#Of course to write that fanfic I have to first finish watching a certain show (I'm not talking about stf)

[mushroomsie224]

Suddenly remembered a headcanon of mine from a while back about how Cedric rarely, if ever, drinks around people because of how embarrassing he gets. He's already treated as a joke, imagine if he made a fool of himself when drunk...but he probably drinks alone in his tower sometimes. Never in the workshop, of course...he made that mistake once and that's the last time he's making it. I think he'd be the type to drink away his emotions.

[im-no-jedi]

alright. it’s finally time. after almost four years, the series that radically changed my life is coming to a close. I’ve seen several other people make posts about this, so I think it’s only fair that I write my own. be warned, this is going to be long, rambly, and only somewhat coherent LOL

when this show was first announced, I was shocked. although I had fallen in love with the Bad Batch during their arc in TCW, I was unsure how an entire show surrounding them could work. I was even more skeptical after I saw the trailers, which had this mysterious child show up. and as I’m sure all of you know by now, my feelings quickly turned around just after the first episode. I immediately was endeared to Omega and looked forward to seeing how the rest of their story played out. by the time the first season had ended, I was already deep in the planning stages of writing out my self-insert series, MLWTBB.

I honestly didn’t expect to love this show as much as I do. but I quickly realized why after the first season ended. (I'm gonna sound like a broken record for some of you, I'm sure LOL)

firstly, the characters. like I said, I loved TBB from the moment we saw them in TCW. and I immediately liked Omega as well. but the way these characters have been portrayed and fleshed out has only endeared them to me more. it became clear to me very quickly that these guys were an eerily similar analogy to my own family. I already saw a lot of myself in Hunter, but the rest of my family are very similar to them as well, even down to certain dynamics between each of them. not only that, but their struggles also mirror my family in that we’ve suffered several losses in our lives too. my mom sobbed like a baby when Kamino was destroyed because she saw similarities between that and a similar loss we’d endured irl. which, for me, is why it hits SO much harder when something bad happens to them. Plan 99 was devastating for many reasons, but for me, because I see so much of my dad in Tech, it felt like I was losing both of them. and having already had struggles with my dad irl… yeah. I feel like these guys ARE my family now, which has been the running theme in MLWTBB. and it's been cathartic both seeing them get through their struggles in the show, as well as portray my own struggles through my writing.

speaking of my writing, this show has inspired me so much creatively, that literally nothing else is comparable. I had already ventured into the realms of digital art previously to watching this show, as well as publicly sharing some of my writing. but not only did my art significantly improve due to all the pieces I was drawing for this show... but my writing skyrocketed. I finished writing a fanfic for the first time since I was FOURTEEN. and I've both written and finished several stories since then. and I don't plan on stopping anytime soon. my art and writing will continue to flourish long after this show is over, I'm certain of that 😁

another thing is the real life impact this show has had on me. and honestly, this is the big one.

some of you have been following me for over a year or more now, so you'll probably recall the struggles I've had with my mental health, especially last year. I'd suspected that I had some mental disorder for a while now, but it was only last year that I really began to pursue the idea of getting diagnosed and treated. it of course began in therapy, then moved to having discussions with my parents about it. everyone was very supportive of me, thankfully... except for one person. myself. despite all of the work I'd done to move forward in my life, this was the hurtle I was struggling with the most. the fear of the unknown has always terrified me the most, so this unfamiliar territory was like a nightmare-scape to me.

then "The Crossing" happened.

fandom had headcanoned Tech being autistic for a while previous to this episode, myself included. some even liked to think all of them were neurodivergent in some way, again myself included. so when this episode dropped and we basically got the confirmation that our headcanon was correct? that. that was the push I needed. seeing this character that I love SO much in a show that I love SO much not only confirming his neurodiversity, but embracing it??? I literally told my mom that weekend that I was finally ready to get tested. and the rest is history. I'm now officially a part of the ND gang, and I've never regretted it for one second \o/

not only that... but I'm on meds now. meds that have altered my brain in such a way that I've NEVER felt before. my anxiety and depression no longer have a hold on me, and it's all thanks to this show 💙💙💙

and leading into that, the last thing I wanna mention is the connections I've made through this show. my entire family is (mostly) SW fans, so I've always had them to fangirl and discuss SW shows with. but I've missed having friends outside of the family to connect with. it's been YEARS since I've been involved in a fandom that had such a lovely group of people. and I know what some of you might say. and you're right. of course there's toxicity, just like any other fandom. but I can honestly say, I haven't met such a welcoming and friendly group of individuals as I have with this fandom. I've made some real, true, long-lasting friendships because of this show, and I'll be forever grateful for that. do the meds help? absolutely. but remember, I never would've even been on meds rn if not for this show either!!

and on that note, I just wanna call out some of the lovely people I've met, some whom I've only gotten to know recently! 🥰

@photogirl894 my beloved Morgan, my little sis, the Omega to my Hunter. you've been nothing but a joy and a blessing to me since the day I met you. I truly believe the Lord led you to me so that I could properly start this journey towards recovery and growth. I love you SO much, sweetie, thank you for being you 💙💙💙

@heyclickadee my dear friend, the conductor of the Tech Lives train. I've so appreciated your insight and wisdom in regard to all of the insanity. you genuinely helped get me through my depression after Plan 99, and you've continued to uplift me with your positivity and hopefulness. may we finally get to see our nerd alive and well again in your honor 🙏🏻

@clonethirstingisreal sweet Carol!! fellow Hunter simp!! getting to know you has been nothing short of amazing and wonderful! I can't tell you how refreshing it is to see an older fan amongst the young'ins LOL. we've been able to relate to each other in SO many ways, it still astounds me. I look forward to seeing your journey progress in hopefully similar ways to mine! 🥰

@lightwise @freesia-writes @better-to-bee @probadbatch (spacing this out so y'all get tagged properly)

@jedi-hawkins @anxiouspineapple99 @arctrooper69 @sunshinesdaydream and everyone else I've gotten to know both here and on Discord, THANK YOU!!!! thank you for letting me into your lives and for all the joy and laughs we've had together. I consider you ALL my friends, and I'm blessed to have met you all 💙💙💙💙💙

and finally, because I know she'll berate me if I don't mention her too, my best friend and irl sister @jam-n-ham. gurl, we have been through it, haven't we? you've been the sole witness to my reactions every week, and for that, I apologize LOL. but we have fun, at least, right? 😆 we've spent HOURS talking about this show, and I'm sure we'll have many more hours to come. you've also supported me and my writing, which I'm eternally grateful for (even if you can barely stomach the Hunter romance scenes ROFL). I can't wait to add in your additions to the story, and for you to see what I've been cooking up 😁 thanks for always being my no.1 bestie 🥰🥰🥰

I don't feel like rereading this before posting, so if there's any typos or whatever, oh well. the fact that I even got all of this out tonight is a miracle honestly haha. now if you'll excuse me, I have to start compiling every single box of tissues we own before tomorrow 😝

oh, and one last thing. an addendum if you will. I haven't been posting much of my thoughts about the finale for many reasons, but I'll just say this. ever since "The Return", I've been rotating Hunter's last words to Crosshair in my head, on repeat.

enough said✨

[dreiser7]

Just finished rewatching Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha Season 1 & 2 of the anime tv series and the movies Reflection/Detonation.

I feel like after watching it I need to (finish watching everything released of course) but also rewatch/watch more magical girl anime. There are certain things I move away from but always love and shows with magical girls are one of them.

But Nanoha! One of my absolute favs. Some thoughts.

Raising Heart is the most insane intelligent device. This thing doesn't give a fuck. Anytime anything major goes down the first reaction is: I must win at all cost. What I have in mind might kill me? Fuck you. Nothing kills me. I'm Raising Heart. I don't ever get destroyed. Do the crazy ass thing Nanoha.

Nanoha is surprisingly angsty and emo. I forgot how many problems she hides beneath that sunny exterior. Detonation legit goes into Nanoha chatting with her younger self about how she doesn't love herself. And that even if she doesn't she should try to remember other people do and value herself more.

These children don't act like children. They're middle aged in their mindset. I wish I had my shit this together in elementary/middle school. What the hell.

Fate is the best girl. Always. Stay soft forever, Fate.

Hayate remains my favorite. Reflection/Detonation made me happy with some Hayate focus, but I didn't much appreciate what happened to/around her. Also, for as much fucked up shit that she's gone through I think she's the most well-adjusted. It would honestly make me happy if I could ship Hayate with someone in the future series but legit nada... I can't think of anyone who fits. They should just bring back Reinforce somehow.

This anime has the best action sequences. I love their system of magic, how it's mixed with sci-fi. The world they built is interesting and really in depth with the details they put in. I love it.

Nanoha is incapable of meeting an antagonistic girl that attacks her without thinking: how do I save her? How do I become her friend? Running around like Captain Save A Ho. That's all she cares about. Saving ladies. I can respect it.

Going to rewatch Strikers and Vivid then watch Vivid Strike! sometime soon. Maybe I'll write Hayate fanfic. She deserves it. Even if only two people will read it. lol.

Honestly this series though. Top tier. At some point it would be nice if they made the very obvious subtext but is it really subtext if they bath together, sleep in same bed, and raise a child together couple of Fate and Nanoha an acknowledged canon thing.

Because the fandom knows. Everyone who watches knows.

[lieutenant-amuel]

since you write your stories in English, do you have any tips or stuff you’ve learned?

Hm, I’m not sure I have any tips to share?

Anyway, the thing I would advise to the non-English writers who write in English is to write in your native language first and then translate it into English. It takes longer to finish your work but it also allows you to put your thoughts together better. I always write like that, which is why one chapter of my fanfic usually takes me around one month, but I prevent myself from making many silly mistakes because in this case I also have more time for editing and thinking the plot through again.

I don’t know how the writing process goes for other writers but when it comes to me, my first draft, written in my native language, is extremely bad. This is nothing but a base for the future detailed-written chapter, so when I start translating, I fill all the gaps with better descriptions and smoother action scenes. I wouldn’t be able to do it if the chapter was originally written in English. I suppose this is because I’m still not fluent enough but no matter what the reason is, this is just the easiest and the most reliable way to write fanfiction for me.

However, I once wrote three drabbles about my original characters that I posted only here, on Tumblr, and they were written without “preliminary preparation.” I wrote all of them in English right away because they were short and kinda local if I can say so.

(and of course it doesn’t apply to my posts on Tumblr. Now when I’m writing this I write it in English, translating everything in my head and writing it down right away. So, my English when I chat with my foreign friends, my Tumblr English, and my fanfiction English are three completely different things)

I think I’d also advise to store somewhere (either in your head or create a separate doc where you can write them all down for the future reference) all the idioms you use in your fanfiction? I mean, idioms is a very specific language thing, and in my opinion, it makes your writing a lot more lively and natural language-wise. I swear once I learnt the idiom “to make someone’s blood boil”, I just started using it everywhere XD

(and an interesting thing is that writing all the metaphorical scenes/lines is a lot easier in English? Perhaps this is because I think my metaphors sound ridiculous in my language because I straight up know what they mean, whereas in English, I can let nature take its course, because yeah, my brain functions differently, I have no idea whether I can put those words together, forgive me.

A fragment from my fanfic, which I think sounds fantastic in English (at least there were two people who complimented it), but I sincerely have no idea how to say it in my language without sounding fake:

"That unforgettable feeling of the flames melting into your skin and spreading the burning pain from deep within your body. So, the only thing left for you is to scream. But you can't. As your lungs are squeezed by a suffocating embrace of smoke that doesn't let you take a single breath of fresh air. Yes. That's impossible to forget. But I have no desire to talk about it with anyone."

Another way to make your writing more natural, especially when you write dialogues, is to use more colloquial/slang phrases. I wouldn’t say that I’m very good at this myself, because it requires to know a certain language very well so you can sound like a native speaker. But you know, the more I watched some movies/TV shows in English, the easier it was to catch some common phrases that I could use both in my creative writing and casual speech (I swear you guys use the word “stuff” and the phrase “you know” almost in every sentence XD)

To conclude this part: write in your native language first so you can put your thoughts together better, have more time for editing, and generally make your life easier. Use more colloquialism, including idioms and slang, so your writing sounds more lively and feels more natural language-wise.

As for the things I’ve learnt, I finally understood English tenses (or at least got a clearer picture of them). You know, it’s hard to get the hang of them when there’s only three of them in your native language and the way the English tenses are explained in the school books literally makes them sound unnecessary a lot more complicated than they actually are XD

I’ve learnt a few new words (that I now use literally in every chapter :’D), I know a lot more about English punctuation. The things I still struggle with are conditional sentences (specifically the type 3, but you know) and neither and nor? I’m not sure what’s wrong with them exactly, but they confuse me sometimes. And the famous English articles, I hate them with all my might <3

I think I’ve generally improved my English because I feel a lot more confident when I write in this language (although, really, I’m not the one to judge, writing ridiculous mess with confidence is not that difficult :’D). When I wrote my first chapters, I maniacally checked every sentence, every word (because I also had no beta reader), and reread what I’d written zillion times. I’m still careful with what I write but I don’t feel that nervous about it anymore.

Those are basically the only things I can say, hope I’ve managed to answer your question!

[euphoricsunflowers]

held against the window — lee hoseok/wonho

request: Could you write a smut of wonho being a secretary and the reader the ceo. OR they are both ceo's. Maybe fuck him against the window of the office building.

a/n: of course darling <33 hope you enjoy <3 gif is mine

disclaimer: that is this is just a fanfic so in actuality please discuss what you are and aren’t comfortable with beforehand with people and don’t just jump into stuff like this. aso please don’t involve other people (aka public sex) in your sex life. please read with caution.

word count: 2.5k

content: sub!wonho, dom!fem!reader, ceo!reader, tall!reader (i’m sorry but there’s literally only like one line and i’m doing this for me) ceo!wonho, fingering (m receiving), pegging, minor nipple play, minor dumbification, fucking him against a window,

summary: he’s a powerful ceo just like you are, but he’s just so sweet and docile and soft that you wonder if he’s even the same person.

lee hoseok.

smart. calculated. muscular. dangerously attractive.

he’s an enigma, in a sense, to you. he’s rich, he’s insanely intelligent, he’s beyond adept at running his company, and he’s just so gorgeous that you wonder how he isn’t the cockiest asshole ever, but he’s also so kind and so sweet and so startlingly shy that it all just throws off everything about him.

“mr. lee is here, miss,” your assistant pops their head in through the door, “should i show him to your office?” you nod, murmuring a small “thank you” before you focus back on your laptop, finishing up typing before the door opens once more, and the man of the hour steps inside your office.

“hello,” you say.

“hello, good morning,” he smiles back, looking almost cute in the way he smiles, sitting in the chair opposite from yours at your desk, “thank you for taking time out of your day to meet with me- can i call you y/n?”

“go ahead,” you tilt your head as you hear him talk, but you don’t honestly pay attention to what he’s saying, too lost in his eyes and the fact that his shirt is way more unbuttoned than seems appropriate when meeting another company’s ceo.

he keeps talking, but it’s becoming visible how out-of-it you are, especially when he tentatively waves a hand in front of your face to get your attention, “everything okay in there?” he jokes.

“yeah! yes, i’m fine, hoseok, please continue,”

“are you sure you want me to?” he asks, voice still soft but now it’s almost teasing in its softness, and it’s startling, flustering because obviously, you don’t. your mind is everywhere but this conversation, “i can- we can do something else if you’re not too interested in what i’m saying.”

“god, i’m so sorry, hoseok-”

“don’t be, it’s okay,” he murmurs, getting up out of his chair, “well, come on, come and get me,” he murmurs cheekily, and you cautiously step out of your chair, closing the distance enough to whisper and have him hear, “look, if i’m reading this wrong, then just let me know and i’ll apologize, leave, and probably never look you in the eye again if i’m being honest,” he giggles out of nervousness, rubbing the back of his head with his hand, “but, if i am reading this right, then kiss me.”

“you’re… demanding, you know,” you complain (not really) as you pull him in fully, touching his jaw gently with the tips of your fingers as you kiss. his lips are so soft and thick that you just can’t help but pull on his bottom lip with your teeth gently. he breathes out a soft and inconspicuous moan, exactly what you wanted, and his hands find your hips as he pulls you closer, and his every movement seems to drive you insane, “how are you so…?”

he tilts his head in confusion so cutely that it stirs a certain feeling inside of you, “so what?”

“so…,” you blank before the perfect word hits you, “perfect,” he huffs, but you continue, “genuinely, you’re just so enticing, you’re so beautiful,” your lips find his neck, gentle in the way you nibble at his neck, even as he squirms in your grasp, making you simply just hold him tighter against you, “you’re so docile and passive, it’s everything i want.”

his small, gasps and breathy moans keep you going, intent on dragging more out of him, “you- can people see us on the outside of that window??”

“if they look up, maybe, but we’re on a very high floor,” you respond between small bites on his neck, and as you become less and less gentle with him, he whimpers, “hoseok,” you whisper, “if you at all need or want to stop, just let me know, okay?”

“i- uhm, okay, i don’t want you to, though,” his hands hold your waist loosely, playing with the edges of your tucked-in shirt.

you chuckle endeared at his response. he’s so sweet (both in the way he tastes and the way he acts) it makes you wonder if this man was even real, “good, because i enjoyed that whimper much more than i should have,” he breathes heavier after hearing those words, so physically affected it’s like this man was created and molded to your exact tastes, “since you brought up the window, let’s give everyone a show, hm?”

“you- uh- what? what do you mean?”

“you know what i mean, baby,” you mumble, the pet name so sickeningly sweet off your tongue that he can’t help the way he succumbs to you, “i’m going to fuck you so hard against the window,” you pull him as you take cautious steps back towards the window until your back hits the window, “i’m going to make sure the whole city knows that the lee hoseok is just my little whore.”

you take the breath out of his lungs with every word past your lips and his knees go weak at your words. you flip over to hold him against the window, finally getting him where you want him.

“is that what you want, hoseok?” you ask, but you know the answer. he nods, biting his bottom lip anxiously, “you want everyone to see you like that? that’s so naughty,” you tease.

“i- oh god-“ he exclaims with a heavy breath as you flip him over, feeling upon his body even if his shirt is in the way, letting your hands wander a little lower to grope his ass. he bites his lips, but he can’t hold in his moans for very long.

“you feel perfect against me, baby, so perfect,” you wrap your hands around him to unbutton his shirt, “let’s get this off of you, hm?” he shyly helps you shrug the fabric off of him, “don’t bother with trying to not get fingerprints on the window, they’ll be a reminder of who touched it.”

your hands resume touching him, running against his skin, feeling up every perfectly built muscle on his torso, noticing how he went from overwhelmed and sensitive to teased and desperate so quickly, noticing how hard he’s gotten. aside from moans or soft curses, he’s quiet. you keep your eyes on his facial expressions, especially when your fingernails brush his nipples, “ah-!” he cries out.

“oh? that’s enough to get a cry out of you?” you smirk, seeing him become flustered at your taunting, “then you’re really in for it, baby. i’m gonna fuck you so hard you see stars, and if we break the window?” you lean in to really whisper to him, reaching down to start unbuckling his belt, throwing it off of him, “then good. i’ll be smiling while i pay for the repairs. now, strip all the way down.”

as he obeys, you do the same, throwing off all your clothes and making an absolute mess of your office. you search through one of your drawers, “ah, there it is,” you say, grabbing a couple more things and setting them on your desk before returning to hoseok, now naked and trying to cover himself as he stands a little bit away from the window, “baby, if you’re uncomfortable with any of this, i need you to tell me,” you say you press kisses to his shoulder to soothe him a bit.

“no, no i’m okay! this is really hot, actually, i’m just-” he’s more nervous as you guide him towards the window again, and he puts him hands up against it just like before, “i’m just getting shy.”

“it’s cute, hoseok, i like it when you’re shy,” your hands massages his skin, specifically at his hip as a way to keep him in place and also comfort him, “but if that shyness becomes discomfort, tell me.”

“i- okay,” he nods, and your hands once again find his ass, and he whines just like he did before.

“you have such a nice ass, you know,” you murmur absentmindedly as you squeeze, “i mean, the rest of you is perfect too, god i just can’t take my eyes off of you.”

“i- i want to touch you too,” he whispers, “i just- you’re giving me all the attention, and you’re so pretty yourself that i just- i want to make you feel good too.”

“maybe later, hoseok,” the way your lips say his name is like a venom and he loves it, it’s all he wants to hear, “for now, just let me have you.”

“oh-okay,” he stutters, giving in so sweetly, “i’m yours, y/n, yours.”

“you’re adorable,” you coo, pressing a kiss to his shoulder again before your wet and cold fingers press against his hole. he’s not even sure he saw you put lube on them but he’s startled when he feels the touch. even still, he lets you push your fingers in to the first knuckle, keeping them still for a moment before making slow circles.

“you can- you know,” he mumbles, and you laugh at his shyness before pushing your fingers in more, watching the strain on his face with a subtle sense of pleasure, he’s just so cute like this. he groans, “oh my god, you- oh, fuck- your fingers feel so-”

“and these are just my fingers, hoseok. imagine how wrecked and fucked out you’ll be with my strap on even deeper in your ass,” you press a kiss just below his ear, taunting him with your words slightly, “i doubt you’ll even be able to stand, but i’ll keep you held up against this window so you don’t have to worry that the people down there don’t get to see how slutty you are.”

he moans with a cry as your fingers brush that spot, and his eyes shut as his cheeks go red with embarrassment.

“did that feel good?” you ask, rubbing your fingers over the spot to try and drag that same reaction out of him, and he’s just a beautiful sight. he’s trying to catch his breath, he’s failing to catch his breath. his eyes roll back as his head falls back against your shoulder, “aw, can you not handle the pleasure? it’s just my fingers, seok. you’re going to need to prepare yourself if you’re getting this messed up over just my fingers.”

“i want- i want more than just your-“ he breathes, his voice so dry and airy that it makes him sound so much more desperate, “please fuck me.”

“sure thing, doll,” you kiss the side of his neck (making him flinch at the now sensitive skin from all your bites. he’s pretty sure you left some bruises) your fingers leaving him makes him whine, but feeling the cool touch of the strap on against his ass reminds him that this wasn’t over; it hadn’t even begun. you push it in slightly, seeing the overwhelmed look

on his face almost makes you hesitate, but you get it fully inside of him before you wait to continue, keeping him still against you while he adjusts, you say, “it’s so fun to think about how someone as powerful and influential as you is, in reality, just a cute little hole for my strap,” he jaw is slacked and his eyes are shut, like he’s not even mentally present at all, “you just look so cute and dumb, it makes me want to lose all control and fuck you until you break.”

“please. please, fuck me- fuck- until i break,” he whines, even pushing back against your strap slightly, and that’s your queue to let go of that caution you’ve been holding, and just go for it. you almost pull out completely just to push back in entirely and harshly, and he cries out.

“you’re really in for it, baby,” you say as you rock your hips back and forth, finding a comfortable pace for yourself that is still intense and overwhelming for him, making sure to hit it deep, holding him close by his waist and pushing harshly, “now, don’t be shy, moan for me.”

he does, crying out moans so beautiful you’d think he has the voice of an angel. he keeps his arms against the window, above his head, and he looks down at all the people. he thinks about what they’d think if they looked up and saw him like this? would they recognize him? why did the though of being caught like this both horrify him and excite him like no other?

but all those thoughts fade away as he gets more and more worked up, only really focused on how good he feels and how he wants to feel even better, “you look so pretty and docile like this, hoseok, but you know, i bet you look even better when you’re cumming,” your hand reaches down to give some attention to his cock, and he moans even louder, even more, “i can’t wait for you to completely fall apart.”

“i- oh, fuck, fuck, god-” he stammers, getting closer, so startled by how easy he was to get this close, this fucked up, but your hand works his cock so good and you fuck him so good that he can’t help that all the stimulation is becoming too much, and he’s getting closer to the edge, “fuck, i’m gonna cum, please-”

“cum, hoseok. show me just how much of a whore for me you are,” you mumble in response, and that’s enough to push him over the edge. he arches his back, his head thrown back like before, and he cries out a loud moan as you continue to fuck him through his orgasm, keeping pace until he starts to whine instead of moan, and that’s your queue to slow down and pull out, holding him up because he might not be physically strong enough to stand if you didn’t.

“t-thank you, that was- that was amazing,” he breathes heavily as you turn him around gently, keeping him up as he catches his breath, “let me return the favor now, please.”

he seems okay enough for you to let go now, and you move to sit on your chair instead, “i mean, if you would like to eat me out until your jaw is sore, then by all means, baby: enjoy your meal.”

—

taglist: @lovingonrepeat @neosincity @sub-hoshi-enthusiast @maknaeronix @multidreams-and-desires @foenixs @hobilluvvr @vanillaknj @yr-domxfantasies @treasure-hwa @fleurshopsub @rubyscloud9 @silencefavarchive @nct99 @bigkpopstan @monstaxdirtywonk @rosiethefairy @domreaderrecs and always feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist <3

[kira-fluff]

Hey heyy, have you thought about writing another common trope headcanon / oneshot with the MysMe guys?

Because the “only one bed” was extremely good!!

Even if you decide not to do it, just know that your blog and your talent amazes me<3

a/n: Did you even have to ask??? OF COURSE IF YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME LOL thank you gorgeous <3 I decided to try putting it in a fanfic (one shot unless requested) format since it's definitely quite long and making a mini-series featuring those you request for me to include in my next fic or a pt2! :) also this is a slow burn and is quite spicy <3 Also, I did my best not to make it like the whole share the room thingy again!! ***I’m not fluent in French pls don’t @ me

Length: 6k lol 

A Series of Unfortunate Events Fake Dating - Jumin Han 

A sudden message beep surprised you, causing you to look down at your phone. It was a text message from Jumin: Call me.  Immediately suspecting the worst, you quickly pressed his contact, the number dialing in seconds. There was a few seconds that ran by before the other end answered with a curt, "Y/n."  "Jumin, hey, is something wrong?", you asked, worriedly.  "Everything is perfectly fine. I was calling to ask you a favor -- feel free to decline." Jumin never asked for favors, or your help in general.. you knew whatever it was you were determined to assist him in the best way possible. "Of course, Jumin! Anything."  There was silence for a moment as if he was contemplating whether or not it this favor was truly worth asking before he spoke, "Please decline if you are unable to but... I was wondering if you'd be willing to indulge my father. He's insisted that I bring you with me to our business closure."  "Jumin", you began, "I'd be honored. I'd love to!"  On the other line, there was a sigh of relief (or of worry, you weren't sure). "Mr. Kim will be at your apartment to pick you up tomorrow. The meeting is taking place in Monoco -- pack for a ten-day trip" There was a pause before Jumin breathed out a quiet, "Thank you."  You couldn't hold back your smile, thankful that the conversation was over the phone, making it impossible for him to see your dopey expression. He hung up, leaving you to pack. Your mind quickly wandered from what you needed in your suitcase to worrisome waters.  You and Jumin had a very deep friendship following the party you’d thrown, spending the time following the ginormous celebration to get to know each other. It warmed your heart that your newfound friend took so much joy in being with you -- even when he tried not to show it. You lost track of the number of times you ended up sleeping over at his penthouse after accidentally staying up until 4am talking with him, swishing expensive wine in your mouths.  You didn’t expect falling in love to come so easily. You were someone who was quite choosey with your partners -- you weren’t one to fall easily for anyone. Even in your past relationships that sometimes lasted years, you’d never felt the way your heart felt now that you were with him. And yet, you were best friends. You were sure you meant something to him in so far as friendship, but you had respected him when he’d gotten drunk one of the first nights he met you and spouted out his heart to you.. 

-  “Y/n, to tell you the truth.... I’ve never fallen in love before.” He gazed up at you lackadaisically from his position on the sofa -- head rested over the top of the sofa cushion, his arm lazily resting under his chin. He started at you for a moment, his gray eyes gazing into your own with a hazy, absent feeling in them.  You laughed, “I find that hard to believe.” You walked over to him, absent-mindedly running your fingers through his tousled hair. He let out a long, uncharacteristic sigh, his eyes closing gently.  You leaned in close to him, looking him in the eye. “Can I tell you something, too?” He nodded. “I haven’t either.”  -  You grinned at the memory. You firmly believed that conversation was what brought you and him together closer than ever before. He’d always found an excuse to call you over for the silliest of reasons. Either he needed a certain form that he was positive he accidentally slipped into your bag on accident and needed to see it first-hand to check, or he realized he’d bought more wine than was necessary for a night alone.  It made you smile for months that he couldn’t get out the words “I miss you” or “I want you to come over”. Even to you, the words sounded intimate.. but that was the way your relationship worked -- you were very close with each other, as two best friends ought to be.  Still, as much as you tried, you couldn’t control the way your heart began to constrict when he got especially close to you. You couldn’t help it when you’d shiver when he gently brushed cat fur away from your cheek. You were shocked that despite his perceptive personality, he didn’t seem to notice or acknowledge your deep blush during these interactions... maybe he was uncomfortable with them.... you hoped not.  There were times the air was knocked out of you. Literally. Once, you weren’t paying attention to the fact that the sidewalk had ended and you were walking straight into oncoming cars coming off the highway when a muscular arm slid around your waist and pressed your body flush to his own. You stared with eyes wide open at Jumin, who comically seemed equally surprised at his actions. You couldn’t help the way your eyes trickled down to his sultry lips, taking in their beautiful red-wine color, blooming like dark roses. Thankfully, he seemed too preoccupied with your current state of mind and physical wellbeing. When you finally managed to get your mind out of the gutter, you thanked him profusely, grabbing his hands impulsively and begging to reward him in some way. His answer surprised you, “I--uh-- a movie. I’d like to do more research watching one of those movies you enjoy watching.. for business sales and such.”  “Sure!! I can recommend anything! I’ll drop the email by your office tomorrow” you answered.  A panicked expression took over his face for a moment before returning to its familiar stoicism, “You won’t watch it also?” Your eyes widened in confusion before you answered hurriedly, “Oh! Yeah, I’ll watch it with you. I just wouldn’t want to bother you if you were doing it for work purposes.”  You could never bother me you thought you heard him say, but you couldn’t be sure.  Yep, you were in love with Jumin.  When you at last finished packing, you went to bed, looking forward to the mystery that befell tomorrow.  -  You rose bright and early to prepare for the exciting trip that was bound to come. You couldn’t help the extra bit of effort you ended up putting into your appearance in anticipation of seeing Jumin again and.. possibly sitting next to him on an aircraft.  Right on time, you received a text message from Mr. Kim, indicating that he had arrived at your apartment right on time. As you opened your apartment door to carry your luggage downstairs, you were met with numerous familiar faces of Jumin’s employees who quickly took your heavy luggage items for you. You thanked them, making your way to the elevator with them.  You texted Jumin: Thanks for the help with my luggage :)  In a matter of seconds, you received a reply, Jumin: You’re welcome.  Grinning down at your phone, you didn’t notice your driver's light chuckle, a look of astonishment in his eyes. These blind kids.  You continued to chatter along with Jumin on your phone, at last arriving at the rendezvous point where Jumin and the Chairman pulled in identical black limos alongside your own.  “Thank you, Mr. Kim. I can take it from here.”  Mr. Kim nodded in obedience, ushering you to go to Jumin. Jumin patted the leather seat next to his own in the sleek limousine. You held back a laugh, there were plenty of other seats open for you to sit.. but it warmed your heart that he wanted you right next to him. As friends. The Chairman joined the two of you, sitting across from his son, a mischievous glint in his eyes that only Jumin could recognize. A silent conversation took place between Jumin and his father -- Jumin beginning with a raised eyebrow. The Chairman replied with a sly smirk. Jumin with a scowl, his father with a growing grin. You watched the conversation continue silently before the Chairman at last spoke, “Jumin, my son, I’m overjoyed to see you’ve brought your Y/n with you.” A flash of annoyance crossed Jumin’s face as he said, “My... Y/n?”  You blanched.. of course the thought of you being his made him uncomfortable... but you didn’t think he’d be angry.  “Y/n, I’m glad you could join us. However, as much as I hate to ask this of you, there is something I desperately need from you.”  Before you could speak Jumin interjected, “Absolutely not.”  You caressed his hand, looking up at him with kind eyes, “Jumin, hey, it’s okay.” Looking toward Jumin’s father you said, “Whatever it is, I’ll do my very best.” Jumin’s jaw feathered a bit, but he said no more.  He grinned, “Aren’t you a kind girl. Well, in this business deal, the contract was originally contingent on Jumin marrying his daughter -- which I was against from the beginning. After all, I know the importance of loving the one you wish to be with.” (Jumin rolled his eyes at that.) “Anyway, I declined the offer.”  You were confused, unsure where your part came in.  As if reading your mind, he continued saying, “However, I perhaps let it slip that you two were engaged. I figured you both are so close with each other already, that it would be no issue to play a bit of husband and wife for the sake of business, no?”  Jumin was furious, his nose flared, jaw clenched with hands gripping his knee. “How dare--”  You glanced at him, biting the inside of your cheek, a worried expression painted your face. When he glanced at you, his eyes widened and his shoulders relaxed. This did not go unnoticed by the Chairman.  “We’ll do it, won’t we Jumin?” he looked surprised but made no objection. You leaned in close and whispered shyly, “I want to do something as thanks for this amazing trip.. and for you.”  - Jumin dared to swallow. For me? What the hell does that mean? You were driving him crazy. Every time he looked at you he had to fight to readjust his attention to something else. Does she know what it does to me when she touches me? Even a little bit?  When you’d put your hand on him, Jumin felt his chest and neck grow impossibly hotter, hotter than he’d been feeling when you’d first sat down next to him. Hotter than when you leaned in close and breathily asked him, “Jumin... how long until we’re at the airport?” It was like you’d drawn out every syllable, breathing out every consonant -- your breath tickling his neck. He imagined what it would feel like to have your plump, rosy lips on his neck, on his chest, on his lips, on his-- he was in over his head. He cursed himself for his lack of control. Usually, control was not an issue for Jumin -- in fact, he considered it one of his greatest strengths. From his leadership position in his father’s company, C&R, to his well-controlled temperament and stress management.. Jumin just didn’t do “no control”.  At first, it intrigued him. He could remember the exact day it hit him. He’d invited you to an elegant dinner his company hosted to celebrate (in a sort of “humble-brag” sort of way) yet another successful business closing with one of the biggest corporations in America. He’d been finishing off yet another glass of his new Domaine de la Romanee-Conti he’d bought when his eyes at last placed you at the front of the champagne server. His eyes raked up and down the soft, silk gown that clung to your body in all the right places. The gown hung loosely, exposing your back and most of your chest, a sultry slit separating one of your elegant legs from the other hidden in the fabric. It was a breath-taking emerald color... but all Jumin could really think of is how he’d take it off. Your hair was curled and done-up marvelously with little white pearls decorating the crown of your head like you had stars in your hair... but all Jumin could really think of was how he’d mess it up. His cheeks were on fire. Everything in his body had risen in temperature of what felt like a hundred degrees. He twirled his wine glass between his fingers before setting it down at one of the well-decorated tables. I must have a fever, he thought, that must be it. Your eyes found his person just as he was turning around to leave, speed walking to one of the penthouse balconies for fresh air. You raced after him or at least followed him as fast as your obnoxious heels allowed you to go.  You breathlessly met him as he was staring out into the night. Jumin realized that his temperature was slowly returning to normal. Perhaps the room was a bit suffocating. I’ll be sure to message Mr. Kim about increasing the air conditioning in the room. But... looking back on it now, Jumin knew he was lying to himself even then. Because, when he turned around he almost let out a shout. And his breath became uneven again, and it felt so burning hot all over again.  You slowly crept toward him, donning a concerned expression saying, “Jumin... are you alright?” Jumin backed into the marble railing. He was so eloquent normally but all he could let out then was a choked, “Fine.” He couldn’t take his eyes off you. Every step closer, he wanted to run. The stars were reflecting in your eyes and the moonlight made your supple skin look impossibly softer... You gently cupped his face and whispered, “Jumin, talk to me..? Please?” Jumin was heaving, looking down at you with rosy red cheeks and burning ears. “I--I think I have a... fever. A fever.”  You gasped, taking one of your hands and lightly grasping the back of his neck, pulling him down slightly. His eyes widened as you took your other cold hand and placed it on his burning forehead. “Oh my god! Oh my gosh, we -- ambulance! An ambulance.. a doctor? Or.. are you... drunk?”  “My room... please,” he begged.  You looked him up and down, examining his face for strain or discomfort. When you couldn’t find any, you let out a breath -- perhaps you’d overreacted. Nonetheless, you swung his arm over your shoulder and trudged through the now quiet dining area. Most had filtered out to the ballroom for dancing. You’d been here a million times, so remembering the way was no chore. You fished through his shirt and coat pockets, running your gentle digits across his chest, assuming the moan Jumin gave off was due to pain, still, a blush flushed your cheeks. “Sorry, I’m almost done.” You held him against the wall since at this point he couldn’t stand. Maybe I am a little drunk, he thought. You moved down to his pants pockets, your hands roaming through a business card and other odds and ends, eliciting another soft groan from Jumin. “Almost there...” you breathed, at last pulling out a key card and with a soft beep, opening his penthouse suite. You gently carried him to his bed before going to grab a glass of water and a cold washcloth. When one was placed on the table and the other on his forehead, you at last placed a warm throw blanket you’d found in his closet over him.  ...That memory became a source of numerous dreams. Jumin couldn’t forget it, no matter how many times he’d wished he wanted to (or wished it all to happen again).  - You gazed at him, looking at the way his expression hardened at times, softening and then suddenly switching to an expression you’d never seen before. What was he thinking about? You bit your lip, nervous that Jumin might change his mind upon meeting this woman his business partner wanted him to marry. She was certainly more beautiful, right? After all, Jumin hadn’t necessarily made any physical contact voluntarily toward you more than an occasional back rub in your asked after a long day at work, or if he got drunk while you two accidentally stayed up late -- then he’d sometimes caress your face with a love-sick expression and saying little things like, “You’re beautiful.” It was cute, for sure, but what drunk doesn’t turn into a soft puddle of goo, complimenting everyone around them?  You leaned into him as subtly as you could manage, closing your eyes to concentrate for a few minutes.  - You jumped awake when a deep voice rumbled in your ear, “We’re here.” You could hear the slight smirk in his voice, and sure enough, when you looked up, you saw a slight smile on his face. “Did you have a good dream?” You looked toward your left, thankful the Chairman was already out of the limousine and speaking on his phone to someone. “I--I had a dream?”  Jumin’s smirk stretched a little wider, “Yes. You said my name a couple times.”  Your eyes widened in shock before saying, “Oh! That dream! Yeah, I was dreaming that you were being eaten alive by bears and I was forced to watch!” God, you were such a bad liar. Jumin blinked. He felt sort of stupid. “Oh,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “I see--”  Grateful for his gullibleness, you added, “Why, what did you think I was dreaming about?”  Jumin avoided eye contact saying, “Not anything in particular.”  A call for Jumin interrupted your conversation, making Jumin almost run out of the limo. You smiled a bit, a little flush rising up to your ears.  Jumin returned again, grabbing your hand. “This way,” was all he said. You followed him to the private jet that the Chairman was already boarding. You caught yourself staring at Jumin again as you followed him up the stairs to the entranceway of the cabin. Jumin smartly chose a seat far away from his father’s field of vision. He’d had enough of his unnerving looks when you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder, whispering things Jumin was beyond grateful only he could hear... at least he hoped. When you occasionally began to whine a bit louder he’d quiet you down by running his hands through your hair and stealing glances toward his father nervously saying, “A nightmare.” He wondered if he’d fooled his father, because the Chairman lightly chuckled and made his way to the passenger seat of the limo, sliding the privacy door shut. It had only gotten worse from there, you almost shouted his name, but he covered your mouth. Heat had been pooling in his stomach for a while now, but he didn’t know how much more he could take. Still, every time he thought of waking you up, you’d grab at his chest or legs,  effectively completely embolizing him.  You, of course, were unaware of all of this. You sat down next to him eagerly and wrapped your arm around his, pulling him close to watch a movie on the jet screens. It was almost 9pm by now, the night sky beginning to close in on the quiet aircraft. Neither of you could remember when you fell asleep, only waking up to the soft announcement of arrival from the pilot on the overhead and a soft blanket placed over the two of you.  You both groggily made your way to your waiting limousine to take you to the complimentary hotel stay at one of the chains owned by your expectant future business partner.  “Of course, I know you two are just friends.” The Chairman looked at you two before continuing, “So I have two hotel rooms, you’re 17 and you, Miss Y/N, are 18. I’m in master suite 3, so feel free to reach out whenever.” His eyes glittered as he said, “Have fun. Remember to act like a loving fiance! Especially you, my son." Jumin pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in contempt.  You turned your head toward Jumin, “Um, well, I’m pretty tired as you could probably already tell,” you laughed uncomfortably, “so I think I’ll head off to bed.”  Jumin blinked a few times before saying, “I will as well. Goodnight, Y/N.” You whispered a shy goodnight in reply before slinking into your hotel room.  - You awoke the next day to a call from a maid outside your door - room service. You thanked her before diving into your waffles, complete with chocolate dressing, whipped cream, strawberries, and powdered sugar. A glass of orange juice was delivered along with various other breakfast options and a bowl of kiwi, dragonfruit, apple, watermelon, honeydew, and almost any other fruit you could think of. Following your delicious breakfast, you padded over to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and running the shower. Going through your morning routine helped calm you despite the role you weren’t at all prepared to play in just a few hours.  You jumped at the knock at your door. Looking through the peephole, it was Jumin. Flinging the door open, you looked at him expectantly. You were met with silence other than a few “uh.... uh....”s. You looked at him sarcastically, “What?”  He continued to stare, not at your face, however. You laughed but quickly grew silent as you met his gaze. You were an actual moron. What. The. Fuck. You were still in your fucking panties?!?! You slammed the door shut, running to slip on some shorts you found lying on the ground in the bathroom. Taking a deep breath you gently opened the door this time. Jumin was standing still as a statue when he snapped out of his trance at last. He looked away, “Try not to be dressed. I mean STRESSED.” he sputtered, “I-I’m going to leave now--”  “Um, Jumin?”  He slowly turned around, face as red as a strawberry, “Yes?”  “Um, sorry. About before. Um. Do you-- do you want to get some coffee? I’m still waking up, if you couldn’t already tell,” you laughed nervously.  He smiled warmly, “I’d love to.”  You awkwardly nodded before shutting your door. You ran to your hotel bed and screamed into one of the pillows. You cursed under your breath before making your way to the bathroom once more to finish the makeup look you had begun before being interrupted.  After 45 minutes, you looked your outfit up and down. You packed outfits that were elegant -- you bought clothes that looked expensive but in the kind of way that was subtle. Nude tones and deep colors, specifically. You were aiming for a look that said, “I’m not rich, I’m just comfortable. And by that I mean I’m rich.” You were never insecure about the difference in your and Jumin’s paycheck.. but when you’re supposed to play a part. And if you showed up in your comfy joggers and t-shirt like you normally wore when you visited Jumin or were free from work.. you had a feeling their reaction wouldn’t be the most inviting or understanding.  At last, you stepped out of your room, turning left to knock on Jumin’s door. He beat you to it, opening his door unexpectedly. This caused you to instead lean forward from your momentum and place your hand on his chest. You hurriedly adjusted his tie, doing your best to act as if that’s what you’d meant to do all along.  Jumin appeared to be just as surprised, but grinned, “No leggings and t-shirt today?” You jabbed him with your elbow as you made your way to the coffee bar, “Do you think they’d be all welcoming to your soon-to-be wife if she showed up in lounge clothes?”  “I’ve never complained.”  You scoffed, “Yeah, well, that’s because you’re nice. And, you apparently understand that not everyone can live in a suit every day.”  He paused for a moment before mumbling slightly, “Who cares what they think anyway.”  “I do! I don’t want to let your dad down. I told him I’d do this. We’re in Monaco, Jumin! C’est la vie!” “Parles-tu français?”* “Oui..?”  Jumin chuckled darkly before leaning in, saying, “Tu es juste trop mignonne.”** You blinked before replying, “...oui...?” Jumin looked at you incredulously with a slight smile on his face as he laughed, lightly ruffling your hair.  Jumin ordered for you -- apparently, it was quite clear you only knew a few words in French. Unfortunately, he also paid for you, despite your objections. Before you could yank his platinum card out of his hands, the transaction was already complete. He gazed down at you, an eyebrow raised with a triumphant smirk, “Elle aura aussi beaucoup de crème dans son café.”*** “Hey, what are you saying?! Jumin!! Speak Korean or English or Japanese! Something I can understand!!” You complained.  The worker interjected, “C’est tellement agréable de voir un couple sur leur ‘oneymoon.”**** You instinctively interjected, “Oh, that’s not--!”  But Jumin just smiled and nodded.  Upon sitting down at one of the many open tables, you let out a little giggle, “I wonder what it’ll feel like when I’m on the real thing.” Jumin quickly looked up from his staring contest with his coffee, “Real.. what?”  You grinned dreamily, “Honeymoon.”  “You.. want to get married?” “Don’t you?”  Only to you, he thought. “Maybe. If the right person came along.” If you’d ever say “yes”.  You held back the nervous twinge you felt in your throat, “Alright then, don’t be shy. What’s your type?”  “My.. type?”  “Yeah! Like, your ideal girl.” He paused, looking pensively at you. “Well, then I suppose my ‘type’ is a girl who is beautiful, and smart, and pretty... and always makes me laugh. And is bold but also shy.” His eyes widened as he grew quiet, “...something like that.”  You were shocked. He said he’s never fallen in love before.. but it sounds like he already has some girl in mind. “Wow. You’ve... thought a lot about this.”  Jumin looked surprised at himself -- he cleared his throat, “Just some ideas.”  You were still skeptical but changed the subject, “So, what exactly does this whole ‘wifey’ thing entail?” “Most likely just a ring on your finger and a fake smile.” “Oh come on, there’s more to it than that.”  “I’m sure my father has the details.” As if on cue, his phone chimed. “Ready to head out?”  “Yep!” You weren’t entirely sure, but you were beside yourself with nervousness and a bit of excitement. If you can’t have the real thing, you shouldn’t complain about a chance to fake it, right? And sure, you knew it was much more complicated than that -- what if he realized your true feelings?! ...You shook the thoughts out of your head and made your way to the waiting vehicle outside of the hotel. - “Monsieur Lorenzi! Good to see you!” The Chairman shook hands with who you assumed was the boss. “Let me introduce to you my son, Jumin, and his beloved fiance, Y/n.” You waved, smiling despite the twang in your heart. You and Jumin shook hands while Mr. Lorenzi introduced you to his daughter.  “It is so nice to meet you! This is my daughter, Ginevra.”  Immediately, you sized Ginevra up -- and she does not look happy. “So.. you’re the bitch who stole Ju-Ju from me?” “Ginevra! Be polite, please?” Mr. Lorenzi practically begged her, but she wasn’t budging, “Oh, come on. Their ‘engagement’ hasn’t even been released to the press yet!”  You looked worriedly between Jumin and Ginevra, but Jumin lovingly put his hand over yours, a soft smile on his face, “I’ll handle this, sweetheart.” He couldn’t help himself and lightly pecked your cheek, smirking into the kiss when he heard you elicit a small “oh!” Facing the irate woman, though, Jumin smiled in a way you’d seen him smile when he wasn’t particularly...happy.. about something. “Miss Ginevra, I can assure you Y/N and I are completely in love. She is my fiance, after all. That being said, we decided not to alert the media because we wanted our own privacy until the wedding.”  Ginevra scoffed, “Please. You barely even look like you’re dating. Face it, I know you want me, Jumin.” She bit her lip in a way that was supposed to be seductive, but Jumin couldn’t hold back the slight cringe that crept onto his face.  “T-that’s enough Ginev--”  “God! Shut up, Dad!  Mr. Lorenzi backed down at that, looking apologetic and embarrassed toward the Chairman and Jumin, and especially toward you.  You were growing tired of the entire conversation, “Shall we sit down?”  All except Ginevra agreed readily, the Chairman coughing in a way that sounded more like a laugh he was trying to conceal. Jumin's jaw clenched when he sat next to you, to your left and Ginevra quickly sat in the seat to his left. The meal went as well as expected. Jumin's father recognized that Jumin had his hands full and spent the majority of the dinner talking business with Mr. Lorenzi without his son.  Meanwhile, you were awkwardly playing with your filet mignon, avoiding eye contact with everyone until Jumin leaned his face down to your avoidant eye level. You snapped out of your trance immediately. You looked up at him -- his eyebrow was raised with an inquisitive expression. Okay, that was adorable. You held back your intruisive thoughts, blinking up at him, silently asking, "What is it?"  Jumin stared a little longer than necessary, before snapping out of his own trance and leaning in further and whispering in your ear, "...Are you alright?"  You nodded in reply, "Just a little uncomfortable."  Jumin gazed down at you in concern, "We can leave if you--"  "No. No, I'll stay." Who knows what that girl will do if I leave. He didn't look convinced.  Suddenly, Ginevra was calling for Jumin. Repeatedly. He turned in annoyance, "Yes?"  Her voice got low, clearly to exclude you from the conversation, "Let's go somewhere..." she looked Jumin up and down slowly, "...else.." And with no shame, she lowered a manicured hand to his knee, slowly trailing it up to his thigh. He immediately grabbed her wrist, saying in a low, deadly voice, "I have a fiance."  She sighed in frustration, "You're kidding yourself, baby--"  Jumin's eyes widened suddenly, and not due to anything Ginevra was saying. Your hand was high on his thigh as you leaned into the conversation you'd heard the entirety of. "Miss... whatever your name is.... Jumin is my husband. Soon. We have something you could never dream of every having because your personality sucks. And honestly, only you can fix that."  There was silence at the entire table for a moment before Ginevra turned her head quickly toward her father, "Daddy?!"  Her father had already gotten up, ushering the business conversation to continue rather than deal with his trainwreck of a daughter. She huffed, looking red in the face, perhaps in embarrassment as well as anger. "Well, you still can't prove that you're even dating!"  You very furious now, your glare cold enough to freeze the desert, "Is proof really the only thing that will shut you up?"  Before she could even answer, you geared your pissed off expression toward a semi-intimidated, semi-turned on Jumin and grabbed his face, meeting his lips with your own. Your kiss was meant to only last a few seconds at most, but when you tried to pull away, Jumin only deepened the kiss, pulling your face harshly toward his own. He tugged at your hair, earning a loud moan from you as he forced his flush lips further onto yours, his tongue gaining entrance into your mouth. His eyebrows were deeply knit into a consentrated expression, groaning as he felt you readjust your position onto his lap. You stradled his lap, a leg on either side of him, your tongues battling for dominance as you fished for air between you two. At last, you both parted, heaving in big breaths as a string of spit clung between your mouths -- only to go in for another searing kiss. You began to roll your hips against his own, gently at first but quickly gaining more momentum and roughness as you two continued to make out. You'd noticed his hard-on the moment you'd straddled his lap but it only grew as you two began to explore the other's body. And just like that, you realized you were still in a formal dining setting. With other people. You pushed against Jumin's chest, looking around you in a frenzy. Ginevra was long gone along with the Chairman and Mr. Lorenzi. It was just the two of you, it looked as if it was after hours for the dining here. Soft jazz still played melodically through quiet speakers. Your eyes met back again with Jumin. He was smirking, still breathing heavily, his eyes glowing with mischief and a clear message that said something you probably would blush saying out loud. You laughed a little at the sudden turn of events. Did he like you? You wondered. He made quick work of dragging you (because your legs turned into jelly) out of the dining hall and back to his hotel suite. Jumin hurridely opened his hotel door before slamming you against the wall and continued to kiss you furvently on your neck, chest and of course, lips. He began to grind on you, letting out a soft curse when you mewled in his ear. Both your cheeks were completely red from the heated exchange and the embarrassment that both of you felt at your candid feelings. Yet something still bothered you. You pushed him away with all the strength you had because he was just so addicting. "J-jumin.... wait..." You gasped between breaths, "...I-I don't do this sorta thing... for fun..."  Jumin frowned at this, his jaw feathering as he said darkly, "I don't either."  You shook your head, "No, Jumin... I mean... I-I......" You took a big breath of air, "I'm in love with you. Have, for long time... pretty sure you don't feel .... the same wa--"  Jumin's eyes narrowed as he dove in for another kiss with so much force that the air was nearly knocked out of you. "Y/N," he began, "Do you have any clue how much I've held back? Even now, do you know how hard it is for me not to pick you up and fuck you right here and now? Do you know how long--" He laughed sardonically, "Y/N, I swear you're doing this on purpose."  "Doing wha--" "Making me fall deeper and deeper in love with you! I'm already pass the point of no return. Hell, I've never felt a fraction of what you make feel in a moment... in my entire life."  You took a moment to really look at him. The expression of complete and udder desperation was now clear as day on his face, his cheeks flushed, breathing heavily, his tie loose around his neck, chest slightly exposed. He began again, "Please. Please... put me out of my misery. Say you're mine, please."  Your eyes never leaving his, tears prickling your eyes, you answered, "I always was Jumin.. and I always will be. And, and if the offer still stands--" You blushed, looking down shyly and your feet, ashamed of your own boldness.  Jumin's eyes pooled impossibly darker as he picked you up and led you to his bed, laying you down gently and asking, "I know this is probably soon but... Y/N, will you make me the happiest man on earth?"  You laughed, pure joy on your face as you shamelessly cried, "Yes!" over and over again.  Jumin couldn't hold back the huge grin that took over his face as he kissed you in between laughs.

TRANSLATIONS: * “Do you speak French?” ** “You are just too cute.” *** “She will also have a lot of cream in her coffee.”  **** “It is so nice to see a couple on their honeymoon”

[lethargicsunlight]

Part 1: Some Combat Training Katsuki Bakugo X Fem!Reader

HeLp

EDIT: Read part 2 here!

I’ve thought about this for like, a week?!

Some context here: I’m attempting to write a slow-burn multi-book fanfic, but I haven’t even reached current episodes/chapters for BNHA yet? SO, this is in outline stages right now. I’m really big on keeping things as canon as possible, so once I catch-up with everyone else on the series (or at least far enough to know wtf I’m writing about :D ) I can start actually finishing and editing chapters.

Right now it’s.. it’s just a mess.

ANYWAYS, for the time being, I shall vent out some ideas for this fanfic or just other random drabble to keep my inspiration burning while I soak it all up. Might asks for requests or ideas or something.

This for instance.. Is essentially a drabble that builds some

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* c h e m i s t r y*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧between you and BoomBoom boy.

Warnings: FLUFF. I guess? I mean, can he really be 'fluff'y? Idk we'll see. Also, they're Third-Years in U.A. now, so aged-up just a bit.

Also, P.S.: I make it a point to leave out most descriptions of y/n. This way, whether its you or an OC, it's not as immersive-breaking. That said, I have taken liberties with their physique and personality based on certain events in their life. Y/n will also be smaller in stature (though I will not be specific about height) because of their specific combat abilities. (Think Inej from Six of Crows, if you will.)

Making a Part 2 because this evidently went on FOREVER.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

You heard Bakugou close the gym door from behind you, but you don't bother to say 'thank you'. Moving to the back of the room, you grabbed a training dummy and began dragging it into the center; your eyes never even grazing him--you knew he was there.

Along the anatomy of the dummy, you had painted pressure points, nerves, and joints to assist in your specific method of combat. You swung the dummy around, the back facing you. The soft taps of your comrade's feet grew closer, and you trusted he was close enough to hear you.

"If you want to immobilize the arm temporarily, you'll need to strike here." You point to the green dot at the junction of the shoulder, only now glancing at him to make sure he was paying attention.

As if you had to. Of course he was.

You pull your hand back and position your fingers into a jabbing form, shifting your body to face him more. "Three fingers are all you need, but you can use the rest of your hand to reinforce it."

You wait for him to mimic his hand like yours. You crane your neck a bit, inspecting it, making sure all the bones and ligaments were aligned the way they needed to be.  Your own hands lift, near touching his before;

"May I touch you?"

There's a hesitation before he answers, "Yeah," voice gruff but otherwise unemotional.

You give a hum in acknowledgement before you entrap Bakugou's wrist, lightly tracing the anatomy to make sure it was perfect; then pulling it towards the dummy and away--watching the muscles and tendons flex. He's a little stiff about it at first, but he allows it.

"There, keep the fingers bent and the wrist straight.." You twist his wrist slightly, tapping the front to show him how flat it was. "You're a lot stronger than I am; if you get this move down, you can probably dislocate someone's shoulder this way."

Now you look up to inspect his face. You'd been dreading it.

Much to your surprise.. he doesn't look all that bemused. Nor does he acknowledge your last comment, which you'd expected a 'of course I could' or at least a 'Heh.'

But he's stonefaced, staring at his hand. The moment begins to stretch on so you quickly continue before the mood shifted.

"Here," you step away, unzipping the jacket you'd worn over your work-out gear for the brisk walk to the gym. "The plastic doesn't do a good job for this, so I'll show you what you're aiming for." Turning so your back faced him, you feel down your opposite shoulder until your reach the juncture where the nerve and joint interacted. After finding it, you point it out for him.

"If you press pretty hard, you'll feel where it dips in."

He hesitates again.

What was with him?

Simultaneously...

He pulls the metal door to a close behind him, the sound of the latch echoing through the gym's concrete walls as he watches you moving across the main floor to grab a practice dummy.

This had seemed like such a good idea. Practical.

There was a new villain in Japan that had amassed a large following--not unlike the League. Their focus was on temporarily disabling quirks to take down big targets in coordinated attacks, and their targets were pro-heroes. They would lure them out with large-scale natural disasters, single them out, and take them down. Every hero, even the third-years of U.A., had begun practicing more simplistic combat techniques, in the event their quirks become useless.

And while he wasn't going to voice it, most of his combat training had always centered on his quirk. Learning any other kind of combat was a waste of time. Or, it had really seemed that way...

But you had changed his mind. Long before this new villain, and long before right now. Still, he'd left it to you--this was your thing, not his. He learned from watching you, but asking you to teach him was a step down he couldn't take.

And even now, he felt weak for doing it.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he hones in on you as this demonstration begins--but he doesn't want to look at your face. This was just for training. This was practical. Logical.

When it comes to the point of actually mimicking your movements though, he's sent off-balance again.

"May I touch you?"

What the fuck kind of question is that?

It almost comes out of his mouth, but its barred shut for some reason. "Yeah." He has to force it out, like he's choked.

He watches your hands deftly graze finger-tips around his hand and his wrist. It's all flesh contact, he didn't see a point in wearing gloves for this.

...But he begins to wish he had.

It'd been two years since he'd met you. You'd become a student by invitation from All Might and the Principle in tandem due to a drawn-out coup  you'd lead against a major underground villain known as Head Honcho; of which, he and Deku as first-years had helped take down. You'd revealed yourself as the defector, and sacrificed yourself to Honcho's ultimate move in order to break his defenses. You really had not planned to live through all of that.

Little, strange, you.

And now as you barely touch him, it sends warm pulses up his arm and across his chest. In all those two years, you'd never done that. Never had the chance, he realizes, as the room slows down and he relives the moments with you over that duration.

He would find you sitting next to him in the Cafeteria. Find you--because you were silent when you sat down. Silent when you ate. When he would notice you, he'd make a big deal over it.

'What the hell twinkle-toes?! Do you really have to skulk around like that?'

He would find you next to him in the common room.

'What--why are you so silent all the time, you're so damn creepy!'

He found you next to him, when he woke up in that bar with the villains that'd kidnapped him. How had you ended up there?

He'd never been able to ask. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of you to never mention that event. So much had happened in such little time--

His arm is now free of your touch--you say something but he barely catches it. Right. Combat training. How could he forget?!

He glowers at his hand. What the fuck was he doing? Why wasn't he concentrating..

"Here," you're suddenly moving away and unzipping the jacket you wore.

What the--

"The plastic doesn't do a good job for this, so I'll show you what you're aiming for." You're saying, as the fabric slides down your arms. You grab the sleeves off your hips and tie them around your waist. It's nothing he hasn't seen before.

And it's everything he hasn't seen before.

The only skin showing was your shoulders and your mid-drift. Practical for work-outs, great for taking hits in training to build endurance, logical.. logical..

His mind blanks.

"If you press pretty hard, you'll feel where it dips in." You're pointing to a spot on your shoulder, but with your eyes not on him--he's taking the second to regain control over whatever the fuck it was he was going through.

He's not stupid.

He knows what hormones do. He knows what infatuation is, and lust, and all of that other shit--he knows because he avoids the hell out of it. Becoming the world's greatest hero doesn't allow any time for it. He can't afford even a moment of distraction.

It's your fault.. He reasons, gritting his teeth as he moves forward--determined to peel the feeling from his chest and blast it away. You did this. You weaseled your way into being close to me. You--!

Turning over your shoulder, you catch eyes with him.

He stops. The anger, the steel-like walls he'd just been building--they all suddenly just.. melt away. It's not how beautiful your eyes are. It's not the curious concern behind them. It's the truth.

You weren't offering to train him in some close, quirkless combat because he was weak. You weren't offering to train him as a chance to get 'comfy' with him, or warm his heart or whatever the girls in class chided him about. You were offering to train him because he was your partner. You wanted him to be on his top game in the field.

And for some reason... that made it worse!

[othermainblog]

A (Not So) Quiet Morning

A/N: This really is the first fanfic I’ve written in years huh. I was feeling inspired because I desperately want more fluffy content between Kaeya and Crepus so I guess I’m making my own food at this point. Featuring some of my personal headcanons, see the bottom for more if you’re interested. Enjoy!

On a clear and pleasantly cool midmorning, while working on his newest painting in the study, Crepus Ragnvindr finds himself struck by an impulse.

It is a peaceful morning. Diluc has decided to visit Jean across the city, bringing that tortoise of his with him to go and visit hers. The servants have busied themselves elsewhere to give him the quiet atmosphere he desires while painting. And Kaeya, in an unprecedented move, has sought his company over Diluc’s.

Crepus is not ignorant to the importance of this moment. He is hyperaware of Kaeya’s presence in the room with him, where the boy has chosen a couch with a very tempting sunbeam on which to curl up with a book. Admittedly, it is wreaking havoc on his ability to concentrate on the scene he intends to paint, but there is no bitterness to accompany that fact.

Because Kaeya rarely seeks out Crepus’ company on his own, more often tagging along with Diluc when his brother seeks his attention. Crepus has worried that this indicates a lack of trust in him, but he has been unsure on how to address the problem.

Today, that doesn’t seem to be an issue in the least.

Again, as it has done countless times this morning, Crepus finds his eyes sliding over to observe his newest son without his conscious desire. He finds himself wondering what is happening in Kaeya’s book; whatever the narrative turn, it must be one that Kaeya is enjoying, because when Crepus looks his way, he sees a subdued smile on his son’s face.

He can feel his own mouth curling in response — a reaction he is quite familiar with from his years spent raising Diluc. In this moment, despite his many regrets, Crepus Ragnvindr feels like the most fortunate man in Teyvat.

The sudden lack of sound must be more obvious than he realized, though. As Kaeya moves to turn to the next page, he glances up at Crepus. Something about his expression must startle Kaeya, because his eye goes wide, the smile becoming uncertain and small.

That won’t do at all, thinks Crepus.

Giving Kaeya as kind a smile as he can muster, Crepus heaves himself to his feet, taking a moment to wipe his hands on the damp cloth one of the servants has had the foresight to bring to the study before making themself scarce. Then he approaches the couch.

“May I sit with you, Kaeya?”

Kaeya looks a bit bemused at this point, but nods and lowers his book to his lap, marking his place with one thumb.

Crepus lowers himself carefully to sit next to Kaeya, rather on the other end like Kaeya undoubtedly expected him to. He keeps an eye on the other’s reaction — curious but not alarmed. Excellent.

Crepus settles, and then deliberately turns so that Kaeya has his full attention. He smiles. “That looks like a good book.”

Kaeya tilts his head a bit, then flips the book to show Crepus the cover. Clearly he has no concept of where this is going, but he seems willing to play along and find out. Crepus again is humbled by the trust in him that that shows.

“Ah, that is a good one. One of my favorites, when I was about your age. I remember how determined I was to finish it, the first time. More than that, I remember how tired I was the next day, after I stayed awake all night to finish it. I actually fell asleep during lessons! My tutors were not pleased. My hand still aches to this day, they made me write so many lines.” Crepus grins and playfully shakes his hand out for emphasis.

A shy little smile is his reward, hesitantly amused by this anecdote. It is, however, much too quick to fade away again.

It is as he is processing the disappointment of this that the impulse strikes. It is one he is not wholly unfamiliar with, being a father for a good many years now, but one that has until now only reared its mischievous head around Diluc.

Crepus has kept a certain small distance between himself and Kaeya in the time he has spent with him, not through his own desires, but out of fear of frightening the boy. Not to say that he has been able to to completely suppress the desire to tease Kaeya entirely; he considers it his divinely gifted right to do so as a parent. And so far, Kaeya has seemed surprised to be included, but not unhappily so. Crepus does not think it is wishful thinking to say that Kaeya has come to trust Crepus, not with today’s request to spend the morning with him instead of his best friend.

It is this last thought that decides it. Crepus allows that spirit of mischief to posses him fully.

“Come now. That won’t do, Kaeya.” Crepus injects some transparently false gravitas to his voice, to signal the game. He would never want his sons to seriously think he was disappointed in them for even a moment.

The ploy works. Kaeya sits up straighter, open curiosity on his face. He studies Crepus for a moment before coming to a decision and twisting his upper body to place the book on the side table. Then he turns back to look up at Crepus, hands relaxed on the knees of his crossed legs. Open body language, an acceptance of Crepus’ playful invitation.

Crepus feels his falsely somber expression melt at the edges. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he gives up the pretext.

“That wasn’t nearly enough. I think I need to see a bigger smile than that.”

Kaeya blinks as Crepus leans closer, lifting his hands with deliberate slowness, making it clear that he will stop if Kaeya wants him to. Kaeya does not stop him, and Crepus’ grin only widens.

“Fortunately, I have a good idea of what to do to fix this.” And Crepus proves the idea a good one indeed, as his fingers gently press into his son’s sides and wiggle.

The reaction is immediate: a jump, a surprised intake of breath, and two small hands placing themselves on his own. Crepus pauses, seeing if Kaeya will signal for him to stop, and feels warm as the signal doesn’t come. Kaeya’s hands do not push his away, and his nervous look is tinged with a playful excitement — an expression universally familiar to parents, he is sure. Crepus grins and attacks in earnest.

His hands move upwards, digging gently into ribs that are still a bit too prominent for Crepus’ tastes, and is rewarded with an exhale that shudders as it catches on a laugh. Kaeya squirms, curling away, mouth wavering into a smile, still not pushing Crepus’ hands away, and Crepus is so very fond of this boy.

It is the work of seconds to turn that exhale into a proper laugh, and Crepus is delighted to learn that his youngest son is, as it turns out, a giggler.

“Maha-! Ahaha! Master Crehehep-!” Kaeya wriggles into the arm of the couch, curling up and kicking his legs and not managing to get even one finger off of his ribs on his own.

Well, Crepus can certainly help him with that, at least.

Those fingers creep further up, worming their way under his arms to look for more giggles.

Kaeya squeaks, squeezing his arms to his sides as hard as he can and slipping against the arm of the couch until he is nearly on his back, legs coming up to again kick at nothing. It is a perfect opportunity to change targets, and one that Crepus has no problem taking advantage of. While one hand stays put, the other reaches to snag one little knee.

The reaction is a bit startling. Kaeya yelps and then bursts into the kind of laughter that can only be described as hysterical. For the first time, he manages to land a hit with the other foot, though without much force. Crepus pauses, startled, and when he looks at Kaeya he sees his son is just as surprised himself. Kaeya stares at him for a moment, eye wide, before giving a cutely nervous smile and shrinking down further into the couch.

After waiting for a signal that doesn’t come, Crepus smiles at the silent permission and slides his hand down to wrap around his calf. Holding his leg still, he brings the other hand, not back to the kneecap, as Kaeya undoubtedly expected, but behind the knee.

Evidently, this is spot is a winner as well, because Kaeya jerks and wheezes on his laughter, squirming and, after only a moment of this, letting out a snort.

Crepus can’t help but laugh at the way Kaeya freezes and slaps a hand over his mouth to contain any more, before another burst of laughter gets the better of him and he removes it to suck in more air.

Of course, all good things must come to an end, and Crepus would rather it end before it becomes unpleasant in truth. So he stops the gentle flutter under his son’s knee and releases his leg, watching in amusement as he immediately pulls it back to curl up in a little ball as he regains his breath.

Crepus allows him silence as he recovers, and eventually Kaeya gets enough breath back to uncurl and push himself upright again. He eyes his father from this new vantage point before asking.

“What was that for?”

“Ah, I’m afraid I had no other choice,” Crepus tells him solemnly. “It was vitally important that I hear you laugh today, and how else was I to do it? You never laugh at my jokes, after all.”

“Maybe you’re just not good at telling jokes,” Kaeya counters, and then freezes as he realizes his own daring.

Crepus only laughs again, reaching out to stroke displaced strands of blue out of his face. “In that case, it’s a good thing I have you around to practice on. I’ll be sure to improve my material with your valuable feedback.” His heart feels near to bursting at the way Kaeya relaxes and laughs softly again, leaning into the touch.

“I guess so.”

A/N: As with most people, I don’t think Kaeya as an adult and Kaeya as a child were exactly the same. Even putting aside the can of worms that is the whole Khaenri'ahn plant thing, getting adopted by a family in a totally foreign country is a lot for a kid to deal with. I imagine he was a little uncertain about his place at first. Of course, I also headcanon him as a bit of a little shit (but a cute one) so once he felt more settled I’m sure he could get a bit mouthy sometimes too haha.

I also headcanon Kaeya switched off between calling him “Master Crepus” and “Father” but this is set before he tried out “Father” for the first time, he’s working up to it.

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning Into Stone

A/N  Another long drive, another Outlander fanfic idea that dropped into my brain out of nowhere, shoving aside the historical AU I have been wrestling with for months.  Here’s the pitch: Claire Beauchamp is a psychiatrist specializing in grief counselling.  Jamie Fraser is referred to her by his sister, who is worried for his well-being after a series of family tragedies.  You can probably guess the rest, but I’m going to write it anyway.   The title is taken from a song by the amazing Phantogram that was playing as the story idea came to me.

After losing my WIP virginity posting Ginger Snap, I’m going out on that limb again and posting this first chapter with only a rough outline mapped out in my head.  You people are a terrible influence!  Also, there will be some trigger warnings on future chapters, so please watch out for those.   And now, on with our show.

Claire Beauchamp glanced down at the leather-bound calendar open on her desk.  The ivory page for Thursday was packed to the margins, each hourly block filled with the name of a patient followed by a series of cuneiform symbols she used to remind herself of the last session, course of treatment, overall progress, all while maintaining strict confidentiality.  Not even Geillis Duncan, her office administrator and very good friend, knew how to decode the script.

Geillis liked to laugh at the old-fashioned day planner, reminding Claire that their practice utilized software that could perform the same function electronically, but she enjoyed the act of physically logging each session.  The solid heft of her Mont Blanc pen in her hand, a medical school graduation gift from her Uncle Lamb.  The scratch and grab of the nub as it bled black ink over virgin paper.  It was a tactile ceremony in a detached world.  Geillis would nod and then tell her she needed to get laid.

Speak of the devil, a sharp rap on her office door was followed by the appearance of her strawberry blonde head. blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Yer two o’clock is here.  Did ye need more time tae finish bolting down tha’ chaff ye call a salad, or can I show him in?”

“It’s kale,” she defended.  “It’s full of anti-oxidants.”

A disdainful scoff was the only response.

“Yes, Geil, please show Mister...” she glanced down at her planner, “...Fraser in, thank you.”

The tiny rectangle contained only a name, which meant this was their first appointment.  Geillis vetted all prospective patients, but Claire preferred to go into the first meeting blind, with no assumptions or pre-conceptions.  

She wondered what misfortune had caused Mr. Fraser to seek out her psychiatric services.  The death of a child, perhaps, or the end of an extra-marital affair.  People grieved for very different reasons and worked through or around that grief with a surprising variety of coping mechanisms.   Most called upon her practice in much the same way they would a breakdown truck when their car’s engine failed.  They simply wanted to get back on the road to happiness.

Despite the degrees and accreditations that decorated her office wall, Claire wasn’t certain such a thing was possible.  In her experience, grief was a phantom limb that never really went away.  The best one could hope for was to learn healthier ways of living with it.  

The sound of Geillis clearing her throat snapped her back to the present.

“Was there something else, Geil?”

“Och, no’ really.  Just, when yer considerin’ how tae thank me later on, remember tha’ my favourite stone is an emerald, that I prefer gold tae silver, but platinum is ne’er amiss.”

“What are you on about, Duncan?”  But her friend had already disappeared back into the reception area, leaving behind only the glow of her Cheshire smile.  Claire was shaking her head, bemused, when another knock rang out, this one considerably heavier than the first.

“Come in,” she called as she looked up.  And up.  And up some more.

The man who now practically filled her office door had to be at least six foot four, with powerful shoulders and a broad torso encased in a blue henley.  His nearly endless legs were likewise muscular, as testified by the stretch of his jeans across each thigh.  As if his physique wasn’t remarkable enough, he had a head of outrageously wavy red hair, worn long enough to graze the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck, but swept back from a high brow by a judicious use of product.  His face was angular in a pleasingly unique way, with a day or two’s growth of beard counter-balancing an almost youthful, earnest appearance.  But his most striking feature by far were his aquamarine eyes that shimmered like a tropical sea.  Eyes that were currently observing her with perplexity.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” a deep Scottish brogue inquired.  He pronounced it as though she were French.

“Yes,” she startled.  “That’s me.  And it’s pronounced Beecham.  Please, come in Mister Fraser.”  She shuffled a few items around her desk needlessly as she tried to compose herself.  Damn Geillis for not giving her a bit more warning that her newest client was some sort of fitness model.

“Thank ye,” he replied.  “An’ it’s pronounced Jamie, if ye please.”   She added wit to the growing list of the man’s attributes.

If anything, he grew even more impressive as he approached.  She could see he was nervous, although hiding it well.  His striking eyes darted about the room, trying to get a sense of his environment.  She indicated the well-upholstered armchair that sat to one side of her desk.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

With a surprising amount of grace for one so tall, he eased into the chair but didn’t lean back.  The fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh.  She watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak.  This was a trick she had learned when she first started practicing psychiatry, but in this case it also allowed her to continue her appraisal.  He was, she concluded, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

“No couch,” he finally observed.

“No.  That’s a bit of a Hollywood trope, I’m afraid.  Lying prone in front of a stranger is hardly conducive to feeling at ease.”

He nodded his acceptance of her logic, but was otherwise silent.

“So,” she spoke at last, unable to wait him out, “what caused you to seek out counselling, Jamie?”  His name suited him, she thought as she spoke it for the first time.  Both boyish and imposing at once.

“I didna.  Twas my sister, Jenny, who insisted I see a doctor.”  His mobile mouth twisted into a grimace.  She could imagine the sibling discord that such a demand would have caused.  Whoever this Jenny was, she was made of strong stuff.  Unfortunately for her, a hostile patient would receive no benefit from merely visiting her office.  Counselling was a participatory process, and she could tell from the stubborn set of Jamie’s shoulders that he had no intention of participating.

“I see,” she said carefully.  “Well, it’s your time and your dime, Mr. Fraser.  This session lasts for forty-five minutes, and you’ve not been here for five.  There’s a carafe of hot water on the table over there, if you care for some tea.  Or you’re welcome to just enjoy that comfortable chair for another forty minutes.  I’ll be working on some administrative necessities.”

She turned her chair away from him, but from the corner of her eye she could see his gobsmacked expression.  He had clearly expected her to cajole and manipulate him into co-operating, but that simply wasn’t her style.

“I meant no offence, doctor.  I’m certain ye’re verra good at what ye do.  Tis only... well, Jenny is my older sister, ye ken.  She practically raised me.  And so ofttimes she treats me like a muckle-sized bairn, and no’ a man who’s capable of lookin’ after himself.”

As he spoke, Jamie leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, expressive hands gesturing in front of his face.  Hostile to the notion of counselling he might be, but he clearly wanted her to understand it wasn’t a slight.  As a physician, she had been trained to never take a patient’s reactions personally, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the effort.

“No offence taken, Jamie.  If you don’t need my assistance, I’m happy for you.  That’s one less person hurting in the world.”

“I didna say I wasna hurting.  But I can handle it my own way.  I am handling it, that is,” he hurried to add.

Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over to the small table where she kept an assortment of herbal teas and a tray of Geillis’ homemade biscuits.  Bending over, Jamie set about making himself some; chamomile by the smell of it.  The sound of spoon ringing off porcelain as he stirred in some honey made her smile, reminding her of Lamb and his obsession with the lost art of afternoon tea.

“Can I make ye a cup?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it.  The tea was there as a distraction for her patients, to give them something to do with their bodies as they worked through difficult emotions.  None of them had ever thought to offer her a reprieve as well.

“No, thank you.  I just finished lunch.”

He dipped a shortbread into the steaming tea, then ate it in a single bite.  Instead of sitting back down, he began to browse the framed certificates and photographs along the far wall as he sipped his tea.  With his back turned, her eyes dipped to admire his ass, which filled out his jeans perfectly.  When she caught herself, she gave her head a shake, appalled at her lack of professional detachment.  Maybe Geillis was right.  Maybe she really did need to get laid.

“How long have ye been a doctor?” Jamie asked without turning around.

“Ten years,” she replied.  “But I’ve only been a psychiatrist for the last two.”

It was a dangerous topic, and she blamed his ass for letting the words slip out.  Fortunately, his inquisitiveness took him in an entirely different direction.

“Were ye some kind of prodigy, then? Ye hardly seem old enough tae have yer own practice, let alone fer a decade.  If ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he added quickly, as though realizing what he’d just said.

“Not at all.  And you hardly seem young enough to be a, what was it? A muckle-sized bairn?”

As he turned to look her way, she understood the expression ‘shot-gun smile’ for the first time.  It spread across his face like a sunbeam, transforming what was already remarkable into a work of art.  If she hadn’t been sitting, she likely would have stumbled backward from the force of the blow.  Scrambling for something familiar to keep her from making a very grave fool of herself in front of this man, she clasped her clinical training with both hands.

“Are you and your sister close?” 

“Aye, when we’re no’ tryin’ not tae kill the other.  Our Mam died when I was only four, and with Da workin’ dawn til dark on the farm, Jenny was parent, teacher an’ playmate all rolled inta one.”

“You’re not from Edinburgh, then?”  Although what that had to do with his counselling, she hadn’t a clue. 

“Nah, I hail from a wee village in the Highlands ye’ve likely ne’er heard of called Broch Mordha.”  She shook her head to indicate she was indeed unfamiliar with it.  Jamie launched into a detailed description of the place, his hands sculpting the landscape out of thin air.  He obviously cared very deeply for his home, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, having never known that feeling of deep belonging  herself.

“And what brought you to Old Smoky?” she asked as he wound down, her interest piqued.  It was like slamming a lead door on his previously sunny disposition.

“Family obligations.” Said in such a way as to make it clear that no further words would be forthcoming on the topic.  She regretted her nosiness immediately, despite what it revealed about his emotional state.  Jamie was most certainly grieving something, but handling it he was not.

Before she could find a way back to the easy flow of conversation, a chime from her laptop indicated that the session was up.  She couldn’t bear to dismiss him without trying to set things right.

“Listen, Jamie, I understand that you only came here today to humour your sister, but I want you to consider something.  Whether we’re grieving or angry or jealous, or any destabilizing feeling, we’re often the worst surveyors of our own landscape.  Just like you can’t know your place on the sea without referencing the stars, it takes something external to ourselves to measure how far adrift we have become.  Your sister obviously loves you.  Ask yourself, what has she seen in you that prompted her to force you to seek help?”

They parted with cordial but muted goodbyes.  The door closed behind him, leaving Claire to stare at the blank rectangle in her planner that bore his name.  No coded symbols flowed from her pen.  When the door re-opened, it was Geillis, closing it firmly behind her.

“Weel, did I no’ tell ye?  Wee fox, tha’ one.  And he told me he liked my shortbread!”   Geillis said this as though it was some kind of sexual euphemism, which for all Claire knew, it was.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly.  “He’s very nice.”

“Nice!  Nice?  Tha’ man is tae nice what Wagyu is tae beef jerky.  Have ye completely lost yer senses, woman?”  

“Yes, well, he’s a patient, Geillis, as you well know.  And not one I’m likely to see again,” she added, acknowledging out loud what she already knew.

“Oh, no?” Geillis sing-songed.  “Thas’ strange, as he just made an appointment fer the same time next week.”

Claire’s eyes flew to where her friend looked on, smug as could be.

“Yer three o’clock called tae say she was runnin’ five minutes late.  I’ll leave ye tae think about yer... patient.”

Claire picked up her pen, trying to pull together something resembling a professional summary of her first appointment with Jamie.  Her mind replayed their interaction, but all she could remember was the way his eyes crinkled when he was listening attentively, the tidy half-moons of his fingernails, the seam of his jeans as it contoured his thigh, and the cymbal-crash in her chest that accompanied his smile.

Patient, she reminded herself.  Jamie Fraser is your patient. 

[x-infernhoes-x]

Evermore- Maliksi x Reader

Title: Evermore

Genre: : )

Warnings:  Not much but I’ll leave it to you guys lmao. Implied Relationship as well so ye.

Word Count: 1, 690 k +

Description: I don’t know WHY I get ideas for fanfics at ungodly hours of the night like I’m supposed to be on a break here since my neck still hurts from writing that 2k pound of word vomit that is known to be one of my greatest smut piece that eventually earned me the title as ‘The Emissary for Zaddy Cannibal’ WHEEZE and I started writing this at 1:57 am so let’s hope I’d finish this before 4 am. I’m basing some stuff I know about Maliksi from the comics and perhaps the anime as well. I also suggest listening to Evermore from the live-action version of Beauty and the Beast after reading!

PS. I didn’t finish this last night because I got sleepy at 3 am. There’s an AO3 version of this that’s direct to the point if you want something shorter than this one which can be found here! Oh and my grandma suggested that I set the font size to 12 instead of 11! and as always, I finished this at 3:29 am GGWP talaga.

Anyways, enjoy! _______________________________________

If people asked about how the Prince of Tikbalangs was like as a person, most of them would describe him as rowdy, haughty, stubborn at times may even be perceived as a pervert due to his distaste of not wearing any underwear underneath his jeans. Some thought of him as the classical, spoiled rich kid who cared for no one but himself but in reality, he was so much more than what people would perceive him to be. Being a Prince was something, sure he got everything that he wanted regardless of what it was, he would always find a way for it but sometimes it led him to live a rather lonely life that felt like he was nothing more but a slave to live through this illusion of being the perfect prince.

If they took the time to peek through the curtains of his façade, they would see that he just wanted someone to understand and see him for who he is but this also proved to be contradictory for the poor fellow given the fact that every time someone would show him just the right amount of honesty and kindness, he would find out that most of these people were only after him for things such as taming him to become their loyal servant, for his money or even for the sake of his looks. He thought that this curse of his would stay with him for the rest of his Engkanto life but somehow that all seemed to change his rather pessimistic view on life when he had come across someone who would turn his whole life in a different direction.

Maliksi had met (Y/N) (L/N) on one of his father’s many extravagant events where he was forced to sit through it. Of course, while his father was busy chatting away, the prince took this as an opportunity to sneak away which eventually led him towards an unsuspecting person who would change his life forever.

At first, the two of them were like total opposites, always clashing and arguing about something to the point that his father, Senior Armanaz had to interfere with their constant bickering but time seemed to wear both Maliksi and (Y/N)’s dissatisfaction for each other’s presence and instead began to tolerate the other, which eventually led into something more than just friendship among the two.

Maliksi and (Y/N) were completely inseparable, almost attached to the hip to the point that the Prince was rarely seen without them. He would take (Y/N) on trips across the country, sometimes he would take them out on long drives after his races and almost everything in between. People have reported that the two seemed even more in sync especially in battle, covering each other’s backs while bantering about which car model was the best or where they would eat after this whole ordeal like the two of them were playing a mere game of Patintero or even playing a good round of Pogs to see who got the most hits on their opponents and who seemed to be stronger.

But there were precious moments where Maliksi would take them on trips across the country just to escape from the hectic and bustling streets of the city and gave them the taste of what it means to be free and live life in color. He would watch his partner’s joyful and almost curious gaze with a feeling of warmth and care in his chest that would make him smile along with them, the two of them would participate in various festivals such as Flores de Mayo and its ritual pageant, Santa Cruzan, The Masskara Festival in Bacolod down to his personal favorite which happened to be the Moriones Festival that takes place in Marinduque. But out of those trips, the one that he treasures the most was the time Maliksi and his parents had flown out to their home province, Bukidnon to celebrate the Kaamulan Festival where his partner met the rest of the family, of course, this was also the time where he had proposed to (Y/N) after their 3 years of dating, he was glad that they had accepted his proposal.

Who knew things would eventually change from thereon. With the underworld restless and agitated from all the events that have transpired, it seemed to put a strain between Maliksi and his fiancé. To make matters worse between the two, Maliksi began to do races that would conclude in fatal car accidents for both parties. This would result in (Y/N) and Maliksi arguing non-stop every time they meet however these fights never resulted in something physical but it would leave them in tears or the other walking away with a slam of the door. This cycle seemed to break the moment a certain Babaylan-Mangdirigma had beat him at his own game and managed to snap some sense into him as well the moment his beloved ran at him at full force, scolding him right in front of Alexandra Trese before the two left to settle their problems in private.

“Magpakasal na tayo.” Maliksi told (Y/N) the morning after the two of them had reconciled. Of course, this made his fiance cough up their drink, eyes wide and still hacking their lungs out while Maliksi made his way over to them, patting their back gently to ease their pain. Once things were clear, (Y/N) could only look at him, disbelief and surprise evident on their face before they spoke, “Seryoso ka ba?! Paano yung simbahan, yung venue-“ Holding their hands in his own, Maliksi could only give his soon-to-be spouse a grin, placing a chaste kiss upon the back of their hands. “Wag ka nang magalala, babe. I’ve got it covered.” And just like he had said, Maliksi did have it covered, the venue, the church, and everything in between. It was a quick but simple ceremony that had his parents and (Y/N)’s parents present and nobody outside of the clan knew about this union between them. Time seemed to move quickly after that but the two newlyweds felt like it was an eternity for them both.

In a short amount of time the fantasy of church bells and dreaming faded into war cries and chants of ‘Sic Itur Ad Astra’  quickly and we see Maliksi and his spouse come face to face with the greatest foe they’ve ever come across, the war-god of Bukidnon, Talagbusao. With the rest of their forces subdued by the War God and Maliksi trying to recover from the hit he had taken from Talagbusao, the Tikbalang prince seemed to take notice that his spouse was nowhere in sight and panic seemed to take a hold on him like a choke-hold. Standing up, he began to look for them, ruby-red eyes rapidly scanning the area, furiously looking for his beloved, silently praying to Bathala that they were okay or let alone still be alive.

His prayers seemed to be answered when he saw them, still kicking and fighting and running to where Talagbusao was and he immediately knew something was wrong. “(Y/N)!! ANONG GINAGAWA MO!?” Maliksi yelled out through the sound of roaring bullets, trying his best to reach over to where their lover was.  “Alexandra, ngayon na!” Maliksi heard (Y/N)’s commanding voice ring out as she caught the Babylan-Mandirigma’s knife, Sinag throwing it to her while they subdued Talagbusao to the best of their abilities, eyes locked with their husband as they mouthed at him, ‘Patawarin mo ako, Maliksi.’ And as quick as a flash, Alexandra, Talagbusao, and (Y/N) disappeared into the Dragon’s Gate. Maliksi was left to watch his spouse in paralyzed horror and shock disappear right before his eyes, chest clenching in panic as the impact of the closing portal sent everyone nearby it flying backward.

_____________________

A month has then passed after that event and we see Maliksi within the Trese household as he would always do, always waiting, hoping, and praying that his (Y/N) would return to him safe and unharmed. This day was different than the other days he would spend at the household because this day was the day that Alexandra Trese had returned as announced by a pale-looking and wide-eyed Hank. The tikbalang prince was the first to head where Alexandra---who was now swarmed by her older brothers and the kambal, his eyes still searching for his spouse, his expression of hope immediately diminished as he spoke, his voice slowly trembling with each step he took, “Nasaan si (Y/N), Alexandra?”  at the mention of his spouse’s name, Alexandra then refused to meet his eyes as the rest of the Trese siblings along with the Kambal clearing a path for him, all watching him with disconsolate looks and glistening eyes as Alexandra held onto Sinag as tightly as she could, trying her best to find the right words to say to him.

“Wala na si, (Y/N), Maliksi. She’s gone.”

_________________________

“There is a story, of a man who had lost his beloved in a war, some say he still waits for their return, others say that the day his beloved had disappeared, he had soon followed.” 

“They say that this man could be found standing by the tall windows of Tower A [1] located in Ayala Avenue. Urban myths suggest that this man is a ghost bound to the building, others say that he’s the reason why that Tower still exists.” Now in his prime, Maliksi sat in the place where his father used to sit. It had been years since he had taken over the clan and years since his beloved, (Y/N) was taken away from him at such an early age. Beside him was an empty throne reserved for them once they return. No matter how many years it would take him, Maliksi Armanaz, former prince and now leader of the Armanaz clan, would still wait for his beloved, (Y/N) to return to him until the end of his days. He would wait for them for evermore.   

[perpetual-stories]

Inspirational Advise You Need To Hear: Writing Edition

This is going to be an inspirational post. I’ll be writing down advise that you didn’t know you needed to hear or you heard before but need to be reminded. This is advise I wish someone would have told me sooner, but of course it’s never to late to implement it and follow them.

1. It is never to late to start writing

I started writing when I was in elementary. The moment I had properly mastered reading I began to write. I had the pleasure to fall in love with a good book when I was three years old. Granted, I could not read what was in my hand, but the amount of care and respect I had for a book was beyond my understanding as a toddler. I just knew that a book was something I should care for and respect.

Don’t feel pressured or intimidated by the fact I started writing in elementary school, that’s not the point of what I am intending to do. I started young, but I could have well started in middle school, high school, or even this year. It’s never to late to start writing! Grab a pen or pencil and begin writing down your first idea! Many successful people start working towards their dream a little later in their lives, but they go for it! Don’t let age ever stop you from doing something.

2. No Idea is a Bad Idea

If you have an idea for a short story, or a novel go for it! Don’t think it’s a bad idea, or that no one will ever read it. Don’t shut yourself down before you even had a chance to write it down. A small idea can become the greatest thing for you. J.K Rowling had the idea for Harry Potter written on a napkin, and she kept at it; it eventually became one of the biggest franchises in the world. You can become the next big thing, but all you gotta do is write down that idea you think isn’t good. You could surprise yourself.

I’m going to be honest here and now. It’s hard to come by an original idea. It is, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try and write down your story. All the greatest things that ever happen are all inspired or based off of something else. If you’re story is inspired by another story or its similar to another one, write it down! Don’t ever think your story is not worth bringing it to life.

3. Write Whatever you Want

It’s your story, you can write it however you want. There are no write or wrong ways or writing a story, you just write. If you want to write a sequel or prequel to Víctor Hugo’s Les Miserables, go for it! No one is stopping you. If you want to reimagine Twilight but through Jacob’s perspective go ahead (of course you need to acquire the rights of the story and characters), but as a fanfic go right ahead! If all you want to do is write fan fictions about your celebrity crush then go for it! Don’t ever be embarrassed or writing what you want to write.

Hell, I am a 23 year old woman in a loving relationships and I still think about writing Yami Yugi fan fiction where I am the main love interest, or fan fiction about Tom Holland. I am not embarrassed, or ashamed that I think about writing that. It’s what I am interested and what I like.

Write about what you like, and what you love. Again, never let age or insecurities stop you from that.

4. Read, Read, Read, Watch, Watch, Watch

Don’t ever let someone tell you, “All you do is read, you’re so lame.” Or, “All you do is watch movies and tv shows, don’t you ever go outside?” Don’t EVER let anyone knock you down for those. What people don’t know is that as writers we have to read and watch tv shows to get understanding of how characters, writing, and worlds are created.

Books, tv shows and movies are different when it comes to writing style but it’s still writing nonetheless.

Books help us with understanding writing structures, grammar and character development (to name a few). Tv shows and movies also help with that, but also help the writers get a visual of characters and story line.

I personally enjoy reading and love watching plays. Playwrights often have the best characters because they create them very realistically. Playwrights are the best actors, and actors are the best playwrights. They go hand in hand. If I want to study characters and their development, I read a good play or watch a good play. Plays are very important, in understanding characters. I definitely recommend reading plays to get an understanding of human nature. If you need a list of play recommendations feel free to ask me :)

Great books, and shows, and movies have one thing in common - great writing. So don’t ever feel like you’re not doing anything or doing much by spending time doing one of the aforementioned. We are all great writers and we write at our own pace.

5. “Comparison is the thief of joy.” —Theodore Roosevelt

Don’t ever compare yourself to anyone else. I know it’s hard not to, but don’t. You make yourself feel bad. Everyone and anyone can be a great writer. It takes time and practice. Don’t think your writing will never be published, don’t ever think you don’t have the skills to finish a book.

All the great writers must have felt what we all feel. But they didn’t let that stop them. They wouldn’t have published their first book is they told themselves they would never be as great or successful as the writers before them. They wouldn’t have created the sequels to your favourite series if all they did was compare themselves to others.

Shakespeare didn’t get to where he was or be who he was if all he did was compare his writings to Aristotle. No, because he followed his passion he is known all over the world as a great playwright. Stephen King wouldn’t have written the greatest thrillers and horror stories if he compared himself to Edgar Allen Poe, and told himself he couldn’t do it. No, Stephen King made a name for himself and does horror just as did as Mr. Poe.

“Comparison is the thief of joy.” Don’t ever let anyone take what makes you happy away from you.

6. Ask for Help

It’s hard to do things on your own, but it’s not impossible.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help. Having a close group of friends or family who support you is the best thing you can have when creating a whole new world with characters, traditions, religions, etc.

If you’re writing a story about a Muslim community reach out! Ask the Muslim community or someone you know. If you don’t know anyone reach out online! Thanks to the Internet it’s very fast to acquire all kinds of information. Don’t write about what you think you know about something without being 100% certain of it, you don’t want to offend an entire community about anything or everything.

I am also here to help! If you’re too shy to reach out to someone for advise regarding writing, or need someone to proofread your work. I’m here for you! :)

There you have it folks! Inspirational advice you may or may not have needed :). I hope you all read these and few motivation begin to boil Inside you :)

If you found my advice inspirational and know other people should read it, please feel share to share, repost, or comment, or do whatever you have to do to help others hear this advice :)

[obeymefictionwriting]

Brothers on St Valentine’s Day [Part 1]

I know I am super late to that but St Valentine’s is something I HAVE to write about! A fanfic coming soon but for now, enjoy my hc!

Lucifer

Been so busy with all his work that he FORGOT. Now he hates himself for that.

Tries his best to make a proper plan. 

No, really: he does make a plan for the evening. 

At first, wanted to check the Akuzon catalogue but decided you are too unique for this mass market.

Dials the restaurant number to book a table while going through the list of the best antique stores in the Devildom.

Is stressed but does his best to keep things under control.

Makes sure to call you in advance and asks you to meet him at a certain time in the hall.

Somehow manages to book a table, get you a present, carefully wrap it, choose an outfit for the evening, and finish all his tasks.

HE. FORGOT. ABOUT. FLOWERS.

*Internal screaming*

Sees your glowing eyes and smiles. Maybe he doesn’t need to go over the top because you seem really happy.

Mammon

Has absolutely zero idea about the holiday unless overhears someone talking about it.

OH NO.

OHNOWHATISHEGOINGTODO????

Plus, he is completely broke. Like, totally.

Sinks into depression for a few minutes.

Comes up with a 100% DIY plan. The plan features his signature noodles and a romantic movie. All that in his room, of course.

Remembers about the mess in his room and decides to switch to your room instead.

Plus maybe he can also talk you into letting him in for the whole night.

Nah, he HAS to get you something. You are just too good for noodles only.

When in your room, noodles steaming and a movie starting, suddenly gets a small box from his pocket.

“It’s nothing, really. Ugh just take it and shuddup.”

The ring is gorgeous and Mammon is incredibly red from blushing.

You were worth the effort, after all.

Leviathan

Of course, he knew about the holiday! He read enough manga to know about such things!

Wait, what? Are you really his Valentine? LIKE FOR REAL?

Oh snap now he gotta act. Think, Levi, think!

How can an otaku possibly know anything about romance??

No wait, he can bake you a cute dessert!

Also, he can set up lightning in his room and there was this really romantic anime soundtrack...

Also, there is this game just for two and maybe a winner can get a kiss?

TOO. MUCH. OF. FANTASY

/nosebleed

Doesn’t mind when you unexpectedly show up with snacks, kiss him on a cheek and wish him a happy Valentine’s Day. After all, it’s not about the attributes but about a person, right?

Satan

Knows not only about a holiday but about its history and traditions across the globe.

Also knows he doesn’t want to go for the common stuff.

Decides to take you out to the park to do stargazing and enjoy some light snacks with a bottle of rose.

Ties your eyes with velvet bandage and chuckles while you are being impatient and asking too many questions.

This man is smooth.

Doesn’t worry if there is anyone in the area. He took good care of it beforehand.

Smiles while watching you gasp and awe.

He is incredibly pleased you liked his idea and he loves seeing you enjoying yourself.

Does not rush the kissing part but does his best to eventually get it.

Of course he gets it!

[tonystarkhasaheart]

You Know Who I am

Tony Stark X Reader

Word Count: 2,741

Summary: Y/N a stripper who has a day job at Stark Industries and her boss pays her a pretty generous visit

Author's Note: Even though this is my first fanfic it will have 4 parts, hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Part 2 is on it's way soon.

I look up at myself in the mirror, eyes heavy from the weight of my lashes, dark, smokey.. yet sensual. Lips plump and red, a deep red nothing too bright.

I take a moment to glance at the room around me, girls in and out the velvet curtain, changing clothes, spraying perfume and adding last-minute glitter. I look at my phone to check the time 12:46am.

“Hot date tonight?” I hear from my left, I don’t need to turn to see who it is, most of the girls here don’t talk to me, except for Siren. Not her real name of course, but I guess when you have a real-life outside of this you don’t want anyone to know it. I don’t blame her.

I set my phone down and look at her with a gentle smile and turn to the bag I keep under my station between rounds, pulling out my book to read. I can feel Siren’s breathe over my shoulder. “Just some light reading?” She asks.

I laugh lightly “The lightest I’ve read in a while actually.” I smile to myself as I run my fingers over the title on the cover of Quantum Physics and Theories of the Mind.

“Don’t want to spoil it for you” she said scooting back a bit with her hands up feigning surrender.

I smile again, I forgot I actually like her sense of humor “It’s okay,” I look up from the cover, “I already know the ending.”

Before any more words can be exchanged, I hear my stage name being called by the house mom. “Bambi, you’re up sweets!”

“Thank you, Cassandra!” I place my book back in its place and grab my money bag turning to Siren one last time, “Why don’t we ever hang out, outside of here?”

“Because you’re too busy being a smart ass in the real world,” Siren says with a smile.

I wink at her before walking through the velvet curtains where it is almost pitch black, except for the neon lights circulating the room and spotlights on the main stage. I scan the crowd as I listen to my heels click on my way up to the DJ booth. A number of regulars and just as many new faces but the back of one man’s head stood out. I couldn’t quite place it at the quick glance that I got, but he was sitting front and center so it wouldn’t be long before I figured it out.

A dancer by the name of Scarlett was finishing up and I gave the DJ my song. He looked and me and shook his head laughing “You never fail to surprise me” I smile and look back at the stage to see Scarlett doing her best and receiving money from plenty of customers, but she was focused on one, and he looked like he couldn’t care less. Front and center with a profile that could kill, elbow on the arm of his seat with his head in his hand and his sunglasses pointlessly resting on the bridge of his nose. And then it hit me, not only was he like the richest man alive; he was also, indirectly speaking, my boss. Tony Stark.

I had only briefly met him once after my orientation at Stark Industries, so I wasn’t worried about being recognized. It was the fact that he was the man I wanted to wake up to every morning to study his brilliant brain. Now that, that did the trick. I felt heat spread through my body starting at my core and working its way to my neck. I rubbed the back of my neck as I shook off the nerves. I got this, just another customer, just one with a lot more money than most.

As the music faded from Scarlett’s song, I watched her pick up her money and try and shove it in her bag. The DJ started talking to the crowd and hyping up Scarlett as she walked around collecting some final tips. She got on her knees in front of Mr. Stark and leaned in real close. Without a single change in his demeanor, he pulled a single bill from the inside of his suit jacket and handed it to her between his middle and index finger, as if he was trying to shoo her away. But even I could see it was a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. She looked at the bill offended and snatched it from his fingers before finishing her way around the stage. Once she was done, she passed me with a huff, practically cussing the billionaire out as she exited the stage to the back with her bag overflowing with money from the other customers. Something about being a ‘cheap micropenis douche who wouldn’t be able to appreciate a good dance if it hit him in the face. I shook my head pushing the waves of my hair over my shoulder as the DJ started to introduce me.

“If you thought Scarlett was good let the bar know and you might be able to get a private dance before she leaves tonight. But you might not want to leave just yet because next, we have our very best. A woman who can turn any type of music into your new favorite song. Here to prove it once again, the seductress herself, Bambi!”

I laugh to myself at the length of his introduction, but it’s true I like a challenge and today I picked a song that I normally wouldn’t have. “Back in Black” by AC/DC started playing and I couldn’t help but notice a certain man in the front’s ears begin to perk up at the first couple of notes. Maybe it was my eyes playing tricks on me but I swear I even saw him sit up a little straighter.

I took confident, sexy strides towards the front of the stage and swayed my hips in a circle once I got in front of the pole. I held it as I circled it scanning the crowd. I dropped my hips and rose sensual making my ass bounce to the beat before turning my back to the pole and rolling my hips. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mr. Stark lean forward in his chair hands clasped, elbows on his knees. He was invested and I wanted to give him a show.

I started to climb the pole and as I did, he slid his sunglasses off his face, looking directly into my eyes, staring deep into my soul with the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. But I knew tonight I wouldn’t get to see the pain or trauma he’s overcome through his eyes because tonight, they were filled with lust.

Lust, passion..Possession.

As I slid down the pole his eyes never left my body. I gracefully landed on the floor and crawled to the edge of the stage. I turned to lay on my back letting the waves of my hair cascade off the edge, I arched my back looking straight at him. In a swift motion, almost a blur, my view was clouded by the storm of papers falling from the sky. Now standing directly over me with his hands firmly pressed against the stage on either side of my face. As lay there on my back I realized what just happened. I just made a billionaire rain hundreds upon my body and his face hovering over mine, was him making his claim on me for the night.

I sensually brought myself back to my knees slightly rolling in the thick layer of money that covered the stage. I twirled my ass in a way I know would make anyone weak and I didn’t have to look back to know he was all in. Crawling my way back to the pole using it to stabilize myself as I try to stand, simultaneously trying not to trip on the stage that I couldn’t see anymore. Now this wasn’t my first time getting rained on at the club, however when I looked down, the most notable difference between now and any other time it’s happened was that it was normally a slew of ones, maybe some fives, occasionally a couple stray twenties. But this... was all hundreds. Strictly Benjamin’s scattered across the whole stage to the point you couldn’t see anyone else’s money that was thrown during my set. I’m definitely going to need a bigger money bag.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

Three trash bags, four security guards and five songs later, I just about collected all the money Mr. Stark threw for me. Now usually, we don’t get help picking up our money, unless it’s a VIP room shared by three or more dancers. However, because of the sheer amount of money and the fact that I was the club’s best dancer, they played favorites tonight. Not to mention girls from the back started to pick up bills that had overflowed from the stage onto the floor. Even some of the customers started pocketing some of the cash and honestly, could you blame them?

I immediately gave the bags of money to our house mom so she could cash me out for the night, but as I handed her my bags she told me I had a VIP room and she would put the bags in her safe until I was done. My heart sped up a bit as I hoped it was the very generous billionaire, but what are the odds that he would get a VIP room with me right after throwing a million dollars at me, literally. Technically I could’ve turned it down, I mean I definitely made more than enough money tonight, but part of me wanted to see who it was.

I touched up my makeup, ran a brush through my hair and freshened up a bit before changing my heels to a more comfortable black pair. As I walked through the curtains to the main floor, I could see Siren on stage dancing to “Body Party” by Ciara. I took note that the front row seat was occupied by another man. My heartbeat quickened as I turned towards the VIP rooms down the hall.

The closer I got I could hear the voice I dreamed of waking up next to. I took a deep breath primped my hair and opened the door to the room. His back was turned to me as he talked into his phone. He seemed unamused and inconvenienced. I took the moment to admire his figure as he hung up, not noticing my presence yet. He ran his hand over his face and through his hair, oh how I’d love to lace my fingers through those tresses, before throwing his phone at the coach.

“I heard you were looking for a private dance,” I say as I entering the room further making my presence known.

Unfazed by this discovery, he turned around with that signature smirk. All doubt and suspicions placed aside I was standing in front of the Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist himself, Tony Stark.

“And I heard you were the best,” taking a step closer to me.

“Depends on who you ask,” mimicking his actions.

“I trust my sources,” he said looking me up and down “, they’ve never failed me before.”

“Once or twice is not never,” I scoffed remembering the time my team had to cover a minuscule mistake in one of the details for a new clean air prototype we were working on that could have cost the company millions because one of his “sources” said it looked good enough.

“What are you-” I cut him off, closing the distance between us and reach for his tie to play with between my fingers. The way the fabric felt between my fingers let me know it was no clip-on, job interview tie. It was probably custom-made and imported from France or something ridiculous like that.

“So are we going stand here and banter or did you want that dance. Or was that an excuse to get me alone?”

“You better watch yourself, princess”

“Oh,” I tilted my head to the side challenging his very existence “, or what?”

“You know who I am.”

“Hmm, so maybe I do, but we have rules here,” I push him back on the couch “, Sir.” I smirk before climbing on him and straddling his lap placing my hands on his chest on either side of his arc reactor. I feel him tense slightly as I touched his chest, maybe an insecurity. I scanned his eyes, easily reading everything that fed into my suspicions. He looked as if I would turn and run in fear that he was some sort of monster, at any second just because it was there. I bring one of my hands to his cheek and stroked it in reassurance, silently letting him know I wasn’t going anywhere and not just because he was paying me to be here. He let go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding and regained his cockiness. All traces of the vulnerable moment we shared gone as I slid my hand down his neck to rest on his shoulder.

“So, it looks like I’m getting my dance after all,” he said running his hands up my thighs and resting them on my hips.

I started to roll my hips in circles, biting my lip so I wouldn’t enjoy the touch of his hands on my bare skin too much, “It would appear so.”

“What does a girl like you know about AC/DC?”

“I’m offended Mr. Stark, a girl like me?” I grabbed the hair at the base of his neck pulling lightly, tilting his head back. He groaned as I rolled my hips harder for emphasis.

“That’s not what I—fuck.”

I smiled as he squeezed his eyes shut, admiring the twisted expression his face held. I took the hand that was resting on his chest up his neck to his face running my fingers over his lips, they parted instinctively, before cupping his cheek and leaning in close to his ear whispering, “Mr. Stark I’m afraid you know nothing about me and the type of girl I am.”

His hands slid further up my waist gripping me tightly. At least I’d have a couple bruises to remember him by. He opened his eyes and for the split second I saw them, they were pitch black. He growled slightly pulling me into the most animalistic, passionate kiss I have ever shared with anyone. Quick to reciprocate, I wrapped both my arms around his neck, lacing my fingers in his hair, desperately trying to grasp on to any bit of sanity I had left. He bit my lip asking me for the permission that I granted him oh so quickly and without hesitation. He moved swiftly and his presence was so strong I was intoxicated by his scent, he was everywhere and nowhere at once, flooding my senses with everything that was him. I pulled away reluctantly needing to catch my breath. It came out in gasps, but he didn’t miss a beat sliding down to my neck feverishly, desperate to have my flesh between his lips.

“Mr. Stark,” I moaned.

“Call me Tony,” he said.

“I-I can’t,” I gasped, fighting another moan.

“Why not, princess?” barely letting his lips leave my neck even for a second, not seeming fazed by my answer. I could feel the smile on his lips, I couldn’t give in.

“I just, I can’t tell you.” Whatever spell he had me under was about to have me sleep with my boss without him even knowing he was my boss. Not that it wouldn’t be consensual but I still wouldn’t want to raise any problems at work.

He hummed against my neck and licked from the base of my throat to my ear then peppered kisses back to my lips before saying, “You’re trying to hide something from me, but I’ll figure it out.” He started to stand and I slid off of his lap still in his tight embrace. He leaned down kissing the corner of my mouth and whispered in my ear, “You know who I am,” and with that, he straightened his jacket grabbed his phone and left the room.

There I stood lipstick smudged, high off the intoxicating drug that was Anthony Edward Stark.

[aeonghaseyo]

Your Trace, My Treasure

Summary: Marc and Nathaniel write and draw, respectively, on each others' notebooks because it's DEFINITELY a couple thing to do.

Word Count: 2105 AO3 link

Relationship/s: Nathaniel Kurtzberg/Marc Anciel Category: M/M Characters: Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel, Alix Kubdel (mentioned), Marinette Dupain-Cheng (mentioned), Juleka Couffaine (mentioned), Rose Lavillant (mentioned), Alya Cesaire (mentioned) Language used: English Author's Note: The creators of MLB really need to give the side characters screen time. The love square isn't the only romantic set of ships in the show and there are much more cute ships to write about. And so in my first time of writing a Miraculous Ladybug fanfic, it's about a ship that's entirely not part of the love square. This is my final workshop output from a creative writing class I enrolled in during the summer to get units in advance. Special thanks to my professor and two of my classmates for their feedback; I couldn't have made this work even more wonderful without their help. For the non-love-square ship and this being a successful workshop output thus far, I think I'm gonna give myself a pat on the back and more fanfic ideas to write. :)

Compared to the courtyard at Françoise Dupont High School where the lively chattering of students can be heard and the scrambling of footsteps were a staple, the art room was its own entire world of silence.

It was supposed to be a calming silence in that same art room where Marc and Nathaniel were to work on art-related endeavors of their own, but the former found this unwelcoming and rather deafening. It weighed down on his being that the atmosphere was unbearably awkward, much like he was most of the time even before he met Nathaniel and became his partner in creating comic books about Ladybug, Chat Noir, and their akumatized alter-egos who turned good and served as part of the superhero duo’s akuma-fighting team. Despite a remarkable development from being acquaintances, to newfound partners, and now to a bloomed romantic couple, Marc Anciel, as awkward as ever and still testing the waters on this newfound relationship, couldn’t shake this nagging feeling of inadequacy as someone’s significant other.

It just goes to show him that even though his romantic feelings for Nathaniel had been reciprocated at Day 0, it does not remove the remaining unease that Marc currently feels at Day 1. It was his first time in a relationship, and it was with the boy whose drawings he admired so much from the school paper. Simply put, it was too good to be true.

Unfortunately, the awkwardness Marc felt wasn’t masked enough, and Nathaniel immediately noticed from his place by the table beside his raven-haired beau. How could he not? It was very obvious, from the way Marc’s hand shakily distorted his usually refined, elegant script while writing the next chapter of their comic to the way his expression was contorted as if he was constipated. Nathaniel thought to himself that it was still an adorable sight, but clearly, something was up, and it wouldn’t do well to just ignore whatever troubled his beloved partner. Attempting to break the ice, the redhead cleared his throat, then spoke to call Marc’s attention.

“Marc.”

The novelist jolted in surprise at the utterance of his name. “Y-yes, Nathaniel?”

Leaning in for a better view of the page Marc was writing on, Nathaniel replied, “Your handwriting’s different.”

“W-wait, really?” blurted out Marc, quickly covering the page with his gloved hand. “I d-didn’t know you were p-particular with handwriting.”

Nathaniel placed a gentle, caring hand on his boyfriend’s with a smile aimed directly at him as he clarified himself, “It’s not that, Marc. I’ve seen it and it’s great. Right now, it just looks… wobbly. You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

Even if Nathaniel was a recluse in his own class, he could very well read into the emotions of people, but he doesn’t show it that often. As endearing as it was as a show of concern towards shy Marc, it was also overwhelming for the raven-haired novelist to have been the subject of such deep perception, even from the boy his heart palpitates for.

It was then that Marc’s fight or flight response reminded him in a split-second that he needed some sort of diversion for Nathaniel not to remind him of his own awkwardness.

“Isn’t it weird that our art teacher didn’t come here?” Marc rapidly questioned as he struggled not to look at the red-haired boy beside him. Despite this attempt to keep Nathaniel’s focus off of his disposition, glancing towards the door and not at Nathaniel did not help stop the blood from rushing to the novelist’s fair cheeks. His partner might be tired of this, of him, already, but that light chuckle of pure amusement coming from Nathaniel disproved that thought.

“Hey, hey, settle down Marc,” chided Nathaniel, “he might be running late. It’s okay for us to use the art room so long as it’s reserved around this time. Good thing that he reserved it at an earlier time than usual.”

With innocent green eyes, the raven-haired boy looked his boyfriend in the eye and asked, “H-he can do that?”

“Of course, he can. Let’s just wait for him, okay?” reassured Nathaniel, his left hand making its way on Marc’s right shoulder discreetly. “I’m sure my other classmates will arrive here shortly too.”

A shy smile emerged from Marc’s face as he replied, “Okay, Nath.”

Suddenly, a ringtone from the phone which was in Nathaniel’s pocket sounded audibly enough to catch both the boys’ attention. The redhead immediately fished out the device from his pocket and unlocked it, revealing three unread text messages from his close friend Alix.

Hey Nath! Something came up and I couldn’t swing by the art room. Love troubles again with Marinette. Juleka and Rose are also helping out with me so they can’t come.

I can’t believe that Marinette got invited personally by Adrien to his photoshoot but she can’t even give him her handmade gift or ask him out. Because she’s such a wuss, I got dragged here in the park by Rose because Mari needs all of her girl friends to push her towards Golden Boy Agreste YET AGAIN.

And apparently Alya alone couldn’t do it. Sorry! You’ll have Marc to keep you company anyway. Have fun! ;)

So much for those girls coming over to the art room. Nathaniel let out a sigh as he muttered, just enough for Marc to hear, “I stand corrected. The others aren’t coming.”

Catching on his partner’s crest-fallen demeanor and gazing at his face with sympathetic green orbs, Marc replied, “Guess it’s just the two of us for now.”

The next minutes were spent in silence again, with Marc continuing to finish a paragraph while Nathaniel sketched a bird’s eye view of the Eiffel tower as the background in one panel of the comic storyboard in his notebook. After several minutes elapsed, however, curiosity got the best of Marc, and so, with the tip of his pen lingering on the period of his last sentence, he kept on glancing at Nathaniel and the storyboarding he was working on. Besides the sheer focus that was evident in Nathaniel’s turquoise orbs, the shy novelist couldn’t help but notice the fine, steady strokes his beau’s hand were making with his fine-pointed mechanical pencil. So neat, so pristine. It’s amazing how he didn’t need an eraser to erase certain portions of his drawings over and over.

Marc had seen artist sketches himself of both people and objects, mostly done by his friend Marinette. As someone aspiring to become a fashion designer, she would be engrossed in sketching designs day by day, passion ignited by the sparks of inspiration she draws from around her. However, since Marinette’s sketches had obvious hints of disorder, as it normally is with crude artist sketches, it clearly contrasted with the otherwise structured sketches Nathaniel makes for his comic books. Marc, fully in awe, couldn’t help but take a break from his writing and stare at the red-haired illustrator’s creative process right next to him.

Meanwhile, Nathaniel, thanks to the strong, overbearing feeling of being watched, was getting overly conscious of his work. Keeping his composure to the best of his ability, he quickly turned to Marc and asked, “Do you need something Marc?”

Snapped out of his trance wide-eyed, Marc inwardly panicked. ‘Oh no, I must be staring at him too long! I hope I didn’t spook him too much.’

Scrambling for a sensible response, the novelist stuttered out, “I-i want to write something in your notebook.”

Setting down his pencil while his turquoise eyes were still on Marc, Nathaniel blinked inquisitively. “Oh, why would you want to do that?”

“B-because,” the shy writer reasoned, “I want to write something to remind you of me. T-that is, if y-you don’t mind.”

The red-haired teen averted his gaze from his partner as he remarked, “You know I don’t let anyone write on my notebook, Marc.”

This response triggered the disappointment that Marc had anticipated from the moment that they started continuing to develop the rest of the comic book they were working on together. It was even more daunting for the timid writer that their art teacher and the rest of Nathaniel’s classmates who were usually in the art room with them did not show up at that moment, or even at all. Marinette would tell Nathaniel that it’s a great idea for his newfound love to leave special traces on his personal notebook while Rose, somehow finding this romantic, would gush at this gesture with Juleka mumbling to herself in response. But what would have been the cherry on top for Marc at the moment is that if Alix was there to egg on Nathaniel, pressuring him to give in and let his boyfriend write something in his notebook. At least the comic relief from Alix’s teasing would help alleviate the collective awkwardness the couple felt at that moment. God, if only it wasn’t just the two of them in the art room at that moment.

But alas, he was alone, helpless and daunted, and he was facing the dragon which was Nathaniel, or whatever Nathaniel thought of him at that moment.

However, all of the fears and doubts that plagued Marc left him when Nathaniel continued with a small, endearing smile on his face, “But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

The novelist beamed at his boyfriend, green eyes sparkling with delight. “R-really?”

“In one condition.”

Marc took and held in a quick breath. “Anything, Nath.”

The illustrator picked up his pencil once again and uttered, with an outstretched hand right by Marc’s notebook, “Let me draw in your notebook.”

It was at that moment when Marc could feel his heart flutter, accompanied by the butterflies in his stomach as he opened his own notebook to the very last page and laid it out right by his beau’s workspace.

“It would be my pleasure.”

In a span of 2 minutes while Nathaniel was drawing on the last page of his boyfriend’s notebook, Marc, fidgeting and tapping his pen softly on his chin, racked his brain for a simple yet memorable piece to write on the first page of the illustrator’s notebook, which was left empty out of personal preference by its owner. Hoping to obtain bit by bit of inspiration, he glanced at Nathaniel, then at the empty page, then at Nathaniel, and so on and so forth. This went on, albeit unnoticed by the redhead, until mere seconds after, he scribbled away on the page once he had gotten attuned with his creative writing flow.

After both of them finished leaving their traces on each other’s notebook pages, Nathaniel and Marc gave each other back their notebooks and instantly opened them to where they each left their special mark. Struck with awe, the novelist softly traced the outline of the drawing and his emerald eyes were drawn to Nathaniel’s signature which he left underneath the recently drawn portrait. A tinge of pink formed on Marc’s cheeks as he admired every stroke that constituted this drawing of him done by none other than the boy he once looked up to, now loved, and who loved him back.

“No one’s written me a poem before,” Nathaniel uttered as he perused every line written by Marc on that now extra special page in his notebook, eyes taking in every word written in that distinct elegant script that served as an epitome of beauty that the redhead beheld. One particular line at the end of the writing, however, caught him by surprise: the words ‘Je t’aime’ accompanied by Marc’s signature in that same fancy handwriting the illustrator adored dearly.

Having regained his composure, Marc turned to Nathaniel and asked, “Do you like the poem? I-i thought of it on the spot so it might not exactly be to your liking, but-”

“I love it,” interrupted the red-haired teen breathlessly, wrapping an arm around his significant other and squeezing his shoulder. “Really Marc, you make the most wonderful written pieces.”

An expression as bright as day graced Marc’s features as he replied, albeit with a bit of shyness in his voice, “Y-you really think so?”

Nathaniel threw any single hint of hesitation in his being out the window as he placed a tender, loving kiss on Marc’s forehead. “I do. We’re meant to be partnered together, after all.”

And just like that, the uncomfortable awkwardness that haunted Marc was instantly warded off, and in a flash, he enveloped Nathaniel in a tight, warm, loving embrace and leaned into him in newfound solace. The silence in the art room has never been this comforting as the couple relished in this seemingly endless embrace together.

[fanficflaneuse]

Let Me See It

A/N: So this is my very first Harry Potter imagine ever (it is, in fact, my very first fanfic ever). I’ve got a few things to say before we start. First, if anyone read the very long rant I wrote the other day (my first Tumblr post ever lol), I haven’t read all the books yet and I haven’t watched all the movies either. I’m currently on the third book. Why would I write a sixth year Draco imagine when I have virtually no canon idea about it? Well, my friends, I’ve read a lot of fanfiction and imagines about it so I kind of have all the main plot points and I wanted to give it a go. It’s absolutely self indulgent. Hopefully once I’ve finished all of the books my writing gets better. Also, English is not my first language, so if you find any mistakes, please tell me and I’ll correct it :) I hope it’s not too bad and I really hope you like it. 

Details: 

Draco Malfoy x Reader (She/her pronouns...If this goes right I’ll try my best to write gender neutral as well). 

Word count: 1529 

Summary: The reader is Harry’s friend and in a secret sort of relationship with Draco. She is the one who’s hit by the sectumsempra spell and wakes up in the hospital wing to an angsty/fluffy situation. 

Warnings: my terrible writing, some angst, some fluff, perhaps a lot of wordiness, sectumsempra, soft Draco. 

When (Y/N) woke up, she felt as though she had been drowning and could finally take a breath. Her whole body ached and her chest felt tender in the worst of ways, open even. Engrossed in the sensations, she didn’t pay much attention to her surroundings at first. Then she felt the raspy fabric of the infirmary’s bed and it all came back to her. The commotion in the bathroom, spells casted and dodged, the water gushing from the broken sinks, Moaning Myrtle’s shrieks…even remembering it gave her a headache. 

When Harry had rushed to the girl’s bathroom, (Y/N) had been quick to follow him. When she got there, her best friend was already casting spells towards the boy she fancied. Draco seemed distraught. He was dishevelled and unkempt. He had grown thin and he was so pale that the bags under his eyes stood out. Shaking as he held his wand, he looked as though he was in the midst of a panic attack.

(Y/N) had noticed all of this, of course. Whenever they met he’d brush it off by telling her he was going through something rough. She had an idea of what it might have been, she had discussed it countless times with Harry (Ron and Hermione would usually dismiss them when they brought the topic up). So, when they had their secret rendezvous in the Astronomy Tower, she’d hold him as he cried. They’d talk about dreams and interests. They’d imagine different futures together. Sometimes they’d snog. Shyly or passionately, it’d feel wonderful until he’d tell her how it was dangerous for her, how he carried baggage she didn’t deserve. They weren’t a couple, but they certainly were past the “friends” category.

Seeing him standing there, standing helplessly against a sink, (Y/N) felt her heart shatter. She had to do something. Fast.

Draco wasn’t even thinking at the moment, casting spells left and right and making sure none of Potter’s hit him. Conjuring the first thing that came to mind, he was about to cast an unforgivable when he saw her, his beautiful (Y/N), standing wide eyed just a few steps away from Potter. He was about to tell her to leave when the scene unfolded in front of his eyes as if in slow motion. He saw (Y/N) running towards him, pushing him out of the way as Potter casted a spell he had never heard of. He heard her name leave Potter’s lips in a sob when she was hit. He saw her fall, lifeless, as her blood poured from her chest. He saw him running towards her, taking her in his arms. It all seemed unreal.

Then he heard Potter sobbing, babbling, begging her to wake up: “(Y/N/N), (Y/N/N) please, open your eyes. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry”.

He held her to his chest. And Draco, enraged and panicked, ran towards both of them.

“What did you do, Potter? Fix it, fix it I am begging you,” he pleaded as he tried to take (Y/N) from his arms.  She was growing paler by the minute, her uniform soaked in so much blood it made Draco sick.

“Don’t touch her, death eater,” he spat as he rocked her back and forth in his chest and sobbed.

“Fix it!” he barked.

“I…I don’t know how,” babbled Harry, holding even tighter to his best friend.

They both looked at her helplessly, hoping for a miracle. Guilt-ridden, Draco started sobbing as well. He fancied her. Merlin, he could even swear he loved her. She saw the good in him when nobody else had bothered to even try. She overlooked how nasty he had been to her friends and even to her in the past. She showed him the meaning of true friendship, opened her heart to him to give him nothing but love and care. By her side, he started considering different ways of conceiving the world. She believed in him as he evolved into a person who hated everything the mark under on his left forearm meant. In the last year and a half, (Y/N) had become the person he probably cared for the most (apart from his parents, if the Dark Mark was a testament to something). Now she was there, bleeding on the cold, wet floor of Myrtle’s bathroom as the two boys and the ghostly girl sobbed for her.

After what seemed like hours, the miracle did come…in the form of Professor Snape. He quickly chanted a counter spell he had never heard of either. Draco concluded his aunt Bellatrix wasn’t a very good teacher as she was the one who taught him every Dark spell he knew. With one icy glare, Snape got Harry to let go of (Y/N) and took her to the hospital wing. Both boys followed behind him, their bloodied clothes alarming the whole school.

Three days later, both of them were still there, glaring at each other, waiting for (Y/N) to wake up. There were times when Draco thought she’d stay in her stupor forever. He buried his face in his hands, feeling empty and guilty, until he heard a gasp. She had woken up.

Draco rushed from his seat and took her hand. Harry had done just the same. As she squeezed both their hands, Draco and Harry shared a sigh.

“I am so sorry, (Y/N/N). I didn’t – “

“Don’t even start, Harry. I’ll scold you later,” (Y/N) interrupted. Even though she felt tired, (Y/N)’s voice had a bit of playfulness in it, which humoured Harry and brought warmth into Draco’s heart. (Y/N) gave Harry a meaningful look; her way of telling him she needed to talk to the Slytherin in private. He gave her a curt nod, not very convinced, but still let go of her hand.

“I’ll come later with Ron and ‘Mione,” he said.

Draco gave him a thankful nod as Harry closed the curtain around them. His heart was pounding hard as silence engulfed them again. Their eyes met. He felt relieved that she was with him, but also uneasy and guilty. (Y/N)’s eyes travelled to his left arm. She swallowed hard.

“Let me see it,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion.

Draco held his breath. His eyebrows furrowed in sorrow. He didn’t put up a fight when (Y/N) took his arm and gently pushed his sleeve up. (Y/N) knew what she would probably find under the sleeve. She thought she was prepared. And, of course, she wasn’t. She gasped loudly as she saw the black snake protruding from a skull’s mouth. She looked at the blond Slytherin, feeling the pain and disappointment seeping from her gaze, as well as a couple of tears. He didn’t meet her eyes. He was ashamed. The guilt, the pain, and the self-hatred were eating him up.

(Y/N) saw a few tears silently slipping from his eyes and her heart broke again. Draco sobbed. He was certain he had lost her now.

“I am so sorry, (Y/N/N). They made me do it. I had no choice…He’s going to kill my parents and I can’t –,” his pathetic little apology was cut short by his sobs. He was certain he was a bad person, but having to hold himself accountable in front of the one person that truly saw him for who he was felt unbearable.

He felt (Y/N)’s fingers gently caressing the dreadful mark. He mustered all of his courage to look at her and found a sympathetic expression that made him feel better. She pulled him to her and he gave her a hug. Draco started crying again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault,” he cried, bringing her closer to his chest as though she could disappear any minute.

She pushed him just a little, enough to allow her hands to travel to his face and clean his tears with her thumbs.

“Shh, Dray. Don’t cry. I know that mark isn’t you. I trust it isn’t you. I know you wouldn’t join them on your own volition,” she soothed.

(Y/N) made room for him on her bed and he slither in, careful not to hurt her in any way. He buried his face on (Y/N)’s neck as she whispered sweet nothings in his ear. She caressed his hair gently as Draco sniffled. He was still heavyhearted, but she felt like home and it made his heart swell.

“Dray”

“Yes?”

She thought about making him promise to make it right, to fight by her side. But she felt tired. Her body still ached. And, regardless of the circumstances, snuggling up to him felt wonderful. So, she closed her eyes and blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

“I love you,” she said almost inaudibly. Draco was so close he heard alright. He couldn’t believe she had actually said those three words for the first time under the circumstances. He didn’t hesitate to answer back.

“I love you too, (Y/N/N)”.

When Madam Pomfrey came around and opened the curtain, she found both (Y/N) and Draco fast asleep. Draco’s face was very close to (Y/N)’s neck. One of her hands was still buried in his platinum hair. And they looked so peaceful, the healer could only close the curtain and let them rest.

[dc41896]

Stupid Roses

Pairing: Ransom DrysdalexBlack Reader

⚠️: None, just some soft!Ransom feels💕

Reaching the middle landing of the floating stairs, his hands grip the metal railing giving an impressive view of his toned arms in his baby blue short sleeve shirt as he shakes his head at the sight below him.

“I thought you were supposed to be watching the game with me?”

“I will,” you sit up from your comfy position, bringing your boyfriends cashmere blanket down from your face. “I forgot the Bachelor comes on tonight though, so when this goes off I’ll come upstairs.”

“The Bachelor? You mean that God awful show about women throwing themselves at some random guy and claiming they love him on the second day?”

“For someone so disgusted by it, you seem to know quite a bit,” you smirk.

“Only because I had an ex who was obsessed with it,” he answers descending the staircase. “That’s all she wanted to watch day and night.”

“Aww was someone jealous?,” you pout.

“Ha! Definitely not. She deleted a golf tournament I recorded so there’d be more room for some announcement special, and that was the last time I ever spoke to her.”

“So, I take it you won’t be watching with me anytime soon?” A deep chuckle vibrates through his chest leaning down to brush his lips against your ear causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Princess, I’d rather go on a week long vacation with my parents,” he whispers against your skin before moving to kiss your neck.

“Fine, but it’s not that bad if you give it a chance.”

“Yea okay,” he snorts before disappearing in the kitchen to get his new box of Biscoff cookies.

Leaning over to pour yourself a glass of wine, your’re quickly sucked back into the tv screen now showing the remainder of last nights rose ceremony that left on a cliffhanger. You’re not too distracted though to not notice your boyfriend’s looming figure slowly make his way back to the staircase with eyes fixed on the formal looking man holding a single red rose, and the camera switching between those who had yet to receive one.

It took every ounce of willpower in you to stifle your laugh hearing him quietly curse one of the steps he tripped over being so entranced with the previews of the next date.

Throughout the episode, those long, “secretive glances would continue during his journey back and forth from the kitchen getting chips to counter the sweet taste in his mouth. Then a beer. Then napkins to clean up said beer when he tripped over the same step once again.

This is how you both ultimately ended up on the couch with the game being long forgotten. You, sat between his legs holding the half eaten box of cookies and bag of chips, and him draping an arm in front of your chest pulling you closer to his broad chest as you discussed your thoughts on the contestants.

“So far my faves are Kelly, Sarah M, Traci, and Lara. I definitely feel like they’ll make it close to the end.”

“Hm okay,” he nods. “And which ones are they?”

“Sarah M is the one in the black, floor length gown there. Then Lara is in the yellow- ugh, why would he give a rose to Veronica?! What does he see in her, no one likes her! All she does is cause drama.”

“And she has no sense of style. Where’d she get that dress from, the side of the road?,” Ransom adds, nudging your cheek with his nose so you’ll feed him a cookie after getting one yourself. “No wonder she chooses violence.”

There’s a comfortable silence as you both continue to watch the rest of the evening play out and girls become frustrated when they feel they didn’t get enough time before being interrupted. Gazing at the side of your face, a small smile forms on his lips watching your features scrunch and react to the different sets of interactions being shown. While he wasn’t one for trashy reality shows, he’d sit and watch you get adorably worked up and invested in people you’d never meet all day.

Well, maybe not all day.

“Let’s say I was the bachelor,” he states lying his chin on your shoulder. “Would you try out?”

“Well I think when you try out, you don’t know who the bachelor is,” you giggle as his lips peck your neck.

“Alright say you did, and we weren’t together of course.”

“I honestly don’t know-,” you answer causing him to sit up looking a bit puzzled as he shifted to look you directly in your face.

“You don’t know?”

“Let me finish,” you laugh before kissing the furrowed spot between his brows to relax his face. “I don’t know because I feel like me competing with a bunch of other women who look like supermodels and pageant queens, I’d probably be sent home on night one. Plus you know I don’t really have the same personality type as them either.”

You had a point. Unlike the women on the screen, it took you a bit longer to be open with people due to your shy nature. When you and Ransom first started dating, at least once a week Ransom would start to mentally question if you really liked him as much as he liked you. He’d even become frustrated sitting alone in his modern home as he thought he was possibly missing signals that showed him this.

It was as if you had been reading his mind when you brought it up over a private, candlelit dinner one night at quite possibly the best restaurant in town that, before, you could only dream of going to.

“I-I know I’m probably not as open about my feelings as the other girls you’ve been with,” you spoke nervously fiddling with the extra cloth napkin beside your plate. “I promise it’s not that I don’t like you or anything because I do! It’s just I get in my head, and don’t want to potentially mess up anything and I’m sorry-,”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he interrupts placing his larger hand on top of yours. Was he used to his prior dates and girlfriends telling every feeling and emotion from day one? Yes, but now he understood that until you were comfortable those feelings and thoughts would probably stay held in. And he didn’t mind waiting.

“You don’t need to apologize. I’ll tell you now that you don’t have to be afraid about sharing how you feel with me, but if you need time I get it. Don’t worry I’ll still be here.”

With a soft “aw” as his hand caresses your cheek and thumb grazes your skin, he leans in to kiss your lips only separating briefly before stealing a couple more.

“You’re right, you wouldn’t last long.”

Now was your turn to lean back, looking at him puzzled as you scoffed. “Wow thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I say that because I’d know you were the one I wanted on night one, so there wouldn’t be any rose ceremonies. It’d be the shortest season in history,” he smiles capturing your smirking lips once more.

“You’d really know on night one?”

You weren’t questioning his loyalty, but you also weren’t gonna forget about his past playboy ways in this hypothetical situation of him being single and surrounded by 30 or so gorgeous women.

“Mhmm. Knowing how long you take to get ready though, you’d probably be the last to arrive but I’d still know,” he chuckles as you lightly smack his chest.

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