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multifandomgirl08 · 1 year

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Day At The Karting Track [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: Nico starts karting. It opens a small can of worms.

Warning(s): Flashback, Mixed Media (Story + Social Media)

A/N: Edited 8/1/2024

Words: 2.2k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

Nico had been bouncing around all morning excited for his first time at a karting track. It had been the highlight of his week after flying to Austria to watch Max race after Nico’s last day of daycare before the summer holiday started.

Although Max was excited for Nico, you also knew that he was nervous.

Nico had taken to sitting in the Kart that was gifted to him for his last birthday whenever he could, waiting for the day until he was able to drive on a karting track. The helmet that Nico wore was a replica of one of Max’s old ones. You had taken photos of Nico in his race suit after he had eaten breakfast, his race suit hanging off his waist, the sleeves just barely touching the hardwood floor. He stood proudly against the wall in the entryway of the apartment, with his helmet under his arm. Looking every bit his father’s son.

Max was silent in the kitchen drinking his Red Bull while you packed up your bag with Nico’s little gloves and a pair of sneakers for him to change into after.

Max hadn’t said much all morning, you had made breakfast for yourself and Nico while Max sat with you both. Nico had so many questions for Max.

“How long does the race last? How many other people are going to be there? Will I be just like you Papa?” Nico had asked one after another in between bites of his food.

Max had answered as many of Nico’s questions as he could, but he had kept his answers short. Although Max loved that Nico loved F1 as much as he did, he wasn’t sure if he wanted Nico to end up driving in motorsports at all.

It was a combination of things; it was hard, it was expensive (both you and Max could afford it), and Max wasn’t sure if he would be the best person to be Nico’s coach. It wasn’t just because Max was away most weekends.

“I don’t want him karting.” Max had said to you late one night after Nico had gone to bed.

“Max, isn’t that his choice to make?” You asked, as you laid with him on the couch in the living room.

“No, because… I’m the one who’s going to have to coach him. I’m the one who’s going to have to tell him when he isn’t doing something right. I’m going to have to do things like…” Max didn’t have to finish his sentence for you to know what he was going to say.

Max’s “father”, if you could even call him that, was a constant source of stress for Max when it came to raising Nico. From the media which you now knew how to handle, to dealing with the pressure of Jos Verstappen hanging over his head. It was a constant, never ending battle for him.

Max wasn’t looking at you as his head was resting in your lap staring up at the ceiling.

“You don’t have to.” In reality you didn’t know the intricacies of how karting worked, and when it really started to matter if Nico took it seriously. Nico had been 3½ when he had asked you and Max if he could try, and by the time he would turn four he already had all of the needed equipment sitting in the garage of the apartment building ready to be used.

“Yes, I do. Most kids have a coach by the time that they’re 6, and they start competing at the age of 8.” As Max started telling you about the facts, it made it more difficult for you to not think about Nico. He was a kid, he shouldn’t have to think about if he wanted to pursue this so young. “If he starts later, he won’t have a leg up on the kids who have been doing it longer. Starting him young will prepare him for-”

Max cut himself off before burying his head into your thigh. “UHHH!” He yelled in frustration. “This is exactly why I don’t want him karting. I sound like my father when I was Nico’s age.”

It had taken two more months and having Sophie over for dinner to put Max’s mind at ease with Nico karting. You were sitting at the dinner table with Sophie who had helped you cook. Max had his hand in yours gripping it tightly when you had brought it up.

“I know you're concerned about him pursuing this. When you started living with Jos, and he started teaching you about karting I didn’t want to let you go. I didn’t want you to be raised by him like you were. I wanted to protect you, like any parent would.” She paused for a moment.

It felt like Sophie was acknowledging something from Max’s childhood that you knew nothing about. She didn’t want Max to be raised the way that he was? What had Jos done to Max when he was a child?

“Like you want to for Nico, but I also understood that I had to let you go. I knew one day that I would get to spend as much time with you as I wanted, I just had to wait.” She continued before taking a sip from her glass that was on the table. She didn’t bring up anything else from Max’s childhood, just her own feelings about not getting to spend as much time with him when he was younger.

Both you and Max had glanced over at Nico who was sitting on the carpet in front of the TV with one of his books open. He was turning the pages, looking at the pictures of the characters on the page before Sassy made her way over, pressing herself into Nico’s space. He let out a happy squeal as the cat nuzzled herself under his chin.

“I know that you are concerned about turning out like him. But you’ve already shown your son more compassion as a parent than your father ever did when you were growing up. If Nico wants to pursue this, you should let him. The worst thing he could say to you about it, is that he no longer wishes to compete. Let him have it, and if he no longer wants to let him make that choice, not you.”

Sophie had walked over to the other side of the table and kissed Max on the forehead as if he was still a child before looking over at you and giving you a smile that you read as a silent Thank you. Thank you for being there for my son and my grandson. You didn’t need her to voice the words to know that was what she had meant.

You just nodded before offering to clear the table. Max was quick to get up from his seat and move all of the plates into the kitchen while you and Sophie chatted between the two of you about Nico and yours and Max’s plans for the mid-season break as a way to lighten the feeling in the room.

Once you got to the karting track Nico undid his carseat before Max had put the car in park. He had jumped out of the car as soon as he could. Max had gone to chase after Nico while you went over to handle the forms you would need to fill out for Nico.

You quickly spoke to the woman behind the counter after paying the deposit for the day, and with the receipt she started to collect a small stack of papers.

“You’re going to need to fill out a waiver today before the race starts.” The woman said. She gave you a clipboard and a pen for you to start filling out the information for Nico.

As you looked it over, you added in all of Nico’s info, like his name, date of birth, and then your eyes fell on the emergency information. Adding in Max’s was easy.

Parent 1

Name: Max Verstappen Relationship to Child: Father

Address: **, ****** ********** ********* Monaco, La Condamine, 98000 Monaco

Phone Number: +33 00*******

As you stared at the paper you were quick to write down your name. You kept tapping the pen over where it said Relationship to Child. You quickly scribbled down Step-Mother without giving it another thought before copying the address and adding in your own phone number.

It wasn’t that you and Max had never had those conversations about the future. You knew that your relationship was long term and you knew that Max saw a future with you but you had never really talked about how that would affect Nico. Would you be his mother if things seemed to keep progressing the way that they had? Would you be his step-mother if Max ended up proposing?

You pushed the thought from your mind filling out the rest of the papers before you saw Max and Nico come back. You give the papers over to Max so he could sign where his signature was needed. You saw Max turn the pages back over, looked at the first page and then crossed something out before handing the papers back to the woman behind the counter.

“Everything looks to be in order.” The woman said, giving both you and Max a smile. “The race starts in about 30 minutes. You can have your son set up his things over there.” She pointed to a small set of tables where there were parents sitting strapping their children’s helmets on.

You and Max had helped Nico put on his gloves and his helmet before taking his kart over to where the starting line was. The other kids were standing with their parents, some of them looking over at Max knowing exactly who he was. None of the parents had come up to Max to ask for pictures or anything like that but you knew it would probably happen when you were going to leave.

Nico sat down in his kart, moving around a little in the seat before you kissed Nico on top of his helmet and Max gave him a fist bump and a nod with a smile. You and Max walked back behind the gate to watch as the boys, and a smaller group of girls got ready to race around the track for the allocated amount of time.

You had quickly posted something to your Instagram of a photo you had gotten of Nico earlier on.

ynlnusername added to their story

Nico had ended up finishing the race in third. Max looked at you after it was over, probably blown away at Nico’s natural talent.

You had been at the track for another few hours, meeting and talking to some of the other parents. One of the little boys that Nico had raced against even had the courage to walk up to Max and asked for an autograph. Max at first said that he didn’t have a pen on him before you had pulled out a Sharpie from your bag. You had taken to carrying a few with you just in case.

Max had given you a look that told you everything that you needed to know. Afterwards you had helped pack up all of Nico’s things and put him in the car. You planned to give him a bath once you got back home. You found it astounding that he hadn’t fallen asleep on the drive back home.

When you had gotten up to the apartment Max went with Nico into his bathroom and gave him a bath while you ordered an early dinner for the three of you. Nico ate his fill, and while you and Max had finished eating, Nico went to watch some cartoons on the TV.

Eventually Nico ended up on the couch asleep between you and Max. The sound of the TV gave off a light hum.

“So I wanted to know,” Max started to say after he put his phone down. “Why did you put step-mother on Nico’s emergency contact information earlier?”

You were a little taken aback by Max’s question.

“I mean,” He started again. “I know that we’ve talked about the future and wanting to eventually get married. Did you think that when I ended up proposing you wouldn’t fully be Nico’s mother?”

You knew that in France, and in other parts of Europe the process of “adopting” Nico would take some time especially given that you and Max weren’t married, heck you weren’t even engaged yet. Nico didn’t call you anything but Mimi or your name when he could manage to say it.

“I just didn’t want to assume Max.” Nico had a mother, a birth mother who had given him up, but she was still his mom. It was strange because you felt like Nico’s mother, you did everything that a normal mother would do for her son.

Max reached over to lay his hand over yours moving closer to look you in the eyes. You could see the turquoise of Max’s eyes swimming as if you were caught in the ocean. He moved his other hand up to cup your chin.

“You’re his mother Y/N, in every way.” Max leaned up, placing his lips against your hair, pulling both you and Nico closer. “Never doubt that.” He muttered.

You nodded against Max’s shoulder before thinking, official papers be damned.

taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr, @maximeverstappen

#mini verstappen series #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #mv1 imagine #mv1 x reader #mv33 imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine #max verstappen

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justanamesstuff · 5 months

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Sweeter than honey - Hozier x f!reader

A/N: sorry not sorry if this is the most cliché thing about Andy but couldn't help my self. This fic is a statement to say this man deserves more stories under his name <33 love you forest daddy (hope you never reads this haha) Warnings: FLUFF, typos Words count: 0.7 k

The short path from Andrew’s house to the –no so small — patch of his land, destined to his bees, felt like it took ages to walk down. She felt her stomach turn due to anxiety thinking about the task in hand. Y/n had been stung by a bee during her childhood, traumatizing her enough so the pain, the fear, remained for years and years. The woman damned herself for being in love with the biggest beekeeper around town.

Her sight fell on Andrew’s back, watching him walk with so much excitement, she couldn’t reciprocate. The man had been trying for the longest time to convince his girlfriend to meet his bees, being the offer declined time and time again. Until Y/n felt guilty enough and finally said yes. She would never forget the bright smile he gifted her when Y/n timidly asked about the process and she could join him during his next visit.

As if he could sense her eyes on him, Andrew turned around still walking not wasting any minute, scared about Y/n changing her mind.

“Baby?” his smile fell a little.

“If one of them sting me…” she warned him, still scared of the situation.

Andrew stopped in his tracks, worried about his girlfriend once more. The man grabbed her hand on his, sharing some warmth, wishing it could take away her fear.

Searching for her eyes, he continued, “trust me, okay?”

Y/n couldn’t help to push her feet down on the earth like a little child throwing a tantrum. The act made her boyfriend laugh.

“Baby…” she wanted to wipe his amusement away.

“Stop making fun of me. This is serious for me, Andy.”

He moved closer and closer, rounding her with his big arms.

Y/n felt his breath on her hair line, “I know, I know. Everything will be okay, I wouldn’t let you get hurt, baby. I promise.” Andrew ended his sentence leaving a kiss on her forehead.

“Okay, let's do this.” she moved backwards, giving him a stronger look than before, trying to let him know she was ready.

Hand in hand, they approached the colonies.

……………………………………..

In the end, Y/n had fun with Andrew and his bees. He showed her the day-to-day work, the progress of each colony, and even she saw a queen from up close, which excited her the most. She did fell scared during the first movements when he was worried about a box falling apart and all his attention was in transferring the colony to their new home.

Even though after that short moment, her boyfriend was focused on making her fell comfortable around his little friends. It was even ironic how gentle the bees were, just as Andy, making her fell quickly in love with them.

Y/n watched him too his special outfit, trying to comb his long hair, and like a little excited girl she started talking.

“So, when do we come back?”

Andrew chuckled.

“Someone is not scared any more, huh?” he teased her, combing his hair back into his signature bun.

Y/n felt too seen by her boyfriend, “Well, I-”

“We can return tomorrow, if you want…” Andrew offered, taking her face between his big hands.

“Really?”

“Yes, baby. Whatever you want.”

“I would love to!” she answered, looking into his soft eyes.

“Me too.” he left a kick kiss on her lips, feeling her relax into his embrace.

Y/n was the first one to push back, “I can’t wait to see them again.”

Andrew, amazed by her changed of attitude towards the bees, faked a frown.

“I’m starting to believe you prefer them over me.”

“Hundred percent yes!” Y/n joined the joke, whispering her answer before covering her mouth quickly with her hand. “Never, my love.”

The singer laughed at her antics, leaning down to kiss her once more.

Without many more words, Andrew and Y/n walked in silence towards his house when an intrusive though crossed Y/n’s head.

“Would you name a queen after me?”

Andy stayed silence.

“Andy?”

Still no answer.

“Don’t tell me…” Y/n turned to witness a very red-faced Andrew. “Stop it! You’re too sweet to be true, honey!” she exclaimed, making her best effort to kiss his blushed cheeks.

#hozier #hozier x reader #hozier x y/n #andrew hozier byrne

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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FIRST IMPRESSIONS (a barista!eddie x barista!reader au)

summary: eddie faces the perils of being a coffee shop opener, and meets you. you, who's so damn optimistic it should be annoying. you, who makes the job that has given him trouble seem like a cake walk. you, who seemingly bleeds sunshine. god, he should really hate you.

warnings: TWO uses of "y/n", fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), PHYSICAL descriptors used for reader (she has a nose ring and a septum piercing! that's all), eddie is just a bitter and grumpy idiot.

wc: 5.2k

a/n: i apologize in advance for all the technical 'barista' talk in reference to positions. i tried to elaborate on a few of them, haha. also... yes. i gave reader two nose piercings. it's definitely not even more self-projection psh. (because i have three)

the full menu

Eddie Munson is not a morning person.

So, why, for the life of him, he ended up as an opener, he couldn’t tell you.

It had been a snowball effect. He got tired of working odd jobs here and there to produce enough cash to slip Wayne for bills, decided the quick change made off of fixing up neighbors’ cars or mowing lawns just wasn’t cutting it for his desired spending habits. He was tired of being so restricted by his misfortune; he was tired of watching Wayne pull long shifts only to continue living paycheck to paycheck. He was tired of his friends like Harrington and Buckley having money from their part time gig at the movie store to freely agree to impromptu late nights at Benny’s or seeing the latest slasher films in the theater as they premiered while he had to deliberate over counting change to see if he even had the funds to join in. He was tired of eyeing that guitar in the mall and constantly telling himself one day.

Eddie Munson had been tired. But now, as he forced himself awake most mornings before the sun even rose, he was exhausted.

Originally, he’d wanted to be a closer. He didn’t mind being the clean up crew, having to spend late nights in a coffee shop sweeping up grounds and scrubbing away the stickiness of the day. But then the hiring manager that interviewed him had hinted towards the fact that their store already had enough closers when he’d spotted Eddie’s availability, made a few off comments about how what they really needed was a couple brave souls to take over opening shift, and that tiresome cycle rang in Eddie’s ears. Before he even had the chance to think it through, in his desperation, he’d insisted that oh, actually, my availability is completely open. I don’t mind working earlier than that.

What bullshit. Eddie definitely minded working earlier than that. He more than minded it — he loathed it.

Long story short, it had been a series of unfortunate events that led Eddie to where he was now. In his van, fifteen minutes early, staring out at a parking lot bathed in the lingering night as he fought to keep his eyes open.

The clock on his dash read 4:46 in a taunting blink, flickering against his bleary eyesight and making him question every decision in his life that had led him here. Adjusting to the new job had been easy enough — his trainer was nice enough, learning how to make drinks and what routines were required in the morning had been meticulous but rewarding — except for the time. It wasn’t just his start time that tortured him vehemently; shifts seem to pass miserably slow, the seconds dragging their feet in no hurry to get anywhere in particular. The clock didn’t care if Eddie yearned for his bed and a few extra hours of sleep gifted by a nap. Traffic didn’t either, when he’d hit the highways and catch just the beginnings or the tail end of the morning rush.

You’d think he’d complain more about the commute. But the gas spent on the twenty minute drive to the town over was the least of his concerns.

“Fuckin’ John,” Eddie mutters when a large truck pulls up to the drive thru, a notable regular he’d begun to recognize after not even a month of working there. They had just recently changed their opening time (they used to open an hour earlier, his manager had informed him. Eddie had nearly burst into grateful tears that he’d never experienced that crime of humanity.)

None of his coworkers had arrived yet. Most lived closer, able to garner extra snoozes on their alarms and shorter drives of contemplation. Eddie only ever envied them on mornings like today.

“We don’t open for, like, another forty minutes, asshole,” Eddie curses out loud to himself, counting down the time until John gives up and drives away. The man would just circle the store like a vulture anyways. He always did; he always had to be the first customer, grabbing his ridiculous coffee order before scurrying off to play cards at the casino, “How do you come here every fuckin’ day and not know that?”

It took the older man a full four minutes before he finally roughly shifted his truck back into drive, being the farthest thing from gentle as he hit his gas and jerked his vehicle out of the drive thru line. Eddie couldn’t see him clearly through the stubborn darkness, but he could easily imagine that look of irritation at not receiving the caramel frappucino with a quad shot that he seemed to feel entitled to.

God, that man was a dick.

Eddie nearly misses another coworker pulling up to park beside him during the spectacle.

By this point, he’s learned what cars all his coworkers drive.

Carmen, the fellow barista who had trained him but he now rarely worked with due to her availability being a bit later in the day, drove a bright red 2012 Kia Soul that had certainly seen better days. Nicole, one of the shift leads he worked with often during his opens, drove a small and silver Nissan Versa. The year is lost on him, but he’s willing to bet it was a few years old at this point. James, another shift lead who went by Jamie and never had much to say, drove a Volkswagen that looked to be straight out of the 70s. And that was just the beginning, the ones he could think of off the top of his head while he was still waking up inside his van.

The car parked beside him wasn’t any of these. He didn’t recognize it at first glance, and found himself doing a double take as his face scrunched up.

A Jeep. A two-door Jeep Wrangler with vibrant, chipped yellow paint now sat idle beside him.

Who the fuck drove a yellow Jeep?

He can’t even bother to be annoyed or fatigued anymore with the mystery presently before him. He can’t see through the tint of the windows, can’t make out the silhouette of who it was. He was well aware that he hadn’t been acquainted with all of his coworkers quite yet – there was a plethora of baristas in the store he’d only heard spoken of in passing rather than properly meeting – but it had seemed like the people who opened always came from the same rotation of sorry suckers.

Nicole’s car pulls up. So whoever drove the Jeep was not one of the shift leads.

Five minutes to 5:00 AM, Nicole’s car door opens first and Eddie can hear the Jeep’s engine kill. He’s quick to fumble with his own keys, pulling them from the ignition in a haste and throwing a hand out to blindly grab his apron from his passenger seat.

A deep shade of green. Everyone had one or two of them laying around, and they were the root of the nickname for all new hires: green beans. He had just finally gotten the one embroidered with his name a little over a week ago, and his manager had apologized profusely as she swore it usually didn’t take that long.

Eddie really didn’t care. The moment he started wearing the apron with his name on it, customers had taken to randomly addressing him by it, and it made him fucking uncomfortable.

“Rise and shine, campers!” Nicole’s voice echoes through the parking lot the moment all three openers are out of their cars.

Eddie doesn’t answer at first (which isn’t unusual; Nicole was used to his ever-present sleep-deprivation induced silence). He’s too busy nearly tripping over himself as his eyes stay glued on that Jeep, on the door that swings wide open roughly from two parking spaces away as he waits with bated breath.

Would this new coworker he was about to meet even like him?

“God, Nicky,” a new voice groans – a girl’s voice.

Ah, fuck.

Eddie had noticed the mysterious phenomenon of the way everyone who worked here seemed to be attractive to some extent. Nice on the eyes, always smiling and always flirting in a friendly manner to garner more tips. He’d had plenty of bisexual panics in the bathroom anytime one of his coworkers extended that friendly flirtation his way. All the fellow guys (as few as there were) and all the confident girls he’d been in the trenches with – it didn’t matter, they all affected him.

Hawkins didn’t have nearly as many pretty people. Eddie sort of felt cheated for having lived a mere twenty minutes from a goldmine of such people for so long, completely unaware. But he also felt sort of relieved, knowing that if he were still a teenager barely scraping by in high school, this coffee shop would have been his downfall with awkward stumbles and feelings caught from all those faux smiles and joking winks that his now coworkers laid on heavy with their regulars.

With this in mind, he doesn’t know why he wasn’t prepared for when you stepped out of the Jeep. Slamming the door shut behind you, your arms were full with an apron that was definitely not green, along with an oversized water bottle and what he thinks is either a cardigan or jacket. A tote bag slung over your shoulder looked to be stuffed full as well. You were a walking cliche for the type of person that people would expect to work at a coffee shop. The type of person that embodied all those jokes of if an alternative person isn’t making my coffee, it’s not going to taste good.

Eddie should know; he’d been the butt of many of those style of jokes given that he also fit into that category. With his long hair, with his sparse tattoos, with his new nose ring – he knew he was as much of a cliche as you were.

Didn’t stop him from staring at you, suddenly wide awake.

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” Nicole jokes as she rounds the front of your Jeep, stopping and looking between you and Eddie before she says to you, “You’d think after a month’s vacation you’d be happier to see me.”

You take two steps forward, lining up right between Eddie and Nicole, and suddenly contort your face to be such an over-exaggerated smile that it’s nearly a grimace. Eddie is so caught up in the scrunch of your nose, he nearly misses the way you grit out a sarcastic “Better?” from between your teeth.

“Oh, that’s the winner,” Nicole cackles, keys jangling as she shakes them and leads the two of you towards the front of the store. Over her shoulder, she continues to joke, “Keep on smiling like that, and I sense a twenty dollar tip in our future.”

Eddie still hasn’t said a word. What is he supposed to say? All he can do is trail slightly behind you, doing everything in his power to not let his eyes roam over your legs or backside. You were just wearing black jeans, in line with the same dress-code everyone else followed, but they were doing you favors.

“Y’know, I think I already saw John’s truck this morning,” your voice was surprisingly pleasant despite the insinuation Nicole had made that your first impression should be grumpy. Far less gritty than Eddie’s would have been had he spoken up, “Think I can sweet talk that out of him? Maybe I’ll ask about his wife. Or- Oh!” you exclaim, bursting with sudden energy that should give Eddie a headache this early, “Put me on bar! I’ll douse his drink in caramel how he likes, that’s sure to tug on his wallet- Sorry, I mean heart-strings.”

Nicole continues to laugh as she fumbles with unlocking the door, and it’s not lost on Eddie that he has never made any of the fellow baristas laugh like that. Although, to be fair, he has never been quite as enthusiastic as you. He didn’t seemingly bleed sunshine like you. Here the three of you were, outside in the dusky beginnings of a morning, and he could have sworn that the sun had already risen from the light that seemed to emit from you.

It should have made him nauseated. It kind of did, actually.

You turn suddenly, just as Nicole finally turns the lock, and face him. Your smile is subtle, eyes so wide he wouldn’t notice the bags even if you had any. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

You stick your hand out and he can see you sticky with it – with hopefulness, with friendliness, with kindness. His stomach churns.

Nope. Not a chance.

The moment Nicole opens the door, he’s barely muttering his name back to you, and is rushing past you to enter the store. His shoulder brushes against yours, and he has to tell himself repeatedly he did not just shoulder-check you. He has to tell himself that it’s okay he didn’t meet your level of enthusiasm. He has to tell himself that you’re just another barista, someone else who makes coffee for a living and that this new energy you bring is just due to that vacation that Nicole mentioned.

It’ll fade. He’ll be fine. At some point, his stomach has to stop churning.

—

It doesn’t.

Your energy doesn’t falter, to his surprise. Not only are you sunshine personified, but you’re also damn good at your job. Eddie can only imagine how sluggish he’d be if he had a month off from anything, especially a job, but it doesn’t even seem as though you have to dust any of your skills off for the day.

You offer to take over opening up the ‘drive thru’ aspect of the store, brewing all the coffees and teas without complaint as Eddie lingers in his misery of shuffling through the tasks of opening up the food portion of the store. As he’s sorting the croissants to be replenished, implementing the technique of FIFO (first in, first out), he can hear Nicole still cackling at whatever you’re saying in the back of the house as you clean the syrup pumps. When he’s labeling all the new breakfast sandwiches for the day with their best-by dates, he can hear you humming a few feet away from him over the clicking of the sticker gun in his hand. And when the clock finally reads 5:30 to signify the time of opening, you’re putting on your apron, tying it around yourself more securely than Eddie always lazily did. Even your black apron seemed to fit on you better than his did, as if you were more made for this job than he was. As if you had years of experience to carry on your shoulders, and God, were you carrying them with grace. Constantly smiling, constantly joking. He’d once thought Nicole incapable of even breaking a grin, but he’d hardly gone longer than a minute without hearing her laugh during the time of your opening together.

God, he sort of hated you.

You never even mentioned how rudely he’d shrugged off your introduction. Occasionally, he’d even caught you looking his way during the conversation, a soft expression on your face as if you were ready to include him in all the inside jokes at a moment’s notice.

He made sure to consistently stare straight ahead, never once seeming to glance your way when you wore that expression.

You were just too nice. You were putting all the other openers to shame right before his eyes, himself included, and he hated you for it.

Once the store is open, John is the first customer in drive, as always. Eddie wears the headset (the one you’d grabbed for him, sanitizing it and slotting a freshly charged battery in without him even asking. God, he hated you.) and listens in to you greeting the awful bastard, and his stomach does another flip.

“Good morning, John,” you chirp happily. He couldn’t see your face from around the corner, but he could only imagine that you were wearing a smile. Maybe you even had that damn camera on so that the customers could see you just as you could see them.

He waits. Anxious to hear John’s grumpy reply, be reassured when someone else also didn’t match your energy. The man had never been pleasant a single day that Eddie had worked thus far. Simply barking out his order, acting offended when someone didn’t recognize him.

If anyone was going to be cruel to you, Eddie would bet all five dollars in his pocket that it would be John.

But even John wasn’t fucking mean to you.

He had replied in the most cheerful tone Eddie had ever heard leave the man’s throat.

“And who am I speaking to?” he almost sounds teasing. It fans at Eddie’s irrational irritability.

“I’ll give you three guesses.”

He hates the way your customer service voice was so similar to just your normal voice. A bit squeakier, a bit more polite, but still bottled sunshine. He hates how nicely it caressed his eardrum as compared to the grate of some of the other barista’s tones while on drive thru. He hates that some deep part of him secretly hoped that Nicole stationed you there your entire shift, and that if she did, he would fight tooth and nail to keep this damn headset on. Just to hear your voice. Just to hear your light.

“Only three?” John’s gruff voice scoffs, “There’s only one person who works here who is this damn cheery before eight in the morning.”

Nicole laughs from where she’s bent over to put down a few of the sanitizer buckets by the bars, shaking her head as she also listens in over her headset.

“I’m making it easy on you, then,” you say as you suddenly come into view for Eddie. He’s trying to replenish the sandwiches and protein boxes that the store keeps on display for the customer by the register, still working through his morning tasks as he realizes you’ve completed yours.

Man, he fucking hated you.

You don’t miss a beat as you begin to tap one of the espresso machines awake, punching all the right buttons to pull John’s espresso shot before you turn to make your way towards the cold beverage station. “You still drinking the same thing, old man?”

“I’m not old.”

“Right, and I’m not already over-caffeinated,” that’s a lie. He hasn’t seen you touch a drop of coffee this entire time, “Just pull on up. It’s a billion dollars, or whatever your total normally is.”

John’s cackle is cut off by him pulling away from the speaker box, effectively disconnecting the two way mic. Even Eddie finds himself nearly grinning at your reply, but he stops himself. Because you’re annoying. Because no one should be this witty this early. Because the ability to make others laugh this often should be a cardinal sin.

He stops the grin because he hates you… right?

You do manage to get a tip out of John. Eddie sees it with his own two eyes. It’s a quick deposit of whatever spare change the stingiest man Eddie had ever had the displeasure of meeting has lying around his car, and it happens so quickly while you’re leant out the window to pass the man his receipt that he always requests that Eddie almost convinces himself it didn’t happen. But it did. He saw it with his own two eyes, as he tripped over his two left feet, effectively nearly knocking Nicole over with him.

The look she gives him makes his stomach twist this time as his heart lurches. It’s a knowing look. It’s despicable.

She doesn’t say a word until later into the shift, once more baristas are scattered across the floor and peak is in full swing. Eddie isn’t kept on food, and you aren’t kept to manage taking orders or run the window – he’s the one reassigned to the window position as you are moved to the cafe bar. He’s tasked with quick connections before handing out drinks to bored business people, as you fly through making drinks for both mobile orders and any customers that choose to physically walk into the store.

Nicole puts herself on the position of ‘DTO’ – she greets the drive thru customers over the headset and takes their orders, her tone not nearly as honey-sweet as yours had been. She’s lacking in jokes, she sticks to a script that must have taken her years to make sound even remotely natural.

Eddie’s just grateful he doesn’t have to wear a headset and listen to her directly in his ear.

Rush has died down when she turns to him and cocks a brow with her hip. He has the window shut, fiddling with his thumbs as he anxiously awaits for the partner on drive bar to finish making the iced white mocha for the customer currently sitting on their phone. He’s sure the look she shoots his way is in regards to the fact that he isn’t ‘connecting with the customer’ or putting himself through insufferable small talk.

It isn’t.

“Do you not like her?”

His head shoots up, fully meeting her curious gaze, “Excuse me?”

“Y/N,” she clarifies, “Do you… not like her?”

“I don’t know her,” he weakly defends himself.

He had been a dick to you this morning, hadn’t he? What a weak defense for being a bad person to someone who makes this entire store glow simply by being here.

“You should give her a chance,” Nicole speaks softly as she leans back on the counter that holds the order screens, “I… She can be a lot, but she’s one of our best. Think of her as the people’s princess, so to speak.”

He knows you’re one of the best here, just in the short few hours he’s caught glimpses of you. He has no idea how you’re so quick with making drinks, or how you manage to hold such genuine sounding conversations with all of the customers who stand right at the hand off plane. He just gets irritable when they stare at him with prying eyes as he tries (and fails) to keep up his pace.

“I… I can see it,” he nods, bringing a hand up to pinch his bottom lip, “I mean, John clearly loves her.”

Nicole gives a pointed look, “He does. She doesn’t take his shit – him and his wife bring her gifts for every holiday. They know her damn birthday and bring her cards. It’s insufferable.”

He cracks a shy smile at that, “They bring her birthday cards?”

“They bring her birthday cards,” she echoes back to him. Eddie finally receives the drink he was waiting on and turns, quick to hand it out with a soft mutterance of ‘have a good day’. Once he’s finished and the drive thru is officially empty, he faces her once more, “You don’t have to like her as much as everyone else. I know you’re still new and adjusting but… she’s one of the best for a reason.”

“Because she can turn out drinks like it’s no one’s business?” Eddie questions, side stepping and lifting his chin in your direction as you finish yet another drink, as if to prove his point.

“That,” Nicole shrugs her shoulders and pushes off the counter, “And because she actually gives a damn.” Eddie’s brows shoot up as he waits for her to continue, “She knows these customers, man. Learns about their lives, hears them out. Remembers the small things. She’s the same way with all of us, too. She once got turned down from being a shift lead because she’s too nice. Have you ever heard of someone being shot down from a job for that?” Nicole pauses, and Eddie can only shake his head, feeling the ends of his ponytail brush the back of his neck, “She has the management experience – she knows how to run this place. Sometimes, I see it. The way she steps up and takes responsibility. She chooses to be that kind even if it makes her seem like a nut job. She chooses to let people hear walk all over her, because she cares. She cares more about treating us as humans or whatever than she does an upgrade in pay.”

“Makes sense they wouldn’t make her a shift, then,” Eddie dares to say, which earns him a sharp look, “I mean, management positions aren’t for the weak of heart. You have to make tough decision-”

“Once, a man was harassing one of our baristas. This dude who was married. Came in like clockwork and picked up a mobile order under his wife’s name, wouldn’t take no for an answer and kept flirting with one of our poor girls. I’ve never really been afraid of her, but I was every time that man stepped foot in here,” Nicole grabs a rag and starts to wipe down the counters with a low whistle, as if she isn’t spilling serious store lore right now to Eddie. As if she isn’t bringing on more questions than answers, “She’s not weak of heart. She’s good of heart. And if she hadn’t been on vacation, she would have been your trainer. You don’t have to like her, like I said, but it would do you well to give her a chance.”

Trainer?

Carmen had mentioned something about another barista being the usual trainer. She had even tried to joke around with Eddie that he would have liked the other girl better, something about how she was funnier and easier to get along with.

You. You were the girl she’d been talking about. The people’s princess, as Nicole had put it.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something in reply, although he isn’t quite sure what he can say.

God, he had been a fucking dick. And Nicole was matching sure he felt all seven levels of Hell, of guilt, for it.

It ate him alive for the rest of his shift. His stomach churned with it. All that guilt gnawed on him from the inside out, using his bones for toothpicks, and he already knew what he needed to do without Nicole saying it.

—

“Did that hurt?”

The two of you got off your shifts at the same time, as most openers do. At ten o’clock precisely, Nicole was shooing the two of you off the floor, two fresh baristas taking both your places as you scurried to the back.

He’d overheard the joke made ten minutes prior, Nicole speaking to a fellow shift lead about who would be replacing you, already mourning your absence. She didn’t make such a joke about Eddie.

“Huh?” you look up quickly from where you had been carefully rolling and folding your apron into a bundle.

Eddie gestures vaguely to his nose again, repeating himself, “Did it hurt?”

It was the best he could do – pathetic small talk about the nose piercings of yours that had caught his eye.

You grin radiantly, and he tries to swallow down that instinctive voice that whisper hate, hate, hate. “Which one?”

Right. You had multiple nose piercings. A hoop that matches Eddie’s own, only on the left nostril rather than the right like his, and that septum piercing. He’d probably look dumb to ask about the nostril considering he had his done, and should already know that it definitely doesn’t feel nice.

“The septum,” he clarifies, “That combination, though, um… It looks sick.”

Oh, he sounds so fucking stupid right now. He wishes the sticky floors beneath the two of you would split and swallow him whole.

“Eh,” you shrug, finally glancing away from him to finish wrapping the strings of your apron snugly around the bundle you’d made of it, “My nostril honestly hurt worse. If you’re thinking of getting one,” you pause, and look up, offering him a look of pure mischief. Heart, stomach, mind. They all lurch with that look as you whisper, as if letting him in on a secret, “Do it.”

“I don’t think I could pull it off,” he’s quick to blurt out, eyes widening, resisting the urge to take several steps back and put distance between you two.

Fuck, he didn’t hate you. It hits him like a truck – this shift had managed to slip through his fingers so quickly. The fastest one to date. Between all of your jokes, all of the laughter you managed to pull out of others and that he had to fight down, the day had flown past as easily as a shift really could.

He regrets spending the shift moping. He regrets ignoring your introduction. He regrets not giving you a chance.

“I think you could,” your tote bag now hangs from your shoulder, and you have your keys prepared in one hand as you hold your water bottle in the other, “Everyone says that, but if you can already pull off the nostril, adding a little septum to the mix never hurt nobody.”

Is your face stuck like that? Stuck with a subtle and shy smile pulling at the lips, making the corners of your eyes crinkle in the slightest?

He hopes not. If it is, he’ll never be able to have a normal conversation with you. He’ll always be too distracted, too infuriated, too overwhelmed.

“You’re a very optimistic person,” he almost lets it slip out as a scoff, but refrains, Nicole’s words echoing in his mind. It would do you well to give her a chance.

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” you casually say to him.

“Did you just quote Star Wars to me?”

Eddie is aghast, staring at you with even more awe than before. And you – oh, you look so goddamn proud of yourself and the way you’ve left him shellshocked, smugly lifting your chin and smiling more intentionally. You’re smiling so widely that your eyes pinch nearly fully shut and even more of that sunshine is now flooding the backroom up to Eddie’s knees.

“I don’t know,” you start to step around Eddie, carrying an air of arrogance that would only be so endearing from someone who had been proven to be as kind as you were, “Did I?”

You never give him the chance to answer. You leave him there, standing in the middle of the back of house and not even clocked out yet as you walk away with a bounce in your step and a quick have a good day, Eddie! over your shoulder.

When he’s finally off the clock and having given a half-ass goodbye to everyone on the floor (which no one replied to as enthusiastically as they had yours, by the way), you’re still sitting in your damn yellow Jeep. You give him a slight wave through the windshield as he makes a beeline for his van, and he doesn’t even bother to return it. Pretends he doesn’t see it. Looks straight ahead. If Nicole is watching from the drive thru window that serves as a front row seat to the entire interaction, she’s going to rip him a new one next shift they work together.

God, Eddie wishes he hated you.

Instead, he’s left hoping that next time he opens, you’re there to make the time fly. Maybe he’ll be the one quoting Star Wars to you. If he can ever get the stick out of his ass, that is.

taglist: @josephquinnsfreckles

(tag list is open - if you'd like to be added, let me know!)

#my writing #coffee shop blues #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #barista!eddie munson #this is what i do with my free time before and after work #and on my breaks lol #makes the grind more bearable #we needed some fluff #can i come out of jail now?

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beautifulplaceofyouth · 20 days

Text

CHAPTER FOURTEEN | SERIES

Excuse me for spelling the chapter number wrong, I was in a hurry and didn't have time to change it.

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

Ch. 6

Ch. 7

Ch. 8

Ch. 9

Ch. 10

Ch. 11

Ch. 12

Ch. 13

Ch. 14 (End)

When you keep bumping into your personal royal guard by accident not knowing he is your guardian angel

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook!fallen angel!royal guard! × fem!reader!virgin!princess

Word count: 2.4k

Rating: 18+

Genre + warnings: Fluff, smut, angst, paranormal romance, historical fanfiction, Kook being cold and mysterious, and just being his sexy self. Possessive over his princess. Happily ever after with a fluffy and spicy scene involved. They have one more person in the family. Just a happy emotional ending. The story isn’t real, just my imagination running wild so just enjoy reading!

a/n: The long waited epilogue is here. I hope it's not too sloppy. I know it's pretty short, sorry. \: Haven't have time to publish it earlier because of health issues but I wanted to end the series finally so you don't need to wait longer! Enjoy .

TEN MONTHS LATER

Jungkook POV

Leaning back in the chair, he felt exhausted from the paperwork which needed to be done because of his kingdom's new adjustments and changes since his wife started living with him so if he wanted this place to be peaceful for her health, he needed to get it sorted out.

It meant better security around the castle and banning all the people who wanted him gone from the throne. It was hard work for several months but it was time to be able to breathe better once he finishes everything.

Massaging his neck, he felt stiff after working so much in the office all day. He already missed his wife and the little sunshine.

He smiled at the thought.

She gave birth to a beautiful baby boy and he was grateful for her giving him such a gift. He had his wife's blue eyes, father's nose but already growing small wings which was surprising considering the fact his wife is just a human. He at least inherited something from his world too and he was glad that the baby boy will have freedom to fly like his father can.

His love for her was so strong that he even rejected his position as guardian angel from heavens above.

It was not a hard decision. He already knew he will have Y/n by his side for eternity but the high angel council was disappointed in him to lose his powers because of a human. Months later they started to see that they can't do anything to change his mind so they allowed him to live on earth and still have his wings at least for protection.

Now he had people to depend on. A beautiful family by his side and he couldn't be happier.

The link with his wife allowed him to feel her emotions and as he sat there, thinking about her, the distress was getting stronger than usual. He didn't understand why.

Mindlinking her, he sent her his thoughts.

"Are you awake, my love?"

His question was left unanswered so it meant that she is sleeping because it was late at night already.

Immediately standing up, he took his cloak as well as his sword and headed out of the door. He needed to find out what's wrong with her.

His royal adviser Minho, the fallen angel was already waiting by his chambers when he bowed to his king," Your Majesty."

"My wife. Is she inside?"

"Uh, yes. She hasn't been outside for several hours so I assume the young prince also is inside."

He furrowed his eyebrows," And you are informing me only now?" he glared at him, his eyes blazing with emotions.

Minho bowed again, trembling in fear," I'm sorry, Your Majesty. It will not happen again."

"You better. Now leave," dismissing him, he went inside his chambers.

Leaving the cloak and the sword on a small wooden bench by the door, he went further inside, only just to stop in his tracks.

His wife was sleeping on a rocking chair, holding their baby boy, both were dreaming about something but the look on his wife's face worried him.

Is she ill? She was sweating.

Silently approaching them, he took his son in his arms when she blinked her tired eyes open," Jungkook?"

"Hey, love," he softly whispered and leaned down to kiss her forehead, feeling her face burning," Do you have a fever?" His concern was obvious.

She shook her head and just closed her eyes. That alarmed him.

Taking his son to the nursery room, he put him inside the crib to sleep, kissing his the crown of his head," Goodnight, Fin. I will go take care of mommy so sleep well my sweet boy," in response, the the baby boy just murmured something in his sleep.

Smiling, he went back to the living quarters to see Y/n in the same position as before.

He gently picked her up as soon as he reached the bed, putting her on the middle pillow where she usually slept in. It was strange that she wasn't moving at all. He could feel that she was burning, distressed about something.

Completely undressing from his attire, she didn't even resist when he pulled all of her clothes off so she isn't hot under the covers.

"Sweetheart, darling, are you sick?" His worried hushed tone made her whimper when she burrowed herself in his arms, suddenly shivering like she was cold.

This won't do.

Lifting her up in his arms again, he carried her towards the big bathroom where the biggest bath was located in their private space that they used for whenever they were together or for times when one of them has a headache. There was also a special medicine cabinet in case either of them have an emergency.

When he entered the bathroom, he quickly placed her inside the huge tub. Turning the tap for warm water, he let it run into the tub filling it up until it was nearly at the top. Then he turned off the water and added some smelling herbs for her to heal the body faster and possibly temperature will drop to normal again.

Taking the medicine for the headache and fever in the small bowl, he put it beside the tub for easier access.

Sliding behind her, he pulled her naked body between his legs, hugging her to his chest, her hair already wet and sticky against her skin. Gathering it together, he tucked her hair in front of her over her left shoulder so they doesn't tickle his nose that much.

Kissing her neck slowly, he takes one medicine pill and gently tips her head up with his hand beneath her chin, his fingers resting against her throat in a gentle hold," Open your mouth, baby."

Her tired eyes open with little strength as she obediently opens her mouth. Smiling at her, he slips the pill between her lips," Suck it gently. It's has a sweet taste to swallow better," he explains.

He watches her tongue wrap around the pill as she starts to suck it and he felt proud that she managed to keep it inside of her mouth so long before finally swallowing.

"Good girl," he coos, running his fingers through her long, silky hair and massaging the soft scalp.

She snuggled closer to him, nuzzling against him making him chuckle at her cuteness," Are you sleepy yet? You've probably been tired of nursing our son all the time and I haven't even checked your health. I'm sorry for failing you," he dropped his head against her shoulder in guilt.

Like a good wife she always is, Y/n lifts her hand over his head, massaging his hair gently," It's okay, Jungkook. I'm fine now because of you."

"No, it's not. You deserve more," he said as she moved away slightly and looked at him with sad blue orbs.

His heart clenched as he noticed how pale she was and how thin she has gotten over the past few months. "I promise I will spend time with you and our son more often now. It's just my duties require so much work that I..."

"It's okay, Jungkook. I know. You're the best husband and king in the world. To me you're perfect in every aspect. Times can get rough sometimes but that's why we are here for each other to support and help in the times of need. Being parents are not easy but I'm glad to be here with you, with our baby living the best life every woman could ask for. You've given me the world and I love you for that," her eyes are full of love for him and he can't help but feel tears forming in his eyes. It was hard to breathe for a moment.

He still couldn't believe that she belongs to him. This beautiful woman was his forever. And so is the son she gave birth to.

Taking her cheek, he seals his mouth over her inviting rosy lips, the tears escaping his eyes in silent waterfall. His emotions were too strong, too overwhelming.

The link between them showed him that she is really telling the truth. She loved him unconditionally and always would.

"I love you," his breath shuddered in fear to lose her, afraid to look away from her beautiful, soulful blue eyes.

As if reading his mind, she cupped his face between her hands, caressing his cheeks lovingly with her thumbs. Her eyes filled with joy and warmth which brought him happiness as well as relief.

A soft smile appeared on her lips," I love you too."

He never cried. Never. The life before made him grow up with nerves of steel but now the thought of something happening to her and his son, the thought of losing them scared him beyond belief.

But this time it happened. Everything came crashing down in a matter of seconds and he couldn't hold it in anymore. Not when she told him that she loves him. Forgives him for not caring enough about her feelings or health issues.

He was shaking uncontrollably as he held her tighter. His eyes shut tightly while he sobbed uncontrollably in her embrace.

She was ill so he didn't wanted to burden her with worry for him but she just held him tightly back, slowly straddling his lap, kissing him with all of her last energy from how tired she was but it was like she doesn't care. The only important thought was reassuring him, to show him how much she loves him.

Pulling slightly back, his eyes were blurry from the crying, probably red when he rested his forehead against hers," You're my whole world, Y/n. You and Fin are the most precious souls in my heart right now. I'm so happy that you chose me," his smile is brighter and this time his wife is holding her tears back but failing miserably when she starts crying and laughing.

When she calms down, she looks at him," We are such sappy fools."

He chuckles at that," You're right. We are a mess. But only with you," he says in a low voice and suddenly realizes their position when her clit slides against his hardness.

"Fuck," the feel of her wet slit against his throbbing cock makes him drop his head back on the edge of the tub.

"Baby...If you don't want me to fuck you right here, I suggest you to leave the tub. I'm really hard because of you," he whispers in husky voice, watching her carefully for her reaction.

She still blushes even after all these months together, even after giving birth, she always seem shy when he talks to her dirty.

"Sweetheart," his plead was enough to make her lift her hips in encouragement as she hid her face in his shoulder.

"All right," she breathes and that's what it took to grab her hips and push his length inside of her, sinking deep enough to feel her walls contracting against his length. He groans at the feeling that they're connected by nothing but skin and his arm wrapped tightly around her waist keeping her close to himself as he pulls out only a tiny bit then thrust back in with a strong thrust before taking her again.

"Jungkook ah," she whines in pain as he moves fast and harder.

Not able to take any more, he grabs her ass as he leans forward, lifting her body up high above the surface of the tub, spreading her legs enough to split her in two, causing both of them to moan loudly at their new position.

'Fucking hell! I can't stop myself. She feels amazing. Too good to be true. So beautiful.

"I'm so sorry, love. I can't help myself," he chokes out while pulling out to come deep inside of her once more.

Y/n throws her head back, screaming his name.

With an angry grunt, Jungkook pushes harder into her, grunting again in pleasure at the feeling of being filled, filling her until his balls hurt but he can't find any ounce of self control because of her and her smell, her taste.

He couldn't help the loud, guttural noises as his cock jerks against her, pumping so powerfully inside of her and he knows it's coming soon.

He knew that Fin is sleeping two rooms away but fuck, she felt incredibly good and he had to make sure this moment stays between them until they reach heaven and the end of their journey.

Pushing himself deeper inside of her, he holds her tighter to him, his body trembling with ecstasy. His eyes closed tight and he grunts louder, almost moaning," Come for me, Y/n..."

His thrusts became harsher, his grib beneath her ass leaving bruises but her moans only intensified as he comes faster and deeper into her, feeling how she clenches around him and the way his seed bursts inside her with one powerful thrust.

Silencing her last scream with his mouth, his tongue diving between her hot lips, he felt almost feverish as she when they both began to feel tired from the powerful orgasm. His thick forearms held her in the air till he slipped out of her, both of their cum dripping out in the water.

Lowering her back into his lap, she clings to him tightly, breathing heavily against his ear.

"You're incredible," he kisses her neck.

"And you're insane," she giggles softly, still out of breath," I feel like Fin will wake up after this because of us."

"Well, not my fault that my cock feels so good that you scream and beg for it more," teasing her, she only blushed but with a smile on her face.

Closing his eyes, he hugs her to him again before they go to the bed.

Not soon after there was crying heard outside and his beautiful wife pokes him in the ribs," Told you."

He rolls his eyes but chuckles," Yeah, yeah, yeah but this time you go to bed. I will take care of him, okay?"

She looks worried," But,-"

The stern look shuts her up when he kisses her temple," No, you need to rest. End of discussion."

"Fine. But come to bed after, will you? I miss your warmth," she pouts.

Kissing her one more time, Jungkook promises her," Always, Ms. Jeon. My queen.”

Since he was born, his duty was to protect Y/n and now he was glad that she has chosen him.

He will always love her and that will never change.

THE END

p.s. All images and gifs are not mine, some of the edits are mine edited but not every picture. All the credit goes to their rightful owners

DO NOT REPOST THIS WORK AS YOUR OWN BECAUSE THIS IS THE ORIGINAL OWNER’S STORY

Taglist: @lepau123 @the-princess-of-mischief-1998@11thenightwemet11 @khadeeeeej @almosttoopizza@jiminismine4ever (If you want to be tagged, please message me)

#bts #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfction #bts fluff #jungkook smut #fallen angel #historical romantic fiction #jeon jeongkook #kpop fiction #virgin princess #pregnant #new parents #royal guard #king

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leclsrc · 2 years

Note

hi, could you please do the five confessions prompt with charles?

proving my devotion – cl16

genre: fluff, sry charles is a pining yearning mess, title from this

send for five times the receiver almost says ‘i love you’ and the one time they do.

The plates clack against each other, dissonant in the otherwise still evening. Charles stacks one atop the other, awaits his mother’s nosy questioning—the inevitable gamble, every time he brings a girl home—but she’s quiet, humming a song under her breath, the one she always sings when she’s doing the dishes. Something’s different tonight, a slight change he can’t name.

“So,” he starts, because she won’t and the curiosity kills him. His eyes find you, with the ease he’s adopted in the months of knowing you, dancing with Lorenzo on the patio to a Luther Vandross song. “Thoughts?”

“Hmm. Tu es fouineur.” She teases, a glint in her eye. How the tables have turned, she seems to say.

Silently, over the dirty dishes, they both recount the day gone: the lunch moved from noon to half-past-three because Arthur burned the turkey, the dropped bottle of wine you’d gifted because one of Charles’ uncles accidentally let it slip from his hand (you said it was okay, it was just a hundred euros when it was closer to one grand), the guitar performance from Charles.

The way the sun had drowned in a sea of Monaco orange, and with it the stories of weddings, Jules, and Hervé, and the affair moved outside to the patio so Lorenzo could boast his brand new speaker that was so worth the many zeroes on the price tag, maman! And you had quickly found out Charles’ inability to dance was, in fact, genetic.

It’s a new sensation for Charles, a thrilling one, a frightening one even. He squeezes the sponge and watches soap filter through his fingers. He turns, lets his green eyes meet your soft ones. It’s an exhausting effort but he says it anyway, wrenches it out quietly: “I think… I think I…”

“I know,” Pascale says. She presses a kiss to his shoulder. “I see it.”

—

You’d taken home a frayed copy of The Little Prince you bought at a garage sale.

It’s so old, its pages have long yellowed and there’s evidence of past ownership all over it. Most notable of them is a name on the front page, along with a number that’s probably unused now. Isn’t it so quaint—and the words, babe, you’d said with conviction when he questioned your purchase, the words are in French!

You’ve been trying your luck with the language for a good few weeks, but it’s a brick wall—mur de briques, if you go by the textbook on your bedside table. You huff when you can’t translate the last lines of the passage you’re reading, tossing the book onto the empty space beside you that is quickly occupied by Charles’ bulky figure.

“Stuck again?” He asks, opening the dog-eared pages to find where your bookmark is nestled. Under your palms, you groan and nod with frustration.

“Don’t try me,” you say, voice gravelly. “I can’t translate it.”

The rough pad of his index finger traces the yellowed page, and he smiles softly at your many annotations. Verb conjugation, words you found easy, words you still forget now.

His eyes flicker up, to your lying figure, the freckles on your arms, the mole on your hip he can only see because your shorts have ridden down low. His heart swells, seizes, his mind rampant with thoughts of you. Please tell her, he says to himself. Tell her everything. Tell her how you find her in all the passages, in all the French words, in all the books, in all the times she says your name. She’s everywhere, she’s everything. Tell her tell her tell her you lo—

But the realness of it all chokes him, and he says instead, placing a big palm on your abdomen, “I’ll read it for you.”

—

There are few sentences considered odd on a paddock. People say anything on it—driver gossip, car gossip, celebrity gossip, engineer gossip. Charles can guarantee he’s heard some of the weirdest statements and Freudian slips (the one time Christian Horner called Toto ‘dad’) on a paddock.

“Carlos—pshhfhf—sprayed—pfffsh—whip cream—on my face!” …Okay, that’s. That’s different.

He turns, eyes wide. “What?!”

You stand in the doorway, frozen.

Your face is almost completely covered in white, and bits of your hair have fallen victim to the sweet spray of whip, too. You look frazzled and freaked. “I just got my hair blown out. I did my makeup. Dude. I look like a clown.”

“Oh, my God,” he says, already unable to contain his laughter. “I love you—!”

A millisecond passes him by like an hour. “—r uh, your new makeup hairdo, thing, a-ling. Thing-a-ling. Makeup. Your new makeup.”

—

There is an angel in Charles’ bed. She leaves a lovebite on his neck.

“Good morning,” he says, gruff. I love— but it stops itself before he can even open his mouth.

—

You get into a minor fight about cooking music.

Charles waves the whisk in the air, claims he will die on the hill of cooking to French jazz. You call it pretentious and crank up the Stevie Wonder. Eventually you fall into a repeated pattern of songs that satisfy the both of you.

“I read somewhere that if you roll basil up,” you say, chewing on a rogue leaf of mint from your pre-dinner mojito and walking up to him, “and chop it, it saves time trying to cut it up by itself.”

“Does it?” Charles asks, entertaining you. You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. He raises the knife in his hand, mumbles careful, baby under his breath. You insist he try, so he rolls up two leaves. Unfortunately, you’re right.

“So now we get to have pesto in five minutes instead of five hours,” you tease, kissing him. It’s minty, there’s French jazz in the background, and you’ve taught him to chop basil in the most affectionate soft-spoken way possible. It’s sacred. He’s afraid, he’s always been, that he would never be able to say it, that it would always be a losing game of wrestling words out of his throat—but now he’s not.

“I love you,” he mutters. It’s easy, unforced, natural. The words find solace, find home in the warm kitchen. He refuses to open his eyes because God knows what you’ll say then. Run away maybe? Throw all the basil to the ground? Down the entire cooler of mojito?

Your silence is deafening. “Did you hear me?” He opens his eyes.

A foolishly pretty smile greets him. “I got it the first five times.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #leclsrc2000 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

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ohsohoney · 2 months

Text

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Two

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Thank you for all the love on the last post! Figured I'd post the next part seeing as I said on the last update I have a whole story in mind for this but not sure how well it will go down:)

Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2 || Em’s daughters are renamed here because it felt weird not to and also have different ages– doesn’t affect the story much but just a warning!

Masterlist

Weeks passed, during which I had spent a lot of my time back home dealing with Lottie’s schooling and making sure that she was mostly settled. She’d had a rough go of it last year, school being something that we both seemed to have had an issue with, but watching her struggle through some of the same problems I’d once faced was difficult and so I wanted her to know that she had the support I felt I’d never had.

I’d been dragged off to shoots and studio sessions here and there, not much coming out of the latter in truth, but had stayed mostly confined to London. Which was why I was having a fucking mare over the fact that I was set to leave for a couple weeks without her. Not that I wasn’t excited about it all, nervous too, but it was work and that didn’t seem to trump whatever it was that was going on in Lottie’s life. Thankfully, she’d caught wind of my obvious anxiety and seemed to be happier than she’d been the previous term, had even gone out of her way to assure me that nothing would happen in the time I’d be gone.

So she was staying with her mum for a short time, my brother promising to check in on her from time to time too, even whilst he was still deployed overseas, as well as a couple friends of mine. Truthfully, if I’d had to leave her without those extra reassurances in place I don’t think I would have gone.

But here I was, across the pond doing an interview for a magazine spread and shooting in New York.

It had been a long day, a plethora of outfit changes and little food due to the constant rush of things, so I was thankful for the short break we’d been gifted before the last set was meant to start. Although saying that, I was still stuck staring down at two pairs of heels that had been pushed into my arms the second I’d stumbled away from the cameras.

Eventually I grew tired of chewing on my lower lip and pulled out my phone.

Messages Help Which shoes?

His response wasn’t immediate but came sooner than expected.

Messages The Martian Why

With a roll of my eyes, accompanied by a semi-amused sigh, I shot another text back. Because in truth, what had I really expected? I’d learned all too quickly the man wasn’t made for texting.

Messages I said help?? Forget it, can you call?

The ringing was practically instantaneous, enough so that the sound made me jump at its unexpectedness.

“You got a foot fetish I don’t know ‘bout?”

I smiled at the sound of his voice and then laughed at the absurdity of his greeting. “Hi to you, too. And no, but if that’s something you’re into I’d rather not know.”

Marshall hummed around a mouthful of swallowed words before there was a slight sound of movement that echoed down the line alongside a door clicking shut.

“Did I interrupt?” I questioned, thinking back to the conversation we’d had earlier that same morning. He hadn't mentioned any set plans but I knew that he tended to frequent the studio at odd hours whenever inspiration hit. “I was just messing before, it’s not that important.”

“You’re fine, they can wait. Wanted to grab something anyway.” He said and the reply warmed me, there weren’t many who’d go out of their way to make time for me. Although that was just me assuming again. “You good?”

I slumped back into the dressing room chair at the ask, it was a ballache to get comfy in but I wouldn’t dare complain about it now, not after having spent two hours sat dead still in the fucking thing. “Just a long day. Got these last few shots to get done and then I’ll be free.”

My voice sounded wistful enough before my face then scrunched at the sudden gurgle given by my stomach. It must have been just loud enough for the mic to have picked up because Em was quick to question, “You eaten yet?”

I shook my head, forgetting for a split second that we weren’t on one of our usual Facetime calls. “Going to, after I get this done.”

A grunt resonated, broken up by the sound of cabinets being opened and closed, “Idiot.”

Smiling at the one word response I’d garnered, I peered back over at the shoes I still had to pick between. I sighed, “Swear it, I’m gonna head straight back to the hotel and order a shit ton of food. Probably pass out beside a bowl of gravy or summat before I have to be at the airport.”

There was a brief pause.

“Paul did sort the tickets right?”

“Yeah, Mila emailed them yesterday.” I reassured him as I reached up to rub at my eye, stopping a second short of actually doing so, having forgotten about the makeup that would have to be redone if I went and followed through on the action. “Again, you didn’t have to do that.”

“What I tell you?” He reminded me and I huffed out a small chuckle.

“To shut the fuck up about it?”

Marshall hummed once more, “Exactly. A car will be outside once you land.”

My lips pursed as I fought to dampen my appreciative grin, knowing he’d somehow hear it, even from a state away. Which was a strange thing to think about, having been an entire ocean apart for the majority of time we’d spoken. That first phone call felt like a lifetime ago almost. “Car’s a bit much, I don’t mind grabbing a cab or calling for one.”

He didn’t deign that with an audible answer.

“Em, I’m serious.” I laughed, the stress I’d felt earlier about the shoot slowly falling away, enough so that I let myself relax into the chair out of hell. “You’re already doing so much for me. I mean, the flights alone but, you’re already letting me stay with you too.”

And wasn’t that an insane concept, but he’d been adamant on it, claimed it made no sense for me to rent some pricey room in the city when he had more than enough in that big old house of his. I had pressed in return though, told him it was more than fine, me holding up in some hotel, and that I didn’t want to feel as though I’d be stepping on anyone’s toes, or become this ominous presence that he had to keep sidestepping around in his own home. But then the topic of paps had come up, safety, keeping the album underwraps. I hadn’t been able to argue with him much after that. He was a paranoid fucker, but from what I’d heard from him in small snippets, he had his reasons.

“Car will be outside.” He repeated a second time, leaving no room for much more said on the topic, so I gave in, sliding down slightly further in the crappy chair just as a rep ran by the room calling out to me. “Got to go?” He asked, having heard the shout too.

I wet my lower lip, allowing my eyes to close for a moment. “Two minutes.” But I knew that I'd blink and they’d be over too soon.

I listened to his low chuckle resonate and let go of a slow breath at the sound, a sudden tiredness overcoming me.

“Call me when you get back.” I heard him say, more background noise filtering through his end that told me his time was more than likely up too. “And, the blue.”

My brow pinched at the last comment he gave me before my eyes flickered back over to the two pairs of heels perched on the dresser, one black, one blue. I cracked a grin, “Go Lions?”

I could almost hear the smirk in his retort, ��You know it.”

The shoot went over about as well as expected after the short break concluded. It seemed that everybody was about as ready to head out as I was, but I was just so grateful to all of them for the work and effort they’d put in that I made a quick round of thanking the few that hadn’t darted straight out the door the second they could, before I eventually followed.

So by the time I made it back to my hotel it was late enough that the lobby was rowdy with the usual partygoers and a rather large bridal party. I slipped into a lift as quickly as I could and headed straight up to my floor, all too relieved to finally kick off my shoes and topple into bed after having been on my feet since four that morning.

I didn’t earn much reprieve though, seeing as soon after I’d put in an order to room service that my phone started to ring. I groaned into the pillow petulantly before I finally heaved a large sigh and made my way down the duvet to grab at the mobile I’d dropped there upon entering.

“Yeah?”

“Ouch. Haven’t spoken in weeks and that’s the only greeting I get?”

I blinked at the startling sound of a familiar voice and forced myself back up into a sitting position, smiling brightly at the surprise. “I didn’t know it was you!” I retorted quickly, shocked by the sudden call, “I thought you would phone when you got to your next base!”

“There was a switch up, got a couple days off here after–” He paused and I knew then that something must have happened out there.

“You okay?” I murmured, voice quiet but not enough to go unheard. It was always hard hearing about the things my little brother experienced when he was out deployed, but he loved it. It had been his life since the moment he’d left home at eighteen and had enlisted. I felt foolish after I’d asked it and winced at my question, “Sorry, that was stupid. I just meant–”

Danny’s laughter filtered through then, making me feel a tad bit lighter. It was always so hard talking about serious shit with him sometimes, but if there was anyone who could brighten up a room, even one full of the walking dead, then it would have to be him. Which is why I let myself laugh too when he ribbed into me for the stumble, making fun of the way I’d gone and fretted over my poor choice of words.

“Fuck off! I’m running on like four hours sleep and have yet to eat!” I shot back at him, shaking my head at the entire conversation, grateful that we could just jump back and forth between both the good and the bad. I missed him a whole lot sometimes, it was hard not knowing if he was safe. “I’m tryna be a good sister here!”

“Uhuh,” He drolled, dragging the dull sound out. Before he switched things up, “Speaking of, you spoke to Lottie since you've been gone?”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek at the ask, falling back into the mountain of pillows the hotel offered only to glance up at the stark ceiling. “Yesterday. I’ll text her in a sec though, she’ll probably just be getting out of school.” I looked over at the clock to double check that and hummed. “Why, have you?”

“No,” Danny answered me carefully, “But I phoned mum.”

My tongue worked its way between my front teeth at the mere mention of her. “Right. What did she have to say then?” But I was already regretting asking.

“Said she ain’t seen you. That Lotts got dropped off in some car with a suitcase a couple days ago.”

I felt the skin around my eyes tighten before I took a deep breath, “That so?”

It was almost funny how much the woman could change and flip things around to better suit her narrative. Lotts had stayed at a friend’s the night before I’d been set to fly out here, she’d been more than happy to have been dropped off at her mums and so I didn’t know why it was now being made into a bigger deal, as though I’d shoved her in some randomer’s car without so much as a goodbye.

He must have realised I was silently stewing because I didn’t miss the light chortle Danny tried to cover up with a cough.

“I know she’s hard work, El, trust me.” He commented after, always playing the role of referee, “Just surprised me, is all, when she said she hadn’t seen you.”

Hollowing out my cheeks to keep from taking out my agitation on him, I took a second to calm back down and find the best answer to give. “I haven’t seen her because I don’t go there.”

“What, to the house?”

My eyes slipped closed at the startled disbelief in his tone. “Where else? Why would I want to go back there, Dan?”

We knew each other so well that I could practically see his lazy shrug, it made me miss him that much more. “Just figured, you know?”

No, you don’t know. I wanted to say, but wouldn’t. I couldn’t be like her, have the kids running around trying to keep track of who said and did what. I hummed quietly to myself instead, feigning disinterest when really my skin had begun to itch at the reminder. “She okay then?” I asked just for something to say, figuring that there must have been something going on for him to have mentioned it.

“Reckon so,” He replied easy enough though, probably having recognised something or other in my voice to keep from prodding much more on the previous topic, “Sounded off on our call but didn’t mention anything. Still, figured I’d let you know seeing as Lotts is there with her.”

My eyes suddenly stung and I hissed out a curse, “What did she sound like? Slurred, or?”

He knew exactly what I was getting at with that and thankfully was quick to reassure me, “Nah, nothing like that I don’t think. Just sketchy, like all jumpy and shit– careful with her words almost.”

“Right.” I dragged out in a slow exhale, thinking it over. The question of going back home now spun round in my mind.

“Don’t.” I heard Danny say not a moment later as though he knew exactly what train of thought I'd hopped on, “You’re working, things are fine. Lotts is fine. Everything's good. So just enjoy yourself, yeah? Stop worrying so much.”

“Hard not to.” I huffed and rubbed at my eye.

His next words sounded apologetic, which wasn’t heard too often with him. “Shouldn’t have mentioned it, just wanted to keep you in the know.”

Immediately I shook my head at his retort, “No, you were right to. I mean, you’re a world away and I’d want you to let me know if you thought something was up rather than keeping it quiet and something happening.”

“You’re a world away too.” He laughed at me, and it was nice for just a moment to listen to the familiarity of it.

Danny was only three years younger than me, but that gap in age had only ever felt so large when we’d been kids– me sheltering him from everything going on at home until he’d grown too old to not to understand– and now. What with me looking after Lottie practically fulltime and him being stationed thousands of miles away, us only seeing each other when the odds willed it.

“Don’t mean that you should go and get all pissy over this.” He said, pulling my attention back, “Stressing will just fuck you up more so than you already are.”

I snorted at the irony of that. “Alright, pipe down Private Ryan.”

“Ha ha.” He deadpanned in a way that only your brother could, “When d’you get funny?”

Humoured, my scowl didn’t quite radiate enough scorn and neither did my reply seeing as I went and chuckled around it, “I’ve always been the funnier sibling. Just ask Lotts.”

“Nah, Lotts would say herself and then me.” Danny argued for the sake of it, “Face it, Els. You’re old.”

“Twat.” I shot back childishly, though he merely laughed.

“Yeah, but you’re the cause of it.” He quipped, grinning now, I was sure of it, before he went and changed the subject entirely, “How ‘bout them Giants, anyway?”

Rolling my eyes hard enough to feel a slight strain, I granted the idiot a small chuckle. “You actually care enough to ask?”

“Nah,” He breezed on through a heavy breath, “I’ll stick to the FC, thanks. Just figured since you mentioned you were out in New York.”

I hummed softly, peering over towards the window. The blinds were now open, not still pulled from when I’d forgotten about them in the rush I’d been in this morning, so I figured someone must’ve opened them when they’d come in to clean. Which, even after all these years, still made me feel weird. Sure, it was their job but I hated the thought of people clearing up after me. Even more so when I remembered having had the same role down at the local pub back home.

“It’s fine, chilly, but it’s October, you know?”

Danny’s ever typical smirk was prominent in his next set of words, “Still warm over here, think I’m actually catching a tan.”

Chuckling, I kicked my legs out over the duvet. “I’m so jealous it hurts. How is it out there anyway? Never been to Cyprus, heard it’s lovely– that’s still where you’re at right?”

He acknowledged it in a soft hum, “Yeah we are, and it’s alright, not as good as Mali though. Miss it there, the food, the people.”

I smiled softly to myself at the nostalgic yearning he voiced. Vaguely remembering his few mentions of a girl during our short calls and odd texts when he’d been there, but I didn’t ask. Thing was with Danny, if he wanted to talk about something he would. Otherwise it was like squeezing water from a sodding stone. “You know where you’re headed next?”

“No, on leave for a bit after this so I’ll find out sooner or later.”

I perked up at that. “What, you headed home then?”

It had been a good few months since I’d last seen the kid in person, let alone had him back home with us.

Danny must have anticipated my excitement because he laughed brightly in turn and his voice was full of warmth, “Yeah, so you’d best get ready to see my mug in a couple weeks.”

My mind tallied up the next month or so of my schedule. I was in Detroit for the next two weeks on an odd sort of break I’d somehow managed to pull, seeing as I was still somewhat ‘working’ and had put in extra hours before flying out. Then I’d been asked to do a couple of video interviews, mostly to keep up appearances and hint at new music in the works– but I could do that anywhere. Everything after that was up in the air.

“You got a place to stay?” I was quick to query and he must have known what I was getting at by asking.

“I’ll swing by mum’s and pick up the spare set of keys I have there, make sure my room’s ready before I get to yours, yeah? Want fresh sheets and a gift basket waiting.”

The fucking cheek. “I haven’t touched it since you left the last time, so if you’ve got shitstained pants lying about or a goldfish in there, then I’ll expect you’ll be in for a right treat.”

“Ah shit! Forgot about Nemo.” He snarked, but it was followed by a snort, “Dick. Besides, I haven’t and you know it.”

I hummed dubiously and then laughed when he clucked his tongue at me, probably geering up to argue, but then the door sounded. I stopped short at the rapid taps and was instantly reminded of the call I’d put in earlier. “Sorry, it’s probably room service.” I told him, already sliding off the bed to head on over towards the knock, “Forgot about it when you rang.”

“No worries,” He said easily, “I’ll try and call you again in a couple days, yeah?”

I paused at that, “What? No, you don’t have to hang up!”

Danny just chuckled though and I could see him sat there humoured by my reaction as he shook that big old head of his. “It’s fine, if you look as tired as you fucking sound then you’ll be out like a light sooner or later. I’ve still got some time here to piss away anyway so I’ll text.”

I couldn’t find it in me to be much annoyed by his quip, he was probably right. “Okay, it was nice to hear your voice though.” I admitted as I went and opened the door to let in a guy with a silver trolley, I thanked him quietly with a smile of my own and a tip as he left.

“You’re welcome.” Danny teased snidely once the door had closed, “Always happy to shed a bit of laughter into your life. Can’t imagine you get too many people brightening up your day out there.”

I rolled my eyes.

“They ain’t all bad.” I informed him in reply to that Yank reference of his, picking up a chip as I did so, they were still steaming and hot enough to scold my mouth.

“That so?” Danny wondered out loud, “Got someone special out there, have ya?”

“Fuck off, Danny!” I all but sung, chuckling when he started calling out ‘I knew it’ and making stupid kissy noises into the phone, forever a fucking wind up. “You’re so far from right but whatever. Now can I go eat or you gonna bother me some more?”

“Yeah, yeah. Enjoy your food– and the mystery man!”

He hung up before I could even think to conjure up a word, leaving the room in relative silence. Baffled, I resorted to shaking my head then moved to pick up the few plates I’d ordered, taking them over towards the bed and turning on the tele more for sound than actual entertainment.

I only glanced back down at my phone again when it buzzed against the plush white sheets beside me. I continued chewing, but felt my brow pinch slightly as I looked back on a few texts and emails I’d received whilst on my call with Danny. I reasoned that I could ignore most of them until tomorrow when I had time to waste waiting on my flight, but there was one that my eye got stuck on.

Messages The Martian You get back ok?

Typically, it was me that texted and Em who called. But seeing as how the roles here had suddenly reversed I forgoed typing back and instead clicked on the little video camera icon in the top right corner of our chat.

It rang for a beat, then two.

“The fuck’s this?”

I held the phone up a little higher at the voice, having gotten a bit lost in the lifetime show which had been playing on the tv as well as my food. Glancing down, I was glad to spot his surly face peering back into the camera and smiled, before I caught sight of myself in the small box at the bottom and grimaced. Danny had been right, I looked half dead.

“And what’s with the face?”

With a wrinkle of my nose, I pulled my gaze away from the box figuring that the first time this man had seen me was possibly at my worst so what difference did this make? Still, I answered him. “I look dead.”

He blew an amused breath out of his nose and I realised a second too late that he was walking around in a room I had yet to see, before he eventually fell back onto a plethora of dark sheets. I realised he must’ve been getting ready to turn in when I called. He looked a little tired too, eyes heavier under the dim lights of his bedroom. “You’ve got a black eye. Looks tough.”

The corner of my mouth tugged upwards at the odd compliment as I brought the phone in closer to get a better look at the eye I’d gone and rubbed earlier, smearing a shit ton of glitter and eyeliner all over my cheek. I droned in retort, wiping underneath my waterline in an attempt to somehow save it, but it seemed it didn’t work the way I hoped, not from the smug look Marshall was now sporting. I flipped him off and fell back further into the pillows, taking the plate of chips I’d ordered with me.

“I forgot to take it off when I got in.” I explained, huffing out a slight chuckle, “But I doubt that even I can make glitter look tough.”

Em appeared to tilt his head in a ‘whatever you say’ sort of way, before his eyes turned surveying. “You finally fillin’ up?”

My expression shifted at the way he’d phrased that but whilst he seemed humoured by the reaction he obviously wasn’t just asking for the fun of it. “Yeah, a strange assortment but I’ll take it.”

He looked a little bemused by my answer and so I shifted to better show him what I was talking about. I first pointed out the glass cup I had balancing nearby, perched beside a plate of gooey goods, “I got some weird iced tea ‘cause I forgot that you lot don’t know how to do it right, as well as this cake selection thing.” He hummed, hand coming up to rest on his chest just as I picked up another chip covered in ketchup. “And then just a bowl of chips. Don’t tell anyone but this hotel’s room service sucks ass.”

I watched on as he raised a brow at the shoddy American accent I’d equipped for the end of that sentence before he eventually replied, “Fries.”

“Yeah no.” I rolled my eyes, chewing on another chip just to spite him for the correction. It was one of the many things I couldn’t wrap my head around whenever I was visiting.

“The hell they’re not.” Marshall was quick to shoot straight back, “You go out and ask for chips at some restaurant you’re gettin’ looked at like an odd fucker. And anyway, how's that a meal?”

“It’s food.” I enforced with a soft snort, pleased to have gotten him a little riled up, “At this point I’d eat gum off your shoe, I’m that hungry. And anyway, fries is only used here and in like, fast food chains?”

“Rolling back round to that foot fetish. This a hint?” He ragged, but his face remained stoic enough that I had to laugh, and loudly too. Marshall just continued on though, still stuck on the debate, “They’re legit french fries.”

“Fuck’s sake, only you call them that! Over there it’s just fried potato.”

“Exactly fuckin’ fries!” It was probably the most animated I’d seen him in a couple days, all because we were both so hellbent on being right.

I groaned, mostly just to keep up the act. I didn’t much care either way at this point, far too exhausted from the early morning start and too little sleep, but it was nice to finally see him not stressing. Something which had become a recurrence over the passing weeks since the idea of the album had started to come into reality.

“Whatever. We’ll just call up the Oxford Dictionary tomorrow or whatever, ask them.”

“Biased jury.” He remarked but then there was a barely audible creak and his attention was being redirected to something beyond the screen. “Hey, baby. You have a good time?” I heard him mumble, the phone having lowered a tad.

There was an excited retort that seemed to grow closer, but my breath was caught in the back of my throat at the sudden realisation of just who it had to have been.

Marshall sat up a little further, shoulders coming to rest against the headboard so that he could hug the girl that crept into the corners of the screen. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, murmuring in her ear, and I let my eyes flicker back down to my food, feeling like I was intruding on a tender moment.

I’d always known that he had kids, anyone who listened to his music could tell you that much, and he’d briefly mentioned them a handful of times in the time we’d spoken too. But I had yet to meet either the infamous Rosie or his eldest daughter, seeing as she was fresh out of college and his youngest wasn’t often around when we did speak.

They spoke back and forth in a soft cadence for a while and when I chanced a glance back down at my phone I found that Em had me perched on his knee, now sat up on the mattress so that he could better talk to his daughter who sat opposite. I didn’t want to interrupt or just hang up, so I took the time to tidy away the bowl I held, as well as the iced tea I didn’t much like the look of. I was quiet with it, pushing them back onto the trolley but kept hold of the small plate of cakes I had on the bedside table, having had an eye on one of the brownies since it had first been wheeled in.

I still had a couple of makeup wipes left in the packet I’d used that morning by the bed, so I used one to swipe away the heavy black sat under my eyes, internally promising myself that I would cleanse before I ultimately fell asleep.

“Really? Show me!”

I seemed to tune back in at the sound of the small voice, face a little glowy and a touch red from the wipe I’d just used but thankfully now free of smudgy panda patches.

“You there?”

Blinking, I realised belatedly that Marshall had been addressing me there. I was confused and a little slow in reapproaching the screen, but smiled softly at the sight of Em and his actual mini me, because it was just maddening how much of him she had been given.

“I’m here.” I said, almost a little shyly, unsure but prepared to end the call so that he could spend some time with his daughter. But he went and surprised me, completely actually, because he handed the phone over to Rosie who beamed at the sudden sight of me, gaze lighting up with some sort of recognition.

She was young, I noted, younger than Lottie by a couple of years but not by many. She wore her long hair in a ponytail with a pretty bow at the very top, as well as a smile that seemed to only emphasise her bright eyes. “I can’t believe you’re the El Dad’s been talking about.”

Out of everything I’d expected her to say, that had been pretty low on the list– if it had even been there at all. My mouth parted just as my eyes darted over to where Marshall was sat just behind the girl, still in shot but off to the side. He acted as though he hadn’t heard a word, gaze stuck on the hand he was running through the end of the girl’s hair. Ah, so it was like that, was it?

“Oh yeah?” I ended up chuckling, mostly to ease my emotions and the whirling thoughts that had erupted, immensely glad that I’d had the foresight to wipe my face clean before she’d said hello. I could only guess that she’d probably heard some of my music from that reaction, before I was hastily reminded of the fact that she had been one of the few that had shown Em that video of me.

There was a hurried nod of her head, “Your songs are some of my favourites!”

I grinned softly at that, immensely pleased by the sweet sentiment, and only hoped that her favourites were some of my newer stuff, instead of the few songs I’d realised before I’d gotten signed, those were angry and aimed at a whole other audience.

“I’ve listened to a couple of yours too.” I shot back teasingly, smile only growing when I caught sight of Em’s slight frown as well as Rosie’s own, “My favourite songs from your dad all feature you.”

She seemed to like that answer and giggled, going on to tell me a little about the last song she could remember helping with. I listened attentively, nodding along and commenting when I could, actually surprised by the amount of knowledge she seemed to have picked on whilst growing up around her dad.

It was just after she said something about the upcoming album that her eyes went wide in shock and she gasped, spinning back around to look at her dad over her shoulder. Marshall stared, baiting the kid into thinking she’d gone and let the big secret slip, which in itself had me fighting down a chuckle, before he soon cracked.

He cowered playfully when Rosie jumped at him, giggling at the thought that she’d gone and ruined it all for him, only growing louder when the man tickled her sides to roll her off him. The camera followed the pair, landing with a thump somewhere on the floor, before Marshall was back, obviously having picked it up and holding it up high enough so that I could see the little girl’s narrowed eyed expression behind him. Her smile did little to infuse the scowl she bore.

I bit back my own.

Em took a deep breath and steeled his expression a tad, “Try that again, girlie. I dare you.”

“Dad.” The girl complained as the man knocked her back down when she tried to kneel her way on closer to the phone. I laughed quietly at them and shook my head, catching him watching me for a second too long when I looked back, but then he was sitting over by the headboard again, encouraging the girl to join him too.

When she poked her tongue out at him, he pulled a face in return. It was a moment I was content to be a part of but which also reminded me of the days of when Lotts had been that young, back before I’d managed to score studio time or even a meeting with a label exec.

I must've been wearing an odd look because Marshall’s mouth twitched when he glanced back at me, lifting a single eyebrow. I knew what he was asking with the action and so I dipped my chin in a slow gesture to assure him I was okay.

The night continued on like that for a little while longer, just the three of us talking, Rosie telling us about the afternoon she’d spent with her sister, before Em finally managed to rouse her into getting ready for bed. I took that to be lights out for me too, listening quietly whilst he sent the little girl on her way, promising that he’d be there to tuck her into bed in just a second.

My smile was all mushy when his door rattled shut, I knew it too but was too tired to hide it so simply settled for relaxing my head further against the headboard. His face went through a rapid relay of emotions when he caught it though, before he eventually stamped out anything recognisable. I blinked blearily in return.

“‘Til tomorrow?” I assumed, chuckling softly whilst he dragged a hand over the top of his head. I noticed then that the blond was gone.

He gave a hum, voice low in the quiet of his room, “You gotta be up to catch a plane.”

A wave of anticipation hit me at the very reminder and even as sleepy as I felt, I continued to smile. “I do.”

A quiet pause dragged between us, an odd tension building. I waited for him to say something, perhaps another reminder or–

“Get some sleep.”

Or that.

I swallowed back my grin and then nodded. “You too.”

The tiniest beginnings of a curl could be made out on his lips before he shook his head and turned, leaving me with a black screen and a tally of our time spent on call.

3 hours 17 minutes

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rhey-007 · 9 months

Text

Driving Home For Christmas

Pierre Gasly x reader || snippet (?) / short story

Summary: Pierre and Yuki got stuck and arrived late to the Christmas Eve making you mad. At least the kids were happy that Santa came.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, family fluff, female reader, wife reader, mom reader, dad Pierre, husband Pierre

A/N: Just a short story I had in mind :)) Also let me know if I can even call it a snippet or a one shot cause idk ://

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚🎄˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

"We're so fucking late... "

Pierre whined hitting his head against the steering wheel, impatient honks leaving the car as they waited in traffic. It was supposed to be just a quick trip to the store to finish up buying present but turned into a shopping spree when Pierre couldn't find anything special for you, instead buying a couple of gifts. When he and Yuki left the mall centre the traffic started to form on the streets and they were fucked.

"Where are you? "

You asked them through the phone as you prepared the Christmas table along Mr. Gasly.

"You were supposed to be back home an hour ago! "

You whisper shouted as to not startle your kids that impatiently awaited their father's and uncle's comeback.

"I know honey, I know... But there was so many people and such long queues that when we left we drove straight into traffic... I promise we'll make it"

Pierre assured you at which Yuki just shook his head. There was no way they were going to make it on time. And they still had to have a few minutes to change into their costumes, as Pierre promised your 3 and 5 year olds that Santa and his elf assistant will visit them just as every year.

"I hope so... Cause if you make kids mad then you can prepare yourself for sleeping on the couch"

You hissed angrily before hanging up.

"I told him to finish it up a few days ago so he would have plenty time to help us today, but of course he didn't listen"

Your father said walking into the kitchen, Pierre's dad agreeing.

"He never did, never does and never will listen"

The older man added. As much as you appreciate their boths company and help, you wished they would drop the topic.

2 hours later Pierre and Yuki were finally by your apartment, changing their clothes in an elevator to soon burst into the flat.

"Ho Ho Ho! Are here some good kids or did we got the wrong floor! "

Gasly's Santa voice sounded through the whole house, making the kids run to the door and hug Santa immediately. The man picked them both up then the four entered the dining room.

"Mommy! Mommy! Look who's here! "

Laura, your 5 year old daughter, shouted happily almost ruining her father's ear.

"Sorry we're late... We tried... "

Yuki whispered to you as you helped him put the presents under the tree.

"It's okay, my husband's the only one to blame"

Hearing you call Pierre 'your husband' instead of just his name, Yuki knew the Frenchman was screwed...

"Santa! "

Your 3 years old son Leo responded to his older sister before their father placed them down and greeted you.

"You're late... "

"I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you"

He proceeded to kiss your cheek but you pushed pass him and entered the kitchen, to soon come back with a hot pot of borscht and dumplings.

The kids unwrapped their presents happily with Santa's help, as the rest of you finally ate.

"Whe daddy? "

Leo asked, looking up at Pierre wit his big blue eyes.

"He'll come soon. Just as uncle Yuki. Now, give Santa one last hug as Santa and my elf friend have to go visit other kids"

The two hugged him once again while your father took triliard photos, then occupied them while Yuki and Pierre changed.

"Finally... "

The Japanese sighed in relief as he put on his normal clothes.

"You have no idea how itchy that costume was..."

"I imagine"

You chuckled quietly as they came back to the room.

At the end of the day everyone was happy with how the Christmas Eve came out. Even you, although you didn't show it being a little mad at Pierre.

"Pierre"

You warned as you felt him hug you from behind after walking out of the bathroom.

"Don't think you'll get anything after today"

You hissed at which he shook his head.

"I don't expect anything. Just wanted to say sorry. I know I should have done it a long time ago but I just lacked time... I'm sorry... Please don't make me sleep on the couch... "

The man made puppy eyes at you, a trick he learned from your kids. You sighed heavily spinning around and facing him.

"I wasn't going to. But please... Next time be prepared way earlier so I wouldn't have to stress out so much okay?"

"Okay"

"You don't even have an idea how crushed they looked when you were late. I almost cried if it wasn't for our dads to occupy them"

You admitted laying down under the covers. Pierre quickly put on his pajama and joined you, pulling you close to himself and stealing a kiss.

"I can only imagine... I'm sorry once again"

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cerastes · 1 year

Text

Hey. It's been a while. I think it's right to update you on stuff so tl;dr I'm probably not going to be around for some time, and if I am, it'll be in a diminished capacity, but if you're interested, do check under the cut. I'll also immediately state that I am not in any dangerous situation, it's other stuff, but I'll immediately dispel that before the cut just in case you just wanted to know that in particular.

Let's talk for a bit.

Long story short, the economy here is in shambles. The idea was for me to already have a new job, but that's not gone according to plan. I've been eating into my savings for a while now, and the people that told me that I had a job lined up for me September or at the latest October, meaning, this month, have been ghosting me. It seems to not be an option anymore, and no explanation was ever given to me. A shame, because it came from a place of relative trust.

This has eaten away at my nerves somewhat, and though it is the month of my birthday, I can't help but notice that, between the economy being this bad here, how hard it's been to land another job, and the fact that I'm eating into my savings, well, it's got me more than a bit worried. I'm not in any immediate danger of losing the roof over my head, or starving, or anything like that, but after a few months of "well, my savings take yet another hit this month with no end in sight", it's been rather rough, you'll understand, and it's compounded a bit. For just a second, and not as a primary, secondary, or even tertiary plan, more like a twenty-eighth measure if anything, I did entertain the dark idea of maybe asking for a bit of help here, and the moment that thought came up, I realized, "Ok, this is truly and well affecting me, I never want to do that", because, again, it's not like I'm in any immediate danger of homelessness or anything that grave, but it's been weighting on me enough that, even as a distant glint in the horizon of an idea, I did consider it. I don't want to sound like I'm blowing my own horn here, but for over a decade that I've had this blog, and the community/following/whatever you want to call it that has grown around it, I've never once asked for something like monetary help, because I think that can be a slippery slope. I've seen people far bigger than me, and some smaller, too, get addicted to asking for donations or help, or simply start taking it for granted when they ask for such a thing. My friends will tell you I writhe in agony when I receive a gift such as a game or something over the mail. My logic is that I don't need it, not in a proud way, but rather, in a "I wish you would spend this money on yourself instead, or on someone that truly needed it". With this in mind, I realized that, for me to even slightly consider that as an option, for the first time in my life, it meant that it was biting away at me far, far more severely than I thought. It's translated to other parts of my life as of late; I've not been depressed or anything, but I've felt this itch, this remarkably implacable feeling of "my man, you don't deserve to be taking it easy right now, something has to change, progress needs to be made".

I went out to wander for a few days, then arrived at my cousin's farm. He and his wife live a humble, hard working life, he invited me to stay for a while, I accepted, it was real nice, we hanged out, went exploring creeks and mountainsides while knocking back a few beers, the whole shebang for two guys that grew up in the middle of nowhere. Anyhow, it's true that the whole exposition that was the previous paragraph is something at play, but I also just... Haven't really wanted to be online at all. I don't want to check anything, read anything, and I feel a deep sense of alienation that I've not really felt in a long time. I suppose this is one of those good ol' Bro Is Going Through It, if we're to summarize it in a few words. It's easy for me to dispel negative thoughts and bounce back normally, because I've done a great deal of personal building and homework on knowing myself inside out, but not even this black belt in Drimobrain has helped this time around, and well, it bothers me, obviously, bwahaha. It's the first time in a few years that I really sincerely do not understand what's up with me, and while it's not really something I would consider me being rock bottom or anywhere near those depths, I do think I'm still below surface level, which is something I don't admit to easily, but have no choice to. I would love to be able to give this malaise shape and firmness through written or spoken word, but right now, it's a work in progress.

What bothers me the most is the sense of alienation I spoke of before: It makes no sense for me to feel this way, I'm treated with love and kindness every day, no one's silencing me in any way, I don't deal with barbs or hostility. So why is it that that's how I feel? Or perhaps it's something that feels similar, but I've no clue what it is, so I'm compounding it with alienation?

Regardless, it's all compounded into me just... Not wanting to be online. In the words of a friend of mine, "Dreamer has a fetish for self-development and growth", and, well, yeah, she's got that right despite the wording, I like to feel as if I'm improving every day and becoming better every day, even if slightly, and right now I feel like I'm just degenerating. Is it because my mood has been sour overall? Maybe. It might as well just be the fact that I Just Don't Want To Be Online For A While, and capricious clown that I am, if I want to do something, I do it, and if I don't want to do something, I don't do it. I'm tied to nothing and no one except my desire and drive to do or not do things. I can't change that, nor do I want to change that. And in this case, my heart's said to me, "fuck going online, go out, do things, try to get a job".

I also almost got recruited into something fucking vile that I thankfully noticed in time to avoid, but that's a story for another time.

There you have it. Am I leaving the internet/blue website forever? No, of course not, I like it here. Are things hard right now? They are, to be honest. Are they the worst it could be? Not at all. Do I have complete clarity of what's up with this fog inside of my head? No, and that bother me quite a bit. Are things going to be alright? Yeah, I think they will be.

I do regret it's in October of all months that this is going on, because it's where my shitposting power is at its apex due to my birthday, but hey, things happen, not necessarily for a reason, but they can be handled in such a way that it gives them meaning. I'm a fervent believer in that. I'm sorry this isn't the update you may have been hoping for, full of Lucina cosplayer blowjobs and other such hijinks, but hey, they can't all be Rainbow Road, haha.

So in case we don't see each other for a while, I hope you're all doing fine and dandy. I'm alive, I'm trying to be well, and most importantly, most fundamentally, most quintessentially,

I stay silly.

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howlinchickhowl · 6 months

Text

It's posting day for my @gallavichthings Gift Exchange gift! I got @rayrayor and I wrote a little something for their prompt about Mickey being a 'straight' patron of Ian's gay bar. Happy gift exchange, I hope you enjoy it!

(There's no warnings and it's fairly PG)

You're Like In Love With Me - a gallavich a.u. fiction 🫶

Someone at the brewery has it in for Ian, he’s decided. They’ve assigned him the world’s weediest delivery guy, who manages to shift one keg for every seven Ian hauls off his truck, and always gets to Ian ‘after lunch’, which, tends to be closer to dinner than lunch in Ian’s opinion, and leaves him very little time to get everything stocked and inventoried and get a break in before the evening rush starts.

He’s sweating buckets as he waves the guy off and staggers back out into the main bar for some ice water. He rounds the bar and snags a dishcloth from Joni who wrinkles their nose up at him as he swipes it over his forehead and the back of his neck.

Joni doesn’t sweat, it’s a point of pride for them. Ian isn’t sure if they actually aren’t capable of sweating, or if they just avoid any activity that could possibly cause them to perspire. If he was at home with his siblings, Ian would shake his head like a wet dog, sending droplets flying all over every surface and into the faces of any person standing close enough. But last year when he took over from Gigi she made him sit through like thirty hours of online health and safety and food hygiene training, and there is an open container of cut limes on the back bar that he can’t in good conscience condemn with his bodily fluids. So he holds himself back and focuses on getting himself a drink and trying not to be too obvious about checking out his favorite regular.

Mickey Milkovich has been coming to The Scratching Post since before Ian’s time, before it was ever even a gay bar, according to the man himself. When he was a kid, before the neighborhood ‘went to shit’ – Mickey’s colorful way of saying got gentrified by the u-haul lesbians and professional gays – it was something of a slum. And Mickey grew up a regular little slumdog. Before The Scratching Post was The Scratching Post, it was The Alibi Room, and the way Mickey tells it, it was basically his dad’s office. He’s told Ian stories about how he used to sit in one of the booths and watch his dad take book or make deals, how he got his first tattoo from the owner’s cousin who was trying to rustle up enough bail money to get her boyfriend out of jail after he shot up their apartment during a bad trip. How his older brother lost his virginity in the upstairs room when it was a short-lived brothel. How the whole fabric of his life is tied up in this place, like he’s just as much a part of it as the stains on the carpet that they’ve never bothered to change.

So now that Mickey is out of prison (attempted murder, but according to Mickey it was a trumped up bullshit charge and if he wanted to murder someone he would fucking succeed) and back living in the house he grew up in, he likes to drink in his neighborhood bar, even if it’s turned into some sort of haven for the L-G-B-T-Q-Whatever (his words). It’s home.

Ian doesn’t mind. Mickey’s a fast drinker and he can hold a lot of booze, and it never hurts to get some steady business during the day. And he likes Mickey. Kind of really likes him, actually. Sort of wouldn’t mind licking the inside of his mouth or tasting the sweat on the back of his neck. And that’s where he gets into a certain amount of trouble. Because Mickey Milkovich? Is straight.

Straight as a ramrod. Straight as a ruler. Straight as the day is long. Capital S Straight. So Ian tries not to think too much about how soft his lips look or how good he smells, and he also tries to keep it under wraps exactly how much he likes to look at the guy. He’s not gonna not look at him. But he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable in, from what Ian can gather, one of the only places he feels comfortable. And he also doesn’t want to get his ass kicked by a guy he has a crush on. He had enough of that kind of fun in high school.

So he grabs his pint of ice water and wipes his forehead with his stolen rag and he limits his glances to two seconds long with twenty second intervals. Or at least he thinks he does until Joni rolls their eyes at him and announces they are going on a smoke break, since he’s clearly gonna be there for a while anyway. He’d be annoyed but honestly, they’re right.

Mickey always sits in the same spot, on a high stool at the bar just where it’s curved around enough so that he can easily see the door but not so far that he can’t see who’s coming and going from the restroom or the back. His vigilance is quiet, but noticeable if you know what you’re looking for. Or if you just spend a lot of time looking.

He’s in his spot today, left hand curled loosely around his beer like he likes to be ready to drink at any moment, and he’s smiling down at his phone in a way that has Ian’s tummy start to fizz with little sparks of jealousy. What’s got him smiling like that? He’s desperate to know.

He doesn’t always talk to Mickey every time he comes in, he tries to show a respectful level of interest, though if you polled his employees they would probably say he fails at that. He does some quick math in his head while grabbing another rag and starting to wipe down the bar top, making his way down toward Mickey’s end. Today is Wednesday, Mickey didn’t come in yesterday, on Monday Ian kept his distance, and he hadn’t worked Sunday. That meant that their last interaction had been Saturday. Four days. That’s a decent interval, he figures, and he carries on wiping over the bar, trying to come up with a subtle way to find out what has made Mickey smile.

“That your girl?” Is what he’s got by the time he’s stood in front of Mickey, and it may not be subtle but it’s all he could think of.

“Huh?” Mickey asks, looking up.

“You uh, you look like something in your phone is making you real happy, I thought maybe it was a girl.”

“Oh, Uh.” Mickey looks down at his phone and then back up at Ian, his lips tugging down into a half frown. “No.”

He closes his phone and shoves it in his back pocket, eyes shifting around the room as he takes a sip of his beer. There’s something kind of shifty about it, like Ian’s made him uncomfortable somehow, and if Ian had more self-control he’d call this one a loss and find an excuse to leave him be. But his discipline only extends to his exercise regime and diet apparently because he finds himself unable to walk away, quietly desperate to know what Mickey had been looking at.

“So what d’you win a bet?”

Mickey huffs a laugh and sticks hi phone in his back pocket, Ian wipes a spot on the bar that he’s already wiped clean three times.

“Naw man, just a picture of my sister looking fuckin’ dumb in a squirrel hat.”

Ok. Not what Ian had been expecting.

“A…squirrel? Hat?”

“Yeah it’s for her job or whatever, she looks like a fuckin’ idiot.”

His words are harsh, but the smile that’s spreading over his lips is kind of soft, like he is actually kind of fond of his sister. Ian’s never seen him smile like that before. His smile is always kind of dirty, or wry, or sometimes bordering on a grimace, this is different, and Ian feels like he’s unlocked a new Mickey nugget. He wonders if he can get some more.

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Two brothers, one sister.” He takes a gulp of his beer and then does a thoughtful little shrug. “That I know of. The way my dad was though, wouldn’t be too shocked if I got a bunch more I don’t know about.”

There’s that wry smile that Ian’s used to, with a half an eye roll that belies a lifetime of dealing with a parent who never stops disappointing you. It’s an eyeroll Ian has performed many a time himself.

“God yeah me too. I got at least one half-sister who showed up out of the blue a few years back, but I could be related to half the city for all I know.”

“Half the redheads at least.” And there’s the dirty smile. He’s mentioned Ian’s hair a few times, most people tease him about it a little, it’s no big deal. He imagines Mickey would have terrorized him if they’d known each other as kids, chasing him around calling him Carrot Top or Little Orphan Annie. This is kind of a gentle tease though, something warm, accompanied with a squint that could almost be a wink, if Mickey Milkovich was the kind of guy who winked, and it spurs Ian on.

“I knew this girl in high school, her dad had so many kids running around that she had to ask people for their family tree before she would hook up with them.”

Mickey almost chokes on his beer.

“Fuck me, should I be doing that?”

“I don’t know. She had a close call once, and her dad literally had like, thirty kids.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah, so, next time you’re lookin’ to hook up with someone, just, ask for a DNA screening first I guess.”

Mickey nods, and then the air sort of drops out of the conversation, like it has nowhere left to go. Mickey gulps the last of his beer in one huge mouthful that puffs his cheeks out and sort of makes him look like he’s chewing it, and the only thing Ian can think to say is to ask him if he wants another.

“Nah I’m good, gotta get back.” He throws some cash down on the bar to cover his tab and is out the door with his arms still shoving into his jacket before Ian can even say syanora.

And then he doesn’t come back for three weeks.

It’s not like Ian’s moping, Joni can fuck off for implying that. The bar is busy and he has a lot to do and employees to manage and siblings to deal with. But in the afternoons sometimes he’ll find himself staring at the empty space where Mickey would normally be and wondering, kind of forlornly, if the guy is ever coming back. Trying to figure out what he did or said in that last conversation that pissed him off so bad he would forsake his childhood bar.

Ian misses him. His expressive face and his disgusting sense of humour, and the way he makes Ian feel, like on edge and at ease at the same time. It just sucks, not seeing him, and not knowing why.

And then one day, three weeks and four days since The Scratching Post had last seen hide or hair of him, he’s back, sitting on his regular stool when Ian gets done mopping the bathrooms.

It gives him a jolt, a little shiver of excitement running down his spine as he shoves the mop in the corner and rounds the bar.

“Haven’t seen you around here lately.” He greets Mickey, as casually as he can, and Mickey looks up, kind of startled, and then looks down at the bar. Or. There’s a white envelope sitting there, and he seems fixated on it.

“Everything ok Mick?”

Mickey nods, a quick little jerk of a thing, eyes fixed on the envelope. He doesn’t even have a drink in front of him.

“You want a beer?”

He shakes his head, brings his right hand up to lay his fingertips over the envelope and slide it across the bar toward Ian.

“What’s this?” Ian picks it up, there’s no name on it, no details, it’s not sealed but he’s still not sure if he should open it. Mickey’s looking up at him when he’s done inspecting it.

“It’s uh.” His bright blue eyes flick away and then back again, are they wetter than usual? They seem so shiny when they finally rest back on Ian. “It’s a DNA test.”

“A DNA test?”

“Yeah. We um. We ain’t related. So.”

He raps his knuckles on the bar a couple of times in a short sharp knock that he must think serves as a suitable stop to this most bizarre of conversations, and clambers off his stool, heading for the door.

“Wait Mickey—What?!”

“Just. Read it.”

The door has barely had time to swing shut before Ian is practically tearing the envelope in his haste to look at the paper inside. It’s exactly what Mickey said, a DNA test, comparing Mickey’s DNA to his own, which, he’s gonna have to talk to him about where he got a sample of Ian’s DNA from, and confirming that there’s no overlap. In the top right corner, in a chicken scratch of a hand, Mickey has scrawled the words ‘just in case’ and then a phone number, and Ian almost drops his phone in the ice trough in his rush to pull it out of his pocket and send a text.

[2:34pm] I thought you were straight?

The reply buzzes through almost immediately, like maybe Mickey’s stood outside looking at his phone waiting to see what happens.

[2:34pm] Good.

It’s a very Mickey text, and something about it makes Ian feel warm, like he’s being trusted with something Mickey doesn’t trust a lot of people with.

[2:35pm] Where did you get a sample of my DNA??

[2:35pm] That really what you wanna be asking me right now?

[2:35pm] I’ve got a lot of things I want to ask you.

[2:36pm] So come outside, I don’t got all day.

It’s possible that Ian knocks over a stool and drops his dishcloth on the floor, he’s got bigger fish to fry.

#gallavich fic #ian x mickey #fic #GGE2024

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viivzn · 4 months

Note

taps ur shoulder

engel x fem! reader pls pls

one shot or headcanon idc i just need my pookie ❤️

☆ ,. DREAM GIRL

pairs. fem!reader X engel

req by. wither !! (ily😘💘)

type. hcs or (+) drabbles

a/n. engel is so silly liek he's a such a loyal and defensive friend,,. km gon cry if he d9esnt exist 💔💔 TYANKS FOR REQUESTING BTW!!!¡!!11!21! probably proofread

a/n#2. alsoo you didn't specify about reader and him dating or not so i did both js incase if you wabt one of em 😋😋💥💥💔💔🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

⠀⠀⠀━━━━ not dating !!

chill.

he liked how chill you were in some serious situations especially when some of you guys found out that the teachers finish off students who fail the tests, quizzes and stuff. though you were kinda horrified and in disbelief when alice almost killed claire.

long story short, claire survived because of you.

he was so thankful and relieved that you saved the poor girl, he could've been in a much more painful state as miss circle threw him off the brick wall.

he kept saying thank you day by day or whenever he sees you, he gives you gifts and such. you already told him it was enough but he just kept going with the treats he gives you.

of course you didn't mind, you loved receiving gifts.

although, every now and then, he'd start to become quite shy around you, or maybe tease you or maybe even annoy you in a good way!

you hated it but you secretly loved his way of teasing, though you found it weird why he does that occasionally now.

eh!! ><

it seems to claire that engel secretly started liking you ever since you guys hang out in some places or maybe the malls. she did tell you some theories about him having feelings for you but you just told her to shake it off.

you did like him privately, though you don't know how to show as much affection as he does.

⠀⠀⠀━━━━ dating !!

uh oh ushshaus

cuddles when you guys sleep together (not in that way. you guys are still minors huhuh)

he loves spending time with you! quality time is probably his thing.

he'd let you play with his hair, braid them, put it with hair accessories and such, he doesn't mind!

watch your lockers get filled with a bunch of cards and letters ━━━━━━━ well, let's put it this way., let's just say you just entered the center of learning (alias school), wending your way to your locker trying to open it but it won't budge. magically, you grabbed a crowbar from your bag and started opening the aperture of your storage locker. only revealing tons of papers, gifts, sweets & desserts, and romantic stuff you could imagine.

oh yeah it flooded the hallways logically

he'd either just glance at you while you're having a hard time processing what happened or he'll just chuckle softly before picking you up in his arms and head to you guys' classes

yeah let's ignore the letters and stuff he placed in your locker and let the janitor sweep all those mess

he'll get a raise anyways don't mind the janitor

babe, sweetie, my dear, the love of my life, gorgeous and other nicknames that could fluster you easily idk🤷‍♀

he'll walk you home after school, he does it often now you can't blame him when you two got in a relationship

oh yeah, kisses and PDA. can't forget about those

as much as he hated PDA back then, let's say you changed him because of you guys getting in a relationship

"what once was" music starts playing in and "dream girl"

he's much more affectionate than before, forehead kisses, cheek kisses, maybe even lips if you flustered him enough.

oh yeah maybe even hand kisses, he's a gentleman indeed.

beach, picnic, fancy restaurant dates??? it's up to you honestly, if he's canonically poor then an ice cream date!! ><

likes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated!! ^^

#✷ ── ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ request #☆★★#✷ ── ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ viv #⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀#fpe #fpe x reader #fundamental paper education x reader #fundamental paper education #engel #engel fpe #fpe engel #fanfic #drabbles #hcs #headcanon #headcanons #engel x reader

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midmaysunray · 7 months

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Hello there, it’s me Momo🩷

(Also, this is a shit posting blog, might wanna check out @shunrehihosumedha )

Here’s a little description of things I love and envy

I’m from the Indian subcontinent.

Spent my entire childhood between mountains and valleys. For a change shifted to Delhi which I regret tremendously.

I love farming, gardening, stitching clothes, crocheting, writing poems and maintaining a journal.

I enjoy long walks and bicycle rides.

I prefer going to a bookstore or a restaurant all by myself. I love self-dates.

I want to settle someday at an unknown meadow with mountains and lakes at a cottage core house, with big windows and minimalistic furniture with a wooden chimney, a library with some cats and the man I love.

I’m a student, fortunately academically gifted/blessed.

I did my undergrad from Indraprastha college for women under the university of Delhi in the discipline of geography Hons. Currently pursuing my masters from Jamia Millia Islamia.

I love movies; and my favourite genre is dystopian reality. So far I have watched 750+ movies which include almost every linguistic diversity as I strongly believe in the adherence of, “you can’t find gold unless you dig the dirt.”

I love reading books, like a lot. I can speak 5 different languages and out of them, 3 languages are engraved within my system. Starting from Greek Literature Iliad by Homer to metaphysics by aristotle; reading short stories of Rabindranath Tagore in Bengali as well as reciting Gazals of Gulzar in Hindi itself, I believe I have defined base in my own culture as well as to others. Again, when it comes to dystopian, I envy reading The Hunger Games and The Maze Runners. Do Androids dream of electric sheep? Comes under my top 5 dystopian reads; as this book was later adopted into a world class movie franchise called The Blade Runner. I lean towards Harry Potter more than The Lord of the Rings. I have read A song of ice and fire which people are so batshit crazy about and famously known as the “Game of thrones.” I didn’t watch a single episode but I know more than any fan I believe.

If you intervene and ask, then yeah you can think of me as a “nerd” hehehe because my preference and taste of things leans towards being more of geek tbh🩷🩷

I also enjoy watching animated series/anime and sit coms. I’m a sucker for The Big Bang Theory and Young Sheldon and will rewatch them for an eternity if asked. My favourite anime is Gintama but the list is peculiar and long as I have been watching anime/reading manga since I was 9 years old. My first anime was Dragon Ball z and Pokémon. I also watched Doraemon and Shinchan series/movies. The list goes on when it comes to entertainment but mine is more restricted than common which people watch out of peer pressure. Below are some examples for understanding my taste and likings.

My favourite dystopian movies are (Top 20)

1. Shutter Island.

2. Interstellar

3. The Dark knight

4. The Dark knight Rises

5. Captain America: the winter soldier

6. Rouge one: a star war’s story

7. Tron legacy

8. Harry Potter and the prisoner of Azkaban

9. The Hobbit: the desolation of Smaug

10. Star Trek Enterprise

11. Star Wars: the empire strikes back

12. Blade runner

13. Blade runner 2049

14. Dune

15. V for vendetta

16. Maze runner

17. The Hunger Games

18. Oblivion

19. The Truman show

20. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

Top 15 Anime

1. Gintama

2. Neon Genesis Evangelion

3. Berserk

4. Mob psycho

5. Steins Gate

6. Violet evergarden

7. Monster

8. Parasyte

9. Heavenly delusion

10. Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

11. Full Metal Alchemist

12, That time when I got reincarnated as a slime

13. Campfire cooking in another world with my absurd cooking skills

14. Barakamon

15. Bunny Drop

Top 10 Anime Movies

1. Princess Mononoke by Studio Ghibli

2. Up from the poppy hill by Studio Ghibli

3. My neighbor Totoro by Studio Ghibli

4. The End of Evangelion by Hideaki Anno

5. Spirited Away by Studio Ghibli

6. Perfect blue by Satosi Kon

7. Akira by Katsuhiro Otomo

8. Ghost in the Shell by Mamoru Oshii

9. Violet evergarden: the movie by Taichi Ishidate

10. Doraemon: Nobita’s new dinosaur by Kazuaki Imai, Toshihisa Yokoshima, in collaboration with Kyoto animation studio Wasabi Mizuta, Megumi Ohara, Shihoko Hagino.

I know it may seem boring and I usually don’t find people with such diversity, but it would be good to be a part of this community. I envy people who respects art and literature of every culture and not demeaning them.

#entertainment #anime movie #movies #80s movies #80s anime #anime 80s #90s anime #anime and manga #anime #dystopia #science fiction #novels #fem reader #tumblr milestone

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sjsmith56 · 22 days

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Bucky Barnes, Deadpool and the TVA (or How I ended up inside the fourth wall)

Summary: A Bucky Barnes fanfiction writer finds herself in the same universe as the Thunderbolts* Bucky when she wakes up in his bed.

Length: 4.1 K

Characters: Unnamed and undescribed OFC, Bucky Barnes, Dr. Strange, Wong, B-15, variant of OFC, OMC (OFC’s husband)

Warnings: some sexual innuendo, naked horny Bucky, no smut (sorry)

Author notes: Just a silly story that I pulled from somewhere in my mind. The part about the OFC and her husband seeing the new Deadpool movie at a matinee was based on real life.

💻 🦾 🛵

The blank page stared at me. It wasn't blank five minutes ago, but I read what I wrote, and didn't like it, so I deleted it and then I was looking at the page again. We met before, you, the reader and me, the writer. I sought help from the very reason I write, Bucky Barnes. The writing gods first sent me World War II Bucky, a sweet flirty guy who was still interested in the stories I wrote. The version that appeared to me was from before Azzano and before the train; that dreadful transport of death that changed his whole life in a moment. Then they sent me the Winter Soldier, the dark brooding villain ... I know, he was more than that, but that was HYDRAs use of him. He was their Fist, brutally carrying out assassinations on targets they assigned him. Relentless and frightening in his attention to his task he was still a sight to see; that tall, dark-haired muscular menace and the way he strutted towards his target. No hesitation, no regrets and totally the object of many fantasies. I still got warm thinking about the ones I read about, never mind wrote. On that day, it was Falcon and the Winter Soldier (FATWS) Bucky who came to my rescue. It was him as he was portrayed at the end of the series, seemingly in a place where he felt at home in Delacroix, becoming part of Sam Wilson's family as their adopted uncle. That Bucky sat with me, helped me through my writer's block, and even gave me an idea for a Black Widow smut piece that was a gift to my husband. Before he left, he said he would always be there for me. At the time, he probably meant it. Then there was a disturbance in the Force.

Wrong franchise, I know, but how else to explain how things seemed to go a bit sideways? There were the What If? episodes, that displayed Bucky as the sidekick to Captain Carter. Those was okay, then he was more of the dark brooding long-hair version of Wakanda Bucky in a zombie wasteland. At least we got to see a cartoon version of him in the shower, from the waist up. Wasn't quite enough to quench the fandom's thirst for him but it was a start. Don't even get me started on the Guardians of the Galaxy Christmas special where Nebula appeared with Bucky's vibranium arm, opening a whole can of worms over whether it was funny (not to me), cute (seriously stealing Bucky's arm is cute?) and canon (no, James Gunn, it wasn't canon to me). Yes, I'm changing the tense in the middle of a paragraph by telling you to don't @ me if you're a believer in any of the three above. To me, all three of those scenarios were just wrong. I got emotional then and I still do.

I wrote since then, some AUs, lots of one shots as I explored that format, several short fiction pieces of less than 50,000 words, and a couple of long ones. It was going well, then they brought out the Captain America 4 announcement that Bucky wouldn't be in it (what?) and the Thunderbolts* announcement that Sam Wilson wouldn't be in that (seriously?). Why did they get us to invest our time and interest in a six-part series about these two men forging a deep friendship if they had no intention of continuing it in their movies? The rumours about Bucky in this upcoming movie littered the pages of tumblr and Twitter (sorry / not sorry X); things like Bucky regressed mentally and emotionally, he and Sam had a falling out, he became a congressman, or he went to work for Val de Fontaine so that he didn't lose his pardon.

Why would they do that to Bucky? Let the man have a fucking life. As you could see I got emotional about it. On that particular day I decided to have a nap and clear my mind, then it all changed.

💤

"Hey, sweetheart." I could hear the voice, then I felt a cold hand around my waist, reaching up under my T-shirt. Jerking away and turning around I found myself in bed with Bucky Barnes, beefy Bucky, with the bad haircut shown in the leaked preview of the Thunderbolts*. "There she is."

He had no shirt on, and I found it hard to look at him, then opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. I noticed the smirk on his face, which made me feel warm, like really warm, the way the writers of Bucky smut describe it; a warm pool forming in my core, between my thighs, deep in my .... What happened to me? Where was I?

"You okay, doll? You have a nightmare?" His hand cupped my jaw, as he rubbed his thumb on my cheek.

"You're Bucky," I said, still frozen in place, because let's face it, it's not everyday you find yourself in bed with your romantic fantasy.

"Last I checked," he answered, licking his lips then running his hand over the beard he grew since he was in FATWS. "You're my wife."

I pulled away from him, aware that he might not have anything on at all. He looked at me funny.

"You seem different. Tell me you're not a multiverse version of you that's been dropped here."

"I don't know," I answered, pulling the sheet up to cover my front since I realized I wasn't wearing a bra, and my nipples were doing something that was a little disconcerting. "Am I a writer? Are we married? Are you working for Val de Fontaine?"

He laughed, showing those beautiful white teeth, then he leaned close, gently pulling down the sheet and began to nuzzle my neck, making me feel all sorts of things.

"No, yes, and no," he answered. "Come here."

I pulled away so far that I fell out of bed and sat there on the floor with him looking over the edge at me with a decidedly perturbed expression on his face. With only panties on underneath that T-shirt I pulled on the sheet, so I was covered again.

"What's got into you?"

"What's my name, Bucky?"

"Sweetheart, sunshine, baby girl, darlin' and my personal favourite, doll." He was resting his head on his hands, looking at me in a way that was definitely more friendly than I was comfortable with.

"Those aren't names, they're terms of endearment," I answered. "I am married but not to you and you're supposed to be an Avenger, with Sam Wilson."

"Really, just who are you married to and what is your name?" he asked, in a flirting manner. "Gotta say, sunshine, this role-playing thing could be fun."

I told him my husband's name and my name. "I shouldn't be part of the multiverse because it's not real. It's fiction."

He laughed, then saw I wasn't laughing and frowned. Angry Bucky alert. "You have to be from the multiverse. If you're not, where's my wife? Why do you look and sound like her?"

I raised my hands up. "I don't know where she is. I look like her because I write fanfiction of you, and I picture myself in the original female character's role. She usually becomes your love interest. But I had writer's block because Marvel has been messing around with your portrayal and not giving out much information of how they've changed your character. It was bugging me, so I took a nap, then woke up next to you."

"Who's this Marvel guy? Do you think he knows where my wife is?"

He didn't know about the fourth wall, was definitely angry and all I could think of was that he looked just as angry now as he did in that leaked Thunderbolts* footage.

"Marvel's not a guy, it's a corporation that owns the copyright to your character." I winced as I explained it to him, knowing he wasn't liking it. "You're not real, Bucky. You're a fictional character from the comics and the movies they made from it. But you know this already. I've spoken to you in your World War II persona, your Winter Soldier persona and from when you and Sam fought the Flag Smashers. That's called your FATWS era."

I started to explain what the letters meant but he just glared at me, so I stopped. He pulled away from the edge of the bed and got out on the other side, naked, and I did stare, I'll admit it. God, he had a nice ass and the rest of him from the back was... wow. Then he turned to face me, and I looked everywhere but there.

"Get dressed," he ordered. "You're taking me to this Marvel place and I'm going to get my wife back."

"It's not as easy as that," I replied. He stared at me, his arms crossed defiantly in front of him while he was still showing everything the serum gave him. I focused on his face, but it was so hard ... not that, you know what I mean. "If this is a multiverse incursion then there might not be a Marvel in this universe and even if there was it wouldn't be possible to just walk in there. We have to find Dr. Strange. He's the only one who can do anything."

"Fine," he said, "but you're still coming with me. Now get dressed."

Holding the sheet around me I approached the walk-in closet, but he was still standing there, naked, in all of his glory and he smelled so good when I slid past him to see what was available for me to wear. Then he was right behind me, practically pressing himself into me and I had to focus, wondering if I had ever written this much raw physical sexuality into my versions of Bucky but it was difficult to concentrate with him so close.

"You having problems, baby girl?" he asked, his lips so close to my ear that I could feel his warm breath making me moist.

"I don't know what to wear," I mumbled, still painfully aware of his naked body this close to me and I was really only separated from him by a sheet.

"We're going on the motorcycle," he said. "Jeans, T-shirts, and leather jackets."

"Right," I answered, hastily going through the sexy dresses, the long gowns with the thigh-high slits, the almost obscene lingerie, but there were no jeans or T-shirts. "Um, where are they?"

"In the drawers," he grunted. "Don't you have drawers in your universe?"

"Yes," I snapped. "Could you stand further away from me?"

"What's the matter, darlin'? Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"This close to me while naked, yes." I rolled my eyes, which he must have heard because he huffed, but he did move away, and I was able to get out of that small space.

Quickly, I located the drawer that had jeans and pulled them on. They were tighter than anything I ever wore but somehow, I got them on. The bra selection left a lot to be desired as most of it was see through and really didn't offer much support. I must have made a noise while I was searching for something more modest because he was suddenly beside me.

"Having a problem, sweetheart? Don't see anything you like? My wife loves all the lingerie I buy for her."

"It's not my style," I answered. "Doesn't she have something that covers more?"

"Sports bra," he answered. "Bottom drawer."

I pulled it open, thankful to find an assortment of sports bras. Pulling one out I started to take the T-shirt off that I woke up in then became aware of his eyes on me. Turning around I was startled to see him reclining on the bed, propped up on one elbow, fully clothed, with his booted feet hanging off the bed.

"Do you mind?"

"No, I don't mind at all," he smirked. "Don't let me stop you. I've seen it all anyways."

"But you're married. Wouldn't watching me get dressed make your wife angry?"

He grinned in an almost wolfish manner. "We have an understanding."

"What? The Bucky's I write are monogamous. Are you polyamorous?"

The grin became a broad smile as he looked me up and down. "If the occasion arises. Gotta say I'm curious to see if you have the same appetites as my doll."

"Out!" I wasn't in the mood for this. "Right now. Go downstairs and get your motorcycle ready."

Slowly, he slid off the bed, then approached me, backing me up to the dresser, while looking at me in a way that gave me thrills at the same time as setting off all sorts of warning bells in my head.

"You sure, sunshine?" His fingertips grasped a tendril of my hair, as he twirled it slightly. "I could definitely make you ...."

"Out," I repeated. "Please stop this."

He backed up, suddenly respectful of my space. "Since you said the magic word, I'll wait downstairs for you."

Just like that, he was gone, and I quickly got the sports bra on, then a clean T-shirt. I pulled on some socks and found some boots, sliding them on. With a quick run through of my hair with my fingers I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, wondering what I had done to get into this predicament.

He was waiting on his motorcycle for me, with a helmet in hand. As I stood there, he placed it on my head, adjusting the chin strap then nodding his head in approval, before putting his on. I slid on behind him, grasping him at the waist. His voice came over a Bluetooth speaker in the helmet.

"You okay, darlin'? Have you ridden a motorcycle before?"

"I'm good. My husband has one and I've ridden with him. Where are we going?"

"The Sanctum Sanctorum," he said. "Might as well go straight to Dr. Strange."

Suddenly, we were there, pulling up to an open parking spot in front of the headquarters of the Masters of the Mythical Arts in the middle of Greenwich Village. This was definitely a unique universe, as we skipped over the long motorcycle ride from Brooklyn, then the frustration of finding any sort of parking. Striding over to the door, Bucky rang the bell, and we were ushered in by an acolyte to where Dr. Strange was drinking a cup of tea and Wong was standing there wringing his hands. Before we could even say anything the two men looked at me, then at each other, then at Bucky.

"Where did you find her?" asked Wong.

That wolfish grin briefly appeared again on Bucky's face. "In my bed. Says she's not my wife, so where is she?"

"That is a good question," said Strange, placing his teacup on the table and approaching me, assessing me in a way that was a little disturbing. "Well, this explains a lot. You're from the real world, aren't you? Beyond the fourth wall."

"Yes, I guess. I'm a fanfiction writer and was taking a nap. When I woke up it was next to him." I pointed at Bucky. "The thing is, he's nothing like the Bucky Barnes character that I write about."

"What's different about him?" Strange's one eyebrow was higher than the other. It was one thing seeing it in the movies but another thing seeing it in person. "Is there a problem with my face?"

"No, no. The biggest difference is that the Bucky's I write are monogamous and this one is polyamorous."

"And? That's a problem?"

I became aware that I was in the middle of all three men, and they were looking at me as if I were lunch, served on a platter just for them.

"Stop!" I barked. "Yeah, it's a problem, okay? Is this a polyamorous universe? Because I'm not! I'm married to one man, and I want to go back to him. Please, you must find a way to get me back to where I belong."

Wong backed away from me first. "She's right. Consent is still required in this universe. Plus, with her being from beyond the fourth wall we could really hurt her. She's actual flesh and blood ... we're fictional characters."

Dr. Strange backed away, returning to his cup of tea. Bucky, well, he just sprawled on a couch as if he had always lived there.

"Tell me about what you were doing before you slept," said Strange.

I told him about the physical changes to Bucky's appearance based on the leaked preview of Thunderbolts* and how the fandom was worrying about his portrayal, and the fact that after a six part series of him and Sam becoming friends Marvel just casually split them apart into two different movies as if the other didn't even exist.

"You care about him," said Strange, his voice neutral. "You want him to be happy."

"Well, yeah," I replied. "The man lost everything that mattered to him and was tortured for 70 years, experimented on, and forced to become a killer for a gang of authoritarian thugs. My thing, my contribution to fanfiction is that Bucky gets a happy ending."

"Sweetheart, I have that," said the super soldier, from where he sat on the couch. "I admit that I am fucked up, but my wife makes me happy and her interest in our extramarital activities is the same as mine. Yet, you treat me like I'm some sort of deviant."

"No, it's not that." I sighed. "Other writers see you in this way and that's fine; that's their thing and lots of people read them and enjoy them but I guess I just like you better when you're monogamous, kind and gentle. To someone like me, this version of you is a bit scary and overwhelming."

"That's fair," he murmured. "You look like my wife. Does your husband look like me?"

"No, not at all," I smiled. "He's shorter, balding, not as fit. But he loves me and he's faithful, kind, and gentle. He beta reads my stories, and I even wrote a Black Widow smut piece just for him. I think he imagines me as his Black Widow sometimes."

Bucky grinned, then nodded his head approvingly.

"Do they break the fourth wall in this Thunderbolts* movie?" asked Wong.

"I don't know. It hasn't come out yet and there's been very few previews of it. I think the only Marvel character that breaks the fourth wall is Deadpool. His movie with Wolverine just came out recently and is making a ton of money."

Both Dr. Strange and Wong perked up. "Deadpool? As in Wade Wilson?"

I nodded. "Yeah, he's fully aware in the movies and comic books that he's fictional. He often breaks the fourth wall."

My voice tapered off. Was I here because of Deadpool?

"Sunshine, have you seen the movie?" Bucky was also sitting upright.

I nodded my head. "My husband and I went to see the matinee just a few days ago."

A green glow emanated from the time stone as Dr. Strange went to wherever he went when he activated it. Wong watched him carefully as did Bucky. Then the Supreme Sorcerer stopped his permutations and gazed at me.

"The Time Variance Authority are in this movie," he stated. "I have a feeling they're involved in this. But why they would take someone from the real world and place them here is a mystery to me."

Suddenly a TVA portal opened in front of us, and B-15 walked out followed by me, at least a version of me, wearing only a T-shirt and panties. Bucky jumped up from the couch.

"Doll? Is it you?"

"Oh Daddy, I was so afraid," she cried, as he wrapped his arms around her. "I woke up in a cell and didn't know how I got there, and ...." She noticed me. "She's me."

"I'm sorry," said B-15, looking at me. "A terrible mistake was made. Beyond the fourth wall is usually forbidden to our hunters but when you went to see the Deadpool movie your presence was noticed in the theatre with your Bucky variant."

"Wait, my husband is a Bucky variant?"

The leader of the TVA smiled. "Well, yes. It's why you write Bucky Barnes fanfiction. You see him as Bucky and yourself as the original female character. You don't have to look alike to be a variant. It's just that you're kind of the model for the OFC in your own universe where you draw your inspiration from. It's supposed to be a private universe and off limits to the TVA. Unfortunately, one of our hunters didn't understand that. He removed Mrs. Barnes here as an illegal variant and installed you as the original in this universe. He has been sent for judgement and won't be in a position to do that again. We are also making sure all of our hunters are aware that the Bucky Barnes fanfiction that you write and read in your own private universe is just that, private, at least to us."

"So how do we get this Mrs. Barnes back to her universe beyond the fourth wall?" asked Dr. Strange. "I have the feeling it's beyond my capabilities."

B-15 smiled at him. "It is but not beyond mine. As soon as she's ready to go I'll open a portal back to her universe."

It sounded simple and like many movies, a little bit of a quick fix, but I wanted to go back so I wasn't going to question it. Wong smiled at me.

"Good luck on the next one shot," he said.

I nodded at him, then Dr. Strange looked at me in that superior way he sometimes had. "I knew there would be a logical solution."

"Right."

Bucky was next, his wife already wearing his leather jacket.

"Oh, this is yours," I said, starting to take the one I had off.

"Keep it sweetheart, as a souvenir," he smirked. "Say hi to your husband for me. Tell me something. The lady there said something about the fiction you read. Does that mean you do read the polyamorous stuff, since you ended up in my bed?"

I sighed as I hated being put in a position of agreeing. "Every so often one captures my eye," I admitted. "Doesn't mean it's something I'm interested in trying."

"If you say so." He glanced at his wife with affection. "You came through for me. I appreciate it."

I looked at B-15. "I'm ready."

She nodded at the others, then punched a few buttons on her TemPad. A portal opened and I walked through it, then felt the touch of my husband's hand on my shoulder as I was still on top of the bed.

"Honey? Wake up."

I sat up, saw my husband, and felt a rush of affection for him.

"Sorry, I took a nap, and I guess I was more tired than what I thought."

"No worries," he smiled. "Um, did you go shopping today? Is that a new jacket and jeans and boots?"

I was still in the other Mrs. Barnes' clothing.

"Yes?" I answered, tentatively.

He smiled and nodded his head appreciatively. "I like them. Makes you look hot. You should wear stuff like that more often." Offering me his hand, he helped me up. "What do you think of taking a ride on the bike and going to a diner for dinner? My treat."

"Sounds like a plan," I answered. "Just let me freshen up a little."

When I got outside my husband was already waiting on his Vespa. I know what you're thinking ... a Vespa is not a motorcycle. Maybe not in the traditional sense but it is what we have and it's a lot of fun. I still get to wrap my arms around my husband's waist and maybe he doesn't have a hard body like Bucky Barnes, but he's all mine and I don't have to share him with anyone. Besides, now that I know he's a Bucky variant I understand how he knows what I like between the sheets, if you get what I mean. When I do write smut, I'm writing about my Bucky, the one I live with in this universe, beyond the fourth wall.

One Shots Masterlist

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #bucky barnes oneshot #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #multiverse #TVA #bucky barnes variants #writing something silly

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