#Quiche Offering

[broke-on-books]

if money wasn't like a thing and like staying at college for even longer was something i really wanted to do and didn't feel like wasting time i could use to get started on something else i'd definitely stay and finish out the portuguese minor instead of just taking a few classes as electives. and maybe also get something in linguistics or take some classes for funzies or smth

[rosemaryhoney27]

Ghost of a Chance

Gotham was not a city known for its kindness. Rain slicked the alleyways like a second skin, and shadows crept where sunlight dared not linger. Alfred Pennyworth had seen a great many things in this city. Muggers, monsters, and masked madmen were just part of the nightly routine. What he hadn't expected, however, was to be saved by a ghost.

Or something very much like one.

It was supposed to be a quick errand—a quiet evening walk to clear his head. But halfway down Burnside, three desperate men with more bravado than brains cornered him. Alfred had been ready to disarm the first and disable the second, but he never got the chance. A blur of white and black swooped in, accompanied by the distant, bone-deep hum of unnatural power. The muggers were down in seconds—one frozen to the wall, another knocked out cold, and the third suspended midair by a glowing hand that flickered green.

The boy was there and gone just as fast. Alfred barely had time to register the tattered hoodie, the hollow cheeks, the white hair and green eyes that didn’t seem quite human.

"Wait—!" Alfred had called, but the boy was already gone, melting into the shadows like smoke.

The encounter would’ve ended there—just another strange chapter in Gotham’s nightbook—if it hadn’t kept happening.

Twice more, the mysterious young man appeared. Once to stop a purse snatcher near the theater. Another time to drag a lost child out of a crumbling building during a fire. Always fast, always silent. Always gone before Alfred could properly speak to him.

And always too thin.

It was the kind of thin that spoke of long nights without food. Hollow cheeks, knobby elbows, a belt cinched too tight around jeans that barely stayed up. It reminded Alfred of the early days—of Dick, of Jason, of Tim, of Damian. Of boys who had learned to survive instead of live.

Alfred Pennyworth had a rule: no one went hungry on his watch.

And so began his campaign.

At first, it was subtle. A wrapped sandwich left behind after one of the ghost-boy’s heroic appearances. A thermos of hot tea left conveniently near a rooftop perch. A backpack, clean and durable, filled with protein bars and fresh socks. Most of it vanished, though Alfred never saw it happen.

Then came the note, scrawled in messy, tired handwriting:

“Thanks. You didn’t have to. I’m not sticking around though. It’s safer for you if I don’t.”

The next day, Alfred left a response tucked in the same spot:

“You are not a danger, young man. I’ve seen far worse, and fed far worse. If you insist on continuing your streak of rooftop chivalry, I insist you do so on a full stomach.”

He added a slice of quiche. It was gone by morning.

Bruce raised an eyebrow the first time he caught Alfred baking two loaves of banana bread instead of one. Tim said nothing when the supply order mysteriously included a half dozen extra protein shakes and thermal gloves in medium size. Damian made a snide comment—something about stray ghosts haunting the pantry—but Alfred didn’t dignify it with a reply.

Then came the night it changed.

A patrol gone wrong. Batman caught in a collapsing parking garage. The comms went dead. Nightwing was too far. Red Hood was tracking Penguin. The only one nearby—untraceable, unregistered, and undeniably powerful—was the boy Alfred had been feeding for weeks.

He left the beacon on the rooftop.

“Help him. Please. –A.P.”

Within minutes, Bruce stumbled through the Batcave entrance, soot-smudged and breathing, but alive. Behind him, almost hidden in the shadows, was the boy. White hair. Green eyes. Shivering slightly, but still on his feet.

“I didn’t do it for favors,” the boy said. His voice was hoarse, too young for his haunted face. “I just... couldn’t let him die.”

“I know,” Alfred said gently. “Which is precisely why the offer of dinner still stands.”

“…I shouldn’t.” But his eyes drifted toward the warm lights of the manor beyond the cave, toward the smell of fresh bread and something sweet baking in the oven.

“No one escapes me forever, dear boy,” Alfred said with a small smile. “Not even slippery ghosts.”

The boy stared at him for a long moment. Then finally, like a candle burning out, he sagged.

“…Okay. Just for tonight.”

“Of course,” Alfred said, already turning toward the kitchen. “We’ll start with soup.”

Behind him, the boy whispered a name like an afterthought—like something long buried finally being said aloud.

“Danny. My name’s Danny.”

“Well then, Master Danny,” Alfred said, with the same fondness he reserved for all his wayward sons, “welcome home.”

[steddieasitgoes]

Eggs

written for @steddiebingo hop into spring mini event prompt: eggs | rating: g | wc: 1.8K tags: pre-relationship, humor, post-Season 2, Eddie POV

this is really dumb, but I’ve been in a terrible writing rutt because 2025 is being incredibly cruel to me and this idea made me laugh and I needed to write it so here we are

“This is bullshit!” Eddie swears, throwing his arms up and nearly knocking over the display of cheap gum and candy behind him at the register. 

“We have a strict policy,” the clerk says, tapping a worn Post-it note stuck to the small counter separating him from Eddie. 

Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You mean to tell me that big man Bradley himself has requested his minimum wage employees police the amount of eggs that paying customers can buy?”

“Yes,” the clerk says. “One dozen per person under the age of 21.” 

“It’s not alcohol, James. It’s eggs.”

“Eggs, you and your freak friends use to damage property.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not going egging?” 

“That’s what they all say.”

Eddie wants to scream.

Sure, shitty kids in this town have been known to buy dozens of eggs just to hurl them at homes and people, but he’s not one of them. At least, not the one that’s doing the throwing; he has had his fair share of being on the receiving end, though, which is why he wouldn’t stoop to such low activities. 

Egging is beneath him. It’s not creative enough of a punishment for the assholes in this town — and yeah, okay, maybe it’s also because he can’t throw an egg to save his life much less hit the right target but that’s beside the point. 

Eddie fingers through his wallet, plucking out a handful of bills. He slams them down over the worn Post-it note and shoves them towards James. “Just take the money and give me my eggs.” 

He reaches over, yanking one of the cartons into his hands. He moves to grab the second, but James’s faster, swatting it out of Eddie’s grasp. It hits the edge of the counter on the way down, opening and sending a dozen of eggs to the ground. A few crack at Eddie’s feet, covering his boots in fresh yolks, while a handful roll down towards the exit.

“Damn it,” James swears, flicking raw egg from his own hands. “That’s the dozen you’re payin’ for.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Eddie growls. The entire store is looking at him now, including a bruised and battered Steve Harrington, who's clearly seen better days. At least someone is having a worse day than he is. “I’m not paying for those! I’m paying for three cartons of uncracked eggs.” 

“You’re not paying for a damn thing,” James says, yanking the phone free from it’s base beside the register. “I’m calling the police.” 

Eddie can’t help himself; he laughs this time. “For eggs?” 

“No, for assaulting an employee.” 

“I didn’t even touch you! You touched me!” 

“We’ll see about that,” James says, dialing the number to the Hawkins Police Department. 

Eddie does scream this time, letting out a primal groan of frustration. “You’re a piece of shit James. I hope you get a raise for being the patron saint of fucking eggs!” He snatches the money from the counter, shoving it into the pockets of his jacket before stalking out of the store with both middle fingers raised. 

Fucking James. Eddie knew he should have waited in Mable's long line. She may take twice as long, but at least she would have let Eddie make his totally reasonable purchase. Hell, she probably would have offered him a quiche or egg salad recipe because that’s the kind of person Mable is. She’s considerate -- something James is not. 

But no. He just had to pick stupid James’s line because it was the shortest. He should have known better. It’s always the same with his type — lame ass jocks who peaked in high school and are now stuck in their hometown making life miserable for everyone else. 

Eddie’s too fired up to get behind the wheel right now, so he pulls out a cigarette instead. The nicotine does little to curb the frustration coursing through him, but at least it gives him something to do besides marching back into the store and starting something with James, he knows he’ll lose. 

After taking a long drag, he glances at the watch on his wrist. It’s five to eight; far too late to get in the car and drive the twenty miles to the next down over and pick up three dozen eggs. Gertrude is going to be mad. And then Wayne is going to be pissed when she and her gang retailiate against their trash. 

Fucking James. 

Eddie finishes his cigarette, snubbing out the end with the boot of his foot. He’s about to climb into his van when he’s accosted by none other than Steve Harrington. Great. Just what Eddie needs. Another lame, has-been jock giving him shit for simply existing. 

Steve’s eye is a deep shade of purple. There’s dried blood caked into the corner of his cracked lip, and there are remnants of some cheap band-aid adhesive around a gash above his eyebrow that probably needs stitches. And that’s just his face. He’s walking smaller, curled in like every step he takes closer to Eddie physically pains him. He probably shouldn’t be lugging around two paper bags full of groceries either, but what does Eddie know? He’s not a doctor. 

“You look like shit, Harrington.” 

“A plate to the side of the head will do that to you.” 

Eddie winces. He’s been hit in the head by a fair share of objects, but never a plate which leads him to wonder who Harrington pissed off. He doesn’t ask. Instead, he deflects. “Bet the other guy looks even worse.” 

Steve snorts, immediately grimacing. “Sure, let’s go with that.” 

Eddie fidgets, feet shuffling. This is the longest he’s ever been in Steve’s presence outside of mandated classes, and he doesn’t know what to say to him. Especially not when his face looks like that. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to because Steve moves, holding out one of the brown paper bags for Eddie to take. 

“Does the liege need an assistant to his chariot?” Eddie asks, staring at the heavy brown bag Steve’s struggling to keep hold of. “I’m sure one of the fair maidens inside would have assisted you.” 

Eddie waits for Steve to scoff and give him shit for speaking like some medieval idiot; but the judgment doesn’t come. At least, not in the form of harsh words. He does get a front row seat to Steve Harrington’s bitchy eye roll though so it’s not a total loss. 

“These are for you.” 

“For me?” Eddie asks, reluctantly taking the bag from Steve’s hand. He glances inside, almost afraid that something is going to pop out of him. Instead, he finds not one, not two, not even three, but four dozen eggs carefully stacked in the bag. “What the hell?” 

“I heard you arguing with James inside,” Steve says. “He’s a jerk. I mean, the guy is working a minimum wage cashier job and he’s still finding ways to be a total douchebag.” 

“So what? You just went to a different cashier and bought four dozen eggs?” 

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head. “I went back to James with three dozen eggs, and he threw in the fourth for free so I could ‘teach whatever freak that rearranged my face a lesson’.” 

“Fuckin’ hypocrite.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

Eddie blinks, the reality of the situation hitting him all at once. Ten minutes ago he was nearly arrested for trying to buy eggs and now he’s standing out here holding four dozen bought and paid for by Steve “the hair” Harrington who took a plate to the head less than 48 hours ago if his bruises are anything to go by. 

What the hell is going on in this town? 

“I uh,” Eddie starts, then stops, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to do that, but thanks.” 

“It wasn’t a big deal. I mean, they’re just eggs, right?” 

“Just eggs to you and me maybe,” Eddie says.  “But these things are gold to Gertrude. You saved my ass from her wrath. 

“Gertrude?”

“My pet. She loves eggs.” 

“I didn’t know dogs could eat eggs.” Something washes over Steve in an instant — a look of panic if Eddie’s not mistaken. His eyes grow wide and then narrow into slits as they scan the permiter of the parking lot. His grip on the bag tightens as his entire body goes stiff. And then he’s leaning closer, lips practically touching Eddie’s ear as he drops his voice. “It is a dog, right? Like a furry, wagging tail dog with a full face kind of dog?” 

“Are there dogs without faces?” Eddie asks, suddenly very concerned for Steve’s well-being. If he didn’t get stitches for the gash over his eyebrow, there’s no way he got looked at for a concussion. Maybe he’s hallucinating right now. That would explain why he willingly bought four dozen eggs for Eddie of all people. “Are you concussed still, Harrington? Do you need a ride home or something?”

“I need to know who is eating all these eggs,” Steve says, deathly serious. He takes a step closer, backing Eddie up against the van. “It’s not a dog, is it?” 

Eddie shakes his head. 

“Does it have a face?” 

“Man, what are you—“ 

“Does it have a face, Eddie?” Steve shouts, startling a few shoppers headed to and from their cars. 

Eddie’s never been more grateful for ease droppers than right now because Steve takes a few steps back, giving Eddie enough space to take a deep breath and try to figure out what the fuck is going on. 

“Eddie, I swear to—” 

“Gertrude is a raccoon!” Eddie says in a rush. “She’s a mother racoon who lives in Forest Hills and thinks she owns the damn place. She had babies this year, and I’ve been feeding them so they stay out of our trash. 

Apparently, Gertrude is a gossip and told other raccoons, and now we have a whole horde of them. If I don’t leave scrambled eggs out on the porch, they wreak havoc on the entire park.” 

“Oh.” Steve takes several steps back now, clearly satisfied by Eddie’s answer. “Are they cute?” 

Eddie’s not a hundred percent sure it’s possible to get whiplash from a conversation, but if it is, he’s experiencing a pretty severe case of it right now. “Are you sure you’re not concussed?” 

Steve waves him off. “Hop gave me the all clear last night. Told me to ice it with some peas, which is why I came here.” 

“Okay…” 

“So is she cute? This Gertrude raccoon?” 

“I mean, she’s a raccoon, so yes, obviously.”

“Right,” Steve nods, then glances at the bag in Eddie’s hand. “Four dozen eggs is a lot for one person to make. Do you want some help?” 

Jesus H. Christ, what is going on right now? 

“You, Steve Harrington, want to help me make scrambled eggs for a family of raccoons?” 

Steve shrugs. “Beats sitting at home alone with a bag of peas on my head.” 

“What the hell,” Eddie mutters to himself, before turning to Steve. “Alright, Harrington. You can come help, but no distractions. If we don’t have eggs out on the porch by 9:30, Gertrude will make us pay.” 

“Nothing’s scarier than a hungry woman,” Steve jokes. “Lead the way.” 

[annlyticalarchive]

CHAPTER SIX: Humanity’s Aegis

”You will be different, sometimes you’ll feel like an outcast, but you’ll never be alone”

Mark Grayson X Kryptonian/Clark Kent! Reader

Prologue | Chapter Five| Chapter Six (Here) | Chapter Seven

w/c: 4.2k

a/n: could not figure out how to cut/end this so this chapter is a teeny bit lengthier than the previous ones. also, am playing with the idea of writing one shots of Kent and Mark. I’m kinda playing with an Absolute!Kent X Mark too

The ballroom glittered in gold and crystal. A sprawling art-deco dream with vaulted ceilings and marble floors, it looked like something out of a movie rather than a fundraiser for a city initiative. Dozens of the cities most elite mingled under the soft light of chandeliers, drinks in hand, false smiles plastered across expensive faces.

You stepped inside, instantly hit by the wave of perfume, cologne, and the underlying scent of old money and polished ego. Lois still had your wrist and was weaving through the crowd like she’d done it a thousand times. Jimmy followed with his camera already up, snapping shots of the crowd, pausing briefly to admire the lighting.

You tried not to fidget. The jacket felt too stiff, the shirt too crisp, and the city suddenly too loud again.

“You know,” Lois whispered over her shoulder, eyes scanning the crowd for prey, excuse you, interviews, “you could learn to loosen up.”

“I’m loose!” you hissed. “I’m the definition of loose!”

Jimmy coughed behind you. “You sound like someone who rehearsed saying that.”

You sighed and looked to Jimmy. “Want to tag-team the mingling?”

“Let me get a few more wide shots,” he said, lifting his camera. “You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

You nodded, making your way into the throng. The deeper in you got, the more chaotic it felt. People clinked glasses, posed for photos, and name-dropped like they were giving out candy. You were pretty sure three different people claimed to be the one responsible for funding the city’s new railway reconstruction effort.

Still, you did your job. You kept your eyes open. Listened. Asked questions, quietly and curiously.

And you didn’t push. That was the key.

Lois, on the other hand, was pushing, with the subtlety of a bull with a battering ram.

You found her again about half an hour later, mid-interview with a tall man in a very expensive suit. Her brow was furrowed, her arms crossed.

“So you’re saying you don’t know where the funding came from?” she asked, tone sharp.

“I’m saying I don’t have the clearance to discuss it,” he replied coolly.

Lois leaned in. “So it’s private money?”

The man stiffened. “I really couldn’t say.”

You watched as his smile grew thinner by the second. Lois opened her mouth again, but you gently stepped in.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you said with a small smile, looking up at him. “But I overheard you mention you’d visited Coast City recently? What was it like this time of year?”

His gaze flicked to you, visibly relieved. “Oh—actually, quite nice. Weather’s been better than expected. They’ve done wonders with the waterfront.”

You nodded, jotting that down like it mattered. “And was that a personal trip or something to do with development?”

“Business,” he said, more relaxed now. “We’re looking into expanding energy partnerships out west.”

You smiled again. “That’s exciting. Can I follow up with your office sometime next week?”

He nodded, offered a card, and left with a polite bow of his head.

Lois stared at you. “You asked him about the weather.”

“And he told us about the energy partnerships.”

She made a face, but didn’t argue. Instead, she turned away with a loud sigh and waved toward Jimmy. “Get this. Apparently weather talk is the new journalism.”

Jimmy chuckled as he joined you both. “Well, you did kind of come at the guy like a steamroller.”

“I just want answers!” Lois huffed, lifting a tiny quiche from a passing tray. “These people think their money makes them bulletproof.”

“It kind of does,” Jimmy muttered.

“I heard that!”

You grinned. The three of you slowly fell into rhythm, circling the room like a mismatched flock of birds. You trailed behind them, asking lighter, friendlier questions that made people forget they were being interviewed.

“How long have you lived in the city?”

“What inspired you to get involved in local reconstruction projects?”

“Do you think the mayor will actually follow through on their housing promises?”

That last one made Jimmy snort behind his camera lens. “You really are sneaky, huh?”

“I just ask them to talk about themselves,” you said. “People love that.”

Eventually, you all reconvened near a buffet table that had been thoroughly picked over. Jimmy flipped through his shots, Lois reviewed her notes, and you checked your recorder for anything interesting.

“You know,” Lois said, nudging your elbow, “for someone who didn’t want to come, you’re doing scarily well.”

“It’s my job,” You shrugged your shoulders simply, trying to avoid the compliments. “I should be good at this.”

“Lois isn’t doing good,” Jimmy said with a poorly hidden smile as he grabs a drink from a moving tray.

“Lois is the reason I’m getting answers. We’re like a one-two hit.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Kansas,” Lois rolled her eyes at you.

“Flattery gets me everywhere here.” You shot back with a smile. “These people like getting to stroke their ego with the idea that all the flattering stuff will get printed front page.”

“Ladies and gentlemen! Please, enter the main room. The unveiling is about to begin.” A voice rings through some loud speakers.

The crowd started to move like a lazy tide, drifting toward the large double doors at the end of the room.

Jimmy quickly raised his camera. “Time to catch the money shot.”

Lois tucked her notepad into her purse. “And time to see what kind of PR stunt we’re all here to pretend we care about.”

You followed them, notebook and recorder tucked under your arm. You couldn’t help the unease that crept up your spine, not because of nerves, exactly. Something felt off.

The second you stepped into the main hall, you understood why.

At the center of the room stood a massive object draped in a deep velvet cloth. Beside it: men in suits with military posture, clearly not just part of the event staff. Their eyes scanned the room, unmoving.

“Okay,” Jimmy whispered, already snapping photos, “this is either government-funded tech… or alien.”

Lois raised an eyebrow. “You think they’d unveil alien tech here?”

You didn’t answer. You were too busy listening.

Your focus zeroed in past the surface-level noise of champagne flutes and murmured pleasantries.

And then you caught it.

Lex Luthor. Speaking quietly to someone near the front of the room. You didn’t recognize the other voice, but you did recognize the words.

Names.

Names you remembered writing. Names tied to an investigation you and Lois had been digging into for weeks.

Names that had no business being spoken aloud at a public event like this.

Names that belonged in an article about organized crime.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath.

Lois glanced at you sideways, catching the shift in your tone, but didn’t ask. Not here, not yet.

You reached the side of the main room just as the lights dimmed and a spotlight landed on Lex Luthor, standing tall and proud at a sleek podium near the veiled shape.

He smiled, all teeth and practiced charm.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “we live in a time of miracles and monsters. Of beings who can move mountains, bend steel, and level cities. For too long, the people of our city have relied on hope, hope that someone else will protect them. Hope that they will show up.”

Lex continued, voice rising with theatrical flair. “But the world needs more than hope. It needs certainty. And certainty… comes with strength.”

With a dramatic sweep of his arm, the velvet cloth was pulled free, revealing a massive robot standing at least fifteen feet tall. Gunmetal grey with glowing green eyes, it looked more like a weapon than any kind of protector.

Murmurs rippled through the room.

“I give you: humanity’s Aegis.” Lex gestured to the machine. “Fully autonomous. Controlled through secure satellite uplinks. Designed to protect us, from them.”

Lois muttered, “Oh, hell no.”

Before you could say anything back, a loud crack sounded overhead. Then came the smoke.

Dozens of small canisters exploded around the room, flooding it with thick, gray fog. Screams broke out. People stumbled. Cameras flashed wildly, trying to catch the moment before disaster but only causing the fog to light up.

You caught sight of someone running across the stage just as the lights flickered, and the robot powered on with a deep mechanical hum.

“I’m going to call the cops!” you yelled over the chaos, “You two get out of here!”

You were already bolting toward a corner to get out of sight.

The robot moved.

It stepped off the platform, metal feet shaking the floor, as several dark-clad figures pulled at a hidden panel on its back.

And Aegis responded.

Its eyes flared.

Its arm cannons slid open.

And you didn’t even hesitate.

You pulled off your jacket mid-run, ripped the dress shirt off, ducked quickly outside of the room, and tore free the hidden scarlet skirt and cape from your bag.

You crashed through a side window, high above the crowd, hoping it would pull attention away from civilians.

The air was thick with smoke, screams, and fear.

But your voice cut through it as you hovered, cape billowing behind you.

“Step away from the machine.”

The masked men turned and looked at you a few pulling guns from concealed holsters, as Aegis took one slow, thunderous step forward, and then another, before its thrusters flared, launching it through the shattered ceiling and into the sky.

You barely had time to process before bullets started flying.

Your body moved on instinct, arms raised in a half-shielding gesture.

But the bullets didn’t tear through you. They bounced off.

One struck your shoulder, another pinged off your ribs with a metallic clink. It didn’t even hurt, simply felt like someone tossing pebbles at you.

Your breath caught. You were bulletproof. Oh thank God-

One of the gunmen froze in disbelief. “What the hell is she?”

You shot forward, grabbed the nearest metal rail that had fallen during the chaos, and bent it around two of the men like a steel bow. They hit the ground with a grunt, pinned and disarmed.

Another raised his gun again, but you were faster

You closed the distance in a blur, yanked the gun from his hands, and crushed it in your fist like it was made of clay.

Grabbing the man by the shoulder, you zip him over to the other two, using your free hand to bend the metal around him as well.

You weren’t about to hit them. They hadn’t actively hurt anyone, so you weren’t about to hurt them in return. You didn’t even want to, regardless.

Running back out of the building, you scanned the crowd. The selfish bit inside of you looking for Jimmy and Lois first, letting out a small breath when you saw that they were fine. No one else was hurt, and you could hear sirens approaching, so you ran back inside and flew through the hole the robot left.

You hovered, squinting into the skyline, tilting your head slightly to isolate frequencies, your cape catching the wind behind you. Your brows furrowed.

Where did it—

WHOOSH.

A sudden rush of air beside you broke your focus as someone rocketed into your peripheral vision.

You turned sharply, shoulders tense, ready to defend yourself—

Only to freeze.

Because floating there in front of you, hovering with practiced ease, was a figure you didn’t recognize. At least, not personally.

But you knew of him.

Blue and yellow suit. The goggles. The dark hair poking out from under the mask. Breathing a little hard from the flight.

“Lose something?” Invincible asked, tone light, but you could see the shift happen mid-sentence. He froze. Mouth still open. Then he shut it, jaw tightening visibly.

“Luthor has. Or so it seems,” you replied, keeping your voice as steady and confident as you could manage.

You caught it, just barely, but you caught it. The twitch in his jaw. A subtle shift behind the lenses of his goggles. An emotion you couldn’t quite place a finger on. But one that definitely didn’t seem good.

“I’m handling it,” you added.

“Yeah?” His voice was cool now. Guarded. “That thing looked like a walking nuke.”

“It’s definitely been stolen, if not sold off and a made to look stolen.”

That snapped him back to focus.

“Then let’s find it,” he said, already accelerating, his body cutting through the air like a bullet. You followed close behind, heart pounding in your chest.

You hadn’t exactly had practice flying. At most you floated. So you struggled to keep up with him as he shot through the air, but based on how short his responses were, you were completely fine flying behind him.

It wasn’t long however, until you picked up a voice talking about the robot in the warehouse district.

“Down there!” You call it out to him as you let yourself dive down. Invincible paused before following you down.

The warehouse was dimly lit, its metal walls groaning in the wind. You landed just outside the entrance, Invincible touching down beside you with barely a sound.

Inside, Aegis stood motionless. The glowing red core in its chest pulsed slowly like a heartbeat, casting a sickly light across the empty space. It didn’t move. Not at first.

“I don’t like this,” you muttered, eyeing the thing.

Invincible took a cautious step forward, voice low. “Trap?”

Before you could answer, the robot’s eyes lit up.

And it fired.

Twin beams of concentrated energy blasted toward you both. You dove right, tucking into a roll, while Invincible darted left, the shot narrowly missing him and melting a steel beam behind him.

“Definitely a trap!” you yelled.

The battle was fast, quick in a way that nearly made you sigh with relief. He moved before you did. Invincible punched it square in the chest, cracking the core’s casing, only to be swatted into a stack of crates that exploded in splinters.

When it aimed its arm cannon at him again, you grabbed its wrist and crushed it in your grip until wires sparked and snapped as you ripped the arm from its socket.

Then, while it staggered, Invincible launched forward and drove a fist into the cracked core. The casing gave way with a blinding surge of light.

Then silence.

Aegis collapsed with a metallic groan, the light in its eyes flickering out.

You stood over the wreckage, chest rising and falling, dusting yourself off. Your ears rang from the blast, and for a moment, all you could hear was your own breath.

And then the scrape of boots on concrete.

You turned, but Invincible was already walking away, shoulders tense, his silhouette vanishing into the darkness of the warehouse entrance without a word.

“Thanks for the help,” you said, voice just loud to carry.

He didn’t turn back. Didn’t say anything. Just left.

You stood there, still catching your breath, confusion knotting in your chest.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You don’t think you’ve ever seen a more horrifying sight.

Pinned to the corkboard in the intern office, bold and unmistakable, was the front page of today’s Daily Planet.

And there, dead center?

Was you.

Blurry, sure. Back turned. Cloaked in harsh shadows, cape fluttering behind you in the wind. But you’d recognize that symbol anywhere.

“Smallville! About time.” Lois snapped you out of your frozen panic, tugging you fully into the room. “So, last night? New hero shows up. A Superwoman, literally. Crashes the party, wraps up the robbers in metal, and takes off like it’s a Tuesday. I’ve got it on good sources that she helped Invincible take down the Aegis.”

“Oh, wow, that’s… uh—” You stammered, brain stalling as you tried not to look directly at the photo of yourself.

Lois was still talking, practically buzzing with excitement. “She’s strong. I mean really strong. Did you see how fast she moved?”

You tried to recover, playing it off with a shrug. “What makes her so special? I mean, there’s already a bunch of heroes out there.”

“That’s just it,” Jimmy cut in, turning his phone to show you another photo, this one much clearer. A woman in white floating midair, wind tossing her short hair. “She’s different. Like Omni-Man different. Or like this villain Invincible fought a month ago!”

You nodded numbly, recalling how hard Mark had struggled in that fight.

“Exactly,” Jimmy said. “Who just shows up like that and ties guys up in a stainless steel rod like they’re a Christmas present?”

“She’s powerful,” Lois said, eyeing the blurry photo like it owed her answers. “And smart. No wasted movement. No ego. Just in, out, done. The city is eating that up. But I want to know more. Who is she? What does she want? Is she just playing nice?”

You tried not to flinch under her gaze. It wasn’t accusatory, but Lois Lane didn’t miss much. And the glint in her eye was making your stomach twist.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” she added, flipping through her notes, “I like her style. But anyone that strong? They don’t stay anonymous for good reasons.”

You laughed, weak and nervous. “Well, maybe she just wants to help. Do good, you know?”

Lois raised a brow. “You’d be surprised. Not everyone is like you, Smallville. People aren’t good to be good.”

“Yeah. Sure.” You frowned as Lois and Jimmy, mostly Lois, began to discuss how they could find ‘Superwoman’ to force her into an interview.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You don’t think you’ve ever been so excited for lunch.

Well—you were excited. That changed a little when you realized Lois and Jimmy were coming too.

Normally, you wouldn’t mind. But today? Today they wouldn’t stop talking about Superwoman. Every second was a new theory, a new article idea, or another blurry photo Jimmy swore he could clean up. It made your stomach turn.

Still, despite the growing knot of anxiety, you sent a text to Mark. He’d been quiet since the warehouse incident. Too quiet. But maybe this would be a good way to break the silence.

You: Me, Jimmy, and Lois are heading to the cafe on the corner of 4th and 16th for lunch if you want to come with!

You sent it, locked your phone, and tried to stay focused. Tried.

Then, a few minutes later, the read receipt popped up.

Read 11:38 a.m.

And that was it. No bubbles. No reply. Nothing.

You stared at the screen for a moment too long. Mark could be bad at texting, sure—but he never left you on read. Ever. Even when he was late to reply, he always said something. A thumbs-up emoji. A dumb meme. A joke about Jimmy's hair. Anything.

The silence wasn’t just strange. It was pointed.

Your stomach twinged.

You tried to shake it off, slipping your phone into your jacket pocket just as Lois returned from ordering.

"Two coffees, one iced tea," she said, sliding into the booth beside you with a tray. "And one ridiculous sandwich for Jimmy because he refuses to accept normal portion sizes."

“I need the protein,” Jimmy defended, squeezing in on the other side. “You don’t know what it takes to carry two cameras and Lois’s drama.”

Lois shot him a glare that could’ve melted metal, and you smiled faintly, grateful for the distraction.

“Anyway,” Jimmy added, already halfway through his sandwich, “do we think Superwoman’s from this dimension?”

You nearly choked on your drink.

Jimmy had already claimed a table by the window, flipping her notebook open before the menus even hit the table. “Okay, new theory: what if Superwoman is a plant? Like, not from here. An alien.”

Lois snorted. “We’ve already got Omni-Man. You think there’s a whole lineup of them waiting in the wings?”

“Maybe she’s an alien too,” Jimmy said with a shrug. “Or government-grown. Clone? Weirder stuff’s happened.”

“Can we not accuse her of being a government weapon until she’s done something bad?” you mumbled into your drink.

Both of them paused and looked at you.

“What?” you asked, too quickly.

Lois narrowed her eyes, her expression shifting just enough to make your palms sweat.

"You're defending her," she said, almost amused. "Again."

You forced a laugh. “Sorry for not jumping on the paranoia train. She saved a whole building. That’s a point in her favor.”

Lois leaned back. “Just saying... you seem pretty interested in her lately, Kansas.”

Jimmy smirked. “Didn’t know you were into heroes.”

You made a show of rolling your eyes. But your hands stayed curled into fists under the table, nails biting your palms.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It wasn’t long after you got home from your shift that the front door opened without a knock.

Mark.

You’d given him a spare key months ago, just in case Pa ever needed anything and you couldn’t make it. He promised he’d be there if that ever happened.

Thank goodness it never did. But that key still got plenty of use. Mark used to stop by all the time, inviting himself in like it was second nature. You didn’t mind. Neither did Pa. He always said Mark was “a good one, raised right.” and was practically family by how much he’d visit.

But tonight?

Tonight was different.

Mark shut the door harder than necessary, his expression unreadable except for the tightness in his jaw and the way his didn’t soften when they met yours.

"Was it all just for show?" he asked, flatly. Coldly. Colder than you’d ever heard it directed at you.

You blinked, stunned. “W-what?”

He took a step closer, his voice rising. “Being my friend. Getting close to me. Pretending to be human. Was that all just an act?”

“Was it all fake? What? Were you just working up to the big pitch? Gonna try to convince me to join Viltrum too?”

You stared at him, stunned. “Mark, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You!” he snapped, jabbing a finger toward you. “You—you stood there last night, in a cape, flying. Like him. Like them. And you didn’t say anything.”

“Who’s them?” you asked, quieter than you meant to, your voice cracking.

“Oh, stop pretending.” Mark laughed. It wasn’t kind. “What’s next? You going to ask me to join Viltrum too?”

Your heart stopped.

“What are you talking about?” you breathed again, trying to hold your ground, even as your pulse pounded in your ears.

“Everything! You lied to me!” Mark’s voice cracked, filled with anger and betrayal. “All this time, and you never said a word. Then you, Superwoman, just show up out of nowhere—”

“Mark.” You tried to keep your voice steady, but even to your ears, it sounded fragile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Stop lying!” Mark shouted, his voice echoing off the apartment walls.

“I’m not!” you snapped, your own voice rising despite yourself. “I—I don’t even know what the hell Viltrum is! I don’t know why you’re so angry—”

“Because you’re an alien lying to my face!” he yelled, taking a step forward.

“I’m not! I mean—” you hesitated, your throat closing up, “I am an alien, but I have no clue what you’re talking about!”

Mark stared at you, chest heaving. “So what, you just conveniently left out that you’re not human? That you’re bulletproof? That you fly?!”

You looked away, guilt slicing deep. “Because I don’t know who I am. I—I don’t know.”

And once you started, it was like the dam broke.

“That’s why I left home. I came to Earth in this ship, but there was nothing in it but me. This time, when it activated, I got some insane vision of this man, but I couldn’t understand any of it. It was all fragmented, jumbled. And when I came to, I was in that suit, and—”

Your voice cracked. You swallowed hard.

“Good people help people,” you said quietly, eyes dropping to the floor. “If I can do the things I can, why wouldn’t I?”

Your words felt like shattered glass in your throat. You didn’t expect them to fix anything, but at least they were true.

Mark let out a long breath through his nose, the fire behind his eyes finally dimming. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at you with a mixture of caution and something close to regret.

“You really have no idea?” he asked, more gently this time.

“None.”

Mark sank down onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, his shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have come in like that. I thought you were… something else. Someone else.”

“It’s fine. I get it. I probably would’ve been—” You stopped yourself mid-sentence, blinking as a realization crept in. You turned to Mark with a confused look. “The picture in the paper didn’t show my face. Jimmy and Lois didn’t see me clearly either, so how did… you…”

Your voice trailed off as you stepped closer, narrowing your eyes at him.

Mark’s ears turned red almost immediately.

You stared, studying his face. “Wait… no. No way.”

A second passed.

Then it clicked. A bit embarrassingly slow, but undeniable.

You gasped, eyes wide. “Mark. You’re—”

[thegreatstoryteller]

Female to Male Fridays!

The Great Shift: Meeting the Parents

“Are you sure you’re ok with this? We can still head home.” Jenny muttered. Clearly a bit nervous staring down at her boyfriend.

“Babe. It’s been almost a year since the Great Shift. I told you. Just because I’m unshifted, doesn’t mean I don’t want to meet your parents.” Youseff said smiling.

Jen and Youseff had met in their freshman year of college and immediately became close. They joined similar clubs, volunteered at the same food banks, and eventually friendship blossomed into romance one fateful summer night! The couple knew nothing could get between them and the love that they found… and a few years later that included the Great Shift. While Youseff remained unshifted, Jen Shale wasn’t so lucky.

They had agreed to meet at her sorority when the craziness of the Shift happened. Youseff was more than a bit surprised to find a larger older man in his 40s sitting nervously on Jen’s bed waiting for him! Since then many revelations have been shared with the couple. The first was Youseff coming out to his girlfriend as bi! He never had the courage to say it before and didn’t know how to share that part of his life with his girlfriend, but the shift offered a unique chance that worked out well with the couple. Two. Jen realized she was in a sports medicine professor who was quite in shape! He apparently was father to three student athletes on campus… and luckily her feelings for her boyfriend hadn’t wavered from the shift. A fact that they both enjoyed learning the first week of the Great Shift. Eventually the two became more comfortable with each other even buying a pair of matching pajamas!

It took quite some time for the world to get back in order. During that entire time communications were able to be set up with most families. Youseff’s family had many linear shifts, a term used by most of the world when your shift put you into someone very similar to your original body. His dad was a man his own age. His mother was a woman a few years younger than her. The only difference was his younger brother who now keeps telling Youseff to call him the bigger brother when he shifted into a former professional athlete. 

Jen’s family… was another story.

“And that brings us to today. Jen. I’m serious. I want to meet them. I know you’ve talked to them, but I haven’t. And when they invited us over for the holidays I thought it’d be the best chance to get to know them.” Youseff said hopefully, placing a hand against Jen’s cheek and training the thick salt and pepper stubble that was ever present no matter how close she shaved.

“I know- I know… but I told you before the shift that they were a bit much… and, well, now since the shift… they are still that! I guess… just… more…” Jen muttered nervously. A feat she seemed to still master despite her new commanding baritone. 

“They can’t be that bad.” Youseff said before knocking. And that’s when they heard heavy steps approaching the door.  

A handsome muscular man answered the door! He wore long pink dishwashing gloves and an apron! Aside from that he seemed to be wearing nothing else. The small potted flower he held seemed to be thriving!

“You must be Youseff! Jen has told us so much about you! Come in! Come in! I was just washing some dishes and watering the kitchen plants! We’re so glad to meet you. You can call me Margot! I’m Jen’s mother, or rather her second father!” Margot laughed. The man before them had a deep voice and almost a bro like tone. The motherly introduction he gave at odds with his gym bro form. 

“You must be hungry! I’ve been making lots of food these days. This young man I became had quite the appetite. And who could blame him. I’ve felt the urge to go to the gym almost every day of the week! Anyway, I just keep blabbering away! Have a mini quiche!” Margot led them to the living room where a small plate of appetizers awaited them.

“Wow, these are amazing Margot!” Youseff said digging in. I always wondered where Jen got her amazing cooking skills from.

“Awww! Jen! You didn’t mention your man was a little charmer.” Margot giggled as Jen blushed. 

“Mooom! Stop! You’re embarrassing me!” Jen complained burying her fuzzy face in her large hands. Her mom was always like this. If it wasn’t telling embarrassing stories about Jen, it was finding an excuse to show off her body. Ever since Margot got her new body she had been more than happy to show it off. She would say, “Well this young man clearly wanted to show off his muscles, who am I to cover them up!”. So bouncing around the house in her classic apron was just the way she dressed these days.

“Shush Jen. My little girl will never be too old for a little humor. Just because you have more grays on that head of yours than your father did pre shift, doesn’t mean you can’t laugh a little.” Margot teased.

“Speaking of where is Mr. Shale? Youseff asked.

“Well he’s always in the garage these days. When he got that 20 year old gymnast’s body, he’d become obsessed with the sport! I’ve got some biscuits to take out of the oven. You two should check on him.” Margot offered.

“Anything to get out of this conversation.” Jen groaned pulling Youseff towards the side of their home. As they opened the door to the garage they could see a handsome black man flexing in the mirror, wearing a tight singlet. The chalk on his hands implying a recent gymnastics routine.

“Jen! There’s my little girl turned big man!” Her dad said cutting his flexing short and heading towards Jen. Mr. Shale now was the shortest one in the family at 5’1. With his daughter at 6’0 and his wife at 5’10, the household tended to tower over him. However, he was more than happy with his new body.

“Hey dad, enjoying your gymnastics or whatever?” Jen half heartedly asked.

“Yes I am! I tell ya, being a few decades younger is great! Sure beats my beer belly and sore ankles. A 20 year old body like this is flexible. You can ask your mother if you don’t believe me.” Mr. Shale winked.

“Dad! Oh my gosh! NO! I brought Youseff here! Please don’t gross him out.” Jen screamed.

“Oh so this is the young man that’s caught my daughter’s eye. You can address me as Mr. Shale or sir. DO I make myself clear?”  Mr. Shale looked up at Youseff who just nodded. Despite the size difference between them Youseff was clearly intimidated by his dad-like tone. 

“Yes sir!”

“Good man. I guess I have you to thank for helping our dear Jen finally get some more manly clothes? For some reason she didn’t want my help with a new wardrobe.” Mr. Shale shook his head disappointed.

“Yeah! We actually had a lot of fun going to the store and finding clothes that fit. The toughest part was finding shoes in her new size.” Youseff conceded.

“Youseff!” Jen blushed. She knew it was true. With her larger feet, she realized just how difficult it was to find footwear that fit. The largest most places went up to was size 15. Her now size 18 feet were tough to find anywhere!

“Sorry babe, but it’s true. Plus you said you had a great time shopping. Like old times, remember? You said that you weren’t sure we’d find a single pair, but when we went to the Big and Tall store, they had a few shoes your size! Even sandals!” Youseff explained.

Jen just shook as her dad applauded Youseff’s resourcefulness!

Before long the family was finally all together to share a meal! Jen’s parents were loving her boyfriend, though he could see that she was clearly embarrassed throughout the whole dinner.

By the time they left Youseff was driving them back to their apartment, where he asked. “Jen? Are you alright? I… I’m guessing that night wasn’t the most pleasant for you?”

Jen just nodded and hugged her boyfriend. Her broad frame embracing him with a tight squeeze. “My parents just take a lot out of me. Before the shift they were overbearing in a different way and now… well now they are always just so comfortable in their new bodies! My mom started going to the gym almost every day with her old book club. Each of them became some kind of fitness influencer. And my dad! He won’t stop telling me how proud he is to have a son now and that I need to start acting more manly. I don’t get how they can be so well adjusted to all this! I… I thought I was getting there. With you… being this kind of man feels easy. Even more exciting at times too.”

“I do love your mustache.” Youseff noted, causing Jen to giggle.

“See. It’s stuff like that. You always make me feel like your partner… and… I guess I need more time before I start feeling like a member of my own family again and not some older hairy guy.” Jen admitted.

Youseff kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry I insisted we meet them so soon. I was so ready to take our relationship further and I was so nervous to meet them. But I forgot to consider how you were feeling about your parents. From now on, we can just focus on us.”

“I like that plan.” Jen smiled kissing back.

“Good. Maybe we can start with a pedicure tomorrow. I know you’ve been itching to try that out with your big new feet.” Youseff teased.

“Ha! These big new feet would love to get a pedicure. Maybe a foot massage later too!” Jen smiled, wiggling her big toes. When she was with Youseff she realized, maybe she could get used to this big body.

[sophsbookstore]

i loved the quinn x pregnant!reader 💕 i was wondering if you could write one of their baby shower, where quinn is just being so attentive since it can get overwhelming tyy

Little All Star

Quinn Hughes x Pregnant!reader

read part 3 here!

Word count: 1564

Hockey Masterlist

A/N: Baby shower time!! (I also added a gender reveal at the end!)

The room buzzed with a chaotic symphony of laughter, chatter, and the clinking of champagne flutes (sparkling cider for her, of course). (Y/N), radiant with a seven-month glow, navigated the crowded living room of their Vancouver home with practiced ease, a hand resting protectively on her swollen belly. It was her baby shower, and the guest list read like a who's who of the NHL. Seriously, almost every player seemed to be there, along with their wives and girlfriends. It was a testament to Quinn's popularity, and to the genuine warmth (Y/N) herself radiated.

(Y/N) turned to Nathan MacKinnon and his partner. "Nate! You made it! I was worried you’d still be stuck in practice."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Nate grinned, handing her a gift bag. "Congrats, (Y/N) and Quinn. You two are going to be amazing parents."

She moved on, greeting Auston Matthews, Cale Makar, and a slew of other hockey stars and their families. It was a whirlwind of well-wishes, baby advice (solicited and unsolicited), and gifts that ranged from adorable knitted outfits to high-tech baby monitors. Quinn, ever the gracious host, was circulating too, though (Y/N) noticed he kept a watchful eye on her, always ready to steer her away from any potential bumps or overly enthusiastic hugs.

After working her way through the room, (Y/N) clinked a spoon against a champagne glass, the sound cutting through the din. "Okay, everyone, can I have your attention for a moment?" she announced, a playful smile on her face. The room quieted down, all eyes turning towards her.

"First off, thank you all so much for being here. It means the world to Quinn and me to have you all celebrate this special moment with us. We're so excited to welcome our little one into the world, and we can't wait for all the chaos and joy that's to come."

She paused, gesturing towards a table laden with plain white onesies and fabric markers in every color imaginable. "Now, for a little activity. We'd love for each of you to personalize a onesie for our baby. Get creative! Draw a picture, write a message, whatever you like. We'll cherish these forever."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the room. Hockey players, known more for their skills on the ice than their artistic abilities, suddenly became engrossed in the task at hand. Auston Matthews meticulously drew a maple leaf, while Cale Makar opted for a more abstract design. Even Quinn, usually so reserved, was sketching something with a focused expression. (Y/N) watched him, her heart swelling with love. She knew he was going to be the most amazing dad.

Her future in-laws, Quinn’s parents and brothers, were beaming with pride. They hovered nearby, offering (Y/N) snacks and drinks, making sure she was comfortable. "You're glowing, sweetheart," Quinn’s mom, Ellen, said, squeezing her hand. "You and Quinn are going to make such wonderful parents."

As the afternoon progressed, the onesie-decorating continued, the laughter and chatter never ceasing. (Y/N) felt overwhelmed with love and gratitude. Looking around at the room full of people who cared about her and Quinn, she knew that their baby was already surrounded by so much love.

The aroma of mini quiches, sliders, and an assortment of other delectable finger foods filled the air. The onesie decorating had transitioned seamlessly into a relaxed buffet-style meal. Guests mingled, plates in hand, the earlier artistic endeavors now a source of amusement and lighthearted ribbing. (Y/N), however, was content to perch on a plush armchair, a plate of fruit and a small pastry balanced on her bump. She watched the scene unfold with a warm smile, feeling a profound sense of happiness.

Suddenly, Quinn was beside her, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. "Hey," he said softly, his eyes filled with concern. "You okay? You've been sitting here for a while."

(Y/N) looked up at him, her smile widening. "I'm perfect," she assured him, taking his hand in hers. "Just soaking it all in. It's amazing to see everyone here celebrating with us."

Quinn's gaze softened as he looked at her. "You're amazing," he murmured, his thumb gently stroking her hand. He glanced down at her belly. "And so is this little one."

"They're both great," (Y/N) confirmed, patting her bump affectionately. "Really. I'm feeling good. A little tired, maybe, but good."

Quinn still looked a little worried. "You sure? You haven't been up and moving around much."

(Y/N) chuckled. "I'm seven months pregnant, Quinn. Moving around isn't exactly my favorite pastime these days." She squeezed his hand. "Go on, enjoy yourself. Talk to the guys. I know you haven't seen some of them in a while."

Quinn hesitated. "I'm good here with you," he said, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Quinn," (Y/N) said gently, "I want you to have fun too. This is a celebration for you as well. Go on. I promise I'll be fine. My mom and your mom are keeping a close eye on me," she added, nodding towards the two women who were indeed hovering nearby, chatting animatedly.

Quinn finally relented, though his expression still held a hint of worry. "Okay," he said, giving her hand a final squeeze. "But I'll be checking in every five minutes."

(Y/N) laughed. "Deal."

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," (Y/N) replied, her heart overflowing with love for this man who was so devoted to her and their unborn child.

As Quinn went off to join his teammates, (Y/N) watched him go, a soft smile playing on her lips. She knew he would always worry about them. It was just the kind of person he was. And honestly, she wouldn't have it any other way. It was a testament to his love, a love that she knew would only grow stronger when their little one finally arrived. She looked down at her belly, feeling a tiny flutter. "Your dad's a good one," she whispered to her baby. "We're lucky to have him."

The buffet tables were now mostly cleared, the remnants of the delicious food a testament to the celebratory feast. (Y/N) and Quinn, hand in hand, made their way to the center of the living room, a shared, excited glint in their eyes. They had a little surprise planned, a grand finale to the already wonderful afternoon.

"Alright everyone," (Y/N) announced, her voice ringing with anticipation. "We have one more little thing to share with you all before you go."

Quinn stepped forward, placing a protective arm around her. "We're so excited to finally reveal the gender of our baby," he said, his gaze sweeping over the crowd of smiling faces.

A collective gasp rippled through the room, followed by a flurry of excited whispers. The guests had been eagerly awaiting this moment. (Y/N) had strategically avoided any hints throughout the shower, keeping everyone guessing.

"And to help us with this very important announcement," (Y/N) continued, gesturing towards the doorway, "we have two very special helpers."

As if on cue, Jack and Luke Hughes walked into the room, a dramatic flair in their steps. The crowd erupted in laughter. Jack was decked out head-to-toe in blue, while Luke was a vision in pink. The brothers grinned mischievously at each other, the playful rivalry evident in their eyes.

"So," Quinn explained, a smile playing on his lips, "the Hughes brothers are going to settle this once and for all. A little brotherly competition to reveal whether we're welcoming a little hockey player or a future hockey player!"

The room erupted in cheers and laughter. Jack and Luke squared off, their playful banter echoing through the room. They started “play” fighting, shoving each other lightly, much to the amusement of the crowd. It was clear they were enjoying the theatrics of it all. The playful wrestling match continued for a few minutes, with both brothers putting on a show. Finally, after a particularly dramatic tumble, Jack emerged victorious, pinning Luke to the ground.

"It's a boy!" Jack shouted, pumping his fist in the air, his blue attire now even more prominent.

The room exploded. Cheers, whistles, and applause filled the air. Quinn let out a whoop of joy, pumping his fists in the air mirroring his younger brother and then turning to (Y/N) and pulling her into a passionate kiss.

"We're having a little boy!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with pure happiness.

The hockey players in the crowd went wild. "Future NHL star!" someone yelled. "Another Hughes brother on the ice!" "Get him a mini stick!" others shouted, their voices filled with excitement.

(Y/N) laughed, her eyes sparkling with tears of joy. She looked around at the room, at all the people who were sharing in their happiness, and felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Their little boy was already so loved.

As the celebration continued, (Y/N) leaned into Quinn, her hand resting on her belly. "Looks like we're going to have our hands full," she murmured.

Quinn smiled, kissing her forehead. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he replied, his eyes filled with love and anticipation. "I can't wait to meet our little guy."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Vow 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!August Walker

Summary: your father’s murder leaves you in the hands of a dangerous man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Dinner is served as you sit on your throne. August shifts you at an angle so your legs are across his, your arm nestled against his torso. He keeps an arm around you, his hand firmly on your hip, as his other reaches to the table. 

You feel like a child. That is likely his intention. He wants to make it clear that he owns you. Not just for yourself but for every watching eye. This is the final stone in the wall. He has taken everything from the old boss, down to his very daughter. 

He picks up a crab cake and hovers it before you. You stare at the gourmet hors d’oeuvres. He growls but you don’t wait for him to give the order. You take a bite and chew tightly. You’re mortified as he eases back and finishes it himself. 

He continues to feed you, eating in turn. 

“Pate is... disgusting,” he crushes the fork into the meat. 

You’re silent for a moment. You realise you need to say something. The audience cannot see you freeze in the storm of your circumstance. As he said in the car, you must play along. 

“A bit bland,” you agree. 

“What do you prefer?” His hand slips up to the small of your back. He tickles the satin and toys with the tightly bound laces. “The crab or the quiche?” He points with the fork to each as he speaks. You’re not sure if he genuinely cares. 

“The quiche. The spinach not the mushroom,” you answer. It’s strange, as if you’re sat at lunch with your month discussing the seasonal dishes and which you’ll get again. 

“Spinach not mushroom,” he repeats thoughtfully. 

Shortly, the appetizers are replaced with the entree. August brushes his hand up your arm and lean forward. He takes a deep breath. 

“You smell nice. Jasmine.” He remarks. 

He guesses correctly. Your perfume is Burberry. Your father would by you bottles from London. You push away his memory. 

“Thank you, August.” 

You catch a hint of his cologne. Rich and luxurious but you can’t pick out the specific scent, though you know which is his own. He squeezes your side and gestures with an open hand to the plate. You take his meaning without question. Your turn. 

As you lift the fork and knife, you grip the latter tightly. You haven’t the heart even if you entertained the fanciful whim for vengeance. You cut into the filet mignon and juices gush from the medium rare meat.  

Your eyes wander for an instant. They find your mother, sat in the nest of snakes with their painted lips and spiraled curls. She stares back grimly and nods. You must keep going. 

You turn to offer August a morsel of steak. It’s awkward. He sucks it off the fork and hums. 

“Very good, though I prefer rare,” he intones. 

You cut another piece and offer it again. He wraps his large hand around yours and aims the fork toward your own mouth. You take the steak off the tines and chew. It’s delicious, though a peppercorn nips at your tongue. 

He reaches past you again. He takes the flute of champagne and offers it to you first. You sip as he watches. You’re overly aware of his blazing eyes. They are so blue that each time you look into them, you feel as if you might drown. He finishes the glass in a deep gulp. 

A server is quick to come forward and fill it. You slice more off the steak. He patiently waits. You continue the meal as such. Creamed potatoes with truffle and long stems of white asparagus with the steak. Your appetite remains latent so you swallow it all down into a pit of unease. 

You finish and he clears his throat. He taps the corner of the cloth napkin. You take it off the table. You wince. It sinks in how demeaning the whole seen is. You are subservient to him completely. 

You dab his lips with the napkin. His gaze startles you as his eyes flicks down and he watches. He hums and moves your hand away from his mouth. His hand snakes up your back to your nape and he pulls you to him. 

He crushes his lips to yours. His tongue invades your mouth and the taste of champagne and pepper mingle. You tilt your head back as he devours you, barely able to breathe around his suddenly ravenous demeanour. 

He parts and heave a hot breath over you. Your heart is racing as his chest rises and falls calmly. He lightly caresses your cheek as he examines you. He tilts his head and his cheek dimples. 

“I believe we are due for our first dance,” he cups your chin, his eyes still on your mouth. 

[sevs-corner]

Random HCs I have for the Tf 141: Mafia AU! characters :PP

for future plot points hehe

Ghost is a cat person but only came to love dogs because of Johnny adopting Riley and him ending up raising it for most of the time

On the other hand, Graves hates cats and hates you for taking care of the chonky white cat at the alleyway by the bakery (He also hates that you take care of it more than you do with him, like c'mon he wants to be fed by you too)

All of them are boy failures when they try courting you, and you try your best to reciprocate !! (but sometimes that there's so silly and trip over their own shoelaces that its too cute not to stand and watch sometimes)

Those big scary men being love sick fools

They definitely get slack for it from Nonna and Nonno

The two (Ghost and Graves) have the biggest sweet tooth actually, and then run through the entire stock of treats whenever they stop by but are unable to sit and eat

Ever since you started working regularly, the guys try to stop by as often as they can, which makes Nonno and Nonna happy (becuase they were drifting further away until you came)

Only Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz visit often even before you came but even that became harder to do as time went on

So, Nonno and Nonna likes spoiling you with food because of it (not like you knew the intention behind their actions, you were just happy to eat free food really)

Price and Johnny is the type to just drink coffee in the morning then go about their day, only eating meals once or twice

They aren't the biggest eaters, even though Johnny does more physically laboring tasks

But he's more of a protein shake kinda guy, the type to drink his meal if all of it can be blended (he couldn't be bothered to prep his own meals)

Gaz, on the other hand, needs his meals

So he ends up dragging Ghost along with him in the mornings at the bakery for the breakfast special

Ghost doesn't really care to have anything in the morning 'cause his appetite kicks in (for some reason) late at night, so that's when he eats a lot

Alejandro is a 3-in-1 coffee drinker and Rudy is appalled

Even more so at you as you encourage this behavior by making his sachet 3-in-1s fancy with all the extra foam and drawings on top (he's jealous)

Rudy is a plain black kinda guy, but will try anything you offer or have concocted with (he's just a test dummy for your experiments but he's happy being your dummy either way)

Graves loves lattes, hot or iced- you already know what he's feeling for depending how he strolls into the bakery

If he's a bit downtrodden, he needs a cold pick-me-up, but if he's hyper and needs a bit of a cold down? that hot one would be very much appreciated

He also isn't the type to eat a lot, but will scarf down anything you make (he would never decline any of your offers or experiments)

The one who gives you the best critique to your creations is Gaz, Rudy, and Ghost actually-- straightforward, gut-punched, but points of improvement all the same

Graves and Soap sugar coats too much, Alejandro gives simple praises (not wanting to make you hurt for commenting on your hard work) and Price...

Well, a simple nod and smile is enough to make you happy that he doesn't get the chance to as you prance away in happiness

>Bonus part:

Konig and Horangi loves your savory treats, like those quiches, tarts, pies-- everything, the whole menu!

Just send them a picture of your creation and they're quickly finishing off a guy and bookin' it to the bakery in no time

Konig likes the space (table) you saved for them at the side, a bit secluded but still in view of both entraces

He knows you keep it clean, with their favorite condiments stacked to the side, seats fluffed and cushioned, table clear of any food residue-- every. single. time.

Konig also like your personal favorites of treats as well (makes him feel closer to you somehow)

But draws the line at your weird concoctions of combines drinks he's not quite fond of (like that coffee and soda mix? yeah, he did not want to get palpitations thank you very much)

Horangi is one of the few who ready and willing to try out anything you dish out

Even that special energy drink you tried making for Soap once, and let's just say that he couldn't sleep soundly for a week...

He doesn't regret it though, when he sees your gummy grin and tiny hops that you do when you get excited

Maybe...next time...just lower the dosage for his sanity, please?

Alex and Farah are a duo you don't quite see often but wished you did!

Alex pops by at least once or twice a week to pick up his orders, but more often than not, you're delivering their orders to their HQ

Barely having the chance to eat with them makes you sad (they are too), but when you guys do-- you go on for hours

Gossiping is the main source of Farah's entertainment and why both also avoid doing it with you

Because, one time, they went on for hours that lunch became dinner and that became a sleep over

And they had to catch up on so much work

Yeah, they're both yappers

and they indulge you and your interest so much, that they're mainly the ones getting you the things you like and it being displayed in your room

You like that one movie with cars in it? Boom, you have the same race car as a bed

Roach actually helps around more than anyone in the family

Even though he's handling the back more, you sure as damn well know he makes the best food ever

He's sometimes with the 141 guys or KorTac duo, but either way-- you'd seen him come alone to the bakery a lot

Being his ear and shoulder when he needs it, but vice versa as well

the usual culprit that overstays at your apartment really (which makes the others rage)

Roach is the happiest when he sees you eating his food happily, so don't blame him when you become a lil' plump (you're cute either way and he'll definitely lessen it if you ask him to)

Makarov visits the least but always does the grandest of things (he's extra like that)

Surprisingly, Nikolai is tied to hip with him whenever he comes in (he keeps Makarov in check really)

And they either visit super early in the morning or late into closing that sometimes you come in early or close out late just so you could do something for them

they don't want you forcing yourself like this but they appreciate you very much

Makarov and Nikolai loves spicy food, or food that just gives them a kick in the mouth and they love how you adjust it to their taste the best

They are more of tea and beer drinkers really

Water? The tap is dry and so they are

So you have to force them to drink it in between

And that's the moment they leave and try to escape

Just so you know, you have chased them down the street before in nothing but your flip flops and you still caught up to them (not before accurately hitting them on the head with it)

Kate, Allen, and Ramirez often come in together as well, a quick order-in and a pick up thereafter

They're busy with the reconnaissance work but likes making light banter with you

Some scones, mini brownies, or any quick bite- they'll have it and compliment for your hard work

Allen likes his coffee half and half while Ramirez likes it in shots, he needs his bursts of energy being the 'designated' errand boy of the two after all

Kate on the hand, has a jug of tea (you swear) but often takes two to three cups for herself (which you happened to learn was actually all hers once you asked a confused Allen about it one morning)

And yeah, that it (thought it'd be neat to see what i can come up with for their food and treat preferences hehe) Please check out the chapters and other one-shots here in this masterlist!

[wardenparker]

The Unbearable Weight of Perfection, ch 6

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When an accident of fate throws Javi G into the path of his soulmate, his instinct is to dive in head first. Adjusting to life as the fated partner of someone you barely know is going to be harder than either of you suspect, but anything worth having is worth working for. Isn't it?

(This story is heavily inspired by the lovely house museums that I work in every day and the fantastic few months that HBO was using our houses to film a TV show in fall! I spent each day on that set in wonder and I can't wait to share the experience with all of you through this story.)

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 5.7k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, references to abusive family members -- i.e. Lucas, discussion of money/finances.* Financial disparity, a well intentioned surprise, endless love and affection. Morning sex. Summary: The difference in your finances continues to be a point of tension, but every step forward is a good one. Notes: A relatively short chapter this week, but I couldn't possibly love these two love birds any more. Please enjoy a photo of our reader's beloved library this week!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5

Sunday, May 18, 2025:

Waking up before your husband isn't necessarily unusual if he's had something to do the night before, and last night he had been sitting at his laptop well past the time you went to bed. Whatever he was up to, you'll find out when he's ready to tell you – but you suspect he was putting in work on his new screenplay idea. For you, this morning was a chance to enjoy a little peace and quiet. A pot of coffee with the early morning sun, a chance to use up some of your leftover veggies by making a quiche to start the day. It will be out of the oven any minute and you'll wake Javi up with a tray of breakfast in bed. There's nothing more indulgent on a weekend than that.

Javi turns over, reaching out for you in his sleep and frowning when he doesn’t feel your warmth. Still not waking up yet, he moves to the middle of the bed and curls around the pillow you had brought from your apartment, claiming it was your favorite.

When you bring up the tray bearing both of your breakfasts you try to be quiet, sneaking back into the bedroom to find him half-asleep hugging your pillow and humming contentedly as the morning sun seeps in through the windows. "Morning, mi amor," you murmur, glad to see him awaking up a little.

The sound of your voice makes him smile, inhaling the scent that is embedded in the fabric of your pillow. Feeling as if you are curled around him. “Morning.” He mumbles softly, voice raspy with sleep. “Why did you get up?”

"I wanted to make you breakfast." Caretaking is such a sign of love for you, and that manifests in cooking meals, making sure he has the comfort and privacy that Javi needs to write, and surprising him with little treats now and then. Last weekend you had gone out into the yard surrounding the cottage and picked a glass of wildflowers because he had commented that his office felt a little gloomy. That sort of thing is how you show you care.

So now, when you come into the room with a tray laden with coffee, quiche, croissants, and jam? That's another way to make sure Javi knows how much he's loved.

One eye opens cautiously, looking over at you and sliding closed again as he slides back in the bed to make room for you. “Enough to share?” He asks, knowing that he would never eat without you. Even if it’s a breakfast you made for him.

“Of course it’s to share.” You know him well enough by now to know not to offer food unless it’s for the two of you together. Javi is a communal eater, even when snacking. “I even made the quiche with the potato crust again because you liked it so much last time.”

His eye pops open again, his lips curling into a small smile. “It was really good.” He is still surprised that you would go out of your way to do small things like that note of foods he likes. “Need to eat it now, or will it wait for a bit?”

“I put a cover on it,” you admit, motioning to the tray you have set on his nightstand. The plate that holds your breakfast is covered and so are your coffee cups. “Does that mean my husband wants me back in bed?”

“I always want you back in bed.” Javi scoffs and opens the covers to shiver slightly at the rush of cool air. His body is bare beneath the sheets, like it has been since the very first night, preferring to sleep naked with you.

There isn’t a moment of hesitation for you, and you slip back under the covers wearing a nightgown that you certainly did not fall asleep in hours ago. The cottage’s air conditioning keeps everything cool but Javi radiates heat even before you snuggle back into his arms.

“Sorry I came to bed so late.” He buries his face at the back of your neck and inhales deeply. Immediately feeling more relaxed than he had been even when he was asleep. “Wrote forty pages, so I had to ride out the creative wave.”

“Forty?” You twist your neck and the rest of your body follows, turning over under the duvet to face him. “Cariño, that’s amazing!”

“Hmmmm,” he completely agrees, happy with the progress, but he wishes he had been in bed with you. “So I’m all yours today.”

“What will we do with a whole day of freedom?” There is no work to be done and no plans with friends to hold to, and you nuzzle into Javi’s chest that much more dedicatedly at the idea that you have a day to relax.

"What do you think about going to a winery?" Javi asks. "Taste some wine, do some shopping?"

“That could be fun.” You place a kiss on his chest and hum at the soft warmth of him. “I’ve never been to a winery before.”

"Really?" His brow ticks up in surprise. "I was sure that tasting wines and eating a charcuterie board would be a highlight of your weekends."

“Well sure.” When he looks positively shocked you can’t help but giggle. “But it was a blended red and supermarket cheddar in pajamas on the couch with Moira. Which is great, don’t get me wrong, but not at all fancy.”

"You don't have to dress up." He promises, leaning in and pressing his lips to your chin with a chuckle. "I won't make you."

“You like when I wear sundresses.” And as it’s May in Southern California, a sundress is more than appropriate.

He smirks slightly. "I love when you wear sundresses." He coos.

“Then I think I must,” you tease, nudging his stumbled jawline playfully with your nose. “Don’t you?”

"All the time." He agrees, ducking his head down and starting scattering kisses along the bridge of your nose and cheek. "Easy to get under it." He admits, cock twitching.

Chuckling low, you tilt your head to give him more access and sigh. “I hope this winery has large bathrooms.”

“We are both awake now.” He ventures, smiling as he feels you push your hips towards him. Silently asking for him to take you.

"Breakfast will stay warm..." This is so typical of the two of you in the morning that you could laugh if you didn't want him so badly. It seems like the only time you don't have morning sex these days is if you're on your period, and even then it's your preference not his.

"Are you...." He lifts a brow as he bites his lip. He knows you want him, that you aren't bleeding, but he wants to make sure that he is not pushing. You snort and nod, making him smile as he shifts to roll you onto your back. "Maybe we should practice some more." He suggests, knowing that you both had agreed to wait for a few months to talk about children, joking that you needed to practice to make sure you got it right.

"Practice makes perfect, doesn't it?" On pure instinct and desire, your legs part to let him settle into the cradle of your thighs and your arms draw tighter around his neck and shoulders.

“It does.” He smirks and leans down to kiss you softly. “I love you.” He murmurs, loving how soft and sweet you are in his arms.

"I love you, too." It might seem like just whispers in the sight of sunbeams to some, but these moments with your soulmate are the most precious to you. Held safe in Javi's arms under the glowing morning sun, anything is possible.

Because it’s a weekend, the two of you can be lazy. He loves taking his time and making sure that you have every inch of your body explored.

At this point you know each other as thoroughly as you know yourselves. No skin is left uncaressed, unkissed, or unpraised. No moans are stifled and no encouragements swallowed in favor of speed. No – these are the leisurely mornings where making love to your husband could easily take hours and it doesn't matter how long you decide to let it last. There is nothing to do but adore each other, and that is what you bask in.

These past weeks with you has done wonders for Javi. He glows when you touch him and he actually accepts your praise and compliments. Only a little bit of that self-sabotaging doubt remains but it’s pushed away now. Forgotten for the moment.

Time slides away, and by the time you’re both sweat-slicked and satiated, the early morning sun has long since left your bedroom window to move higher in the sky.

Being in the passenger seat is somewhat of a novelty to Javi, but he finds that he really likes it. You know the streets easily enough and he can guide you towards the winery with ease while chatting about any and everything.

It’s bright and busy there when you arrive, and the way the vast property is set up has you driving past wide fields that would host beautiful events some funneling you into a gravel parking lot that makes you glad you didn’t wear heels.

“This place looks amazing.” His sunglasses are pulled off as he looks over the area. “I’m so glad that I saw it online.”

“I feel like I should have dressed up more,” you admit, drawing your wrap around the shoulders of your homemade, self-designed sundress of yellow flowers.

“What? Noooo…” he’s shaking his head immediately. “You look amazing, sweetheart. I love that dress on you. It’s perfect and it’s perfect for our lazy afternoon drinking wine and enjoying the sunshine.”

“It doesn’t seem like enough.” A shrug is the best you can do, because from here you recognize three separate couples in designer clothes. “It’s—I made this…that’s all.”

“You made this?” His eyes narrow as he appraises the dress with a more critical eye. Loving the way you pieced it together and he clicks his tongue. “You should not have given up your dreams, amor.” He hums, running his finger down the seam. “You should be charging thousands of dollars for this.

“I have no idea how to run a business,” you remind him gently, but you can feel your whole face burn hot at the praise. “If you like it so much maybe I’ll make you a few shirts or something. Nothing that’s a big deal. How would that sound?”

“I want that.” He agrees immediately, smiling broadly. “I would love to wear one of your shirts. Maybe something that matches one of your outfits?” He doesn’t remind you that there are literally people who you can pay to teach you about running a business or even run it for you if you just wanted to be creative. He is trying hard not to push his ideas of happiness on your career.

“Maybe we can pick out some fabric together?” The idea of actually making something for someone besides yourself is daunting, but it also lifts you up with so much hope you could just burst. Javi believes in you. He loves you. And he isn’t afraid to declare that. It’s exhilarating.

“Today?” He asks eagerly, even as he guides you away from the car and towards the building. “I don’t mean you have to start right away, but ohhhhh!” His eyes light up. “We can get you a machine!”

“Wine and a picnic first,” You urge, knowing that Javi can get easily excited and refocus himself on a new task or idea when he has one. “And then we can go look at machines and fabric. How does that sound?” There is a sewing supply and fabric store that you’ve been dying to check out anyway. It will work perfectly.

“Perfect.” He winks at you and wraps his hand around your back proudly. Hoping that you are just as proud to have him beside you.

He must have called while you were getting ready, because the smartly dressed woman in the front of the winery has a reservation on the next tour in his name and for a tasting picnic afterward. "You made a fuss," you whisper, fondness coloring your voice as you lean into his side and follow the woman to wherever the tour is supposed to begin.

“I thought it might be busier.” He shrugs slightly although he’s pleased that you noticed. He likes making a fuss for you. “Didn’t want to have to get turned away.”

"It's the perfect way to spend an afternoon." After all, Javi knows well that you can't ever pass up a tour of anything. It was your job for long enough that any tour at all fascinates you.

“Sí.” He agrees with a proud grin. “We get a little tipsy, find some new wines to drink while we lounge by our future pool.”

"How do you feel about the meeting with the architect this week?" The tour guide has just told another pair of guests that the tour starts in five minutes, so you look around a little more with Javi in the meantime. "You said you wanted me to be surprised so I've been trying not to ask, but I'm curious about what you two have been cooking up." Since the last time you sat down with Javi and your architect to talk about the design of the house about a month ago, you've let Javi take the reins on that project. The agreement was that you would be given veto power over anything you disliked, but Javi had had an inspiration and wanted to put together an idea to show you.

“I think you will love it.” He admits with a smirk. “Or I hope you will. It’s something that would be passed down to our kids, hopefully.”

"And maybe even our kids' kids." No matter what he's come up with, you're sure you'll like it. In looking at house designs and watching real estate reality shows, you tend to like the same sorts of setups and designs. The same architectural designs and motifs. You have a lot of optimism about whatever Javi has come up with.

“That would be something. Maybe after we are done having kids we can set up a trust for them?” He asks. “Make sure that they can keep it and don’t have to split it? It’s always all of theirs?”

"If we can manage it, that sounds like the perfect way to keep the house we build in our family." You lean over to kiss him, enjoy just a spare moment of tenderness before the tour guide calls your group to attention.

“Ready?” Javi takes your hand and proudly laces his fingers with yours as you move closer towards the guide. “Just think, this is exactly how I met you.” He murmurs with a fond smile on his face.

“My favorite story to tell,” you murmur back, holding onto his hand with every ounce of tenderness and affection you have, as the tour begins its route.

Javi listens with a curious mind, interested in their methods and loving how in depth the guide is. The grapes are obviously not grown on the property but it’s lovely that they still explain the growing and harvesting process. Adding that they truck the harvest in from the fields.

You would never have claimed to know a great deal about wine, but by the time the tour is over you can feel a new hobby coming on. Having the process explained to you from start to finish makes it all the more fascinating, and you unconsciously squeeze Javi’s hand a little tighter while the guide is explaining how this particular winery hold treating classes and sells flights of mini-bottles for new enthusiasts.

“What did you think of the tour?” He asks you softly, watching your eyes roam eagerly around the room. He loves that you had asked serval questions during the tour.

“Considering I knew amazingly nothing about wine before, I feel very informed now.” He isn’t leading you anywhere, letting you look and linger like he always does when you’re curious about something. “She was extremely knowledgeable. If they ever do a more in depth tour, I bet we’d learn lots more.”

“We could see about scheduling another one weekend?” He suggests. “They have one where they take you out to their growing fields.”

“Does that sound fun to you?” Your eyes widen with interest but you don’t want to drag him to an outing he won’t enjoy.

“I would love it.” He admits. “We used to have olive groves and I always loved being out there.”

“Then we should do it.” You decide positively, while simultaneously making a mental note to start learning about olive trees. He sounds so forlorn over missing his home, you wonder if you could plant one or more at your home here in California.

"Really?" He is surprised, but delighted by the idea. "We could make a short weekend getaway out of it." He offers. "When we have a full weekend off the set?"

“A romantic little getaway.” The drive wasn’t too bad to get here, but it’s just different enough that the area has restaurants and shops you’ve never explored. “Maybe there’s a little bed and breakfast nearby?”

"We can do whatever you want." He promises. "I won't even bring my laptop. It will just be us."

“That sounds like a nice little anniversary trip.” You laugh at how silly it sounds, but it’s true. “Do people do four or five month anniversaries? That’s very high school, I think. But I don’t really care.”

“We should do weekend trips once a month.” He hums, grinning at your happiness. “Our little getaways. Reconnect.”

“Every month, hmm?” That level of sweetness sends him a kiss that you happily hum into and you end up smiling against his lips. “I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles. “It is a good idea.” He agrees. “Plus we can explore together.”

“And we can explore each other,” you tease, nudging him.

“That will always happen, wherever we are.” He smirks and guides you over to the mini bottle samplers. “You want to buy some?” He asks.

"Can we?" It doesn't take much convincing at all, and before you know it you're picking out two different sampler flights and collecting the picnic basket that Javi pre-arranged from the counter to take out onto the grounds to enjoy.

“Perfect.” Javi holds the basket and the wine holders with the bottles even though you offer to carry something. “Carry the blanket and pick out where you want to set up.” He compromises.

You end up selecting a grassy spot under the canopy of a weeping beech tree to spread out the soft, blue blanket and set up your late lunch. It's a full charcuterie board, a plate of finger sandwiches, and a small selection of sweet dessert treats that is more than enough for two people.

“Does this look okay?” He had chosen what he thought you would like, but he’s not one hundred percent sure.

"Honey it's perfect." You promise him. "Any time a meal is mostly composed of bread and cheese, I'm in."

“Oh I need to give you this before I forget.” He pulls a card out of his pocket and hands it over to you with no fanfare.

"What's this?' It's barely in your hand – you have wine in the other as you were pouring two small glasses from one of the sample bottles – and you look up at him quizzically instead of down at the card.

“Your credit card.” He explains. “It came in yesterday and I forgot to give it to you last night.” He had ordered you a card on his account, wanting you to have access to it.

"Since when do I have a credit card?" It would be an absolute first for you, actually, and it's not something you ever discussed but you look down at it and back up at him in confusion.

“Since I ordered it for you.” Your finances haven’t been combined, but Javi had been paying for everything you do together for the most part. He just wanted you to be able to go buy whatever you needed or wanted. “I don’t think you can max it out.” He promises. “The limit is really high.”

“How could I ever possibly max out a credit card?” The very idea dumbfounds you to the point of near-concern. Setting down the wine in your other hand, the instinct to press the little card back into his hand is strong but you know that will only upset him. He’s doing something kind again that is far too big of a gesture and you have to reminding that the reason it freaks you out is because you’re not used to anyone ever being in a position to both dote on you and caring enough to actually do so at the same time. “I—I don’t have any expenses, amor. You pay for our house and our bills and everything else, and I’m grateful. But what could I possibly use a credit card for besides maybe an unexpected emergency?”

“Your nails, any clothes you wanted.” Javi points out. “Lunch dates with Moira. Trinkets and jewelry.” He picks up a grape. “Things for our current and future home.” He pops it into his mouth. “Maybe you wish to plan a trip for us.”

Trying to wrap your head around it, around his casual tone and almost enthusiastic approach to having you just…spend his money, you twist your fingers around each other and look at the card nervously. “There… must be rules, right? Limitations? Things you’re not okay with?” Everyone always has limitations, but since you’ve never heard Javi ever say no to a single idea you’ve ever had, you have no idea what his might be.

He frowns slightly and considers the question. “Don’t buy a house on it?” He offers after a moment with a crooked, playful smile.

“Javi.” You’re frowning, worried eyebrows tipped up in concern. “I’m serious.”

The tone of the afternoon has shifted and he sits up from the leisurely pose he had adopts and he tucks his legs, posture a little more defensive. “There’s not much of a limit unless you can spend two million in a month, amor.” He huffs. “But I don’t think you will do that, so I don’t see why you are so worried.”

“I just don’t understand.” All you know right now is that you’re anxious and the only time you get anxious with Javi is when the conversation is about money.

“I don’t understand either.” He shakes his head. “Most everyone I have ever known would be squealing with glee and planning shopping trips.” He snorts. “You look like you want to cut it into pieces.”

“It’s not that,” you insist, although you can’t write out your finger on what it is. “It’s just…not what I ever expected. And I know that sounds stupid, but I always thought I would be my soulmate’s partner. They’re equal.” And then all at once, the horrible weight of realization settles on your shoulders and you chew your lip in embarrassment. “I love you, and I love that you take care of us and have such big plans for our future. But I…I already have a savings account fuller than I’ve ever had in my life, more luxuries than I could dream of, and a completely perfect man who wants to share of all of this with me. So I—I don’t really know what I’m bringing to this relationship.”

Horror etches on his face. You feel inferior, inadequate. Something that Javi is intimately familiar with. He clasps his hands together and twists them, his own teeth worrying the bottom lip. “You, amor.” He murmurs softly after a moment. “You bring the only thing I ever wanted. Unconditional love.” He looks away, out over the pretty little space at the other couples and he’s frustrated that you won’t just let him take care of you. He wants to make you so happy you would never consider leaving and you always fight him on it.

“Please don’t be upset with me.” He looks upset and it damn well breaks your heart that you did that to him. “I just…” A sigh is supposed to help you compose yourself but you just end up blubbering a little. “Unconditional love is all I ever wanted, too. I’m sorry I’m not better at accepting it. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know?”

He chuckles, but it’s dry. “I know.” He admits, still not looking at you. He doesn’t know if he can and not start crying. “Never being enough is something I’ve had a lot of experience with. But I thought-“ he shrugs one shoulder, “if you are happy, had everything you could possibly want, you might not want to leave me.”

“What?” Your eyes snap up to his in horror. “Why would I want to leave you?”

“Everyone always has.” He swallows and ducks his head down to swipe at his eyes, hating how they are watering right now.

“Javi, baby—” Putting everything else aside, you take his hands in yours and to his chin up to look him in the eyes. With both of you near tears, it seems only fair to share that emotion. “I love you more than anything else in the world,” you promise him quietly, making sure he sees the truth of it shining in your eyes. “I’m not going to leave you, mi amor. But I—I am terrified that you’ll get sick of me not being good enough for you— just like everyone else has. My exes and my parents and pretty much the whole rest of my family included.”

“How could you not be enough?” Javi is floored that you would think that. You are absolutely perfect to him. Perfect for him. “You—” he chokes up slightly, “you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. And that’s above becoming friends with Nick.”

“And you,” your hand gently cups his cheek. “Are my favorite person in the world. Even more than Moira, who you know I absolutely adore. I cant imagine my life any other way than with you in it. Now that we’re together? Javi…this is it for me. You’re it. I hate that people have hurt you by leaving before, but I’m not going anywhere.”

“And I’m never going to believe that you aren’t good enough.” He leans into your touch and sighs. “I just want you to have everything you’ve ever dreamed of, and I can give it to you.” He promises. “I want to give it to you.”

“I love you too,” you promise him, understanding that that is where this is all coming from. “But…maybe we find a kind of compromise? So I can feel like I’m contributing to the house in some way? I know you can afford to pay for it all, but right now I feel…” You shrug weakly. “I can hear my stepdad in my head calling me a freeloader and I just want to shut that voice up.”

He frowns, because he would never think of you as a freeloader. You work hard, you are dedicated. Even days where you weren’t feeling good, you got up and went to work even though Javi would not mind if you quit. “What do you feel would make that voice go away?” He asks, reaching for your hands. “I want you to feel like the equal you are in this marriage.”

“Maybe…” This date has either gone off the rails or it has become a very sweet example of what happens when spouses actually communicate. “It’s not as though I’m broke. The museum pays well and the film is paying me very well. Maybe some of the regular bills could be put in my name? The groceries, our cell phones, even the electricity? And I can keep putting things into my savings account. Maybe…maybe ny savings is the beginning of funds for our kids in the future?”

It goes against everything in him to let you take on that much. Especially when his own income is much higher. But you look so earnest and it breaks him that you feel inadequate. “Once the big house is built, I would take over the electricity again?” He offers. “The pool and another house will make it go up a lot. Maybe you could pay the landscaper then?” He had been shocked at how expensive power was here, but it hadn’t stopped him from designing a dream home.

“How about groceries and our phones for now, and we can look at the other bills together and pick out a third?” That feels line the responsible way to do it, and you lean forward to kiss him softly. “Thank you for actually talking through this with me.”

“I don’t understand.” He admits. “The head of house always provides in my family, but I will always give you what you want.” He kisses you again. “I had just thought you could save your money and have a nice account for retirement or quitting and pursuing your dreams.”

“I didn’t grow up with a head of household. And I like working. It helps me feel useful.” His curls are soft from being freshly dry and you run your fingers through them gently. “You’re a wonderful provider, mi amor. I just want to help take care of you, too.”

“You do take care of me.” He promises. “Every time you make me a cup of coffee while I’m working. Every time you organize something I don’t think about. Like the gift for Olivia’s birthday.” He huffs. “I would be lost without you.”

“I guess,” you admit, a touch sheepishly. “It’s Important to understand that we have different definitions of taking care of each other. And that they can work together.”

“I know.” He lifts his brow and looks down at the card. “I would like for you to take the card, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll put it in the safe.”

“It’s a good idea to have for emergencies.” Even as stubborn as you are, you can agree to that. “And the things that you like to treat me with already, like nails and lunches with Moira, I can put those on it, too.” That seems like it’s in the spirit of compromise to you, and you hope he feels the same way. If he wants you to get used to using his credit card, using it for things he already pays for seems easy enough.

“Good.” He smiles and looks down at your joined hands. “Why don’t we eat?” He suggests. “We can keep talking about it or save it for another time.”

“We can leave it for now, if you want.” You pick up his hand in yours, leave a kiss on his wrist, and squeeze his fingers before reaching for a little sandwich. “Tell me how your screenplay is coming along?”

“I have about seventy pages so far.” He smiles, really pleased with how it’s coming along. “But I’m almost at an impasse.” He sighs. “It’s almost time to make a decision on what path she takes.”

“What are her options?” The bits and pieces you’ve collected of the story Javi is telling next are sweetly inspired by you but the character isn’t you directly, so you aren’t sure of what her fictional crossroads are.

“The safe route.” He picks up a slice of creamy Havarti cheese and offers it to you with a grape. “A degree in finance or...” He smiles. “Interior Design, her passion.”

The bite from his fingers is too good to give up, and you also don’t mind flicking your tongue across his fingers when you take it. “So history of fashion design, got it,” you tease after you finish your bite. “Is there a guy anywhere in the mix? Someone to encourage her?”

“Best friend.” He nods. “Someone who had been keeping his matching marks as secret.”

You melt immediately, awwe-ing and going moon eyed over that idea. “I love that! That’s going to be such a cute reveal.”

“I’m thinking when it happens, she asks him why. Why didn’t he say something.” Javi explains, taking another sip of his wine before continuing. “And he reminds her of asking if she would ever go out with him their senior year, making her laugh and say that could never happen.” He pauses for the reality of that to sink in and you bite your lip. “Then he tells her that all he’s ever wanted was for her to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him.”

“The poor best friend had just been pining away for that long?” You’re positively melting where you sit and he knows it. “I love them.”

“I thought you would.” Javi chuckles. “You are soft for romance, and grand gestures. In movies.”

A twist of guilt hits your stomach, and your flickering smile drops to a frown. “I’m sorry, love. I’ll try to be better for you.”

Javi winces. “I didn’t—” he sighs softly. “I was not trying to make you feel guilty, amor.” He promises softly. “I simply meant you enjoy the movies with a happy love story ending after the reveal.”

“Well…that is true. I can’t deny that.” And you wouldn’t anyway. Not with the sweetest man in the entire world writing live stories just for you. “Maybe she goes into finance in the beginning and he asks her to decorate something for him? To remind her how much she loves and misses it?”

His eyes brighten and he nods. “Perfect!“ he smiles. “He needs his apartment decorated or something like that?”

"Perfect." He gets this very specific look in his eyes when he likes an idea and you're learning to recognize it. Its like watching a puppy light up when they learn a new trick and it's the sweetest thing in the whole world. "That's absolutely perfect."

“Now that we’ve cleared the air, and fixed my potential problem in my script,” he winks at you. “Let’s finish our picnic.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

TUWOP: @inept-the-magnificent @missladym1981 @sunnytuliptime @iamladyp @spishsstuff @famouslyanonymous

[seiwas]

for your ask! kita and farmers market au where he has a little stand and sells his rice :)

heids!! thanks for playing with me 🥺 this is an adorable au!! shoutout to @mieiri for helping me find pics 🥹

kita + farmers market au

kita joins the farmer’s market on every other sunday of the month.

his rice stall is quaint, barely even a full stall if he’s considering the technicalities. the display on his table consists of baskets of rice, all in varying grains and types, along with a few spices from akane-san, the middle-aged lady he agreed to partner with to help her cut booth costs.

it’s a good partnership, he thinks—he’s learned a fair bit about spiced rice.

business today is as usual: slow in the early morning, but bustling once it reaches 8:30 a.m.; he’s become familiar with the locals just as much as they trust him and the quality of his rice. and everything is as it usually is, except—

“hello,” you approach his booth, your smile a little shy as you gather what to say.

akane-san glances from the side.

in your hands lie two jars of jam, one a deep purple, and the other a bright orange.

he tilts his head slightly to acknowledge you, “good morning.”

you offer the jars of jam while chuckling nervously, “we’re neighbours,” you gesture towards the booth beside his, “this is my first time here, so…”

akane-san rises from her seat, smiling at you graciously, “those look delicious, my dear. you made them yourself?”

you look at her, flustered as you nod. akane-san nudges kita closer, his feet nearly stepping over yours as he inches forward.

“this is very kind of you, thank you,” kita offers his palms for you to place the glass jars on. akane-san reaches for the purple one and pops it open, the scent of wild berries filling the space between you.

she hums, long and delighted. kita smiles softly, “welcome to the market. i’m sure your jams will be a hit.”

.

it’s your sixth farmer’s market now, the fourth one you’ve spent as kita’s stall neighbour. and it’s been nice, having your company around, he thinks.

you are sweet, just as the jams you make are, and you never fail to give him a jar or two before selling even starts.

in exchange, he gives you rice, different grains and different types; he learns about your cooking schedule, and what you intend to cook for the rest of the week, just so he can give you the correct ones.

akane-san tells him that he should ask you out.

“you smile a lot around her,” she mumbles to him as you walk back to your booth. you’d just finished grabbing some lunch with kita during your break.

“it would be rude to frown, akane-san,” he settles back behind the display, hiding his smile.

she tuts, jokingly hitting him on the arm, “don’t be all smart ass with me.”

kita laughs, its sound echoing down to your booth. you turn to his direction upon hearing it and end up locking eyes. much to his surprise, he doesn’t turn away, and instead settles into giving you a smile.

it’s not like he denied what akane-san said anyway.

.

something is different the day kita walks up to your booth with a carton of eggs in his hands instead of rice.

(you’d mentioned something about wanting to try your hand at a quiche—that must be the reason why, you tell yourself).

he stands in front of your booth, shirt tucked in a little more properly than it normally is, and hands over the carton.

“fresh from the farm,” he starts, “thought i’d bring you some.”

“you didn’t have to,” you reach for it gently, your fingertips grazing the dips between his knuckles as you lower your head slightly.

“thank you for your sponsorship,” you add on, teasingly, “i’ll have to let you try the quiche now, once i make it.”

he laughs, waiting as you take your time opening the carton.

and when you do, the look on your face makes him wish he captured the moment. maybe with that polaroid camera atsumu gifted him last christmas.

inside the carton of eggs is a small cluster of flowers, handpicked (you can tell) and joined together by knotted grass.

(it’s sweet, you think, that there are even a few stems of a rice plant in the mix.)

the expression on your face is a mixture of confusion and surprise, and kita has never been one to be flustered or nervous for anything, but—

“i,” he clears his throat, “have been meaning to ask, actually,” another cough. your stare shoots straight into his nerves.

“would—“ you begin.

“would—“ he manages to say at the same time.

you both giggle, and he clears his throat again, reaching his hand out, “sorry, please go first.”

(the sentence forms itself in your mind, and you stare at the flowers again, a glimpse of courage, before you speak—)

“would you want to make some quiche with me?”

and kita smiles. is ‘no’ even an answer to anything you ask?

[forbidden-sin-bin]

By Your Side - Chapter 3

Summary: Only appearing as a mere background extra a few times, your hopes of landing a large enough role to be truly seen dwindles by the minute. In the midst of the long wait, you bury yourself in being the hardest working part-time barista the café has to offer.

Oh, and say hello to your new manager, who’s also working hard to make ends meet.

---

August 27, 1997

---

Brushing your apron smooth, you made your way to the cash register with a your usual practiced smile. "Welcome to the Tango Palace. What can I get you today?"

The welcoming expression on your face was far from the reality of your situation right now. And boy, it was bad.

Ever since the trip from New York feeling like a success, the days of receiving nothing but silence on your end slowly melted into creeping disappointment. Waiting by the phone for hours on end, all for nothing, the day wasted.

And it wasn't just the callback that you were waiting for: you had dozens of tryouts in the race against many others - improvs, scripts, interviews, singing, even a literal hand evaluation - in order to take that one and only spot of being chosen.

Though your parents were always happy whenever you landed a spot as an extra in the background of a single scene, be it movie or tv show, it did nothing to quell the shot-through nerves of wondering if the agency would ever give you an update on that callback you did.

At this point, nearing the new school year for Quinn's first year of kindergarten was the only silver lining in all of this. No doubt, you were proud, but it was bittersweet seeing them grow so fast. It seemed as if it were only yesterday that you had brought him home from the hospital, and in a blink he's walking, talking and ready to learn how to read.

In fact, you were so lost in reminiscing you nearly missed your customer's order.

Realizing you may or may not have zoned out for a second too long, you mentally slapped yourself as you quickly typed out the order. "S-sorry! Was it a regular coffee, one cream, no sugar?"

"And a quiche." Your customer sighed. "Jesus Christ..."

You nodded as you forced down your panic and irritation at the backhanded comment, giving them the total as you set the register to print out the receipt. "Alright, it'll only take a second." Whipping around, you set to work on pouring out a steaming hot cup of coffee, freshly brewed, and placing a pre-prepared veggie quiche out of the fridge and into the oven, dialing the settings to heat it just right.

Holding back your own sigh, you leaned back on the countertop as you waited. Truth be told, you weren't sure if the thought of getting fired was more stressful, or the thought of becoming a good-for-nothing that's entirely possible in the near future was worse. Either way, you couldn't lose this job.

The owners were kind enough, and business wasn't overly crowded with people, but you wanted to show them that hiring you was the best decision they could've made. Thinking about anything that isn't the job is the complete opposite of what you're trying to prove.

'Don't think of anything but what's in front of you, right now.'

---

Later that evening...

---

You tossed each letter onto the table in two separate piles; One for bills, the other for junk mail. After an uneventful day of serving customers, you returned home as always, filtering out the mail for your parents before they came home.

It wouldn't be long before the school year started, and you'd have to cut your hours in order to pick Quinn up from school, elsewise he'd be stuck in the after-care program till six, which wasn't fair for him at all.

It wasn't as if your family was poor or in debt, rather down on its luck. Your parents working at desk jobs required them to be there from at least nine to five, there was little to no time to take a break, especially now that they're not just working to keep the house afloat; If all else failed, you'd have to pick a course and go through community college just to get some degree that'll help you find a job that pays.

A part of you feared that you'd be kicked out eventually, which terrified your thoughts of not being able to take care of Quinn. And not being able to take care of Quinn means you're probably getting kicked out of the house like every other parent does to their kid that doesn't deliver.

Alright, that last part is debatable. But it’s possible, and you weren’t taking any chances.

And by not taking any chances, you sure as hell weren’t about to let the phone ring twice as you practically leaped over the kitchen table to pick it up.

"Hi! Hello?! Sorry- hello?"

"H-hello? Hi, is this-?" A stressed voice stutters out your first and last name.

Your face, initially bright with hope fell comically quick as you realized it wasn't an agency calling you for a role. Instead, a somewhat nervous voice of a young man answered. From how he sounded you could tell he was sweating bullets coming out of the other side of the phone.

"Yes, hi. That would be correct." You replied, not bothering to hide your deadpan shift in mood. This however didn't seem to phase the stranger.

"Oh, great! I saw your resume sent in to my agency, and I see you're looking for an agent to represent you in the coming years? Hopefully trying to find work?"

A few seconds of silence passed as you processed his response. 'Oh shoot, they actually remembered?' You thought with wide eyes.

"He-hello?"

"Yep, still on the line. May I ask who's calling?"

"Sean Warden. Sorry I should've introduced myself at the start but-"

You cut him off. "All good. And to answer your question: Yes. I'm in need of assistance in receiving job offers. Is that sufficient?"

"Awesome. So, the reason I'm calling you right now is because I have a proposition to offer you."

Again, silence, as if he was awaiting a reaction out of you. You however, had already begun to lose patience. "...Please continue." You held back a sigh, beginning to wonder if this is some sort of prank call or scam caller.

Still, this 'Sean' guy seemed either desperate or eager as he revealed his intention.

"I would like to represent you as your agent."

...

A few hours later...

...

"I'm going to be honest with you: This is not how I expected a potential signing of a client to look like."

Sitting inside a Tim Horton's café, coffee cups in hand, you found yourself sitting at a two-person table with a young, skittish and scrawny looking man in his mid to late twenties. Admittedly, this isn't the kind of guy you'd expect to meet.

Sharing an awkward silence, both of you holding small black coffees, neither of you had the gall to break the painful, painful silence. At least, until you've finished reading the whole entire contract that he gave you.

Given you're in the middle of the second page out of... eight, this was going to be a long evening.

Flicking your gaze at him for a brief glance away from your reading, you saw no impatience, only anxiousness, in his face. "Sorry if I'm taking up your time." You offered, figuring it'd be the least you could do for someone who hasn't been pushing your buttons.

Sean waves you off. "No need, I'm just happy you've agreed to even see me. I'll take anything, really."

You raised a brow. 'Anything, he says.' Your thoughts wandered away to making it seem as if you weren't the first option of employment, probably the last.

"O-oh, no no nonono, I didn't mean it like that!" He corrects himself, probably noticing or fearing that he might've made you reconsider signing that contract. "I mean- like-" He sighs, covering his face with a hand, filled with stress. "Don't get me wrong, I absolutely wanted to pick you as a client. I've seen your resume and everything; I can see the potential you have, I mean it."

Nodding, you resumed scanning the papers. "Continue. I'm listening, don't worry." Seeing that he hadn't missed his shot, he relaxed a little.

"I'm not trying to sell a sob story, it's just the truth. As you may know, the work I do is to find others work; Aspiring actors, music artists, the like? I'm no beginner to this, I've had many clients in the past and I haven't failed finding them jobs. But when there's older, more experienced agents... Well, you'd want to be represented by them more than me."

You hummed in acknowledgement, not taking your eyes off the contract as you flipped to page 3.

"My last three clients have all decided to move on to find a more renowned agency, meaning that as of now, I've no one to find work for, which also means my wages are little to none at the moment." Sean finished, clasping his hands together and resting them on the table, looking down as he finished. "What I'm offering you right now isn't the end all, be all. I promise you, regardless of what's going on in my personal and home life, I'll give it my all to find you what you need." It almost sounds like a plead, coming from him. "If you end up parting ways with me in the future, that's more than okay! It's just... please. Give me this chance to help you out."

Finally, you raised your head to look at him. Keeping your face neutral, you finally spoke after a few moments:

"Could you do something for me, if I do sign?"

He nodded eagerly. "Yeah, of course! What is it?"

Taking sip of your coffee first, you then reached into your bag and handed him your notebook. Well, one of many... but you knew this one had something you were looking for, and you couldn't reach it by yourself.

Flipping through to the page you wanted him to see, you slid the notebook over too him. "There's someone I know that's been looking to release an EP this year... probably this year, I don't know exactly. Problem is, you can't find their stuff here, only in Detroit. Think you could help me out?"

"Can I?" He almost laughed in relief. "Say no more." Scanning the written contact info that wasn't written in your hand, you watched as he holds the notebook closer to his face as something flickers across his expression. "Hold on a second..." First starting from genuine interest slowly melted to confusion, then familiarity.

You raised a brow. "Is everything alright?"

Suddenly, Sean's gray eyes widened in recognition, and indignation.

"OH, NOT THAT BALD-HEADED BASTARD?!"

...

....

.....

A few weeks later...

...

"OH, NOT THAT SMUG FUCKIN TWINK."

Marshall's head snapped up from writing another let of lyrics as he looked at his recently-signed agent, Paul. "The fuck you goin on about man?"

Holding the letter in his hands, Paul looked like he was glaring daggers into the paper. "Not you! It's this guy that I knew from law school, fucking annoying is what he was." Tossing the paper to his table, he sighed as he walked out of the room. "Take a look if you want, apparently his client claims to know you or something. They're waiting for your EP."

'How the hell'd they know already, this fuckin early?' Marshall picked up the paper, lazily scanning through the content that somehow got Paul pissed enough to take a hike. The signed name of the writer, Sean Warden, didn't ring any bells except the one labelled: 'white guy's name', if it wasn't obvious enough.

No one here would name their kid Sean, for fucks sake.

The name of his client however... slowly, but eventually remembering that day they met, even if it was only for a few minutes, was not forgotten on either of them, it seems.

Marshall huffed out a laugh.

"Hoooooooly fuckin shit. That bitch actually did it."

----

(End of Chapter 3)

----

A/N: HAPPY 1 YEAR AND... *checks calendar* NEARLY THREE MONTHS Y'ALL

Yep.

I think you already know I'm about to apologize again, so uhh... I'm extremely, very sorry? If any of you are still waiting I'm incredibly sorry for the long ass wait. I said previously it was all uphill from here, which was a LIE IT SEEMS

But just to make it up to you all... Chapter 4 is coming THIS WEEK. So there's something to look forward too I hope! Chapter 5 is coming a few weeks after as well. But I hope this suffices for now, thank you for your patience <3

Taglist: @eminemsorangejuice , @slimshay-castle , @jackiehollanderr , @mizzysx , @esposadomd , @dimitrampl , @hallecarey1 , @krillfromsky , @nabiiturner, @swimregulas , @olivesarenicetoeat17 , @linnottt​ , @harryswif3 , @liathelioness , @roundbrownlover​ , @crimsonincursive , @akemiixx01 , @lizzy06 , @chxe-zdechnac , @ellies-femme , @qwerrry , @born2wyn , @thefemalestorywriter , @milllieeee , @neozen-23 , @in0320

(Let me know in my ask box if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

[orbital-inclination]

Continuation of this post:

Child!Molt and Rem exploring the ruins together

Rem holding Molt’s hand as they navigate puzzles and look for hidden switches.

Molt trips over a sentient rock twice.

The second time, it asks if he’s okay.

The monsters of the ruins respond to the twins differently. they express an immediate positive association with molt, though he hasn't said a word to them. Their first impression of rem ranges from indifference to "that boy... there is something wrong with him, isn't there?" - "Hmph. keep an eye on that one."

Alter is biased (raised both Papyrus and Gaster) and therefore gets an initial immunity buff to the "golden apples" and "black apple" status effect.

In an effort to prevent children from escaping from his house, Alter!Sans filled the stairwell with ball pit balls. To leave the ruins, you would have to swim through the ball pit and cut your way out of the net keeping the balls in place at the bottom.

Alter!Sans introduces the boys to pizza. (The scorched quiche was kind of a bust.)

Alter!Sans offhandedly mentions how nostalgic it is to have baby bones running around the house again. Rem and Molt remind him of his brothers. Rem is incensed by the idea that he is still considered a baby bones. (He left home after all. You cant be a baby bones anymore if you left home.)

Rem refuses to wear the stripped shirt he is offered.

Molt complies but once Alter is has left the room, Molt wiggles out of his stripped shirt and complains about it to Rem. “It’s too restricting…”

For the entirety of their visit, Molt refuses to speak if Alter is within earshot. At this point in time, Molt can’t bring himself to speak in front of adults. he claims up, it feels physically impossible to speak. so Rem makes demands on his behalf. Trivia: I misspelled Alter!Sans as Altar!Sans twice while making this post and now i can't stop thinking about Alter's evil cousin, Altar!Sans, who leads a cult.

[rizlowwritessortof]

Dangerous In More Ways Than One

Here we go, my first entry for @jacklesversebingo24 🥰 Prompt is 'Dangerous Suggestion.' Hope you enjoy!

Danger is sometimes just in your mind - but Dean is definitely danger of another kind.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 1954

Warnings: None really, except Dean in a tux; fluff

The warmth of Dean’s hands seeps through the silky fabric of your dress as he holds your waist, kissing you without warning, and the shock steals your breath away. The deliberate clearing of a throat makes it all stop, both of you looking wide-eyed towards the sound.

“Sir, ma’am – sorry, but you’re not supposed to be in here.”

You don’t have to fake your blush, and Dean glances down at the floor with an embarrassed smirk, expertly fooling the security guard standing in the doorway.

“Sorry, man – we were, uh, just looking for a little privacy, and this door was unlocked, so we just…”

“I understand. But you’ll have to find your privacy elsewhere. This office should have been locked and off-limits.”

Dean nods and takes your hand, leading you out the door as the guard steps aside, and he apologizes once again for good measure as you follow him back to the banquet hall. He parks you next to the wall and bends to whisper in your ear. “Sorry about that. Had to think fast.”

Your eyes slide up to meet his for a second, then you stare back at the floor, unwilling to let him read you quite yet. You nod, responding quietly. “Yeah, of course. At least we didn’t get caught.”

He sighs in frustration. “Didn’t get what we were after, either. So we have to come up with a new plan.” He looks over at the buffet table, cocking an eyebrow at the tempting offerings there. “How about we grab some food and a drink, sit down and figure it out.”

You agree, relieved at the thought of getting off your feet. Your heels are killing you. “Sounds good to me.”

He slips an arm around you, and the muscles in your stomach clench as his hand rests possessively at your waist again. He looks incredible in his borrowed tux, and you are having thoughts that you normally batter into submission with focused research, beer and violence against evil creatures. Unfortunately, none of that is available at the moment, but a glass of champagne can’t hurt.

You claim one of the small tables scattered throughout the room, letting Dean play the gentleman and hold your chair as you sit. Who knew he had that in him? You take a gulp of the bubbly, pop a cheese puff into your mouth, and mentally remind yourself to guard your expression before looking up into those stunning green eyes. “So, now what?”

“Well…” he managed between chewing, “I think I should head for the bathroom.”

You laugh softly. “Okay. That’ll teach ‘em.”

“I mean as an excuse, smartass. I should go, look for an unlocked door so we can duck inside and wait until everybody clears out. Then we pick the lock again, grab that fucking cursed statue and we’re home free.” The amused smile is still on your face, and he can’t resist responding with a slow grin that makes your heart skip a little. “Well, that’s my suggestion. You got anything better?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I think that’s probably the best plan. So – go tinkle or whatever, I’ll guard your baby quiche.”

He stands up, narrowing his eyes at you. “Just so you know, I counted those.” You can’t help but giggle as he turns to go. The man is serious about his food.

He isn’t gone long, sits down and takes a sip of his whiskey. “Okay, we’re good. Just need to wait until the crowd thins out a little so we can get in there without Mall Cop catching us.” He glances down, then glares over at you. “You ate one of my quiche.”

People have finally started to leave, and you are so ready for this night to be over. You had taken as long as possible to eat, each had another drink, strolled around pretending to look at the art on display, but you are officially over wearing heels and trying to act like you fit in with this rich, pretentious crowd.

The guard Dean had dubbed ‘Mall Cop’ is busy manning the door as people leave, so now is as good a time as any to get yourselves settled in for the next hour or two until the place is empty. Dean guides you down the hall, a couple of doors down from the office you needed to get into later, looking over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear.

“Ok, let’s go,” Dean says, his voice barely above a whisper. He opens the door, craning his neck to look over his shoulder as he urges you past him to the doorway. “Get in there before somebody sees us.”

You step around him, and your eyes grow wide as your hands fly out to brace on the sides of the door frame. “This is a bad idea.”

Dean’s voice hisses in your ear as he pushes you inside. “You agreed to it, sweetheart, now move.”

He squeezes in behind you, pulling the door closed quietly. It’s pitch black and there’s barely enough room for both of you in the tiny broom closet, which is luckily empty of all but a couple of brooms and a mop leaning in one corner. “I changed my mind. I hate your suggestion. It’s a very bad suggestion. A very bad, dangerous suggestion.”

Dean scoffs at your comment. “It’s not dangerous. As long as we’re quiet, they’re not gonna know we’re here. They’ll all clear out in an hour or so, and then we can hit Maitland’s office, get that damn statue and then we’re outta here.”

Your breathing is quickening, your heart beginning to pound. “It is dangerous. I can feel it.”

You feel his hand on your shoulder, his fingers trailing down the length of your bare arm as he chuckles softly. “Afraid to be in the dark with me?” His hand covers yours, and he freezes for a moment, feeling the trembling of your fingers beneath his. When he speaks, the tone of his voice is completely different. “Claustrophobia? But I thought you were okay with hiding out until...”

“I thought it would be a room. Like, a real room, a whole, big room with, you know, room and – and air. Lots and lots of air. Not a tiny death trap. We’re gonna get stuck in here, the walls are going to close in on me and I… I can’t breathe.” Even though you are whispering, your fear comes through loud and clear.

Dean moves both of his hands up to your upper arms, supporting you. “We’re not going to get trapped. All I have to do is open the door, there’s not even a lock on it. Okay?” His voice is gentle as he continues. “The walls aren’t going to close in on you.”

Your trembling continues, and each breath is coming in soft, desperate little whines. “I… can’t…”

He says your name quietly. “Do you trust me?” After a second, you nod, and he gives your arms a squeeze. “Okay. First of all, take off those ridiculous shoes. You need to get comfortable.”

You slip out of your heels, doing what he asks without question, and the cool floor on your bare feet is actually soothing.

“Okay, now just lean back into me.” He moves his hands to cover yours, bringing them up to rest at your waist. “Just relax, feel when I breathe and breathe with me. In – out. In – out. In – out.” His hands stay on yours, holding you in place, grounding you as he slowly guides you out of your panic.

You are tense at first, but gradually you lay your head back against his shoulder and relax against his firm chest, your body responding and your breathing syncing with his. Your quaking begins to calm, and Dean gives your hand a squeeze. “Better?”

You nod as you answer. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You draw in a shaky breath. “Just – talk to me. So I don’t have to think about where I am.”

“What do you want me to talk about?”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Anything.”

He blows out a breath. “Okay. So – you look amazing tonight.”

You let out a disbelieving little laugh. “Wow, you really are trying to distract me.”

He sputters a little as he answers. “No! Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. I should have told you before, but when you came out in this slinky dress and those sexy high heels, I couldn’t get any words to come out. So, I’m telling you now.”

You blow out an incredulous breath. “I – didn’t think you even noticed how I look. Like, ever.” You tilt your head back as if you can look up at him, even though it’s too dark to see. “And you said my shoes were ridiculous.”

“Well, they are. I mean, they can’t be comfortable. But they are sexy, and when you walk, it kinda puts a little extra swing in your step, it’s – ah…” he clears his throat. “Yeah, sexy.”

“Women are used to being uncomfortable just to look good for men.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t need to. I mean, you always look good. Barefoot, in your old jeans, or those cute little cut-offs you wear sometimes. And that old sweatshirt that hangs off your shoulder, that’s good, too.” He leans down so he can speak softly in your ear. “Kinda makes me want to take a bite.”

You’re finding it hard to breathe again. “You’ve never even tried.”

“Well, maybe the time’s never been right. Or maybe I just didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“Wow. And I thought you could see right through me.”

“You’ve always kept your distance, and I thought that’s the way you wanted it.” His thumb is brushing over the soft skin of your hand.

“I thought that’s the way you wanted it. I didn’t think you were even interested in anything else.”

“Shhhhh,” Dean whispers, and you both go silent. Footsteps echo in the hall, then a voice right outside the door makes you jump.

“Did you check the bathrooms?” A distant ‘yeah’ came back in reply. “Good, then let’s get the hell out of here and go grab a beer.”

The footsteps retreat back the way they came, and you let out the breath you were holding. “Just a few minutes to make sure they’re gone,” Dean says softly, and you nod.

After a few long minutes have passed, he finally reaches behind him and opens the door. The dim nightlights in the hallway let you see your way out, and you take a deep breath. “This is much better.”

You start to take a step, but Dean takes hold of your hand and stops you, backing you into the wall.

“You still owe me for that quiche you stole,” he says, his eyes shining playfully. Then he bends to kiss you, gentle at first, then more hungrily as you grab at his jacket to tug him closer. When he finally lifts his head, you are both panting, his eyes searching yours as he waits for your reaction.

“I knew this was gonna be dangerous - in more ways than one,” you tease, and he grins, a touch of relief in his eyes.

“Danger is my middle name,” Dean quips in his best Austin Powers voice, and you giggle, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss him again. You smile slyly up at him as you slide out from between him and the wall, heading towards the office that holds your target. “Hey,” he says, and you stop, turning to look at him. He holds out his hand, your shoes dangling from his fingers. “Don’t forget your ridiculous shoes.”

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[makeitmingi]

The Cat and Dog Game [Chapter 10]

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Chef!Reader, RestaurantOwner!Yunho, MaitreD!Hongjoong, Waiter!Yeosang, Waiter!San, Waiter!Mingi, SousChef!Seonghwa, SousChef!Wooyoung, PrepChef!Jongho

Summary: Yunho's dream was to open and run his own restaurant. But he doesn't know anything when it comes to cooking. Until you came along and accepted the job, bringing with you a small crew. How will the black cat tame the energetic golden retriever?

Word count: 3.4K

When Yunho entered the restaurant the next day, he heard you already giving instructions and tasks to the rest of the crew. He walked in with the box of tools he had bought the day before. He was excited to show all of you what he bought, especially you.

"Surprise!" He beamed as he walked in. All 4 of you stopped, turning your head to see the tall male walking in, his face covered by the boxes he was carrying.

"Yunho hyung, what's this?" Jongho asked, helping to take the box from Yunho and putting it on the counter.

"I bought some stuff for the kitchen!" He explained, opening it.

"The guy at the store told me these are important essentials that every kitchen needs. Tomorrow, the electrical equipment is coming." He took the different things out and set them on the table.

"Oh yes, we needed these." Seonghwa said as he looked through all the things Yunho bought.

"Did you have that much fun shopping?" You raised an eyebrow. Yunho blushed slightly, did he seem too excited?

"I didn't really know what to get. And I felt bad for waiting so long to properly equip the kitchen with what you need. If you need anything else, let me know!" Yunho said. Wooyoung and Seonghwa took all the things to be washed and sanitised for you all to use immediately. You went back to mixing your fruit mixture.

"(y/n), the things I go are useful right?" Yunho came to stand next to you. Seonghwa watched on in curiosity. If Yunho had a tail, it would be wagging in anticipation now.

"Yeah. It's tools that we'll definitely use." You replied. Yunho perked up and grinned widely, happy by your words.

"What are you making?" He asked.

"Jam tartlets. The jam is blueberry and thyme." You said, grabbing a disposable spoon and scooping up a little for Yunho to taste. He ate the little bit of jam.

"That's nice! I'm guessing that herb flavour is the thyme?" He said. You hummed and went to take the tray with the blind baked tartlet shells. You gave Yunho two tablespoons.

"Two spoons per tart shell." You instructed.

"O-Oh! Okay!" He beamed, going over to wash his hands before stepping back to help you. He was glad that you just had him do tasks without him having to offer anymore, it was like you were used to him being around.

"So what other stuff are we putting out this morning?" Yunho asked as he focussed on filling the tart shells with equal amounts of jam. You turned to the others in the kitchen.

"I'm making a devil's food cake." Wooyoung raised his hand.

"I'm making a quiche with salmon and leeks. We made matcha financiers, they're cooling off." Seonghwa continued.

"I'm making a plum blechkuchen (German sheet cake)." Jongho said.

"And today's cupcake/ muffin is pandan chiffon with a gula melaka (coconut sugar) center." You finished. Although Yunho has not heard of half of those things, he was still excited to see what they were.

"They sound tasty for sure." Yunho smiled. He finished filling all the tartlet shells and you bent down to check that they were all level.

"Good job." You nodded in approval, putting them close to the serving window.

"Thank you!" Yunho smiled. After that, the other 4 came in and they all go ready for the store opening. As usual, Yunho made the entire kitchen crew drinks to have while they finished up their baking. You took a 5 minute break, sipping your coffee as you brainstormed on dinner ideas for tonight.

"So we're doing ricotta stuffed french toast right? With smoked maple butter and sour cherry sauce." You asked the kitchen. The 3 boys nodded their heads.

"Ribs? We can do a gochujang, barbecue type sauce. We'll leave the ribs in brine before we leave." You suggested.

"Ooh, we got good fish this morning. What if we used it to make a crudo? Use up the yuzu fruits to make the dressing." Jongho said.

"Good idea." You nodded, writing that down.

"What about poached chicken? We can poach it in samgyetang herbs. Use the stock to make rice after that. Chicken and rice dish." Seonghwa suggested.

"Yes, some might appreciate a lighter dish." Wooyoung chimed in. You noted all that down.

"Breakfast has just begun and you're already discussing dinner?" San laughed as he came in while you were all still discussing the dishes.

"We have to be prepared, some dishes need as much time as possible. Like we've decided to do ribs tonight so that means we need to marinate them before we leave later. Give it as much time to tenderise the meat and season it." You said.

"Giving more time to marinate helps tenderise it?" San tilted his head in surprise.

"With rib meat, there's not a lot of fat and flavour. So you marinate it, it firstly helps to soften the meat with the acid content. And it gives time for the flavours and salt to penetrate." Wooyoung explained.

"Oh wow. I never knew that." San said.

"So what is good to use to marinate? From what Wooyoung said, so something salty and acidic?"

"Yeah. But there are other things you can use. Like we'll use pineapple, it has an enzyme called bromelain that tenderises meat. Salt is easy things with soy sauce." Jongho informed.

"We'll go with those flavours since we want to use a gochujang based sauce when grilling. So asian tastes." You added.

"San, we need you! Stop chatting." Yeosang called.

"I'm not chatting! I'm learning." San growled in annoyance. He gave everyone a friendly smile and wave before leaving the kitchen to go help in the front. The 4 of you got back to work, finishing up on the baked treats so you could prepare for dinner tonight and leave to rest for the afternoon.

"Last batch done and cooling." Seonghwa said, putting the last cake by the window. When the treat or cake was done outside, those working the front would come and get the refill.

"I'm going for a breather." You said, going out for 5 minutes. The 3 didn't protest to that.

"Okay, let's clean up and start preparing what we need for dinner tonight." You instructed after coming back in.

"You prepare the stuff for tonight. We'll clean." Jongho came. Seonghwa nodded, bringing the used bowls to the sink to start washing them.

"Guess it's us on prep." Wooyoung bumped his hip against yours.

"Let's get all the meats out for trimming then." You said. Wooyoung helped you bring out all the packs of ribs, putting all the meats on the prep table. There was a lot of meat to get through.

"Rock, paper, scissors. Winner makes marinade, loser preps the meat?" Wooyoung wriggled his eyebrows at you.

"You're on." Seonghwa and Jongho ignored the two of you. But soon, Wooyoung was letting out curses, an indication of who emerged victorious in the game. You smiled happily, skipping to the pantry to collect what you needed for the marinade.

"I hate removing the membrane. It's so slippery." Wooyoung whined. But nonetheless, he took the pack of meat and grabbed his knife. He removed the membrane at the back, trimmed the excess fat cap off.

"Did you bring your boning knife?" Wooyoung asked. You nodded over to your knife wrap.

"I'm going to need it for frenching (cleaning the excess meat, fat and sinew off the bones for cleaner look)." He said.

"Knock yourself out." You giggled, making Wooyoung roll his eyes, continuing to grumble. You made a big batch of marinade, mixing all the ingredients in together.

"Thank you for your hard work this morning." Yunho came in for a short breather.

"How's the crowd?" You asked.

"It's good, actually. We're selling things at a steady pace. I think we're starting to have repeating customers too, I recognise some faces." Yunho smiled blissfully.

"What are you doing?" Yunho came over, full of curiosity.

"I'm making a marinade for the pork ribs. So Woo is preparing the ribs and we'll let them soak for as long as we can before we grill them for dinner. Get as much flavour in them as possible. Then we brush on a gochujang sort of barbecue sauce at the end. We'll serve it with white kimchi and roast potatoes." You informed.

"As someone who loves meat, that sound really good. White kimchi sounds like it will go together really well." Yunho said, nearly drooling as he imagined the dish.

"We'll see if the customers like more Western based dishes." You shrugged and he nodded in agreement.

"What's in the marinade?"

"Soy sauce, pineapple juice, pear juice, onions, sesame oil, peppercorns, salt and garlic. We're going for something similar to a bulgogi or galbi marinade." You explained to him.

"Done." Wooyoung groaned, throwing his head back tiredly. You chuckled and put the ribs into the tubs.

"I'll pour the marinades in." You used a measuring cup to divide the marinade into the tubs.

"Let me help with that." Yunho took one of the tubs after Wooyoung closed the lids, bringing it into the walk in to leave it there to marinate. Jongho helped bring the other tubs in too. After that, you put all your aprons in your little cubbies.

"See you later!" Yunho waved with smile. You all waved back, bowing your heads as you walked to Wooyoung's car to head home to rest for the next few hours.

"They just left?" Mingi poked his head in. Yunho nodded, taking his mug to drink his coffee.

"Grab me some chocolate sauce while you're there? Everyone seems to be craving mochas today." He asked.

"Sure. Anything else you need?" Yunho raised an eyebrow. Mingi shook his head and Yunho went to grab what the baristas needed for the front.

"You're very good looking." Some girls giggled as Yunho keyed in their order and received their money.

"Thank you. You can head to the end for your order pick up." Yunho smiled kindly, gesturing to the end of the counter. Mingi and Hongjoong watched on, both facepalming at how Yunho replied so normally. He was too kind to anyone that he met, not one to turn others away or reject their flirting.

Or maybe he just never noticed it when others flirted with him. Girls would usually get frustrated that Yunho wouldn't flirt back, just respond with a kind smile and a wave.

"What are we going to do with you?" Mingi clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"What?" Yunho asked, confused by his best friend's words.

"You're too friendly, Yunho ah." Hongjoong chuckled, patting the taller on the shoulder before heading to the back kitchen. Yunho still didn't understand what his friends were saying.

"Can I have your Instagram?" One of the girls giggled as they waited for their drink that San was making.

"Sorry, girls. Company policy, we can't give that info out." Mingi came to save Yunho, slinging an arm around his shoulder. The girls either pouted or frowned at Mingi's words, taking their drinks from San and leaving the cafe. Mingi chuckled and let out a soft sigh.

"What company policy are you talking about? I'm the owner and I didn't even know we had any policy." Yunho raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

"Trust me, buddy. You'll thank me later." Mingi patted Yunho's shoulders and walked back to the barista area to help San.

Instead of going home to rest, you went to the shops with Jongho to pick up some extra things that you might need for dinenr tonight like ginseng chicken soup herbs and worcesteshire sauce.

"Oh wow, key limes." Jongho said, picking one up to inspect. You looked over in interest.

"What a rarity... And they're not expensive. Shall we make key lime pie?" You turned to meet his eyes. Jongho nodded.

"Key lime syrup for drinks." His eyes sparkled excitedly. The both of you bought a few punnets, putting it into the trolley and continuing on your way.

"Hwa said he needed more stock bags." You grabbed two packets off the shelf. After getting what you needed, you and Jongho went to get a coffee at the coffee stand near the markets then drove to your home. You both decided to spend the remaining time napping at your house rather than splitting up.

When Jongho came to wake you up, you were not pleased to be woken up. All the tiredness of your broken sleep schedule was hitting you all at once, which was not ideal.

"Don't be grumpy." Jongho chuckled as he drove. You hid further into your hoodie.

"Hwa hyung's gonna send you home and won't let you do dinner service, you know?" Jongho reminded. You pouted, you didn't want to be sent home.

"Here." Jongho held out the coffee he poured into a travel mug for you.

"Thanks." You mumbled and took the tumbler to take a sip. When Jongho pulled up to park, you let out a childish whine.

"Come on." Jongho got out and went to open the passenger door for you. You grumbled as you stepped out, you were really just so tired and sleep deprived that you didn't want to be working.

You and Jongho were first to arrived. You went to get your apron, tying it around your waist and tucking two tea towels into your apron string. Then you put your precision tongs and tasting spoon into the pockets in front.

"Let's start." You said to Jongho. He nodded and stood with you, prepping what you needed to start.

"We should get the poaching liquid for the chicken going first. I want as much of the herbal flavour to get in because we need that liquid for the rice later." You informed.

"Okay, I'll prepare the herbs first?" He asked.

"No, help me butcher the chickens. I want to serve them in halves." You said. Jongho nodded and went to prepare his station.

"I'll prep the herbs." You went to get the samgyetang herbs that you bought earlier, brushing off any debris that you saw, throwing it into the pot with some stock.

"Hey." Seonghwa and Wooyoung came in. You were focused at your own counter. Wooyoung pointed at your back, signalling to Jongho.

Jongho put his hands together, tucking it under his ear to show that you were sleeping before this. Wooyoung and Seonghwa nodded their heads, understanding him. They went to put their things in their cubbies and got their aprons. Wooyoung didn't dare approach you yet but Seonghwa was daring enough.

"Hey, darling." Seonghwa came up to you.

"Park, I'm holding a knife. If you're going to ask me to go home now and sleep, I'm not responsible for what I do with said knife." You said, continuing to cut the garlic.

"Carry on." He patted your head and backed away. The only time you called him 'Park' was when you were grumpy.

"I'll get started on the ribs." Wooyoung raised his hand, going into the walk in.

"Hwa, start on the appetisers. Jong, when you're done, prep what we'll need for the rose carbonara. I'll do the desserts after I put the chickens in for poaching." You instructed.

"Okay." They all replied and got to doing their tasks.

When Yunho, Mingi, Hongjoong, Yeosang and San came in for the dinner shift, they too felt the coldness in the room. Yunho could practically see the rain cloud above your head. Wooyoung shook his head, using his hand to do a neck slice action.

"Go." Yunho whispered, ushering the other boys out to the front to get ready for dinner service.

"Don't worry, (y/n). I'll be at the pass tonight." They heard Wooyoung offer from the kitchen window. Tonight was supposed to be your turn at the window.

"We need an extra pair of hands. San." You poked your head out briefly. San raised his hand and jogged to the kitchen quickly.

Yunho pouted, he had hoped he was the first one you call to help in the kitchen. He could do just as well as San.

"Let's get the silverware out." Mingi said. Hongjoong brought his maitre d stand to the front, making sure his iPad with all the reservations was on and working.

"Work phone?" Hongjoong asked. Yunho took it from the charger behind the counter and handed it over. The shorter put it in his pocket.

"(y/n) a little sleep deprived now and like a little kid, she can get grumpy when she needs sleep. So just... steer clear. Don't try to send her home or anything, she already threatened Seonghwa. It's scary." Jongho advised to those that were outside, having come out to get a mug of juice from the bar fridge.

"I'm stepping out real quick to get something. If I'm not back in time, Hongjoong hyung, open for me?" Yunho said.

"Do you need something?" Yeosang asked.

"Kind of...? I'll be as fast as I can. Just manage it for the time being." Yunho said and ran out the front door of the restaurant, leaving his dumbfounded friends there.

When Yunho came back, he came through the back. He put what he needed in his cupboard before coming out of the small room.

"Woah." He almost crashed into you. You raised an eyebrow, looking up at him.

"Aren't you supposed to be out there?" You asked, nodding over to the front of the restaurant. Yunho gulped, suddenly feeling like a child that was caught by his parent.

"I needed to get something so Hongjoong hyung opened up for me." Yunho said. You nodded and went into the get something front your bag. Yunho's eyes followed you until you stopped.

"Need something?" You stared back at him, questioningly.

"N-No! I'm going out." Yunho quickly bowed his head and ran away to support his friends with waiting tables. You slightly frowned in confusion but grabbed what you needed before going back to the kitchen as dinner service was starting.

Thankfully for you, dinner service went by quickly. The customers liked the menu and the food. When it was near closing, your kitchen crew took turns to prepare the dessert and to eat their dinner.

"Why don't you finish up dessert and go home? We'll clean up." Wooyoung offered.

"I'm fine." You rolled your eyes, flipping the french toast in the pan.

"Can I get a coffee, please? Two shots, on the rocks." You turned to Jongho. He nodded and ate another bite, exiting the kitchen to go out and make you a coffee.

"Service." You put yours and Wooyoung's plate at the window. Yeosang came over and took it to serve.

"Here you go." Jongho handed you the cup. You took a sip and exited the back door.

"Last few tables. Is (y/n) outside?" Yunho asked. Seonghwa nodded. Yunho went to the locker room and grabbed something, slipping out the back door. Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho tried but couldn't get a glimpse at what Yunho was carrying. They shrugged and returned to what they were doing.

"(y/n)?" Yunho looked around. He saw you sitting on the curb, cup of coffee beside you as you pressed your cheek on your folded arms. Your eyes were closed as you snoozed.

"Did you need something?" You asked with your eyes closed, making Yunho jump in surprise.

"Ummm, I have something for you." Yunho said shyly. Your eyes fluttered open as you stared at him.

"Sit." You scooted, patting the space beside you. He gladly sat down. You took a sip of your coffee first, raising an eyebrow at Yunho, waiting for him to say something.

"Something to brighten your day... Or, at this time, I guess it's night. To give you energy." Yunho grinned, taking the paper bag.

"Which is?" You were not expecting him to take a sunflower bouquet out for you.

"Oh and this. I don't know how to make donuts so I figured buying one that I know is good will be better than me trying to make one on my own." Yunho said, holding out the box of 3 donuts. You stared at the two items.

"Sunflowers bring light and energy... I just thought... I don't know..." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. You melted a little, this was completely unexpected.

"Thank you, Yunho. I'm really fine, don't worry." You didn't know what came over you as you reached out to pat his head gratefully.

~

Series masterlist

[zepskies]

Show Me - Part 1

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader || Sam Winchester x Eileen Leahy (background)

Summary: Dean meets your infamous ex-boyfriend at a fallen hunter’s funeral. You just forgot to mention that he’s a hunter as well. Maybe because he still has the power to get under your skin…in the worst of ways.

AN: Another story for the Espresso-verse! This is set after “Devour Me,” and plays on plot threads in “Midnight Espresso” and the flashbacks in “In Bad Weather.”

Word Count: 3,100

Tags/Warnings: Angst, body shaming, body insecurity, protective Dean.

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 1: “Objects Are Closer Than They Appear”

Hunter funerals aren’t supposed to be lively affairs.

Alicia Jackson is special, however. She’s known so well throughout the hunter community that news of her death creates a kind of reunion at her mother’s house after the funeral, not unlike Asa Fox’s wake last year.

Even you had known Alicia, though not particularly well. You met her through Eileen. They’d called for your help on a ciguapa case a few months ago, and ever since, Alicia had insisted on buying you a beer anytime she was in town.

So today, Sam and Dean are really supporting you and Eileen by coming along.

Alicia’s mother, Martha, is a lovely Haitian woman in her late sixties. Her house is modest, but welcoming. She’s a gracious host to have so many rough and tumble hunters in her home.

The wake is mainly gathered in the backyard, where plastic tables and chairs have been set up. Most of the hunters have collected into groups of the ones they know, sharing stories, laughing, eating, and drinking.

You’re in the kitchen with Martha, as you’ve offered to help her put out some more beers on the table outside. The smaller woman falters for a moment when she glances at a framed picture of her daughter on the wall. Alicia was beautiful, with coal-dark skin and soulful brown eyes she’d inherited from her mother.

You end up holding Martha’s hands in comfort when she nearly crumbles again. Your heart breaks for her. Even if you hadn’t been that close with Alicia, you’d hope that someone would take care of your own mother in a situation like this.

“She just has so many friends,” Martha says, with a tearful chuckle. “I never realized…”

“We try to look after each other,” you reply, smiling. “Everyone here knew your daughter, if not personally, then by reputation. And guaranteed, all of them have at least one good story to share.”

Martha nods. Somehow, she’s able to smile through her tears as she pats your hand. 

After spending a few more minutes with her, you predictably find Dean by a long table of hors d’oeuvres and desserts.

“Babe, you gotta try these mini quiche. They’re delicious,” he says, after popping another pastry into his mouth. You can see that he’s eaten nearly a whole tray while he’s been waiting for you.

“You realize we’re at a wake, not the Golden Corral,” you lightly tease. He shrugs.

“Still gotta eat, right?” he says.

His capacity for food knows no bounds, but you love him for it.

You glance over at Sam and Eileen chatting with a small group of hunters under the shade of a tree. They’re sitting close together at a picnic table. Your lips form a subtle smile, and you lean in close to Dean.

“Look at your brother, being a supportive non-boyfriend,” you say. They’ve been loosely “dating” for weeks, though you aren’t sure they’ve put an official label on what they are together.

Dean’s expression turns both fond and amused. “Think they’ve sealed the deal yet?”

You glance over at him. “What do you mean?”

“You know…” Dean waggles his brows suggestively. You do know what he means, and you playfully smack his chest. Mostly to stop him before he starts making lewd hand motions.

“Come on, that’s none of our business,” you reply. Inside though, you’re wondering the same thing.

Dean spies the look on your face and smirks.

“See. You’re curious too,” he says. He gestures at your face with the same hand that holds a bacon-wrapped cocktail weenie. You have to raise a hand to fend him off when he tries to veer it into your mouth.

“Don’t point at me with your sausage,” you quip.

“Funny. I’ve never heard that particular complaint outta your mouth before,” he smirks.

He eventually gives up on feeding you and eats it himself. His warm gaze is still on you though. You start to blush.

“Again, we’re literally at a funeral reception,” you say, despite your growing smile.

His gait becomes more flirtatious as he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“Like I said. We still gotta eat, don’t we?”

You splutter laughing, though you attempt to contain it behind your hand. Dean’s chuckle resonates through you when he pulls you in by your waist. His thumb brushes your hip. He’s not so much into PDA, and certainly not as “touchy” as you, but this much will do for now. You lean into him in turn.

He finishes off his umpteenth hours d’oeuvre and sets his nearly empty beer on the table. After letting loose a barely stifled belch, he mentions something about finding a bathroom.

“Dogs are already barkin’, huh?” you tease.

“Yep,” he freely admits, patting his stomach. “Give me five minutes…or ten.”

He squeezes your arm in parting before he takes off down the hall at a purposeful pace. It leaves you to contemplate the mini quiche.

Damn, they do look good. You bend over the table slightly to peruse your options, when a familiar voice drawls behind you.

“Still got a fat ass,” he teases.

You freeze. Slowly, you straighten up, and you turn to blink in surprise at the man who stands there, holding a beer and wearing a playful smile.

Yours is polite at best as you try to get through your shock.

“Carter,” you blurt out. What the hell are you doing here?

He greets you with an incline of his head. The way he says your name is both familiar, and a little unsettling.

You cross your arms and lean back on your heels. “You knew Alicia?”

“We tangled a few times,” Carter replies with a nod. His smile laces with a bit of innuendo, but his eyes have just enough heaviness to convince you that he really did have some kind of relationship with Alicia.

Oh, Ali. You could’ve done better, you think. You wish you’d known that tidbit of information when she was alive. You would’ve warned her.

“I’m sorry for your loss then,” you say. Carter nods again. A silence falls awkwardly between you two.

“Is that all we’re gonna say to each other?” he asks. “It’s been…what, a couple years?”

“Almost four,” you supply. You and Carter had ended just a few months before you met Sam and Dean, a little over three years ago now. You and Dean hadn’t started dating until last year.

“All right,” Carter says, rubbing at his chin. His gaze roams over you with a slight smile. They take you in from your high-heeled boots and jean-clad curvy thighs, to your green blouse, laced loosely in the front. You’d decided to dress a little nicer for the occasion.

“You know, you look the same,” Carter says. His head tilts. “But different somehow.”

You raise a brow. “Different?”

“Yeah, like…” He draws closer and leans on the table beside you. He sips at his beer. “Confident. Like you’re not hiding yourself anymore.”

He mimics the hunch of a turtle in its shell.

“You used to be like a little mouse sometimes,” he adds with a light chuckle.

You know he means to be teasing, but you’re not laughing. If you’re not hiding anymore, it means you’re not trying to bury yourself under shapeless clothes, along with much of your inner self.

“Don’t you think that’s a little tight?” he’d asked you once, before you two went out together. It wasn’t the first time. (And it wouldn’t be the last.)

“I’m just saying,” he would often say. “You might feel more comfortable in something a bit looser. Cover these up a little.”

You remember how he’d squeezed the softness around your sides or your stomach. You also remember a well of anxiety in your chest that had made you feel almost grotesque when you’d studied yourself in the mirror afterwards.

Objects are closer than they appear…

You remember agreeing with him. Changing clothes. Drowning yourself in crewneck shirts and breezy buttoned-downs. Always wearing pants and baggy shirts to bed. Thinking all of this was to make you comfortable, and not the man who didn’t really love you.

So now, you give him a passive look as you take Dean’s forgotten beer and finish the last sip. Carter wears a hunter’s red plaid over jeans and his old leather boots. His blonde hair is shaggy around his ears, his face a little rough with stubble, his eyes still a deep blue.

He looks exactly the same. He probably is the same.

He’s right about one thing though. You’re not the same.

“We’re not in the profession of hiding,” you finally reply. “Guess I just got tired of it.”

Carter seems to sense your shift, and maybe, what you’re really saying. His smile falls into contemplation. He crosses his arms.

“Did I spot you with one of the Winchesters earlier?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah, that was Dean.”

Before you can add the boyfriend part, Carter whistles lowly and shakes his head.

“I’d steer clear of them if I were you,” he says.

You quirk a brow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Those two are walking hurricanes of bad luck, blood, and mayhem,” Carter says.

“You don’t even know Sam and Dean,” you counter. Your voice is sharp and your brows knit together in thinly veiled irritation. “So I suggest you shut your mouth and steer clear of me.”

You set the beer bottle a bit hard on the table and mean to brush past him. You spot Sam and Eileen again, still sitting in their same table under the tree. You aim to head over there to wait for Dean, but a hand wraps around your arm.

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be like that,” Carter frowns.

“I’m not your sweetheart,” you tell him. You’re discreet in the way you try to twist your arm out of his grip. You glance around to make sure no one’s watching you two. The last thing you want to do is make a scene here, but Carter is being a stubborn ass.

Even though you manage to wrench out of his hold, he grasps your hand next to stop you from pulling away. He looks down at your hand, brushes his thumb over your skin. His gaze looks heavy, almost melancholy.

You know that funerals tend to bring out the sentimental shoulda, coulda, woulda in hunters, but you think he might be looking back on your time together with rosier glasses than he ought to be.

“Look, I'm sorry. Can’t I at least get you a drink? We can catch up,” he says.

“Consider me caught up,” you toss back. Frustration begins to set you on edge. “I don’t know why you’re pushing this. I mean, God, we weren’t even good together.”

At that, his grip tightens on your hand. Confusion and denial cross his face.

“That’s not true,” he protests.

Unbidden, you’re forced to remember the weeks you and Carter spent in Miami, where you’d met him. You remember how he’d convinced you to leave with him after his hunt was done, and to leave your family behind. A decision you regret to this day…

You lean in closer just to whisper hotly. “You know it is. We didn’t have a relationship. We had a transaction, in which you liked what I could do for you. But you never loved me. You never even really knew me.”

At that, his hold finally loosens in his shock. You take the opportunity to slip your hand out of his. Another familiar hand rests along your lower back, and a firm wall radiates warmth behind you.

“Hey, party people,” Dean says. He gives Carter a “pleasant” smile, and you a more genuine look. You okay? it says.

You let out a subtly relieved breath and nod. “Hey, was just gonna go check on you.”

“I’m good,” Dean says. He looks over at Carter, whose expression has cooled considerably. Still, Dean inclines his head. “Hey, man.”

“Yeah,” Carter says. His tone is bland, until his gaze slides back to you.

“Don’t tell me you’re shacking up with this one now,” he says, leveling a finger at Dean. Then he gestures across the lawn, over at Sam. “Or is it the former anti-Christ over there?”

Both you and Dean bristle. Your temper has a thin fuse right now, and while you still don’t want to make a scene, you might have to make an exception.

“Why don’t you remember where the hell you are and have some decency,” you hiss. “Do us all a favor and fuck off.”

Once again, you try to walk past him. This time when Carter grabs you, it’s because he smarts at you getting the last word. A sharp breath escapes you, and Dean intervenes with a firm, warning grip on the other man’s wrist.

“Hey, you wanna act right, before you make yourself a problem?” Dean says. His face is relaxed, but behind his eyes are a very real threat. “I got no issue laying you out right here, in front of all your buddies.”

Carter has a moment of indecision. He notices a few pairs of eyes drawing their way, and so he lets go of you, even as he sneers at Dean.

“Shove the Prince Charming bit, asshole. She ain’t a damn princess,” Carter snaps. “She don’t act like one, and she definitely don’t look like one.”

You roll your eyes at his spite, but Dean can’t quite let that one slide off his back. 

His grip tightens on Carter’s wrist as he pulls him in. He pats Carter hard on the back and smiles as if they’re old friends. But really, it just gives him the vantage point to speak lowly near the man’s ear.

“All right, douchebag. Keep talking shit. I’ll bet that’s how you’ve gotten this far in life,” Dean says. “But touch her again, and I’ll break every damn bone in your hand. And maybe, I won’t stop there.”

He tilts his head, so he can see the glimmer of intimidation hidden well behind the other man’s eyes. Then Dean lets him go. He turns and lays a hand at the small of your back. The two of you fall into step together while walking across the lawn in the backyard.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say quietly.

Dean frowns and notices the way your gaze has lowered. His hand moves around your waist and squeezes to get your attention. Without him realizing, it just reminds you of the way Carter used to point out the thicker curves on your body.

Cover these up a little.

“Hey, you okay—”

“I’m fine, Dean,” you say, easing out of his hold.

It leaves him feeling unbalanced, and a bit put out. Dean remains quiet as he follows you over to his brother’s table.

“Are you all right?” Sam asks you, discreetly, but with concern. The wake is coming to an end, and by now Dean has filled him in on your run in with your ex, Carter Hall.

You give Sam a nod and a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Yeah, I'm good,” you reply.

Dean is quiet. He stands beside you with his hands in his pockets. Eileen has invited you and Dean to join her and Sam at a nearby bar to keep the evening going with a few other hunters, but this has already been one hell of a day. You’re ready to make the long drive home and call it a night.

Eileen’s also agreed to take Sam home (eventually). You notice how they share smiles, how Eileen ducks her head with the beginnings of a blush. You’re happy for them, even as you and Dean part ways with a more stifled silence on the way back to the car.

It’s late, and it’s cold. You walk beside him with your arms crossed, just to brace yourself against the windchill eating through your jacket. You glance over at your boyfriend and feel a measure of remorse for the way you brushed him off earlier. You have a feeling that’s part of the reason why he’s quiet, giving you your space.

You decide to close the distance. You sidle up closer and curl your arm around his. Your hand slips into his as well, threading your fingers together with Dean’s.

He looks over at you with a slight raise of his brows. His lips quirk at a smile, and his hand tightens on yours. You’re able to give him a more sincere smile in return.   

“Can I tell you something?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Dean says.

You look up at him and bite your lower lip. “I’m starving. I never did get to try those quiche.”

It only takes a moment for you to devolve into a quiet giggle. It’s infectious, and Dean laughs with you.

“Okay, we’ll stop somewhere,” he nods. Though his eyes widen in realization. “Damn, that means you haven’t eaten since, what, this morning? Before the funeral?”

You mentally count back the hours, and you have to agree with a sheepish nod. Dean shakes his head in disapproval.

“Come on, sweetheart. You should’ve said something.”

You shrug, even though you know he’s right. Your free hand curls around his bicep, and you lay your head against his arm. He looks down at the top of your head and heaves a sigh, despite his lingering smile.

Though the peace you’ve brokered is soon interrupted.

Dean had to park down the road of Martha Jackson’s house. Two cars down is Carter, who’s about to climb into his old Honda Civic.

Damn. He’s still driving the same piece of shit too, you note. His head raises, and as if he knows he’s being watched, his attention turns toward you and Dean. You don’t allow yourself to react, other than staring across the way, directly at Carter. You wait until he looks away first, opening his door and getting into his car.

You expel a breath and brush your thumb over the back of Dean’s hand.

“Let’s go,” you say.

Dean nods. He guides you toward the passenger side of the Impala, but his gaze lands beyond his car, to the Honda still parked and warming up. He finds Carter’s gaze through the front window for a moment.

It’s Carter who once again breaks first; he revs the ignition and peels onto the street, and down the road past them without looking back.

Dean's lips curve. Bitch.

Shaking his head, he rolls his shoulders and rounds the car towards the driver’s side.

He’s more than ready to go home.

AN: *sighs* Okay, originally this story was going to be a one-shot, but it just got too damn long. Let me know what you think of Dean finally meeting her ex-douchebag, Carter.

Part 2 (coming next week) will include all the angsty hurt/comfort and smut to come...

Next Time:

“I’ll just speak for myself then,” he says. His hand trails lower... “If you need me to remind you how beautiful you are, how goddamn sexy…then I got no problem showing you.”

His hand moves down the soft slopes of your body and comes to rest at the curve of your waist. Hearing your faltering breath, Dean pulls back so he can see your face.  

“Let me take care of you for a change,” he says. His lips pull at a grin, and it makes you smile in turn.

You take his face in your hands and bring him down to you for a kiss, languid and a bit devouring. It makes heat lick up Dean’s spine.

“Okay,” you whisper, close to his lips. “Show me.”

Keep Reading: PART 2

🎙️ Want to listen to the whole story narrated in podfic form? Check it out:

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[vodika-vibes]

Hey hey Vod'ika! I think I've finally settled on my prompt for you. It was so tough narrowing down which clone. I just love them all and your writing is amazing!

Can you do Howzer in the summer with garnet but can we put a lil spin on it and lean towards jealous/over-protective? I'm kinda thinking he maybe sees the reader interact with Crosshair and that's what drives the whole thing? You picking up what I'm putting down lol.

Thanks love!

I'm Not Jealous

Summary: You’re very secure in your relationship with Howzer, but when Crosshair joins the Clone Rebellion, you can’t help but notice that he’s a little more protective.

Pairing: Captain Howzer x GN!Reader

Word Count: 704

Prompt: Garnet - Protective Love, with a twist towards jealousy

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: The name of the game is 'how legible can I keep this story until the cold medicine kicks in'! And I think I managed it pretty well! Thank you for the request. I hope this makes you happy~

You like Crosshair.

He reminds you of a foster dog that your mom took in when you were little. Angry and scared and traumatized and so desperate for affection and attention, and yet so afraid of it too.

It is part of the reason why you’ve tried to go out of your way to be welcoming to him. And it’s not like anyone else is going out of their way to make him feel welcomed.

Sure, he was part of the Empire and did some truly horrific things, but he’s not with them now. And the path to redemption has to start somewhere, right? So why not with you?

The problem is that since you’ve started your friendship with Crosshair —it’s not really friendship, you’re essentially shaking a bag of cat treats to try and trick the tooka out from under the couch so you can bring him to the vet— Howzer has been more and more out of sorts.

In fact, he snapped at you yesterday.

Oh, sure, he apologized right after the fact. Apologized and peppered your face with bunches of little kisses and offered to make dinner as an apology. Of course you took him up on it, your Howzer is an excellent cook after all, but you’re…concerned.

Concerned enough that you beg out of the flight for the day, passing it off to your second in your stead, while you try to figure out what’s going on with Howzer.

After all, you thought that the pair of you were fine.

You look up from where you’re making a breakfast quiche, mom always swore by it when she needed dad in a good mood, as Howzer steps into the kitchen from your shared bedroom.

He looks surprised to see you, though the surprise melts into delight very quickly, “Cyare! I thought you had that transport mission to Hoth?”

“I did, I passed it over to my second.” You reply, “I thought I mentioned it.”

“If you did it wasn’t to me.” He crosses over to you, and kisses your temple, his arms sliding tightly around your waist, “Maybe you told Crosshair.” There’s something in his voice. Something tight and angry and jealous.

And there it is.

You finish pouring the egg mixture into the pie crust and slide the whole mixture into the oven, before you turn in his arms, and place your hands on his chest. “Howzer,”

“Cyare?”

“You know I love you, right?”

Something warm and soft slides across his face, “I know. I love you too.”

You reach up and press your hand against his scarred cheek, “I know you do.” You rub his cheek with your thumb, “Why are you so jealous of Crosshair, love?”

“I’m not jealous!” He blurts immediately, and then he averts his eyes, “I’m not…overly jealous.”

You smile at him, “Howzer,”

“I don’t like you talking to him.” He admits, a frown on his lips, “Why couldn’t you try and befriend Hunter instead?” That was definitely a whine.

You laugh softly, “Howzer.”

“I know I can’t force you to not be friends with him. But I really, really hate him.”

Your other hand comes up to press against his cheek, “Crosshair needs a friend. Someone like me, who’s so low stakes in the grand scheme of things that he can just be himself.” You smile at him lovingly, “But if you really don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

Howzer releases a slow breath and presses his hands over yours, “You’re a better person than me.” He mumbles, “I don’t want to stop you from making friends. Even if it’s with Crosshair.” He makes a face.

“I’m always going to come back to you at the end of the day, Howzer.” You whisper up to him. 

He flashes a small grin at you, confidence sliding across his face, “Oh. I know. That was only ever a minor concern.” He drops his head and kisses you, “After all, I highly doubt Crosshair can love you like I can.”

You grin at him, mischief dancing on your face, “And how’s that again?”

He smirks at you and twists the both of you so that he’s able to walk you backwards towards the bedroom, “Let me show you.”