbia is happening. You’re moving to New York City?”

“I am, but-“

“So, you told Hailie that you accepted before me? My own daughter…she isn’t your daughter. You're not her step parent,” he stated. “Why would you tell her over me first? We are in a relationship. Two ways communication.”

Y/N felt a pang of guilt before she realises it is not her fault. She reached for his hand, but for the first time, he pulled away his eyes reflecting a hurt and emotion.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped. However, this is my story-“

“No, it’s our story.”

“Marshall,” she whispered, “I am going. A wise woman once said don’t let boyfriends get in the way of dreams. However, we are in a partnership. We are one. This may be our story, but this is my life. I will be moving, and I still welcome you in my life.”

He nodded and then looked at Paul, completely ignoring her. “How was the track?”

Paul gave him a thumbs up. “Best in a long time.”

“I know. That’s a good track. Let’s add it to the album,” Marshall said, sitting down and cracking a Red Bull. Y/N stood awkwardly corner before Marshall turned and patted his lap. “Sit.”

Y/N sat down on his lap. She glanced in his eyes for any sign of warmth she usually found there, but his expression remained guarded. She felt a known tightening in her stomach, realising how deeply her news had affected him.

He had to get over it.

Marshall turned to Paul. “Paul, we need to talk about something else. I’m going to Y/N’s art show in a week. I’m her date. My daughters will be there too.”

Paul raised a brow, intrigued. “An art show? That is not your usual scene, man.”

Marshall nodded; his tone more business-like. “Yeah, it’s important to her. I want to be there for her, and support her. But we need to control the publicity and media. Last thing we need is a circus and chaos.”

Paul leaned back in his chair, considering all of this. “Alright, we can handle that. I’ll coordinate with security and make sure everything is discreet. We don’t want distractions. However, are you ready to go public?”

“Yes,” Y/N said.

“No,” Marshall responded.

They looked at each other and both were hurt in the eyes.

Paul took Marshall’s words. “Then don’t be her date. Just come with your daughters separately and then talk to Y/N about her art. No touching or being affectionate.”

Y/N’s heart panged a little and she looked at Marshall who nodded. Y/N was hurt but she understood.

“Keep it low-key,” Paul said, “Both of you and the whole thing will be low-key.”

Y/N felt like a child being told off by her parent. She felt scolded…in trouble and that their relationship was wrong. However, she kept her silence. It was her show and she wanted to be there with her boyfriend whom she loves.

Marshall turned to look at Y/N. “Thanks, Paul. Y/N, we will talk about Columbia later. Right now, let’s focus on this art show and making it perfect for you,” he said pressing a kiss to her cheek.

He tapped on Y/N’s thighs, and she got up and sat somewhere else as he walked back into the booth. Y/N pulled her computer out and began working on an essay.

Y/N stood in front of Marshall in his bedroom. Five outfits were laid out next to him as he sat on the bed. She was trying her third out of the eight. This one was a skirt with a vest, but Marshall shook his head.

They were figuring out what to wear to the art show. The show was in three hours and Marshall sat there.

“It’s too geeky,” he said.

Y/N rolled her eyes and picked up another outfit. A babydoll pink dress. She stripped and tried it on.

“Too sexy,” he smirked. “Like it goes to your mid-thighs. I can see your ass when you bend over. I like the colour though.”

Y/N tried on all eight outfits and Marshall had comment on every single one of them. Nothing was perfect and she was losing her mind. Y/N sat on the bed, naked in her bra and underwear. “I don’t know. I need an outfit. Like I need something good. I need something professional and elegant that screamed artist with a whole future in front of her.”

Marshall smirked standing up and walking to her closet.

“I am not wearing your clothes,” she said as she sat on the bed in despair.

“Well,” he began, “I saw this and I thought of you.”

Marshall pulled out black dress pants and a sleeveless blazer that buttoned up. Y/N instantly walked towards it. It was elegant, classy and professional.

“Marshall…”

“It’s Dior.”

“No,” she whispered in disbelief. Eyes focused on the material as her heart broke. “Dior?” He nodded. “No, you did not spend the money,” she whispered. “Dior? Dior-Dior?”

Y/N could not believe it as he handed it to her.

“It’s your first show. You deserve this. I will buy you every outfit for your next hundreds of shows as I believe you.”

Her heart was pumping with so much excitement as her fingers touched the fabric.

“I can pay-“

“Nope. Try it on.”

He handed her the outfit and instantly Y/N pulled it on and was speechless. It was perfect. It was everything was wanted and more. She stood in front of the wall length mirror. She just needed shoes.

“Shoes,” she whispered more to herself as she ran to her bag.

It cut just above the beginning of her breasts, her whole chest on display.

“Y/N. I thought this out.”

He handed her two more bags.

“Marshall,” she whispered, “no. No, no, no. no.”

“Yes. Now enjoy. Please.”

She found black with black Christian Louboutin’s in the bag in her shoe size and in the other, a bold choker chain.

The outfit was coming together, and Y/N pressed a million kisses to Marshall’s lips.

“You have to promise me I can fuck you in those shoes tonight, though?” he remarked.

“Deal.”

Y/N stood in front of the mirror in her outfit and her heart melted. She was beautiful, she was grace, elegance and wisdom. She was art.

“My hair will go into a low bun with some eyeliner,” she rambled as she walked around. Then she stopped. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

He chuckled. “I got it covered, babe. I will wear some jeans-“

“Jeans!”

“Business pants,” he corrected. “Wait I don’t own those.” Then he chuckled. “I will wear something like black cargo pants, black tee and my leather jacket. Maybe some red sneakers and a hat.”

She nodded. That is the closet she will get him to dress up and she accepted it. Y/N ran to the bathroom and did her hair and make-up.

Marshall dressed and came into the bathroom. “We will take separate cars, ok? You go first and I will meet you there,” he stated as he stood behind her leaning to kiss her cheek.

Y/N nodded. “And the girls?”

“With me.”

She agreed.

Y/N got out of the car, standing on the carpet as cameras flashed. She spotted Dr. James Beau ahead of her and she wandered up to him. Hand on his lower back as she leaned into him.

“Dr. Beau,” she whispered, and he turned. He was in an Armani suit with his curls and glasses perched on his nose.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, pressing a kiss to her cheek. They turned to the cameras. Lights and flashes came as they posed. Y/N was gorgeous, she was beautiful and everything anyone dreamed of. “Are you excited?” he asked leaning in.

“Sure am. This is a huge part of my life tonight.” His hand snaked around her back which earned her to arch it. He was her professor. “My boyfriend and his daughters will be here soon,” she announced.

His hand dropped. “Boyfriend?” he questioned, confused.

“Yeah, my boyfriend. He is arriving separately. I love him a lot,” she mused.

Dr. Beau nodded, a smile fading as they went in.

Guests mingled, admiring the vibrant collection of diverse forms on display. Y/N stood near her artwork with Dr. Beau by her, dressed elegantly with a mixture of pride and nervousness flickering in her eyes. Her work, a series of mix media pieces, captured the beauty and uniqueness of human bodies, each telling its own story.

Marshall arrived with Alaina and Hailie – Stevie chose they were too young for this event. Light flickered and cameras flashed as the Eminem arrived to an art show…unspoken of. They all wanted to support Y/N.

Champagne and finger foods were on trays as waiters rushed around with it. It’s crazy to believe that less than a year ago Y/N was catering but now she was at her own event. She could not believe it. Marshall glanced around the gallery, a sense of pride swelling in his chest at seeing Y/N’s work showcased so beautifully. However, his eyes frequently darted to find the familiar face. He felt a pang of unease when he spotted a man holding Y/N.

Who the fuck was he?

Dr. Beau’s arm was wrapped around Y/N’s waist as they posed for pictures in front of her art. He leaned in a little too close to Marshall’s liking, whispering, “Y/N, this is truly remarkable. Your work is stunning,” he praised, voice smooth and genuine.

“Thank you, Dr. Beau. I couldn’t have done it without your guidance,” Y/N replied, eyes shining bright as she held his forearm, squeezing it.

“Who is that all over Y/N?” Hailie asked leaning into her dad.

“I don’t know, but I am going to find out.”

“She looks so beautiful,” Alaina said.

Marshall clenched his jaw as he watched the interaction. He made his way through the crowd, remaining composed. He got to Y/N and instantly grabbed her hand, pulling her into him. “Hey, doll,” he greeted, pressing a kiss to her cheek and slipping an arm around her waist possessively. “Everything looks amazing.”

Y/N looked up to her boyfriend’s eyes wanting him to lean down and kiss her. However, Paul’s words echoed lowkey. She melted into Marshall’s arms turning to look at her professor.

“Dr. James Beau, this is my boyfriend, Marshall Mathers.”

Dr. Beau turned to face Marshall, a glimmer of recognition crossing his features. “Marshall Mathers?” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of surprise and awe. “Like The Eminem?”

Marshall smirked, his demeanour shifting slightly as he tightened his grip around Y/N. “Guilty as charged,” he replied casually, his tone tinged with amusement.

Y/N glanced between the two men, sensing the subtle tension in the air. She squeezed Marshall’s hand gently urging him to remain calm. This was not the first time someone had recognised him unexpectedly, but it always added a layer of complexity to any situation.

“I’m a huge fan,” Dr. Beau admitted, his professional demeanour momentarily faltering. “Your music has been…transformative, eye-opening and inspiring. I grew up with you.”

“Thanks,” Marshall replied with a nod, his gaze never leaving Dr. Beau’s. Despite the compliment his stance remained protective around Y/N, a silence declaration of his presence.

Y/N interjected, attempting to ease the moment. “Dr. Beau, Marshall’s been incredibly supportive of my art. He’s here tonight to celebrate with me,” she said, smiling warmly at Marshall.

Dr. Beau nodded, though his gaze lingered on Marshall with newfound interest. “Of course,” he replied, regaining his composure. “Congratulations, Y/N. Your talent is undeniable. Michelangelo would be in awe.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said graciously, feeling Marshall’s hand relax slightly against her.

As the conversation continued, Marshall’s maintained a polite demeanour, though his protective stance softened as Dr. Beau and Y/N discussed her artwork. Deep down, he could not shake the feeling of being scrutinized, not just as a boyfriend but as Marshall Mathers, the public figure. Yet, seeing Y/N’s happiness and pride in her achievements gave him a sense of grounding amidst the whirlwind of attention.

Marshall wandered off to get a Red Bull and Hailie and Alaina came up giving hugs and complimenting her artwork. Y/N had a few proseccos and talked mindlessly to them. Moments later, Dr. Beau came and leaned closer to Y/N, his expression earnest as he continued discussing her artwork.

Marshall across the way saw this…the way he touched her back, but Y/N pulled away and sent a sincere smile. She took his hand and placed it by his side. Good girl… However, he could not help but clench his jaw and observe their interaction, a flicker of insecurity surfacing despite his attempts to remain composed. His protective instincts heightened, especially when he noticed Dr. Beau’s lingering touch on her lower back…so close to her ass.

Y/N, who was oblivious to Marshall’s internal struggle, smiled warmly at Dr. Beau’s compliments. “Thank you so much, Dr. Beau. Your guidance has been invaluable.”

Marshall came back, clearing his throat subtly before he took Y/N’s forearm, pulling her to his side and wrapping his arm around her possessively. “Y/N, can I steal you for a moment?” he interjected, his voice laced with a hint of tension.

Y/N turned to Marshall, noting the subtle change in his demeanour. She nodded, sensing his unease, and followed him to a corner away from people and Dr. Beau.

As they moved, Marshall lowered his voice, his gaze intense as he spoke directly to Y/N. “Do you mind if I have a word with you?”

“Sure,” Y/N replied softly, concern flickering in her eyes as she recognised the tension in Marshall’s voice.

Marshall stood in the corner, taking a deep breath, struggling to articulate his feelings. “Y/N, I…I…just don’t like the way he was getting close to you,” he admitted reluctantly, his words coming out rushed. “I know he is your professor and mentor…but.”

Y/N reached up, placing a comforting hand on Marshall’s chest. “Marshall, he’s just being supportive. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Marshall nodded; his expression conflicted. “I know, I just…can’t help feeling protective, especially when he’s like all over you.”

Y/N gently cupped Marshall’s face in her hands, her touch calming. “Hey,” she murmured softly, meeting his gaze reassurance. “I am with you. Nothing else matters. Ok?”

Marshall exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly under Y/N’s touch. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “I just needed to say it.”

Y/N leaned in, pressing a kiss to Marshall’s kiss, her gesture conveying understanding and affection. “I know,” she whispered against his lips, “thank you for being honest with me.”

They joined back to the crowd. Hailie and Alaina made their way over, their faces lighting up as they saw Y/N.

“Y/N, everything looks incredible!” Hailie exclaimed, her eyes wide with admiration.

“Absolutely,” Alaina agreed. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Y/N beamed at the sisters, grateful for their support. “Thank you both so much. It means a lot to have you here.”

Marshall stayed close, his hand resting on Y/N’s back as she began explaining her art to the girls and Marshall, a small group of attendees that had gathered around her.

“This series,” Y/N started, motioning to a set of vibrant mixed-media pieces, “is about the beauty and complexity of human bodies. Each piece tells a unique story through the layers and textures.”

Hailie leaned in, studying the artwork with genuine interest. “I love how each piece has so much depth. It’s like you can see the different emotions and experiences.”

Y/N nodded, smiling warmly. “Exactly. I wanted to capture the essence of individuality and the various experiences that shape us.”

As Y/N spoke, more people gathered around, intrigued by her explanations. Marshall remained by her side, his presence a steady reassurance. He watched with a mixture of pride and protectiveness as Y/N engaged with the crowd, her passion for her art shining through.

One attendee, a middle-aged woman with an air of sophistication, raised her hand slightly to get Y/N’s attention. “Your work is truly remarkable. Could you explain this piece more?”

She pointed to a striking piece featuring bold, abstract figures intertwined in dance of colours.

“Of course,” Y/N replied, her eyes lightening up. “This piece is inspired by the concept of connection. It’s about how our relationships and interactions with others can be both beautiful and complex. The colours represent the emotions we experience, and the abstract forms symbolize the fluid nature of human connections.”

The woman nodded, clearly impressed. “It’s fascinating. You’ve managed to convey such a profound message through your art. I want to buy it.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “What?”

“How much? I am a collector in New York City. I have a gallery. I want to buy your work.”

Marshall looked at Y/N who went wide-eyed. “It’s not for sale,” he stated.

“What? How come?” she asked. “It is beautiful.”

“Because I bought it,” he said.

Y/N looked between them and shook her head. “No, he is wrong. He bought a different piece,” she said. “How much would you like it for?”

“Fifteen grand”

Y/N swallowed and nodded her head. “Yes, of course. I can do that. Do you want anything else?”

The woman with a grey pixie cut pointed to one of two bodies. “That one.” It was bold with colour mixed with charcoal. “How about thirty for both?” Y/N said.

“Do you take a cheque?”

“Yes,” Y/N said.

She put her hand out, “I am Geneva Williams. Art Gallery owner and collector. Do you have a card?”

Y/N was bewildered. In astonishment. This was happening…

“Y/N Y/L/N and no I don’t have a card as I am new. I will make some, but I can give you my number. I am actually moving to New York City in August. I am a master’s student at Columbia.” Her eyes widened as she shook her hand. Smiling at Geneva.

“That’s amazing. I will grab your contact and we can stay in contact as I love your piece. Now tell me,” she began to walk to one, “what is this one?”

“Euphoria,” Y/N announced, “is about the orgasm of two partners. It’s the concept of connection. How a relationship interacts with others can be both beautiful and complex. The colours represent the emotions we experience, and the abstract forms symbolise the fluid nature of human connections.”

Geneva nodded, clearly impressed. “It’s fascinating. You’ve managed to convey such a profound message through your art. I want it. Three for forty grand.”

Y/N nodded, and Marshall watched however he was faced with the future in front of her. She was an artist and this was her art. She was priceless.

“Deal. Cheque is great.”

“I will pick them up at the end of the night.”

All Y/N could do was nod.

Dr. Beau came up and hugged Y/N. “You just sold three pieces for forty grand?” he exclaimed.

Y/N was speechless, looking at her boyfriend who had his hands in his pockets. He had no emotion on his face.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Congratulations, dear,” Dr. Beau said pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Y/N smiled and looked at her boyfriend who look unimpressed. What was his problem? He kicked the floor as he wrapped an arm around her and kissed the side of her cheek.

Y/N pulled away. “What’s your problem?”

“We will talk about this later.”

Great… She glared at him. What was his fucking problem? Why could he not be happy? She just sold pieces that she made for forty grand…Y/N was forty grand richer…She could buy an apartment. She could pay for a bit of her degree. She was…rich.

Y/N took his arm and pulled him into the disabled bathroom and locked the door. She pinched her nose and looked at him. She had four glasses of champagne tonight; it could be the newfound confidence from that but as she stared at her boyfriend…she was angry.

“Spit it out. Now!” she barked at him.

“It’s your night. Enjoy it,” he responded, dismissing her.

“Marshall,” she said with annoyance, “spit it now.”

He looked at her, seeing how serious she was and the anger that flowed through her.

“I feel like tonight is the cherry on top of the reminder I am losing you. You have a professor who is in love with you-“

“Nope. You have done this before and I won’t let you do it again. He is my mentor, my advisor, my director and most of all my part of my journey to success. He is out of the picture. What’s next?”

Marshall kicked the floor. “Selling your art.”

“Yeah, why the fuck did you say it was not for sale? Why the fuck would you interfere like that? This is an opportunity for me to forward myself!”

“She is in New York,” he said so casually, “she is a buyer in New York. You’re moving to New York, you will create more art and you will sell. She is taking you-“

“No,” she barked. “You do not get to steal the spotlight tonight, Mr. Mathers. Stick to fucking hip-hop and I will stick to art. You sell records, I sell art. Now shut the fuck up,” she spat with such a vicious tone. “Be happy for me that I am creating a name, a future, a reputation and a destiny for myself. I would do that for you, now do it for me or leave me because I cannot be with someone who thinks my limelight is going to shadow theirs. That my success will interfere with our happiness. Because I am moving away and I do not know what will happen to us but one thing for sure is I want this future and I don’t care if you’re in or not.”

Then she walked out, slamming the door behind her.

Marshall stood there in stunned silence, the sound of Y/N’s angry footsteps echoing in his ears as she stormed out of the bathroom. His heart raced with a mixture of guilt, frustration and a sinking feeling of having pushed too far. He leaned back against the cold tiled wall, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process everything that just transpired.

Her words rang through his ears: “Be happy for me…I want this future and I don’t care if you’re in it or not.” It hit him hard. Marshall knew he had overstepped, letting his insecurities and fears cloud his judgement. He never meant to diminish her success or dampen her moment, but he realised now how his action might have come across that way.

After a few months of gathering his thoughts, Marshall left the bathroom, his expression conflicted and regretful. He scanned the crowded gallery, searching for Y/N. When he finally spotted her across the room, surrounded by admirers and patrons, his heart sank even further. She looked radiant, and animated as she discussed her art, her passion evident in every gesture.

Approaching cautiously, Marshall waited for a break in the conversation before stepping closer to Y/N. His voice was quiet yet earnest as he spoke. “I am sorry.”

She nodded.

“I messed up back there. I let my own doubts get in the way and I shouldn’t have done that. Your success tonight is incredible, and I should have supported you wholeheartedly.”

Y/N listened; her gaze steady but still tinged with hurt. “Marshall,” she said as she pulled him to the side away from her art, “I want you part of my life, but I need you to understand that my career, my art, is crucial to me. It’s not about overshadowing anyone; it’s about pursuing what I love and what makes me fulfilled. My future…I am twenty-one, you’re forty. You’re successful and I am just getting started.”

Marshall nodded; regret etched on his features. “I know and I promise I’ll do better. I want to be there for you, to support you through all of this, no matter what.”

Y/N sighed softly, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “I believe you,” she replied quietly. “But I need you to trust me too. Trust that I know what I’m doing, that I can handle myself.”

“Of course, I trust you,” he insisted. “I am just scared of the future.”

“The future is months away. Don’t ruin now out of fear.”

They stood there for a moment, silent but with a sense of understanding passing between them. The gallery buzzed around them, filled with chatter and admiration for Y/N’s art. Marshall took her hand gently, squeezing it.

“I am proud of you. You made forty grand.”

Y/N nodded. “I can afford real estate now.”

“Congrats,” he whispered, kissing her lips.

“Now let’s enjoy the rest of the night.”

The night was successful, and it was time to leave. Y/N finalised the transaction with Geneva who walked away with her paintings and Y/N got a cheque. Dr. Beau was so happy for Y/N’s success and Y/N agreed to letting him mentor her in NYC.

However, when the night came to end, it meant leaving the gallery.

As Y/N, Marshall, Alaina and Hailie exited the gallery, the air outside was crisp with the promise of a cool evening. The event had been successful, and Y/N was buzzing with excitement from the praise and sales of her artwork. Marshall walked beside her, grasping her hand with a mix of pride and relief evident in his expression.

The moment they stepped onto the sidewalk; the atmosphere shifted abruptly. Flashes of cameras erupted like bursts of lightening, blinding and disorienting. Y/N instinctively shielded her eyes, momentarily stunned by the onslaught of paparazzi.

Marshall’s protective instincts kicked in immediately. He stepped closer to Y/N, guiding her and his daughters behind him with a firm yet gentle hand. Alaina and Hailie huddled close, their faces a mix of surprise and apprehension at the sudden chaos.

“Fucking back the fuck up! Give us some space!” Marshall’s voice cut through the night, authoritative and commanding. His posture was tense, every muscle coiled as he stood like a shield between Y/N, the girls and the flashing cameras. “Fuck off. Leave us.”

The paparazzi, undeterred by his words, continued to shout questions and snap photos relentlessly.

“Who’s the mystery girl?”

“Are you dating?”

“Is Eminem back in the game?”

“Is Slim Shady back?”

“Got a girl, Slim?”

Y/N felt overwhelmed…lowkey, Paul said, and this is far from lowkey.

“Marshall, let’s just get into the car,” Y/N urged, her voice barely audible above the clamour. She reached for his hand, and he grabbed her waist.

Marshall nodded tersely, his gaze scanning the crowd to assess any potential threats or overly aggressive photographers. He kept his arm protectively around Y/N, guiding her through the chaotic sea of flashing lights and shouting voices.

Alaina and Hailie stayed close, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity as they navigated through the paparazzi with Marshall’s guidance. Y/N could feel Marshall’s tension radiating through his touch, a silent reassurance amidst the pandemonium.

Once they got their car, the driver held the door open as they hurried in. The interior was a welcome respite from the outside chaos.

Marshall let out a breath he had not realised he had been holding, his shoulders sagging slightly with relief. He glanced over at Y/N concern etched in his features then to his daughters. “Are you ok?” he asked, and all responded. “Let’s get home.”

After the chaotic scene with the paparazzi, Marshall’s home came in view as they pulled up. The welcome retreated warmed them as they bid the public eye and walked in. Y/N toed off her heels at the door, holding onto Marshall’s shoulder as they retreated in.

Alaina and Hailie would stay the night, staying in their childhood rooms. They bid goodnight and Y/N went to Marshall’s with him following. Once in, she closed the door and began to strip down.

“I am a fucking fool. A fucking insecure bastard,” he muttered as he passed her to the bathroom. Y/N rolled her head back and sighed.

“You were,” she muttered as she walked to the shower naked needing to take her makeup off and climb into bed. “You can’t let that happen again,” she explained.

Marshall gripped the sink. “Columbia haunts me. Dr. Beau haunts me with the way he touched you and knowing you’re going to NYC with him for him to mentor him when I know he wants your goddamn cunt,” he whispered then barked.

Y/N let out a loud breath as she got into the shower. “I do not want to fight because we are so good at fighting, and I just want to have a night where I feel special. I made forty grand, Marshall.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “He touched you the way I touch you.”

“That’s a lie. You make me scream. He doesn’t,” she said from the shower.

“But he could,” he whispered more to himself.

Y/N ignored him, washed her face and body and walked out. He stood there in his clothes while she was naked.

“Fuck you,” she barked, jabbing her finger in his chest. “You don’t trust me.”

“Two years I will be without you…at least two years.”

“God!” she screamed so loudly turning to him. “You cannot be happy for me! You are a selfish son of a bitch. Bastard of the highest order. Motherfucker!” she yelled.

“That’s a lot of names.”

“Let me live my goddamn life, Marshall! I am so young! I love you, but Columbia is in my future and every minute you remind me that I am leaving, shoving it down my throat and guilting me that I am this whore who will fuck some other man.”

“I did not call you a whore,” he whispered.

“You might well have. Because you think the minute, I am out of eyeshot I will fuck the first thing with a penis, but you know what maybe I might jump onto the next pussy.”

He was speechless and she stood naked across from him. “Give me two years to get this degree and then I will come back to Detroit, I promise. We can get married, we can be together, we can do whatever you want. I just need two years.”

Then he said something that pained her. “I will never marry again.”

Silence.

“I am going back to my apartment,” she stated grabbing her clothes off the floor and he followed. “You cannot have any happiness for me. You cannot trust me. You cannot promise forever-“

“Understand my trauma, Y/N. Kim ruined me. She destroyed me. She recked me. She tore down every piece of me. I am shocked I am in love with you. That I let someone back in my life. That I love someone else. That I allowed myself to be vulnerable. I am shocked I have you. She slandered me. I slandered her. Everything was public and I will never live down anything to do with Kim. I am fucked up. Get that through your brain.”

It was the first time in a long time or even ever that he mentioned Kim. However, as he spat those words she understood. Y/N stayed in silence before she nodded.

“I understand. Goodnight, Marshall. I love you.”

That was all she said before she went to bed.

Hope you enjoyed!

Let me know your thoughts and opinions!

Much love,

Ava <3

#eminem series #eminem #eminem angst #eminem fanfiction #eminem imagine #eminem x reader #marshall mathers #eminem fluff #marshall mathers angst #marshall mathers fluff #marshall mathers imagine #marshall mathers fanfiction #marshall mathers x reader #slim shady

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oncewhenalongtimeago · 1 year ago

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"sorry, but i think i lost your plot" where toothless notices hiccup admiring our protagonist often and follows her around one day while she's working? basically toothless being a wingman of sorts

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 17

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 1,006

You and Toothless rendezvous.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, unedited

You hurried down the steps of the Ingerman home, basket in tow, a warm, clean cloth wrapped steaming loaf of bread sitting on top of a basket of dirty laundry.

Each step tapped against the wooden stair, your worn boots doing little to soften your footsteps.

You walked with quick strides through the clearing, running across damn dirt and a forge that hadn’t yet been lit in the early morning darkness, only pausing briefly to glance at a shadow at the corner of your eye.

When you looked back, there was nothing there.

You shrugged it off, despite the chills running down your back, intent on quickly getting down to the wells before anyone else could.

You held a rag in your fists, braced against your hips, staring at your work, at the many, many shiny weapons lined and mounted against the wall, some patterned, most not, all sharpened to the highest degree.

As you polished to the highest degree, soot and other things caked onto your clothes and the apron you’d borrowed from Mrs. Jorgenson.

Your attention was drawn, for a moment, to the half open window, where you caught a glimpse of a large green eyeball just as it disappeared from view.

You didn’t mind it, instead looking away and taking a few more moments to admire your work.

You knew the Jorgenson head didn’t much care for polished artifacts, though Mrs. Jorgenson insisted on it. Something about utility and pride, nothing you learned from anyone but the head lady herself. She has some very strong opinions on it.

You looked outside a window to your side, half covered by wooden shutters and a wood frame to match the wood everything else, admiring the yellow, rising sun.

The Head should be back from his early morning training soon off in the forests. You found that he trained like every day was Thorsday Thursday.

You fled quickly as the morning got just a bit brighter, willing yourself out before the fresh dewy feeling left the air, grabbing your coin and your effects, before either one could come home and they could start arguing.

Sitting by the well, on top of the built stone wall surrounding the hole, you looked down at the nice cloth wrapped gift you had gotten earlier that day.

Off to your side, a terror danced and pounced around, following a bug.

Animals, dragons mostly, crowed and lazed in the warming noon light.

You unwrapped it, revealing a nice loaf of bread.

You were sure you were going to save it as much as you could before it started to mold. You needed to finish it before it went bad.

But you thought it wouldn’t hurt to take off a few slices.

The poor woman, Mrs. Ingerman, had gotten up extra, extra early to bake you a loaf which was impressive considering you were up in the earliest of hours, so early it had only been a few since the last night. The last midnight, that is.

You stared out at the place around, at the occasional person bustling past, most vikings heavily involved with their tasks for the day.

You spotted something in an alley, large and slinking and nearly black, it’s body language cautious and yet not.

A Night Fury. The only Night Fury you knew, crouched around the corner, observing you.

If he shifted just right, you could see the glint of a metal buckle attached to his strap. You wondered where his rider was.

You bit into the bread loaf, still staring at him.

Had he been following you all day?

You looked at the sheep in front of you, shears at your side.

It was a dusty white one, slightly overgrown, white fur and gray face very fuzzy.

You considered cutting its wool into a shape like you’d seen gardeners do to bushes.

You stood on a floor of hay in the gentle shade of a barn, one by the open fields sort of close to the coast-cliff line overlooking the sea and the craigs.

It had been a long while since you’d shorn a sheep, yet it felt like just yesterday you’d learned.

You stared out at the open stall towards the light of the afternoon where the fields were open and the sheep were wandering free.

The grass was tall and green and looked incredibly fresh, something nice to lay in.

You would do that after your task and the retrieval of your coin when it was colder and you could better appreciate the fresh earth freely.

You blinked.

It looked like you had a friend for the day.

You didn’t see anything, but you did hear a light purr, the kind you could perhaps brush off as one of the sheep’s, before you heard a loud thump.

You brushed it off.

You wondered if he had a task for you?

You stared down into the open barrel, slightly smelly, damp with seawater and slime, ready to be hung and dried and maybe pickled, filled with fish of many different sizes.

You wiped your hands on the towel by your side, shifting your rolled up sleeves further up your arm as you stared down at your work.

And then you looked off to the side, where Toothless peered out at you, the green of his eyes a bit more difficult to make out, washed over with orange.

You reached into the barrel and tossed him a fish.

It landed against the ground with a smack, and he jumped back into the shadows slightly, before creeping forwards again, eyeing you curiously.

He sniffed it curiously, looking up at you with big, suspicious eyes all the while, large, draconic shoulder hunched before grabbing the tail delicately by the teeth.

Quickly, he threw it up into the air and gulped it down before quickly turning around and bounding away, leaving vague imprints of his paws in the dust layer resting over the hard, dry dirt floor.

Whatever brought him to you, the fish seemed to treat pretty well.

#httyd #how to train your dragon #x reader #fanfiction #hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #httyd imagine #toothless #fem reader #female reader

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eds6ngel · 2 years ago

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second idea: would just love something with a convo about alena calling reader her step-mom or mom, instead of ms. or maybe something with alena calling reader mom for the first time! just cute and fluffy💖

of course honey!! this one is short and sweet, but touching nonetheless ♡

warnings: dad!steve. mom!reader. fem!reader. 90s!au. swearing. food mentions. fluff. comfort. slight mentions of alena's trauma due to motherly neglect. lots of happy tears from alena and reader. this is just extremely cute and endearing really!! [1.3k].

full 'when i kissed the teacher' masterlist.

With Steve having to take on a weekend shift at Target, you tackled the weekly Sunday grocery store trip with Alena. Before leaving that morning, Steve gave you an overflowing list of groceries, more than he definitely needed.

“Why does your dad put so much on the list, baby? Like, watermelon. When has your dad ever eaten watermelon?” You were holding onto Alena’s small, soft hand, guiding her with you as you pushed the shopping cart with your left, slowly filling it up with each aisle you pass.

“I like watermelon!” she beams with a smile, you laughing as you reply, “But, not a whole watermelon! If you ate an entire watermelon, your belly would be this big.” You demonstrated by holding your hand out far away from her stomach, her gasping and going, “I would not be that big!”

Tsking with a squint of your eyes, you reply, “Oh, but I think you would, sweetpea! You would have a massive watermelon belly! Big ‘ol belly.”

The conversation with the eight-year-old slowly drifted away as you arrived at the cake aisle. She lets go of your hand, running over and jumping up and down, pointing up and shouting, “Look! A Smurfs cake! A Smurfs cake!”

You look down at her and raise your eyebrows, smirking, “So, instead of a watermelon belly, you want a cake belly?”

“Cake belly sounds better! Can I have the Smurfs cake mubba?”

You delicately lift the box, Papa Smurf stood proudly next to his daughter Smurfette, two huts perched in the background, other Smurfs going about their daily activities presented in different-coloured icings. Turning the box over, it read: ‘A jam and cream sponge, completed with edible icing for decoration.’

“I think…” you stroke your chin, “If we buy this cake, you have to be a good girl to your dad for the rest of the week, okay?”

“And to you! I’ll be a good girl for you too!”

You chuckle, ruffling her hair, “And for me, obviously,” playfully rolling your eyes and placing the cake into the cart, “Smurfs cake it is!”

“Yes!” Alena cheeses, gripping her fist tight and pulling them towards her chest in celebration.

The two of you continue walking down the aisles, having to make a pit-stop for longer than expected at the bread section. Steve had written down ‘loaf of bread’ on the list, but the endless piles of different brands, sizes and types left you in slight confusion. You had recognised that the Harringtons liked their white bread, an easy ignorance to the brown loaves. However, the size of the loaf was something you were unsure on. Since there were only two of them, perhaps three if you stayed overnight and needed a slice of toast for breakfast, you agreed with yourself on the smaller loaf. It was no worry if he indeed did usually buy the bigger loaf, you could always make a stop on your way home from work and pass it over to them.

“All right, Pepperidge Farm’s Hearty White Bread is what we’re going for! Does that sound all right with you Ale—” But, as you look down, the little girl is nowhere to be found. You peer down the aisle, a flowery, yellow dress and brunette pigtails out of sight. Your internal panic begins to rise, deciding to quick power back to the aisle you just visited, wondering if she waltzed back to the chocolate section.

But, you don’t see her. “Shit,” you mumble to yourself, deciding your next safest bet was two aisles down, the one after the bread aisle. “Steve’s gonna fucking kill me,” you curse lowly, scared to death that you had lost his daughter. However, before you can make a turn to the right, the end of your cart collides directly into an older woman, her wearing a simple, long black dress, glasses neatly sat on the bridge of her nose.

“I am so sorry—” you begin to profusely apologise, however, the sight of Alena held tightly on her hip makes you let out a lengthy sigh. Thank God she was safe.

But, the word that comes out of her mouth shocks you to your core. “Mommy!”

Mommy. She called you mommy.

“Don’t apologise my dear, it’s okay!” the old woman calms your presence, “I’m assuming this one is yours. Poor baby was scared to death. Said she went around the corner and when she came back, you were gone.”

It’s then that you notice the tears rolling down her face, lips quivering and her holding her arms out, as if she wanted you to grab her. And that was the moment you knew: you were her mom.

The old woman lifts Alena up, you gripping her to your side as you cradle her head, her tears falling onto your bare shoulder. “It’s okay. Mommy’s got you. Mommy’s got you, baby.”

As you look up, the woman is smiling at the pair of you as she says, “Don’t beat yourself up over it. It was a simple mistake, you seem like a wonderful mother.”

You nod, mouthing a small “Thank you” as she bids farewell, attending back to her own grocery shopping around the corner. You cup the back of Alena’s head, stroking her hair as she stares at you with her beautiful, hazel orbs, just like her dad’s. God, they looked so much alike.

“Mommy,” she whispers out, almost as if she said nothing. You smile, letting a few tears fall yourself as you murmur back at the same volume, “Yeah, I’m your mommy, baby.”

And that’s when the waterworks burst for her. Even though she has no recollection or memories of her biological mom, you could tell it still had some heartbreaking effect on her subconsciously. It was a trauma she had no idea existed. You were the first ever figure in her life that resembled a mother, that cared for her like a mother, that supported her like a mother. So, that’s what you were. No, step-mom, no adoptive mom, just mom.

And even though she was eight years old, you cradled her in your arms as if you were caring for a newborn whose emotions were simply too big for their small body. You press a tender kiss to the side of her head, wiping the tears away from her face, making sure the salty liquid doesn’t fall into her mouth, infecting her taste buds.

She whimpers out, “I-I love you, mommy.”

You didn’t realise until that moment what an emotional impact those four words would hold on you. You’ve always wanted to be a mom, ever since you were a little girl. You think that maternal instinct you seemed to have inherited lead you to wanting to become a teacher in the first place. Something about raising kids to become healthy, human adults made you feel warm inside. But, no teaching position could ever come close to feeling the real thing.

“I love you too, baby girl,” you smile back, the pair of you wetly giggling, Alena using her small thumbs to wipe the tears that escaped from your eyes, collecting in a tiny puddle in the middle of your cheeks. “Want to stay on my hip?”

She nods in reply, “Yes, mommy.” God, you were gonna have to get used to that.

“Okay,” you quietly reply, the two of you continuing down the halls of the grocery store, filling the cart with the remaining items that Steve wished you collected for him.

But, what really was the absolute, top-notch tear-jerker was later that night when Steve returned home from his shift, Alena shouted to you from the living room, “Mommy! Daddy’s home!”

And to see the look on Steve’s face, the one that was of pure shock, made the tears fall all over again. You weren’t just looking after Steve’s daughter anymore, you were her mom, and that was the greatest gift you could’ve ever been given.

i hope you enjoyed!! feel free to keep sending in asks for this series!! also, any general cute comments from my pretty af followers and readers is appreciated too!! ♡

taglist: @livsters @bakugouswh0r3 @nix-rose @ihatepeanutss @cats00089 @suitelif3 @clincallyonline17 @crowssixof @starkeylover @eris-rose-86 @frostandflamesfanfic

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington drabble #stranger things #eds6ngel

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