#I love drawing people smiling as if they were in a candid photo

[didias-hp]

Lily

(x)

[boundinparchment]

Autumnal Delights

Modern AU-esque. In which you and Sunday visit an apple orchard and create something delicious. Sunday/GN Reader, established relationship. Written for @owlespresso's Autumn Festival collab! On AO3 here. kudos, comments, and reblog are appreciated

The air was crisp and fresh, a reprieve from the oppressive summer heat that carried the slightest sweetness.  Dirt crunched under foot as you stepped off the line of people, two paid bags in your hand.  Sunday hung back from the clusters of people, instead taking a picture of the orchard map and stepping away to research the variations listed on it.

The first attempt at this had gone rather poorly.  That day, it was muddy and the harvest wasn’t that good.  Most of the remaining selections were picked clean and he’d torn a sleeve reaching to prevent you from falling.  He couldn’t fathom why people willingly picked their own fruit when it meant such an ordeal.

And so you planned better.  Made sure the weather was ideal.  You arrived as early as you could.  He was still a little uneasy but prepared.  More rugged but still stylish shoes joined a light modern jacket and while he still wore slacks, they were more durable than his suit pants.  You could tell by his wings that he felt at ease, and when he cast a warm smile as you approached, you saw a fraction of a flutter skin his cheeks.

“We’re all set,” you said, holding up the plastic bags.  “We can pick as many as we can fit.  Where should we start?”

Sunday assessed the map again, this time marking up the photo, drawing a loop around certain patches that ended at the entrance.  He showed you the result.

“This allows us to hit every grove that has the types you need—Granny Smith, Golden Delicious, and Honeycrisp—while also providing the most variety and enjoying the entire area,” he explained.

He pointed to particular groves along the way.

“I, for one, would love to try this…Keepsake variety,” Sunday said, making a note.  “It is apparently sweet and aromatic.”

You stifled a laugh as you looked over the grove listings.  “Sounds a bit Ludacrisp if you ask me.”

Your companion shook his head and shot you an enigmatic smile before you began to head towards a particular grove.  Sunday extended his arm and you took it, nestling your hand in the crook of his elbow as you surveyed the orchard, the trees absorbing much of the surrounding chatter.  The sky was clear and vibrant, a sharp contrast against the greenery.  Grass rustled as you walked and when you came to the grove with Granny Smiths, both of you began assessing the best options.

“Was there ever anything like this on Penacony?” you asked.  “Not apple picking, necessarily, but…did any dreamscape ever have its own seasons, ever emulate certain qualities from other planets?  The Charmony Festival is once in an Amber Era but…”

You plucked one apple, and then another, dropping them into one of the bags.  Sunday reached up above you and, after examination, pulled it from its perch with a snap, leaves shivering from the vibration.  It joined the others with a hiss of friction against the plastic.

“The Moments of Oasis and Scorchsand both have certain qualities that would allow for it, but considering they are still parts of a dream and one is asleep…it makes for a poor substitute compared to the feeling of the sun pouring down and the tickle of leaves or hearing genuine laughter and excitement,” he said.

Sunday’s words sat with you for a moment as you watched his eyes skim the tree, looking for a suitable candidate.  The morning sun glinted off of his halo and made his silver hair sparkle.  He was clearly trying to be present and cognizant of the moment, focused not only on being efficient but enjoying the day.

You moved on to the next section, looking for Golden Delicious next, every once in a while pausing and taking in a particular view or scent or sensation.  Along the way, you came across trees with irregular shaped apples, red coloration over yellow skin.  Sunday checked the map and paused, careful in his section.

“So these are Keepsakes…” he murmured.  “Quite vibrant.”

You held out the other bag, still empty, wordlessly offering your assistance.  Two bags made it easier to keep the apples you needed for baking separate from what you considered the edible options.

He picked three but paused with the third.  His hand hovered over the bag before it pulled it back, wings folding in careful consideration before he let the apple join the others.  

“I don’t know if I’ll enjoy them.  It seems quite wasteful to take up space if there’s another type you would like.” 

“The whole point is to try something new, not just get what we need for baking, Sunday.  Pick what you think you might want to eat,” you replied, adjusting the bag to lay a reassuring hand on his upper arm.  “Don’t hold back all because of a possible what-if that might not be the end result.”

Sunday leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.  You felt his words of gratitude against your skin more than you heard them as his wings grazed your cheeks.  You continued on until both bags were bursting; the smile on his face during the drive home was worth every aching bone in your feet.

The next day, you tied an apron around your waist and assessed the haul closely, ingredients laid out and recipe card nearby.  It was an old thing, a copy of a copy passed down over the years, boxed at the corners with a coffee ring marring an edge.  You knew it by heart by now.  But you wanted Sunday to have the full experience.

He was already neatly folding up his sleeves and pulling them up so they stayed without constant checking.  Much like yesterday, he was wearing clothes that wouldn’t need dry cleaning and could handle the inevitable mess.  You couldn’t help tracing the lines of his hands up into his forearms, shaped from his time adventuring on the Express.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sunday caught you watching him and his wings fluttered as pink crossed his cheeks.  You smiled and mouthed an apology, only for him to step behind you, hands on your waist as he nestled into your neck, feathers tickling.

“I am always flattered by your admiration, my beloved, but you shouldn’t allow yourself to be so easily distracted.”

With a peck to the curve of your neck, Sunday pulled away and plucked his own apron from the nearby rack, ready to start.

You washed the apples together before you began to peel them.  At first, you expected to have to show Sunday how to hold the small knife and angle it just below the surface; he surprised you, picking up both with practiced ease.  The skin came free in long, curling ribbons that were pushed aside to be baked separately.

“It wasn’t often but I used to do this for my sister,” Sunday said when he caught the curious tilt of your head.  “Peeled and cored, with the skin left to be given to the visiting birds and other creatures in the gardens.”

There was more to the simple tale, you sensed, but you remained quiet and waited until he finished an apple before pressing a clean hand to the space between his shoulder blades.  Chances were, like all things, he stopped not because he didn’t want to, but because of his growing duties as Family Head.  

He said nothing else but cast you a soft smile before you stepped away to take care of the dough.

Butter, flour, baking powder, salt, were whisked together as Sunday continued peeling, humming as he went.  You added ice-cold water to the dry mixture, mixing with a fork before you reached over and pre-heated the oven, the soft pop of the ignition barely audible underneath Sunday’s melody.  Often, he wasn’t aware he was doing it but had said that it was a reflex when he was content, relaxed enough to focus his thoughts elsewhere.  

You didn’t recognize the tune but swayed softly as you sprinkled flour across the counter and began to roll out the dough.  Your heart skipped as he continued, his humming only broken by the snick of the apple corer and slices dropping into the ceramic bowl nearby.  

With the dough tucked into the pie dish and pricked with a fork, you turned your attention back to Sunday, who was finishing the last apple.  All of them were uniform and perfectly peeled, the air smelling tangy and sweet.  Baking took a specific exactitude that seemed to fit him like a glove and he measured each ingredient out precisely as needed.  You, in turn, stirred the apples to coat them, pausing only so Sunday could add a liquid after each thorough mixing.  Lemon juice, and then water, and then flour for good measure.

“Wouldn’t that upset the flavor balance?” Sunday asked.

“It’ll keep the filling from being too runny,” you replied.  “Otherwise it can ruin the crust, too.  Can you pour this into the pie dish?  I have to start on the dough for the top latticing.”

You made quick work of the second batch of dough, and rolled and cut strips, showing Sunday how to weave them between one another.  Here, too, you watched his precision at work as he kept the strips equidistant, spacing them perfectly.  Even after the edge of the dish was finished, both of you were left with a sizable amount of dough.

“We could decorate it a bit,” you offered.  “There’s enough here for a braid around the edge, maybe?”

After a beat, Sunday said, “I have an idea.  If you’d permit me?”

As soon as you nodded, he was undoing the ties of your apron, shooing you from the kitchen.  Your face must have carried a look of concern, eyes darting to the oven, because Sunday only chuckled and wiped a stray dusting of flour from your cheek, smile steady.

 “The recipe is very exact about the rest of the baking process, don’t fret.  I’ll come get you when it’s finished.”

With no other choice, you retreated from the kitchen, the smell of cinnamon and cloves and apples and butter wafting through the entire living space.  The timer went off roughly an hour later and Sunday retrieved you after you heard the oven open and close, the corners of his lips quirked upwards, proud in his triumph.

He covered your hands with his eyes and led you back out into the kitchen, chuckling softly when you mentioned how thick the scent was.

“That was your handiwork, you picked the arrangement.  I merely measured,” Sunday said, the tip of his nose nuzzling the back of your head.  “Okay, you can look now.”

His warm hands pulled away and you gasped at the golden perfection.  The edge of the pie had a vine-like pattern and small flowers dotted the cross-sections.  Tiny leaves were placed along the edge, carefully shaped to look like some of the leaves you picked up and pressed earlier in the season, the first leaves to fall this year.

You turned around, beaming.  “It’s so pretty I don’t want to eat it!  You have to have the first bite when it’s cool, I insist.”

Sunday, instinctively, was about to protest and defer to you as he always did, thinking of the joy of others; he paused when you shook your head and his wings relaxed, his face turning pink again.  It brought him delight to see others partaking, you well knew, but why deprive himself of the same?  He, too, deserved to feel the excitement and joy of his hard work every once in a while, not just witness that of others.

A compromise was reached—a shared first piece—and you swore you knew no greater joy than his expression, eyes closed as he ruminated on every flavor, wings fluttering with exuberance.  Warmth spread through you as you took a bite, sugary spice running along your tongue with buttery crispness from the crust.

Next time, you reminded yourself silently, he had to try it with ice cream.

[silantryoo]

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — the last great american dynasty, pt 1.

jang wonyoung, throughout the years.

WARNINGS ; misogyny, toxic household, infidelity, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, absent parents, mentions of affair families, hints of eating disorders, overworking, health issues, fatphobia, implied depression, implied teenage pregnancy (5.5k)

jang wonyoung was born on august 31, 2004.

the newborn was nine pounds and twenty-one inches. with a head of dark, thick hair, the baby's cries rang throughout the hospital room as a tired jang jiyoung could feel the tears welting in her eyes. her baby was alive, and healthy by the sound of it. it was music to her ears.

her baby. her beautiful baby.

she could already imagine it. her beautiful baby boy, inheriting the jang name, passing it on. he'd run for office, just like his father, upholding its integrity, its strength. jiyoung would introduce him to one of her costar's friends, and they'd get married. he'd take care of her, as jiyoung would help his pregnant wife get settled into the family.

she loved her baby boy. her perfect little wonyoung.

"what would you like to name her?"

jiyoung's heart dropped.

her?

"i'm sorry?"

she must've heard wrong. it was just the post-labor haze that had been talking. not only would wonseok reprimand her for not producing an heir to the jang name, but she wouldn't have anyone to take care of her once she grew old.

at least, not someone capable.

the baby's cries continued, almost as if the baby was begging for a glimpse of its mom. with tiny little hands outstretched in the direction of jiyoung, tears poured down its chubby cheeks.

her baby. her baby girl.

"wonyoung." she said half-heartedly. "i'll name her jang wonyoung."

jang wonyoung was imperfect from the start.

her cheeks were too chubby.

any normal four-year-old would have been praised. chubby cheeks were a sign of health, a sign that your baby was eating well.

wonyoung knew it from the way her mom would stare at her, sometimes even pinching her cheeks harshly, almost as if she was trying to pull off the fat on them.

she tried to ignore it, always opting to color peacefully and blink the tears away.

she always drew four people.

her mom, hair flowing to her shoulders, her eyes the same doe-eyed ones as wonyoung. wonyoung always drew her with an angry expression. it was only on tv that wonyoung saw her smile. the youngest jang always stayed up to see her mom smile.

one day, she wanted to see it in person.

her dad was there too, who she rarely saw, but always held a frown whenever he came home. she noticed that he always smelt different, sometimes like the dark, but other times, like flowers. her dad was always serious, even when he was with her mom.

there was also her nanny, a middle-aged woman named hannah, drawn with a smile that made wonyoung feel warm and safe. from what she told wonyoung, she had been working for jiyoung back when she was lee.

wonyoung wondered if her mom smiled back then.

lastly, in the middle, the four-year-old stood. she'd draw herself out in blue crayon, holding her parents' hands with a happy smile. she wished they had a photo like that, instead of the rigid ones that they kept above the fireplace.

hopefully, she'd get a younger sibling soon, so she could love more people.

"enough drawing, wonyoung." her mom snatched her masterpiece away, eyebrows furrowed like the pictures. "your dad is coming home soon."

"he is?" she hoped that he smelt like flowers again.

"he is." jiyoung's face hardened. "you have to go to your room now."

"but i want to see him." she hadn't seen her dad in two months. her mom always said he was at the office, helping the next candidate for the upcoming election (whatever that meant). wonyoung didn't care though. all she wanted was to see her dad again.

jiyoung let out a long sigh, and wonyoung could feel the guilt starting to build up in her chest.

did she make her mom mad again?

"he's in a bad mood, wonyoung." her lips were in a tight line, and wonyoung could see her jaw clenching.

she just wanted her mom to smile at her for once. she wanted to stop making her angry, and her dad happy.

the young girl's eyes brightened, her cheeks turning a light red.

"i can cheer him up!" her dad always laughed at her jokes. if she could get him to smile, wonyoung was sure she could make him feel better. "my friend, sarang, taught me a magic trick. if i can just show dadd-"

"i said," her mom's voice was strict and firm, not the smooth melody she heard on tv. "go to your room, wonyoung."

"but-" wonyoung could cheer him up! she knew she could.

jiyoung sighed. of course, wonyoung would disobey her. she shouldn't have expected anything else from the younger girl.

"do you want him to be mad at you?" the older woman scolded her, jiyoung's finger pointing at the four-year-old in front of her. "do you want him to know that you're a stupid little girl who doesn't listen to her mom?"

stupid.

wonyoung hadn't heard that word before, not until now. her mom had always called her other things; annoying, loud, irritating, but she had never heard stupid before.

she didn't know why it made her feel bad.

"what?" wonyoung could feel herself shrinking into her seat, gripping onto the blue crayon in her hand. "what's stupid?"

"you." jiyoung's eyes were numb, void of all emotions. wonyoung hated it when her mom looked at her like that. "you're being an annoying, stupid little girl right now."

stupid? was she stupid?

wonyoung could feel herself crying.

she didn't want to be stupid. she just wanted to make her dad happy. she just wanted to spend time with him, even when he smelt weird, like the cabinet her mom would open frequently.

"i just wanna see daddy..." wonyoung hiccuped. her lip quivered as her mom glared at her, huffing.

her mom was mad. it was wonyoung's fault, again.

maybe wonyoung was a stupid little girl.

she didn't want to be stupid.

"he doesn't wanna see you." jiyoung whispered, her voice piercing the young jang.

wonyoung hung her head low.

she knew it deep down. she knew that her dad's laughs were to shoo her away. wonyoung could see it by the way he looked at her, and no matter how hard she tried, no matter how funny her jokes were, wonseok wouldn't look her way. even when she showed him her drawings, all he would do was nod.

wonyoung was a stupid girl.

"go to your room, wonyoung."

wonyoung nodded, her bottom lip quivering as she packed up her crayons. she cradled the box against her body, rushing upstairs as jiyoung poured herself a glass of wine.

the four-year-old swung the door open, jumping into her already-made bed. the box of crayons squished against the pale blue covers, various pinks, and reds staining them. it was warm in her room, blindingly bright for a night at 9pm. if wonyoung wasn't crying so much, she'd ask hannah to turn down the lamp and turn on her rabbit night light.

she loved rabbits. they looked like her mom.

"wonyoung." hannah laughed at the little girl, sitting beside her faced-down head. "your crayons."

wonyoung stayed quiet, letting her bed soak up the tears pouring down her face. she tried her best to be quiet, to not disturb anyone, just like her mom taught her.

hannah could still hear her sniffling, though.

the older woman rubbed the back of wonyoung's shirt, feeling the young heiress gasping for air. "what's wrong?"

wonyoung lifted her head up, squinting as she tried to adjust to the room's brightness. she could see the han river from where she was, the water glistening into the jang household.

the four-year-old looked at her caretaker, the kind woman smiling at her.

"mama told me to go up here." her voice was as tiny as she was. "she said daddy was coming, and that he was upset."

wonyoung was upset too, but she was okay with being upset if it meant wonseok would look her way.

"why are you crying then?"

she was crying because she was stupid. she was crying because she never got to spend time with her dad, and her mom only looked her way when wonyoung listened to her.

she was crying because she was jang wonyoung, and her parents didn't want jang wonyoung.

"mama said i can't see him." she hummed as the nanny stroked her hair, comfort washing throughout her body. "he'd get mad at a stupid girl like me."

hannah frowned.

she was worried that jiyoung would turn out like this, bitter and cruel to the younger girl. jiyoung had always resembled her mother, even back when the eldest lee was a baby. hannah had always hoped that she wouldn't hold the same parenting style as her.

"wonyoung." hannah bit back the quiver of her voice. no girl, especially someone as sweet as the young heiress, should ever think of themselves in such a way. "don't call yourself stupid. you're a very smart girl."

wonyoung shook her head. every word her parents had said was a sense of truth to the young child. every glare, every sigh made her feel sad. it made her hurt.

it made her feel worthless.

(but the four year-old didn't know that word yet, and it wouldn't be a couple years until she did. but it didn't matter, because she knew it felt the same when she was four as it did when she was twenty.)

"mama said i was." her voice was as little as she was.

jiyoung was her mother in every sense, just like she always wanted to be. hannah hoped wonyoung wouldn't meet the same fate.

"she's just stressed out right now." she felt guilty lying to the young girl, even though it was partial. "don't listen to her."

wonyoung wanted to believe hannah, so she nodded, sitting up and allowing herself to accept the excuse.

hannah smiled, her grin sending a warmth through wonyoung's body that made her feel loved. she wished that her mom would smile at her that way, but she didn't mind that it was hannah.

the woman looked at wonyoung's bed sheets, stained with the young girl's tears and her crayons.

"do you wanna help me clean this up?" hannah asked, watching as the four year-old's eyes lit up.

wonyoung always wanted to help her.

it made her miss her daughter.

"can i show you a magic trick first?" the young jang smiled, her chubby cheeks protruding from her face.

"a magic trick?" hannah asked gleefully. she pinched wonyoung's cheek lightly, trying her best to control her giddiness. she didn't understand how anyone could hate her this child. "our baby knows a magic trick?"

"can i?" wonyoung grabbed a crayon from the box, waiting for hannah's answer.

"of course, wonyoung."

wonyoung felt perfect.

wonyoung was stupid.

she didn't understand how she could get a 78% in english. perhaps she had been too enamored by their english teacher, the young woman from overseas who had cat-like eyes and a soft, comforting voice that felt like a blanket.

still, she should be doing better. she had gone to an english speaking preschool. most of her friends spoke english as well. she even had cousins across the planet that lived in english speaking countries.

the young heiress felt herself tense as she heard her father sigh beside her. her teacher, pretty and proper, sat in front of them, alongside the principal. only a dark mahogany desk separated the two parties, but wonyoung wished it was more.

"a tutor?" jang wonseok voice was sharp, yet deep and demanding. "why would she need a tutor?"

she needed a tutor because she was stupid. wonyoung was a stupid girl.

she held her tongue back, the knot in her throat increasing as she felt her father radiate anger.

"wonyoung is struggling in english." the eight year-old could hear the worry in her teacher's voice, but she didn't know if it was directed at her or at her father. "it's normal for kids her age too, but she has a hard time with the structure."

the young heiress wanted to go home. she wanted to sit in her dark room, in her closet behind the mahogany doors, the one that had twelve knots, an imperfection that was smooth to the touch.

it was the only imperfection she could bear because jang's can't come with imperfections.

wonyoung wished she wasn't a jang, or at the very least, she wasn't wonyoung.

"if it's normal then why does my daughter need it?" the young jang didn't need to turn to know that her father was scowling at the pretty girl in front of them. she could already hear it in his voice.

"well, since you did sign her up for the advanced placement in our school, it'll be hard for her to keep up with the class." her teacher was calm. wonyoung liked calm. "a tutor would help her and-"

"my daughter doesn't need a tutor."

she did. wonyoung knew she did.

but her father rarely acknowledged her, much less as his daughter. part of her had wondered if he did it purposefully, but it didn't matter. not right now, at least.

"right, wonyoung?"

wonyoung couldn't continue to be a disappointment.

"no."

"get up." her father smirked. he stood up, dusting his tailored dress pants. "we're leaving."

"yes, dad."

obedience was perfection, just like status was worth.

wonyoung just wished that it didn't have to break a part of her every time she did it.

jang wonseok stormed out, and wonyoung could feel the embarrassment fluttering across her chest. her eyes met her principal's, his face scowled in disdain.

jang's had pride, but wonyoung knew better than to leave as such.

the eight-year-old bowed. she bowed as an apology for her and her father and as a sign of respect for the two school staff who took time out of their way out of concern for her.

"jang wonyoung!"

her eyes widened, and wonyoung found herself bolting out of the room, her school bag clutched against her chest.

jang wonseok was scary.

the two made their way into wonseok's mercedes, wonyoung hopping inside, as her father started the car.

the two drove in silence, wonyoung knowing better than to speak once spoken to. she didn't want to anger her father any further, otherwise it would fall onto her mother, which would fall onto her.

she didn't have time for that. she needed to study.

her stomach grumbled lowly, the sudden sound making her head jolt up.

oh, she needed to eat too. she had forgotten about that along the way, too anxious about the parent-teacher meeting that happened to eat lunch earlier that day.

she needed to eat and then study. if she studied as soon as she got home, she would have time to draw or watch cartoons without sacrificing her grades.

was she even allowed to watch cartoons now? her mother had always called them nonsense but wonyoung liked to turn off her brain once in a while. maybe that's why she was stupid. maybe that's why she was like this.

or maybe she was just like this because she was wonyoung.

"your teacher pisses me off." wonseok turned the corner. "is she always like that?"

did she always care about wonyoung? yes, more than her father did.

but she wasn't going to tell him that.

"no."

"hm." wonseok hummed, the car coming to a halt as the traffic light turned red. he glanced at his daughter, gaze cold and stern. "you shouldn't be struggling, wonyoung. that's not how i raised you."

the young heiress wasn't raised by her father or her mother. at eight, she already knew that, and it angered her to think that they kept trying to take credit for her actions, whether it be good or bad.

hannah raised her. not jang wonseok.

but she still held his last name, like how his blood flowed through her veins, and how his title affected her daily life.

"you're a jang." the car started to move again. "jang's don't need help. you think my father helped me? you think he made me how i am?"

part of her wondered if her grandfather had treated her father like this, or if her father was just mean to be mean.

"do you understand what i'm saying?"

wonyoung nodded, obedient as ever. "yes."

"when you get home, i expect you to be studying." wonyoung frowned. her father would most likely be in his study, one that had a clear view of the kitchen. "hannah will keep an eye on you."

"hannah's sick." she was in no shape to take care of the young jang. in fact, wonyoung had been taking care of her. "she should stay in her room. i can just ask my friends-"

"how much do you know, wonyoung?" wonseok asked, practically waving her shortcomings in front of her face. the young girl stayed silent. "exactly. and your friends know as much as you do. hannah will be making sure you stay on track."

wonyoung knew better than to argue, so she listened like she always did.

"yes, dad."

wonyoung wished she could stop listening, just this once.

there were twelve knots on the inside of her mahogany-boarded closet. four were broken in half, caught in between doors while the rest scattered.

there were fifty slits on said doors, one hundred in total. she liked the way the light peaked in, and how warm she felt when it hit her face.

there were three pillows that scattered the ground in said closet. one was bunny-shaped, pastel blue with beady eyes that wonyoung had gotten for her ninth birthday. the other two were throw pillows, white in color, ones that her mother had given her this year, on her tenth.

the hard, cold ground was covered with a blanket, navy blue and fluffy, one that hadn't been washed in over two months. wonyoung's initials were stitched onto the side, but it was only a reminder that she and this closet, her escape, were owned by her father.

it was her father who owned this house, who owned her existence, just like he owned a second child.

her father was a cheater. wonyoung had heard it in between slits of the one hundred panels that made up the majority of her closet's entrance.

"cheater!" she heard.

"liar!" she heard.

crying, she heard.

she wished she could stop hearing it in her head, how her mother's sharp cries echoed in her skull, and how jiyoung blamed everything on the ten-year-old jang wonyoung.

it's my fault.

it always was.

a shadow passed through the holes of her closet, blocking the sunlight as it reached her eyes. wonyoung wondered how long she had been inside, the fighting reaching its climax at around four that morning.

she only wanted to study.

the shadow stayed still as if it was contemplating leaving. the young jang hoped that it was her mother, coming to apologize for the careless words that she had yelled an hour ago.

but jang jiyoung never apologized, just like she never cried.

the shadow spoke.

"wonyoung..."

the young jang stood up, opening the opposite door in a hurry.

the ten-year-old grabbed her arm, bracing it gently as the older woman smiled. she could see hannah holding a cup of water, waves rippling with each shake of her hand.

"you should be resting." she furrowed her eyebrows.

hannah merely stared, not budging as the young heiress felt herself getting more desperate.

wonyoung begged. "hannah, please."

"i'm not leaving until we talk." the older woman shook her head, standing her ground.

hannah was like her, stubborn in every sense. she cared too much to let wonyoung wallow in her sorrows. the young jang knew she would be lost without her guidance.

"can you at least sit?" wonyoung tried to reason, ushering hannah to her bed.

she nodded, allowing wonyoung to lead her. she sat down, handing wonyoung the glass, who took it carefully as if hannah was the one that was fragile.

the two sat in silence, and all hannah could remember was wonyoung at four years old, crying about her mother.

it was no different this time.

"it's not your fault." the older woman started. "your mom is just angry."

jiyoung was an angry person, like wonseok.

but wonseok wanted calm, and jiyoung hadn't been the person to provide that.

"do you think she would be happier if i was never born?" wonyoung asked, her thoughts echoing the shouting of her mother.

hannah couldn't fathom anyone saying such words about their child.

"if i could, i would." the ten-year-old wonyoung meant it truthfully. "i don't like seeing mom upset. i keep trying to fix it but i'm just too..."

wonyoung knew the word. she had felt it at four years old. she had felt it at eight. wonyoung was sure she wasn't going to stop feeling it until she died.

she knew the word because it's what she was.

"worthless."

the word that summed her up in all parts hung in the air as hannah stared at her in shock.

"wonyoung-"

"i am though!" wonyoung never raised her voice, but wonyoung wasn't perfect. she never was and never would be. "if i wasn't like this, mom would love me. dad would pay attention to me. he wouldn't have cheated if i was better."

wonyoung wondered how someone could be so imperfect. she wondered if she was doomed to be alone, to be unwanted, and to ruin every good thing on this planet.

"it's my fault."

"it's not, wonyoung." wonyoung wanted to believe hannah, but she couldn't this time. "your mom and your dad have a very complicated relationship."

wonyoung shook her head. she was the reason it was complicated.

"i wish dad would stop yelling at mom." wonyoung placed the still full glass on her counter. "i wish mom would stop yelling at me."

wonyoung didn't remember a time when her mother didn't yell at her. whether it was a bad grade or to wash the dishes, it was always a yell.

"i'm at the top of my class. i'm friends with all the people dad told me to be friends with. i even skipped a grade. everyone keeps telling them that they want a daughter like me, but mom and dad don't even want me." wonyoung just wanted someone to want her. "i don't know what to do anymore."

if she could, wonyoung would disappear.

"you're ten, wonyoung." this wasn't right, not for anyone and especially not for a ten-year-old. "you don't have to do anything."

wonyoung really wanted to believe her.

"i just want them to love me."

the young heiress had wished the unconditional love that everyone had talked about applied to her when it came to her parents. she had heard that it was supposed to happen as soon as she was born.

perhaps she missed out this time, in this life, because in this life, she was worthless.

but not to hannah. never to hannah.

"i love you."

wonyoung had never felt love from her mother, but she had always felt love from hannah.

"you do?"

"i do." hannah smiled sadly. it hurt to know that wonyoung had felt this way (and how there was a chance that her baby felt the same, wherever she was). "i know how complicated families can be..."

wonyoung had never heard hannah speak about her family, but she knew that the older woman would be a good, if not amazing one.

part of her was jealous that someone out there had a mom like hannah, when she had a mom like jiyoung.

"do you have family, hannah?"

the woman, hands shakey, grasped them together tightly. her lips were pursed, and a mournful expression seemed to overtake the comforting one from before.

"i have a daughter back home." her baby was nine pounds and twenty-one inches with a head full of hair. when hannah closed her eyes, she could hear her baby crying for her mother. "i had her really young."

her baby. her beautiful baby girl.

"do you miss her?" wonyoung asked.

"i miss her a lot." missing her was an understatement. "i haven't heard from her in years."

"why?"

she could think of a million reasons why, all of which she held to herself, in grief and in sorrow.

hannah was a bad mother for abandoning her child, and a bad daughter for being so reckless.

"i grew up really poor." hannah couldn't even begin to compare the jang's house to the one she had back home. "i couldn't find a job, so i moved overseas. i left my baby with my mom."

but her child lived, and her child was loved, even from afar.

"do you love her?"

"i do." hannah couldn't think about not loving her. "i love her so much."

"but you left her."

"i left because i loved her." wonyoung's eyes glistened at the word. she couldn't imagine leaving someone out of love. perhaps disappearing, but leaving was unfathomable. "i'd rather have her grow up hating me than die starving. i just wish i can go back. i just wanna my baby one more time."

this was the unconditional love that everyone had praised. it was the homemade bento boxes, and the tight hugs that wonyoung would see from her friends and their moms. it was the tearful goodbyes from her best friend's grandparents, and the thoughtful notes that her seatmate would find in her bag.

to love someone is to do what's best for them, to do the right thing.

was wonyoung the best for her parents? were her parents the best for wonyoung?

did they even love her?

"you're a good mom, hannah." wonyoung hugged her tightly. "i wish you were my mom."

wonyoung couldn't imagine it, having someone risk everything just for her to be happy. she couldn't imagine loving someone so much, but one day, whether it be a child or someone else, she would love to.

wonyoung wanted to love someone right.

she looked at the tearful hannah, the older woman smiling down at her.

"i promise that when i'm older, i'll make sure you can go back and see your family again."

it was a promise that wonyoung intended to keep.

"thank you, wonyoung."

hannah didn't doubt her. not for one second.

the jang's were never good at keeping promises.

jang wonseok was a politician. keeping promises and breaking them was part of the territory. every campaign he held at least a couple empty pledges, just like he did back home. the twelve-year-old jang wonyoung knew that.

plus, there was no way she'd actually believe what her father said. not after he betrayed her mother.

jang jiyoung was no better. being a news anchor, she had always run a tight schedule. for days, wonyoung wouldn't see her despite each promise that the woman would make, and although she didn't mind, sometimes the young jang did want someone to eat dinner with, even if it was just a cup of instant noodles they could share.

wonyoung thought she was different. that she was hannah's daughter and not a jang.

but it ran in her blood.

"hannah knew me before i knew her."

the microphone echoed, the twelve-year-old's shakey hands grasping tightly onto the paper in front of her, her fingerprints making light marks against the blank white.

"she went with my mom to get an ultrasound when she was pregnant with me." her parents were nowhere to be seen, her father at a meeting and her mother at work. "they said i was a big baby, but hannah said i was a special baby."

to love someone is to do the right thing. letting go was the right thing.

"i don't think i'm special. i think i'm just wonyoung." the crowd laughed. hannah would've laughed too. "hannah was the special one. she knew how to make me feel better. she knew when i was sick before i got sick. she even knew the weather before it happened."

wonyoung didn't want to let go, but she would, for hannah.

"hannah told me that she hadn't seen her baby in a while." she hoped hannah's baby knew how loved she was, and she hoped that her words could reach her, even if it was far away. "i promised her that when i was older, i would make sure she saw them."

the jang's were known to break promises.

"i thought she was gonna live forever. i wanted her to live forever, or just long enough so i can keep my promise. for once, i just wanted to make her feel better. hannah always made me feel better." wonyoung didn't know when the page got so blurry, or why water was pouring out of her eyes. "i thought if i loved her enough, i could fix it. i could do it."

she didn't know how she managed to fail the one person who believed in her.

"i want to apologize to her today. i should've tried harder." she had everything. why couldn't she try harder to give hannah this one? she might've been a twelve-year-old, but still. "i'm sorry, hannah. i'm really really sorry."

to love someone is to do the right thing, but wonyoung realized it was also to mourn, and to be angry at herself for not being better. her failures stared her in the face, the casket mocking her as if she was nothing.

she didn't want to think about it anymore. she had failed, and wonyoung wanted nothing more than for this pain to be gone.

sighing, she stepped down from the lectern.

hannah was her own. her mother.

and like a shadow, she was gone.

death seemed to round the corners of the jang household.

she could see boxes upon boxes piling up in front of their penthouse, her mother glaring into the distance half-heartedly, conflicted with her pain.

jang jiyoung was a lee once. she was the younger sister of lee jihuyn, and the aunt of the ten-year-old lee hyunseo.

lee jihyun always smelt like flowers whenever she was around. it was no wonder why jang wonseok was so fond of her.

"this is hyunseo." her father said, patting the heiress on her shoulder. it pained wonyoung to see him so happy to have his affair child around, especially after- no. wonyoung didn't deserve to think about her again. "she'll be staying with us."

wonyoung nodded bowing as the younger girl stared at her in wonder.

"hello, hyunseo."

wonseok smiled at the young girl in a way wonyoung never got when she was hyunseo's age. "wonyoung will show you your room."

wonyoung's face twitched in disdain before switching into a soft smile.

she led hyunseo up to hann a room, unoccupied yet cleared of any existence that came before it.

hyunseo didn't deserve this room.

wonyoung turned to the younger girl. "this is your ro-"

"can i call you unnie?" the lee couldn't help but gleam at her, her eyes bright as the han river glared back into her new room. "i never had an unnie before. it was just me, mom and dad all the time."

wonyoung bit back a scowl.

her dad. hyunseo was lucky she had a dad.

"i'll ask the butlers to bring your stuff up." wonyoung couldn't help but be cold. "i have a school tour to go to."

"oh..." she watched as the younger girl deflated, and wonyoung couldn't help but feel guilty. hyunseo bounced back, though, her expression brighter than before.

"okay!"

wonyoung didn't understand how she could be so happy.

wonyoung had never been to a public school.

her father and mother had always opted to have her in a private one, yet the presence of a public school with such a reputation around their area had the jang's interested.

wonyoung had to agree that the high school was fairly nice. it had its own swimming pool, and it was clearly popular among international students, wonyoung seeing a few as she passed by.

everything else was pretty much the same as every other school, though. nothing stood out, at least nothing of interest.

the heiress found herself walking back to the entrance, scrolling through her phone to get her butler to pick her up. as she dialed, screams and cheers could be heard from the gym.

she should've known better than to enter, but wonyoung's facade was wearing her down. the newly impulsive jang crept inside, more and more yelling filling her skull. it wasn't angry yelling, but a cheerful one.

she didn't understand what could be so interesting.

the heiress felt herself getting swept away, a sudden crowd forming around one of the players as the final whistle blew.

her eyes trained onto the figure, two adults, seemingly the girl's parents, hugging her tightly as the girl cried.

the girl was perfect in every sense, from her face to the way she smiled. she didn't doubt that the older girl probably had perfect grades, and a perfect family, with a set of perfect friends.

the crowd around her roared, and wonyoung realized that the girl in front of her was so loved, so respected, all because she was perfect.

to love someone is to do the right thing.

one day, she'd be perfect enough to have her parents love her. one day, she'll feel like she wasn't a mistake, that she wasn't worthless.

and one day, someday, wonyoung would be perfect enough to mention her name once more.

she'll do the right thing this time.

wonyoung was going to be perfect.

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[nikiniluna]

Company, Memories and Love Confessions - a Princess Maker 5 one-shot fanfiction

Synopsis: After her daughter Yume left home for college, Mariko finds herself feeling lonely. Cube, the butler, after seeing his master (and secret love) so under the weather, decides to cheer her up and joins her in short session of reminiscing the eight years they spent together raising Yume.

Word count: 5.819 words

Notes:

This is a Cube x OC fanfic.

The story is set after the period of 8 years of the game have ended. The daughter’s ending is “marriage with Hitoshi”.

The OC is the daughter’s mother, a retired 37-year-old adventurer from another world that decided to become a teacher in Earth named Tsubaki Mariko.

The daughter’s name is Tsubaki Yume.

Enjoy the fanfic!

………

"It's 11:30 p.m." Tsubaki Mariko read the time on the clock hanging on the wall of her living room. "It will be midnight in a little while..." She sighed, reclining her head on the back of the couch. Instinctively, she moved her head and eyes so that she could see the table that was next to the couch, more specifically, what was on the table. They were framed photos. Wishing to see them better, Mariko straightened her posture and extended her arm to the table, taking one of the photos.

The first photo consisted of Mariko hugging her daughter Yume – who was wearing the school uniform, consisting of a white blouse, pink coat and skirt, white socks and brown shoes – with Cube next to them. He wasn't touching neither, but smiled kindly at the camera. Behind them, the school served as a background. That picture was taken eight years ago, it was the first day of Yume's fifth-grade class. Seeing Yume's shy smile in the photo, Mariko remembered how nervous her daughter was about being a transfer student, however, in the end, Yume managed to make a good first impression on her classmates. "Of course!" Mariko thought, "Look how adorable she is! Only someone crazy to not be enchanted by her!”

That photo also reminded me of the day Yume and Cube walked into her life:

………

It was seemingly fateful night and Mariko was on her way back home after a day's work, but when she got home, Mariko heard someone calling her:

- Miss Domini Lynus!

That name... Mariko's old name. If anyone knows her by this name, it was because they had come from the same world as her. Looking at the her side, Mariko saw who called her: it was Cube, a jovial-looking butler – in contrast to his long age. In his arms, he carried a unconscious little girl. Without needing an explanation, Mariko understood that they needed help, so she invited them inside.

Being inside Mariko's house, Cube explained the whole situation: The girl he was carrying with him was one of the candidates for the next princess of the world they came from. However, there was a terrorist group that sought to eradicate the kingship system, and to achieve this goal, they killed all of the candidates and their families, with the exception of the little girl Cube rescued. Upon hearing the story, Mariko understood why he had come after her in search of help.

- Miss Domini, you have faced the terrorist group in the past and weakened them to the point of making them retreat! Therefore, I ask you: take care of this child as if she was your daughter! – Cube pleaded – As long as she's safe and sound, there will be hope!

She had no interest in returning to her old job as a heroine – that was the reason why she chose another world to spend her life in “retirement" – but she also didn't want to abandon the child, so accepted the mission. Cube smiled in relief at Mariko's cooperation.

- Thank you very much, miss! And don't worry! I, Cube, will aid you in raising the girl as the butler of the house! Although "housekeeper" would be a better term in this world to avoid drawing attention...

- I think the people of this world will find it stranger that my housekeeper doesn't even look like a young apprentice... – Mariko murmured.

- Ahem... – Cube cleared his throat a little awkwardly after Mariko's comment – So, from today on, I'm going to address you as Master Lynus.

- Tsubaki. – Mariko corrected.

- Huh?

- Here, in this world, I am not known as Domini Lynus. Here's my last name is Tsubaki and my name is Mariko.

- Sure. Master Tsubaki.

Cube also warned Mariko that he had erased the memories of the little girl with the wish that she could have a normal and safe life and he also asked Mariko to give her a name. She thought for a few moments and made her decision:

- Yume.

Thus, when the little girl opened her eyes, she became Tsubaki Yume, Tsubaki Mariko’s only daughter. Then, her new life began...

………

After smiling, remembering her daughter at the age of ten, Mariko took the second framed photo. It was similar to the previous photo, but Yume was now twelve. It was Yume's first day in middle school. By this time, his daughter had already made a good amount of friends: Hiroko, Aya, Emily and Hitoshi. Mariko also recalled that that same week, on a Sunday night, Yume was attacked.

Gateau, one of the terrorists, had gone after Yume to take her life. He was also someone who was part of Mariko's past, someone she had wished she would never have to see the face again in her life, but there was no escape to the fact that, once again, Gateau's goals were in line with Mariko's. Fortunately, Mariko was able to find her daughter in time and stop the killer.

It was on that day that Cube and Mariko realized they would have to tell the truth to Yume. After learning the truth, Yume asked her mother if she wanted her to become a princess. The Mariko of before would say "yes", but after living together with Yume and raised her for two years, Mariko had another answer: "I want you to find your happiness, regardless of the path you choose."

After that attack, Yume's adventures began around the five worlds. Regardless of whether Yume would become a princess or not, more assassins would come after her to kill her. So she'd have to fight to defend herself and her future. With each adventure, Yume developed, growing stronger and stronger, learning how to better use her skills. And, of course, Mariko and Cube monitored their adventures through Yume's hair clip, so whenever Yume was knocked out, Cube would come to her rescue.

Mariko smiled at the photo, remembering how Yume had developed during middle school. Mariko had also noticed a curious detail in the photo: Cube was closer to her and Yume, but he wasn't touching either of the two. She remembered how much she had to convince Cube to got closer, and even then he was too shy to hug Yume for the photo. Putting the photo back on the table, Mariko laughed at the Cube's lovely shyness.

Thinking of the Cube, Mariko looked at the entrance to the kitchen. He was there, doing something that Mariko couldn't see from where she was sitting. "How strange... What is he doing at this hour? It’s going to be midnight soon!" After Yume graduated, she went to college, however, it was in another city, so she had to leave home and rent an apartment nearby. Being just the two of them in the house, the work was supposed to be reduced, so it didn't make sense for Cube to be busy at this time of night.

"Maybe he got confused and is making a lunch box for Yume even though she doesn't live here anymore..." Mariko thought. Her herself, after Yume was gone for college, there were times when she got confused and thought her daughter still lived there. Situations such as going to Yume's room to wake her up and find the room empty and eat breakfast and ask Cube when Yume will go down to eat only for Cube to awkwardly reply "Master Tsubaki, Miss Yume is in college." and they both fall into a awkward silent soon after.

- Cube, you should rest. – Mariko suggested to Cube, without getting up from the sofa.

- It’s not necessary, Master Tsubaki.

"He doesn't have to be so prideful of his work." Mariko thought.

- I'll help you. – Mariko announced, getting up from the couch. However, before she could reach the kitchen, Cube interrupted her, exclaiming loudly:

- N-no! – After realizing that he had raised his voice, Cube toned down – Seriously, Master Tsubaki, you don't have to. I'll be done in a moment.

"Well, he's not going to budge. Yume has grown up and doesn't live here anymore, he doesn't need to push himself so hard." Mariko sat again on the couch while talking to herself mentally.

However, Cube wasn't lying when he said he'd be done in an instant. Within minutes, Cube walked out of the kitchen, taking it with him a mug, and sat down next to Mariko, offering her the mug.

- For you.

Mariko look over to see the liquid in the mug: it was tea.

- I figured you couldn't sleep, so I prepared it for you – Cube explained himself, a little shy.

-Thanks! – Mariko thanked him, picking up the mug. This little treat made Mariko's face heat up, but luckily for her, the steam from the tea disguised well the cause of her blushing.

Cube looked at the table next to the couch and noticed that the portraits were out of place.

- Were you looking at the pictures, Master Tsubaki?

- Yes – Mariko replied – they bring back so many memories. Do you want to see them with me?

- Of course, ma'am!

After accepting the invitation, Mariko took the third portrait and showed it to Cube. The portrait photo had been taken in Yume's first year in high school. Once again, Mariko was hugging with her daughter, but there was one more detail to note: Cube was also hugging Yume and Mariko!

- I love this picture – Mariko commented, looking at Cube – because I was able to convince you to join us for the hug.

- And by "convince," you mean "coerce," don't you? – Cube retorted.

Looking closer at the photo, it was possible to see that Mariko was holding Cube's wrist and, adding to the bashful expression on Cube's face, it was evident that Cube had been pulled closer by Mariko on the moment the photo was taken.

Mariko remembered the scene and laughed.

- I tried to convince you, but you were so shy, so I had to give you a little tug. But, look at that! – Mariko pointed to the Cube in the photo – Even though you were embarrassed, you smiled!

- Well, I didn't want to spoil the picture for you and Miss Yume. – Cube justified himself, but Mariko didn't believe him.

- I know a sincere smile when I see one. Admit it: – Mariko closed the distance between the two of them – you wanted to join us, but you were all embarrassed!

- You can be very audacious when you want to... – Cube commented, becoming uncertain if he was commenting to Mariko or to himself.

- You didn't have to be so shy, Cube! – Mariko laughed – The three of us have already been living together for 5 years! You're part of the family! But, you look cute when you get shy. Although you're already adorable...

- You're pretty flattering tonight, ma’am – Cube teased.

Mariko blushed, as if she had been caught red-handed.

- It's just that seeing these pictures improves my mood in a way! – Mariko justified herself, taking a sip of his tea and hoping that Cube would think that the steam was the cause of the flush on her face.

Cube smiled at Mariko. She seemed to be excited and that was good. Since Yume had left home to go to college, Mariko had stayed discouraged and also confused. There were many times that Cube found Mariko wandering around the house, asking where Yume was and becoming sad and embarrassed to remember that her daughter was no longer there. Although Mariko continued to go to work, Cube was worried about her. He didn't expect that she would be so attached to Yume, but she had become the girl's mother after all, so there was no way around it. After investing eight years of your life to a person and seeing them grow wings gives you a sense of fulfillment, but then comes a sense of emptiness, and that's what Mariko was going through. And it had been 3 months already, so Cube would rather thousand times prefer that Mariko continued in this flattering – almost provocative – way instead of felling empty.

- You know, Cube. Looking at this picture, I remember what happened with her on the Saturday of that same week.

- Oh! You're talking about Hitoshi inviting Miss Yume on a date!

- I even remember the evening of the next day when she came home. She was flushed, with a twinkle in her eye, and completely radiant. Hitoshi had asked her to be his girlfriend and she accepted. I remember she came to me and said "I'm so happy, Mom! Thank you so much!"

- And I remember well you trying hard not to cry in front of her and then breaking down in tears of happiness as she went to her bedroom!

- You like to use that against me, don't you, Cube?

- For a moment, I thought you were going to throw yourself into my arms in tears!

- You wanted me to throw myself into your arms, didn't you?

- W-W-WHAT?!! W-what are you going with this conversation, ma'am?

- Calm down, Cube! You don't have to be so tense. I was just teasing you back!

- You're getting good at it...

- And remember that, after two years of dating, Hitoshi asked Yume in marriage? I thought it was a bit rushed since they were still in High school, but it meant that their relationship was going so well they wanted to take it to the next step!

- I remember how distressed you were when you received the news.

- Excuse me?

- You may have forgotten, but I still remember it very well ………

It was just another Sunday in senior high school and Yume had gone on a date with Hitoshi. But that Sunday had been different. When Yume returned home, with a beaming smile on her face, she announced to her mother and Cube that she was engaged to Hitoshi. Mariko and Cube were obviously happy for Yume, but in the middle of the night, Cube found Mariko in the living room, walking in circles and muttering something.

- Master Tsubaki, why are you going around in circles? Are you nervous? – Cube asked, approaching Mariko.

- Of course I am, Cube! – Mariko replied hurriedly. – Yume is about to go to college!

- I know it's a big change, but you can rest assured. Miss Yume wishes to go to college. – Cube assured her, holding her hand.

- I know that, Cube. That's not why I'm worried!

- Come here, ma'am. – Cube guided Mariko to the couch – Explain to me what’s happening.

- It's the universities. What if they refuse her?!

- Miss Yume is a dedicated and intelligent student. She has a good profile to be a great college student!

- But she's engaged to Hitoshi! What if they find out and turn her down because of this?! You know how these universities are, Cube! They just want students that they're sure will work after graduation to brag about it later. Then they might want to poke around Yume's life and find out that she's engaged to Hitoshi and then they're going to say, "This one is going to become housewife, better not accept her here!" Goddammit! It's not because a woman is going to get married that she won't need a higher education! – Mariko said without stoping to breathe and then held Cube tightly by the shoulders – Oh, Cube, what will I do?

- Ma'am, take a deep breath and listen to me. – Cube plead – I know you’re very distressed, but I think it's going to work out in the end! – He took Mariko's hands and held them gently. Her hands were shaking.

- ...How can you be so sure? – Mariko questioned, after a few breathing exercises.

- It's a hunch that I have.

- Only you, Cube. – Mariko sighed, but smiled at Cube – but I will trust you.

Cube didn't understand the problem between universities and marriages, but Mariko has lived on Earth longer than he has, so she understood the seriousness of the issue. He couldn't guarantee that Yume wouldn't have trouble to get into a college, but he wouldn't allow Mariko to succumb to despair, so if what he could do was give her words of comfort, he would give it.

And months later, before Yume's graduation, she was accepted into a college! It seems that Cube's hunch was correct.

………

- When I saw you at that time, all nervous, I remembered when you started taking care of Yume.

- Excuse me? – Mariko had been curious.

- Almost every night after she went to sleep, you'd come up to me to vent. "What do I do, Cube?", "What will become of her?", "Am I doing it right?"

- Wow, was I like that? – Mariko blushed and scratched the back of her neck.

- Yes, yes. But you have changed a lot. You were almost dependent of me but it was only at the beginning. After a few months, you had gotten the hang of it. Already knew what to do. Besides, you care a lot about Miss Yume.

- Of course! I'm her mother.

- You've changed in that aspect as well. Before, you'd say to me, "It's because I'm taking care of her," now you call yourself her mother.

- At that time, I didn't call myself her mother because I didn't considered myself worthy of such a role. It seemed that anyone could be better than me. It wasn't until I got the hang of it that I thought "yes, definitely I am Yume's mom."

- You did a great job!

- Thanks, Cube! But, changing the subject – Mariko came closer to Cube – , you've been paying a lot of attention to me, huh?

Cube was taken by surprise. The question, along with the decrease in the distance between the two of them, left him not knowing what to say.

- Y-y-yes, to you and to Miss Yume. As butler, I-I got to! – Cube told a half-truth. Yes, he was paying attention to Mariko, but his motivation went beyond the simple fact that he was a butler.

- Why were you so nervous, Cube? – Mariko questioned provocatively, arching one of her eyebrows. That felt like a interrogation for Cube.

- It's nothing, I swear!

- Hehe, you say I was nervous, but – Mariko looked at Cube in a way that made him swallow hard – when Yume went through puberty, you almost freaked out!

- Ahhh, don't even get me started... – Cube sighed – She was hard to deal with. She didn't even let me wash her clothes anymore!

- Oh, it's puberty! She was only embarrassed that a man was washing her her clothes.

- I've been doing her laundry for more than two years, Ma'am! It was kind of too late to feel embarrassed.

- But then I solved the problem for you: I would wash her clothes and, in exchange, you would wash mine. And for a reason I don't know, you got all embarrassed to do my laundry.

- I-I wasn't embarrassed, just “worried” – Cube lied. He was really embarrassed – It's just that, until that day, only you washed your clothes, so I figured it was a delicate situation for you!

- Actually, it was just force of habit. From the age of ten, I was responsible for washing my own clothes and, until that day, no one ever washed them besides me.

- "Force of habit," you say...

- But you see? In the same way that Yume was embarrassed to have her clothes washed by a man, you were embarrassed to wash the clothes of a woman!

Cube's eyes widened. Mariko hadn't fallen into her lie.

- But I said I wasn't ashamed – Cube tried to lie more once, in vain.

- Anyway, this only lasted a year. Afterwards, she didn't feel embarrassed anymore.

- But it's been a very difficult year... – Cube sighed, remembering the Yume's sensibility at the time.

Mariko noticed that Cube had gotten a little down as he remembered the difficulties he went through during Yume's puberty, so she decided to something to lift his spirits.

- You know, Cube? You said I don't depend on you anymore, but I think you're wrong. Your food is so exceptional that since you started to prepare the meals at home, I feel that I have become unable to eat any food that isn't made by you.

Cube had been disconcerted by Mariko's compliment, but tried not to demonstrate.

- You don't need to console me, Master Tsubaki. I remember that you had already ate Miss Yume's food while she was still learning how to cook. As I recall, the food was only edible and you ate it gladly!

- I was able to eat it because Yume made it. If it is for Yume, my stomach even becomes poison resistant! – Mariko declared dramatically – And as I recall, you also ate her food without a complaint!

- Well, if Miss Yume did, I'll eat it. And also, after you had taken courage, I couldn't make myself back down.

- So you did that for me too, huh?

"Ah... Master Tsubaki's teases are more effective today, it's hard to keep up with her..." Cube sighed mentally. Mariko laughed a little at his shyness and went on to say:

- Going back to your food, whenever I go to lunch at work, I've got to be careful, because everybody's staring enchantedly at my lunch. They look at the lunch box you've prepared as if it were a work of art. I makes me feel like I’m a celebrity surrounded by paparazzi when I eat.

Mariko's comment filled Cube with pride.

- Well, so you mean my lunch made you more popular at work?

- Hehehehe – Mariko laughed and began to describe a scene that had taken place during her lunch hour – First, they were like, "Wow, Tsubaki, what is this nice lunch?!", "You took a lot of care on this lunch, Tsubaki!" and "At what time did you wake up to make this lunch, Tsubaki?" But then, a colleague of mine said, "Tsubaki's lunches are simpler. It was someone else who did it!" and everyone kept asking me who made my lunch, but then someone exclaims, "Have you got a househusband?!"

- Hus-Hus-Husband?!!!

Cube was surprised to learn that Mariko's co-workers thought he was her husband, but Mariko hadn't noticed his reaction and continued to report excitedly.

- And then everyone keeps saying "When did you get married?", "Why didn’t you invite me to the ceremony?", "You've always been so reserved, Tsubaki, but I never imagined that you would hide a marriage" and "With a husband like that, there’s no need to keep it a secret!"

- ... Husband...

- Huh?... Oh! – Mariko soon realized what she had said and blushed – Er, basically you've turned into my husband in my co-workers’ eyes… Is there a problem?

- Not at all, Master Tsubaki.

"Her husband... They think I'm her husband. For how long do they think so? Was it recent or has it been for years?" Cube thought. This conversation of being her husband reminded him of something he'd wanted to talk about for a long time, but chose to keep it a secret so as not to get in the way of Yume's upbringing. And now that she was in college and he and Mariko were alone at home, maybe it was the best time for him to say what he felt.

- Master Tsubaki?

- Yes?

- I... I like you...

- Thanks, Cube! I like you too!

- I don't think you understand... – Cube muttered – I like you as a woman.

- "As a Woman"... Wait! Is that a love confession?!!!

- Yes! Why are you so nervous?

- Because it's a love confession! Made by the man I'm in love with! Of course I would be nervous!

- "Man you're in love with"...? You're talking about me! So why were you surprised that I told you that I like you as a woman?!

- Because before I didn't know you were declaring yourself to me!!

After this moment of confessions and surprises, Mariko and Cube went silent, not knowing what to do. However, this silence lasted little, because Cube decided to ask Mariko a question:

- Why didn't you told me sooner?

- ... I was unsure...

- About what?

- About the future. You said you'd stay to help me raise Yume. But then I thought, "What about when Yume grows up? She won't need to be raised anymore. Does that mean the Cube is going away?" and so I decided to keep quiet.

- Eight years have passed and Yume has grown up, but I haven't left. I think that this clears up your uncertainty

- Yes, I think so too. – Mariko smiled warmly, her heart pounding faster because of the joy. Now that she had confessed her feelings and had reciprocated them, Mariko decided to say one more thing she had kept in her mind:

- You know, if we look at ourselves well, we look like a married couple: – Mariko pointed to herself – the working wife – then she pointed to Cube – the househusband – and lastly, she pointed to the Yume's face in a photo – taking care of our daughter! It's surprising that we were never an official couple even though we acted as one for eight years straight!

- ... Do you want to?

- Huh?

- For us to become a couple?

- Cube, I love you and you love me – Mariko slid closer to Cube, making her leg touch his. Tilting her face towards Cube, Mariko gave her answer – Of course I'd like us to be a couple!

The physical closeness between the two of them made Cube's heart flutter with more strength, eager and excited in anticipation of what might happen.

- Master Tsubaki, why are you so close? – Cube asked, although he already had an idea of what the answer would be.

- Because I'd like to kiss you. Would you like to?

- O-of course! – Cube replied, unaware of the excitement expressed in his voice.

- And by the way, call me “Mariko” please." – Mariko asked, before kissing him.

- Okay, Mariko...

After calling Mariko by name, she and Cube finally kiss. With their eyes closed, they enjoyed the moment. It was a long, quiet kiss, expressing the relief they felt as they opened their hearts to each other without being hurt in the process. The kiss filled them with happiness and they wanted to be as close as possible, which led Mariko to tilt her body towards Cube. Unfortunately, Cube was not prepared for the force of Mariko being applied to him and the two ended up falling on the couch, with Mariko on top of him.

- Oh my God, Cube! Are you okay? – she asked, worried that he could have hit his head or something.

- Yes, I am.

- I'm sorry! I leaned too much!

- It's okay, I just lost my balance. – Cube assured her.

After the adrenaline of the fright had worn off, Mariko and Cube started laughing at the situation and kissed again, this time with more passion. During the kiss, Cube ran his fingers through Mariko's brown hair, whose curls stretched to her waist. When they parted to breathe, Cube commented:

- Your hair got longer. It was pretty short when we first met. – Cube touched Mariko's cheek with the palm of his hand, indicating how short her hair was.

- During my years as an adventurer, I would keep my hair short for personal reasons, but after I moved to Earth and after you and Yume came into my life, I realized that the reasons that made me want to cut my hair no longer affected me. Then I let it grow. – Mariko ran her hand through her hair, enjoying the texture – Pretty, isn’t it?

- I think you're beautiful regardless of your hair length!

- Wow! We've barely started a relationship and you're already trying to make my heart melt! – Mariko teased.

Cube laughed happily to see Mariko in a good mood, until he noticed the clock in the wall, being surprised by the time.

- Mas… – Cube was going to call his beloved "master", but he soon remembered he didn't need these formalities anymore – Mariko, look at the clock.

- ... It's 00:30 – When Mariko saw the time – she remembers something she had forgotten for months – It's my birthday!

- Exactly! – Cube smiled – Happy 38th birthday!

- Thanks!

- Er, can we get up? I want to show you something.

- Something? – Mariko was curious – All right.

Mariko got off of Cube and he got up from the couch, holding out his hand to Mariko. She took his hand, and after getting up, she was guided by Cube to the kitchen. Once there, Mariko's eyes widened. On the table, there was a small but refined chocolate cake, a jug of juice, and a handmade card with the words "Happy birthday!". When she saw that surprise prepared for her, Mariko exclaimed:

- So that's why you didn't want me to come into the kitchen!

- You were so under the weather that you didn't even remember the own birthday, so I thought I'd surprise you. Did you like it?

- I loved it! Thank you, Cube! You're a sweetheart!

Mariko kissed Cube's cheek and they both went to sit down to eat the cake. Cube lit the candles and sang "Happy Birthday" to Mariko, who, after the song, blew out the candles, mentally wishing her happiness to never go away. That was a nice little moment, in which Mariko and Cube ate cake and enjoyed each other's company. Now that they knew about the each other's feelings, the two of them seemed to be closer than ever. It was a quiet and wonderful dawn for the new couple.

………

*TRIM*

Mariko was awakened by the sound of her cell phone ringing. Still sleepy, she sat up in bed and looked to the side. Cube was lying next to her, and apparently, the noise wasn't enough to wake him up. "That's right, he slept here tonight..." Mariko thought, smiling as she remembered his confession from hours ago. "Oh, how can a man be so cute all the time?!!"

*TRIM*

"Ah! The phone!" Wishing not to make the person on the other side of the line waiting, Mariko took out her cell phone and answered the call.

- Hello, Mom? – The voice on the other end of the line asked. Soon Mariko recognized the voice.

- Yume? – Mariko asked.

- Hi, Mom!

- Yume, why are you calling? Did something happen? – Mariko asked. Since she had just woken up, she had no idea why her daughter was calling her at this time of the morning.

- Mom, have you forgotten? It's your birthday!

- Oh, yes! I just woke up, so I didn't even remember. Thank you, Yume!

- I think your gift will arrive today. I asked to deliver it there.

- Thank you, dear! But I'm not the only birthday girl! Happy birthday, Yume! You're 19 years old now!

- Thank you very much, Mom! By the way, the gift you sent me arrived yesterday.

-Seriously? I tried everything I could to get it there today.

- Don't be sad, Mom! I just opened the box today.

- And did you like it?

- I loved it! How did you know I wanted that book, Mom?

- After all the years we've spent together, it would be a shame to me if I didn’t even know what you like! By the way, how's college?

- It's going well. After the months I spent studying for the entrance exam, college seems so easy! Sounds like a reward!

- I'm glad you're doing well!

- By the way, Mom, where's Cube? I wanted to say hello to him.

- Ah, Cube! He...

Before Mariko could come up with an excuse, it was possible to hear Cube murmuring in his sleep:

- Hmmmm... Mariko...

Hearing Cube's sleepy voice calling his mother by name, instead of "Master Tsubaki", Yume got curious:

- Mother? Was that the Cube? Is he sleeping? Did he sleep in your room?

Mariko was desperate. How could she explain that Cube slept in the same bed as her? It even seemed as if the roles had been reversed and Yume was the mother and Mariko was the daughter who was caught doing something inappropriate. And to make matters worse, Cube, still asleep, moved closer to Mariko, hugging her waist and murmuring:

- ... Mariko... I love you...

- Huh?! – Cube's words were confirmation that Yume was searching and, determined to get more answers, she asked again:

- Mom, what's going on?

- OH, YUME! – Mariko exclaimed loudly, interrupting Yume, – How are things between you and Hitoshi going?

- Eh? They're going well... – Yume replied, confused by her mother – Mom, why does Cube...

- You have class today, right? – Mariko quickly interrupted her daughter once more – I'd better hang up so you're not late! We’ll talk later.

- Er... OK. – begrudgingly, Yume accepted that this would not be the time in which she would receive her answers – See you later! Happy birthday!

- See ya! Happy birthday to you too!

Mariko hung up the phone and sighed. What an awkward situation! But why was that embarrassing? Mariko is a grown-up, she has a right to have romantic relationships. "Look at me: a 38-year-old adult embarrassed like a teenager in her first relationship!" Looking at Cube and stroking his hair, Mariko realized one thing: this was the first time she had woken up before Cube. He had always woken up before everyone else to prepare breakfast, so Mariko didn't have idea that Cube talked in his sleep. "And he even said 'I love you'! How cute! I can't wait to tell him when he wakes up. He's going to get so flustered!"

In the nearby town, Yume was staring at her phone, wondering what just happened. After two minutes, Yume finally understood and laughed "Oh, oh, mom... So you and Cube are finally together and you're trying to hide it? Only you to do this!" When Yume was 10 years old, she listened to her classmates talk about her parents and she thought, "They act like Mom and Cube!" and since then, Yume has realized that her mother and Cube seemed to like each other, but didn't understand why both of them didn’t admit it, because they already looked like a married couple "I think they’ll tell the news talk during New Year's recess."

………

Author’s note:

The end, folks!

Wow, that’s the first time a post a fanfic I’ve made! I feel so excited and thrilled!

Well, I hope you enjoyed the fanfic!

[garbagevanfleet]

Hey!! This is so cool. Can you please give me a pairing..

I love to crack jokes and always have a smile on my face (laughing half the time). Spending time with my friends is one of my favorite things to do, even when we only go walk around Walmart. I enjoy art, from drawing it myself to admiring other people's masterpieces. Photography is another thing I enjoy. I like taking action photos, or sometimes just having goofy photo shoots with my friends. Fashion is another thing that intrigues me. I also love music, and am quite the singer myself. I simply couldn't live without it. Traveling also makes me happy, aside from the fact that I have to sit in the car for hours at a time. Aside from my artsy side, I have played soccer my entire life, which has really gotten me into the gym. I typically never have a break in my schedule and stay busy around the clock. I enjoy volunteering and really helping and getting involved in the community.

Thank you so much for doing this!!

Hi! I feel like you've just written Josh's overall vibe. Like if you were using this in a fic to describe a new character, I'd assume it was Josh. I can see him sitting on your bed, helping you plan outfits for upcoming events so he can coordinate. You'd take long road trips but you'd find excuses to stop every couple of hours because you're both antsy. While you were exploring little shops and scenic areas, you'd snap photos of each other - silly ones and admiring candids that you'd print out and pin all over your apartment. You'd understand each other on a different level, and I think that would be the foundation for a happy, fun, and genuinely connected romance. <3

[grace-london-photography]

Week 10

In this photograph, the focus point is on the two women who seem to be socializing in a car. The colors are very vibrant and are the first thing that stands out to me. The point of view of the camera also intrigues me as it almost feels like a "paparazzi" shot to me.

I believe that the perspective of the image being taken really creates a deeper meaning to the image. Are the subjects aware they are being photographed? Is this posed? Are they just choosing to socialize in a vehicle with the doors open in a parking lot? Were all the vibrant color balances planned?

This doesn't really remind me of anything we have seen before because yes we have seen natural action shots of people socializing, but those have all usually been in black and white, this is the first image where I see vibrant and contrasted colors.

The focus of the image is on two women strolling through an outdoor market, in striking blue and yellow outfits that complement each other. The vibrant colors immediately draw my eye, creating a warm atmosphere within the photograph. The composition captures a candid moment of shared joy as the women walk, smile, and engage with their surroundings.

The coordinated attire of the women adds a delightful touch, suggesting a shared enthusiasm. The point of view chosen by the photographer also creates an immersive experience for the audience, creating a sense of connection with the subjects as you feel like you are listening in on their conversation.

Unlike typical shots of people in casual settings, the vividness and coordination of colors in this image contribute to its uniqueness, offering a fresh perspective on the joyous spontaneity of everyday moments.

I love how their clothing has many similarities, yet when you examine the details, they are actually very different from one another. The first thing that caught my eye was the cheetah print, which seemed like they were matching. But one is wearing a cheetah hat, while they are wearing the same shoes. I love how he chose to have a balance between contrast and similarities.

The point of view again is very intriguing as it feels like as the audience you can feel like you are a part of their conversation and are really connected to the subjects. From their facial expressions, mannerisms, and clothing I am a part of the conversation and know exactly what they are talking about.

Again, I feel his work is very diverse from other pieces we have seen this year. Yes, I have seen photos like this, but they are always in black and white and don't have the detail in clothing and subjects complementing each other. The attention to detail in these photographs is really incredible and makes the images.

For this photograph, I wanted to mirror Francis' work by using fashion to create symmetry and contrast in my photograph. I decided to call this photograph "The Trench", I styled us both so that we were wearing high black boots and trench coats, but the shirts and details of our outfits differed. So at first glance, you might think we look very similar, but as you pay attention to the detail, you can see that we actually are dressed very differently. I chose to take this photo out of a reflection because it felt more natural than posing for a photograph that someone would take of us. With our natural posture and behavior, the audience too can feel like they are a part of our tube ride and conversation. It gives a welcoming energy.

I also cropped the image so that the focus is primarily on the bottom parts of our outfits, focusing on our shoes. This was it gives the photographs much more mystery and you cant even tell that we are on the tube because the background and all the signs are cropped out.

[yongislong]

[ ncity playlist event ]

now playing ... HUANG RENJUN

heavens only wishful - mormor

blackwind - patrick watson

everywhere - fleetwood mac

sunlight - yuno

the love club - lorde

even if it hurts - tei shi

nouvelle vauge - wave to earth

nightclub love - matt maltese

all your love - jakob

everyone adores you - matt maltese

now viewing ... // renjun would rant on and on about how you were his muse. he claimed ever since he saw you he knew he needed to become an artist because people all over the world 'needed to see how magnificent you were.' the first time he said, you visbly cringed and played if off with a rather hard laugh and his eyes faltered

"y/n im not... joking. you know that, right?"

you never imagined how many times he'd ask you to sit in that creaky brown stool where he'd have you posed like a greek entity, covered in various layers of tulle and silk, no makeup on with unruly hair and pushed up brows, while the playlist he aptedly titled 'draw me like one of your french girls :")' played in the background

other days when he just wanted to burn the image of your smile onto paper, he would crack his best jokes while his camera slyly caught candids of you mid laugh, head thrown back, eyes crinkled, your neck in view as the hands that held your chest sparkled with various rings

he has an entire folder saved up for when you're not near to draw and his brain can't seem to focus on anything but you. he's filled up about a shelf and a half on the bookshelf that also held the vast collection of greek mythology booklets and art style photo magazines. he could cherish these soft times forever. those nights you both always slept the best

so secure in the idea that beauty came from so much more than what you both thought about eachother on the inside, but the mere fact that renjun was there with open arms to capture what you thought were your worst features and make them into something you were proud of

when you told renjun how much you confidence has boosted because of him one of these nights as you laugh in bed together, his heart audibly raises, feeling an immense amount of pride

"you deserve to feel like that all the time, im glad i could be of service silly," he ends the night with a big dopey grin and a smooch to the back of both your hands and eyelids

"sleep tight gorgeous." //

have not proofread this and honestly ... lets not talk abt the moodboard bc i kinda hate it, i love the blurb tho, wish i could've gone into more detail tho muahaha, also sorry for lacking on these lately, school is ass

[scuttling]

Lean on Me

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Gender Neutral Reader Word Count: 4,717 Tags: SFW, Fluff, 5+1 Trope, Obliviousness, Mutual pining, Aaron Hotchner deserves good things, Canon typical injury Summary: Five times you want to kiss the frown off of your boss's face, and one time you actually do it. *Requested by Anon. Link to AO3 or read below! “It doesn’t make sense.”

You stick a tack in a photo of a murdered woman—unfortunately one of many you’ve stuck to this board—and turn to face Hotch, who is looking over your handiwork with a quizzical expression.

“What doesn’t?” He takes a few steps closer, crosses his arms in front of him.

“Why would the unsub leave his comfort zone? The first six abductions occurred within five miles of the college, so why did the seventh and eighth happen almost twelve miles away?” He reaches for the board, traces his finger along the circle Reid had colored in on the map. “We profiled that he’s disorganized and far from confident, so why would he do that?”

He looks over at you, frowns, and not for the first time your gaze is drawn to the little crease between his eyebrows that always forms when he is puzzled, worried, confused, stressed, or otherwise unhappy. In short, it’s there kind of all of the time.

For the first time, though, you think of how easy it would be to lean over, press your lips there, smooth it out, and maybe even get him to smile for a change. He has a great smile, when he lets people see it.

You shake the daydream, rewind back to the question he asked, and wrinkle your nose in thought.

“Maybe his circumstances changed? It's summer now, and there are still classes, but students aren’t living in the dorms. Maybe he moved back home or got an apartment off campus that’s within that area—or a job.” He sighs, runs a hand over the back of his head, nods.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. That’s good. I’ll mention it to the others.” He pulls out his phone, and you grab another photo, another thumbtack, but something stops you and you lay a gentle hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to think of everything, you know. That’s why you have us.” He exhales, his shoulders losing a little of their tension, and that forehead wrinkle gets a little less deep.

“Sometimes I forget that not everything needs to be done the hard way. Or by me.”

“What? You, Aaron Hotchner, doing things the hard way?” you tease, and you are gifted a glimpse of his rare, unfiltered smile.

“Okay, enough pointing out my flaws,” he says with a raised eyebrow, though he’s still smiling, and as he looks down to type out a text, you remember to pull back your hand.

“I would never.” He looks up from his phone at that—maybe at the conviction in your voice, which you hadn’t exactly intended—and his expression softens further.

“I know you wouldn’t.” You hold eye contact for a moment, and then turn to finish preparing the board, pinning up another photo of another woman and reminding yourself that they need you to focus on the task at hand. Two weeks later, you knock on Hotch’s office door, a stack of completed consults in your hand. He looks up, that familiar notch in between his brows, a scowl on his face; when he sees that it’s you, he tones it down a little.

“Draw the short straw?” he asks, and you figure that’s because everyone knows he is in a bad mood and they’ve been avoiding this office all day. You shrug.

“It was rock, paper, scissors, but yes.” He huffs a short laugh, and you smile, step toward his desk. “Anything I can do to lighten the load?”

“Technically you’re adding to it,” he says with a glance at the files in your hand, and you set them on one of the chairs with a purposefully loud thump and then take the other seat.

“Technically. But technically, you only need to review my consults; I can review theirs. Right?” He mulls it over a moment, like the thought never crossed his mind—of course Aaron I have to do everything myself Hotchner would never suggest such a thing, even as the team sits in the bullpen with nothing to do, seeing who can throw M&Ms into Spencer’s mouth from the furthest distance.

“Technically,” he agrees, and you pluck a pen out of his pen cup and take the first file off the pile, open it in front of yourself, careful not to cut into the workspace he’s occupying. You both smile softly down at your work, and you actively do not think about that wrinkle between his eyebrows.

About an hour later, he reaches for his mug out of habit but finds it empty; you stand, take it in your hand, and he makes a noise of protest.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you say, and you walk toward the door. “I need some too. I’ll be right back.”

You pass through the bullpen—apparently the M&M contest led to a sugar crash, because Spencer is laying with his head on his desk—and grab your cup off your desk, take both to the break room to fill them.

Derek appears next to you as you’re stirring your sugar in.

“Coffee date with the boss?” he asks with a curious expression, and you shake your head.

“Of course not. I’m helping him with the overwhelming amount of paperwork on his desk so his mood improves, instead of just ignoring him.” You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and Derek scratches the back of his head.

“Never thought of that,” he admits, and you pat him on the arm and take your coffees back upstairs.

Hotch looks up at you as you set his mug down, says a soft thank you, and you grab the pile of files you brought up, separate them, and head back downstairs.

“You review mine,” you say to Derek, handing him a stack, “Emily take Spencer’s, Spencer take Derek’s, I’ll take Emily’s.” They look at you like they have no idea what to say, and you just smile, tap the top of Spencer’s head with a folder. “I’ll come back down and grab them in a little bit.”

“Yes, boss,” Emily says, and you grin on your way back upstairs. Hotch is standing when you arrive this time, looking out the window over the bullpen.

“What did you do?” he asks, turning to you, frowning again. You’re so close that kissing that wrinkle would be effortless. All you’d have to do is lean in.

You smile.

“I delegated, Hotch. You should try it some time.” You put your hands on his arms and guide him back to his desk. “Now what can I help you with?”

By the end of the day, his desk is clean and his bad mood is long gone. He closes the last of his files, sighs deeply, covers your hand with one of his, and says thank you.

The next morning when you come in, there is a steaming latte and a cookie on your desk, and you can’t stop smiling the rest of the day. Your next case is draining, children abducted and left for dead, and everyone is on edge, but no one more than Hotch. You’re fairly certain his face hasn’t relaxed since the initial briefing, and he’d be a prime candidate for the old ‘your face will get stuck like that’ joke, if anyone was up to joking.

The team catches the unsub, saves one child, but not until after three are dead; you take a late flight home because no one wants to stay another night in a town it feels like you’ve failed, and everyone curls up to get some rest except you and Hotch.

You try to read the book you brought along—a science fiction dystopian novel, something to get you out of your head and away from real life problems—but you’re a little distracted by Hotch’s sighing. It’s become an every-five-minutes thing, and while you’re definitely on board with sighing as a way to decompress, he’s not decompressing. He looks like he’s in pain mentally, exhausted physically; you’re not sure how everyone else was able to ignore it and go to sleep, but then you figure everyone else may not be as in tune with him as you are. As observant.

As in love.

Not that that matters: you know your issues, and some of his issues, and there’s the whole superior/subordinate thing which doesn’t really do anything for you except give you a stomach ache. It would never work out, even if he somehow, miraculously, were to love you back—and that’s a pretty big if in and of itself.

But still, you notice him, can’t help it, and the sighing is getting to be a little much. You sigh yourself, put your finger in between the pages of your book, and walk over to take the seat next to him; he looks over at you, frowning just like always, and you carefully close his file and set it aside.

Neither of you say anything to the other, just look each other over for a moment, and then you lean lightly against his shoulder and flip back to the beginning of your book.

“I still dream of the island. I sometimes approach it across water, but more often through air, like a bird, with a great wind under my wings. The shores rise rain-coloured on the horizon of sleep, and in their quiet circle the buildings: the houses grown along the canals, the workshops of inkmasters, the low-ceilinged taverns.”

You keep your voice low and soothing, and you are just turning to page fifteen when you feel the weight of his head drop onto your shoulder.

The crease between his eyes melts away in sleep.

You read until you make it home, and you wake him up with a gentle nudge before the rest of the team drifts back to consciousness. He looks at you, blinks slowly like he’s trying to remember where he is, and then gets a little sheepish when he puts two and two together, realizes he fell asleep on your shoulder.

You just shake your head, give his arm a squeeze, and head back to your seat to gather your things. You, Hotch, and Emily are catching the elevator to the parking garage—after staying two hours later to work on some rush consults straight from Strauss—when he looks at something on his phone that makes him groan aloud. You and Emily share a look, and you ask what’s wrong.

“I just remembered I’m supposed to have a treat for Jack to take to school tomorrow and it’s, what, seven thirty?”

“So just stop at the supermarket on your way home; no one can tell the difference anyway,” Emily says, but you and Hotch both shoot her a skeptical glance.

“It’s all about the treats at a school like Jack’s,” you supply, and Hotch looks over at you like he’s surprised by your comment. “If they’re not homemade, the parents talk. Plus there’s probably an allergen list a mile long: no nuts, no eggs, no soy, no dairy. You have to pick him up from Haley’s tonight, right?” You’re pretty sure, but when he nods he confirms it. “So pick him up, go home and get some dinner, put him to bed, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way over with the goods. I have a great recipe for vegan apple cinnamon muffins that will go over really well.”

“You really don’t have to do that; I’ll figure something out,” he says, but you just shake your head and pull up the recipe on your phone.

“Forget it, it’s already done. I have everything I need at home already; let me help,” you murmur softly, and when he looks at you with the furrowed brow that comes with accepting kindness from someone else, you almost forget it’s not just the two of you in the elevator. It’s only when Emily clears her throat that the eye contact breaks. He nods.

“Okay. Thank you; I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” The elevator dings and it stops at the parking garage; the three of you get off and head in separate directions for your cars. “I’ll text you.”

“Goodnight,” Emily says with a grin, and you wave at her, hop into your car, and head for home.

About two hours later, you show up at Hotch’s door with two dozen apple cinnamon muffins, and unbleached, whole wheat flour in your hair, and he has coffee brewing, a smile on his face.

“You don’t know how grateful I am,” he says as he ushers you into the kitchen, takes the boxes of muffins from your hands, and pours you a cup of dark, delicious coffee. You sip it slowly, savoring the taste—you should have known he’d have incredible coffee—even though it’s far too late for you to be indulging. Unless you’re working a case, you usually switch to decaf by three.

“I know you are. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think you’d appreciate the gesture.” You lean forward, open a box, and pull out two muffins, handing one to him. “I made a couple extra so we could taste test; if I accidentally put salt in instead of sugar, you’re on your own,” you joke, and you wait for him to taste it before taking your own bite.

“That’s delicious. There’s really nothing unapproved in here?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“Nope, it’s all healthy and allergen free, except for the flour, but that wasn’t on the list you sent.” He reaches a hand toward you, and you don’t realize, at first, that he’s brushing the flour out of your hair.

“Messy baker,” he teases, and your heart feels really full, being in his kitchen like this, warm muffins and fresh coffee, even if your hair is a mess. You smile, and he smiles back before dropping into that serious expression, eyebrow wrinkle and all. You think about brushing your lips there tonight, but this feels like two steps forward, and you don’t want to risk taking that step back. “Next time I’ll help you.”

“Oh, next time? You plan on needing my baking expertise again? Fair warning, this is the only recipe I know, so I hope you like apple cinnamon muffins.” You take a sip of your coffee, look up at him, and he takes another bite, nods his head.

“I do. Especially these.”

In a perfect world, what comes next would be a cinnamony, coffee flavored kiss, but the world’s not perfect, and you yawn instead. You look down at your mug like it’s betrayed you, and Hotch chuckles low.

“It’s decaf. I know you usually stop in the afternoon; I wouldn’t forgive myself if you were up all night because of me.” You have always been a person who falls in love with all the little details about someone, so the fact that he’s noticed this, remembers this, makes your heart beat a little faster. “I should let you go. You’ve done so much today, between staying late and baking for Jack—for me. You need to get some sleep.”

He’s right, it’s nearly ten, and you should be getting back home, but this is a moment you never want to end.

You just nod, though, and he reaches out to brush his hand over your back when he walks you to the door.

“Thank you again. I really appreciate that you did this for me,” he says, soft, like he still can’t imagine you would.

“You’re welcome, Hotch. Any time, really; I’m happy to help.”

You get home, clean your kitchen, and have a very late dinner, and the smell of good coffee and apples and cinnamon is still in your nose when you drift to sleep. “You didn’t hear what he said,” Hotch snaps almost a month later, with one hand splayed on his hip and the other on the table in front of him. The moment you saw him engaged in an argument with a member of the Sheriff’s department, fire in his eyes, you’d grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into a small conference room, shutting the door behind you. It took almost three minutes of staring at each other for him to say something instead of just glaring at you for interrupting the pissing contest.

“I don’t need to know what he said. I know you, and I know you handle people like that with a quick, sharp remark and then you wash your hands of it. You don’t argue back and forth, you don’t draw it out. You would have regretted it if you did that today, so I stopped you.”

“You think you know me so well, do you?” he asks in an unkind tone of voice you can’t identify, haven’t heard from him before; the expression on his face is familiar, though, a scowl that only puts emphasis on his handsome features—it’s unfair, really.

You exhale, cross your arms.

“Yes, and I know you well enough to know you’re irritated with him, not me, so cut the shit.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever been quite that direct with him, and certainly the first time you’ve ever sworn at him; your immediate instinct is to apologize, but he surprises you by huffing a laugh. The angry lines of his face smooth into something softer.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. He just—I can’t stand people like that.” He scrubs a hand through his hair in irritation. “We’re here to work—to do a job they couldn’t finish on their own. Not to be… objectified.” He mutters the last word, so low you almost don’t hear it, and then there’s a knock at the door. Derek enters.

“Sheriff wants a word, Hotch; do you have a sec?” With one last look at you, he nods, brushes past him to leave the room. Derek gives you the barest hint of a smile. “He was defending your honor, you know.”

You frown. You didn’t know.

“That jerk was talking about me?” you ask, clarifying, and he nods.

“Something about assuming you’re an athlete because he likes your ass. Set the boss man off.” You walk over to him and leave the room together, heading back to your workspace.

“Well Hotch is right, we’re here to work, not to be objectified. I can see how he would get angry.” Derek shoots you a flat, questioning glance.

“You think he’d be getting that worked up if it was my ass that guy was talking about? Or Emily’s?” The two of you stop outside the conference room, and you cross your arms, lean against the doorframe, frown.

“So what are you trying to say? That he sees me as being weak, thinks he needs to defend me? I'm as capable as either of you.” That may not be strictly true, because you’re a little more brains than brawn, like Spencer in that way, but you can hold your own and you thought Hotch knew that.

Derek just laughs, shakes his head, and ducks into the room. You follow, so confused.

“I thought you were just playing it close to the vest, but you’re oblivious, aren’t you?”

“Oblivious about what?” Emily asks, pen between her teeth, feet kicked up onto a chair, and you shrug.

“I’m still not sure. Hotch got into an argument with a deputy about me, and I asked Derek if Hotch thinks I’m weak and that’s why he felt like he had to defend me.” She smiles broadly around the pen, pulls it out of her mouth with a grin.

“Oh, honey. That’s not it. You know that’s not it, right?”

“I clearly don’t know what’s going on at all, so no, if you’d care to enlighten me,” you say, sinking into an empty chair. “I hate it when you guys are cryptic.” You love your team, but they have a habit of doing this all the time, saying things to each other with their eyes, or just a few words that don’t have any sensible meaning that you know of. It’s like they live to talk over your head, to say things without actually saying them.

“Okay. Hotch has a thing for you,” Emily says simply, and you blink.

Well that’s the very last thing you’d expected to hear.

“He absolutely does not.” You look at Derek, who’s making a face like you’re the one being crazy; you laugh out loud, can’t help it. “He does not. I’m pretty sure Hotch doesn’t have things, and if he did, he wouldn’t have a thing for me.”

“Why not? Because that would be too convenient, since you have a thing for him too?” Derek asks, taking the seat across from you, and you grab the nearest case file, flip it open and focus your attention on it.

“I care about him, the same way I care about all of you, and he maybe needs a little more care—but you guys are reading into things.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to say anything more, because Hotch, JJ, and Spencer return, and you all have a lead to work.

You can’t help but wonder if you’re being obvious about your feelings, though, especially later, when you get back to the hotel and the group decides to have a drink at the bar.

JJ and Emily hit the pool table while Derek and Spencer head up for drinks, and you are left sitting with Hotch at the table, pressed together in the inside corner of a booth.

“Tired?” you ask him, because he does look worn out, his tie a bit loose, his eyes a little red. You know he doesn’t get much sleep when you travel, and you can’t imagine he’ll go to bed even when this little detour is over.

“Always,” he sighs, but when he looks over at you, he smiles, just a little. “Just can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Yeah, it gives Southern hospitality a whole new meaning, doesn’t it?” The people you’ve interviewed today are, on paper, quite respectable, but there’s a Desperate Housewives, ‘everyone is sleeping with someone else's spouse’ kind of thing going on, and it’s honestly exhausting. To your surprise, Hotch laughs.

“It really does. I don’t think I’ve ever missed the quiet solitude of my apartment quite this much.” You lean back against the vinyl of the booth, sigh.

“I miss my apartment, but it’s been too quiet lately. I prefer the sounds of someone else sharing space with me: the coffee maker percolating, the news in the background, the shower running, the sound of flipping the pages of a book or magazine.” You look down at your hands, because you’re getting a little more emotional than you usually let other people see. “Sorry. I’m not typically this open about being…”

You trail off, but Hotch looks over at you, concerned, the wrinkle between his eyebrows even more noticeable when you’re sitting this close. You think, just briefly, of running your thumb over it, but with your luck, Derek or Emily would see, and you’d never live it down.

“Lonely?” he finishes softly, and when you nod your head, he covers your hands with one of his own, bumps his shoulder against yours. “I get lonely too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” You look up at him, feeling a little vulnerable, and his expression softens. “When we get back, maybe you could come over for dinner some night. Nothing fancy,” he clarifies, and you smile, “just two lonely people being a little less lonely.”

“That would be really nice.” You can see Derek and Spencer approaching out of the corner of your eye, and Hotch must too, because he removes his hand, slips back into the slight, persistent frown you have come to know and love. Derek looks at you, raises an eyebrow, and hands you your beer. You try to tell him to shut up with your face, plan to follow up later to see if that actually worked. “We have an agent down on the second floor,” Spencer says into his comms, and you immediately want to slap him in the back of the head.

“Don’t say agent down, kid; I’m like, slightly wounded at best.” You hold a hand against the stab wound on your side—the unsub honestly just grazed you, and you’d knocked him out with a single punch, which made you feel pretty awesome—and reach out the other so he can help pull you to your feet. Your hand comes up to your own walkie button. “I’m not down, I’m fine—just slightly stabbed,” you add, and Spencer is getting his cuffs on the unsub when Hotch and JJ burst through the doors.

Well, Hotch bursts. JJ follows behind looking strangely winded for one of the most naturally athletic people you know.

“What happened? Are you alright?” he asks, and you lift your shirt to show him the sluggishly bleeding gash.

“I’m fine, see? It’s not even deep. Spencer saw blood and got a little ahead of himself.” You turn to Spencer, who sticks out his tongue, then back to Hotch, who looks haunted and pale, with that goddamn wrinkle between his eyebrows again. He’s bent down, looking over your wound seriously—you’ve had worse, so much worse, that you don’t understand why he’s so worried about it—and then he leans up, presses a hand to your cheek, and pulls you close for a soft, tender kiss.

If this were a movie, right about now a camera would be panning around you in a circle, as you wrap your free hand around his neck, pull him closer, melt against his body like it’s all you’ve been dreaming of for months, and the two of you would break apart smiling, maybe even kiss again.

It’s not a movie, though, so you just bleed out against your hand and freeze, because Hotch is kissing you at a crime scene and you almost got filleted, so you’re not sure if this is a you got hurt, so I’d better kiss you kiss or an I’ve been wanting to kiss you forever, and you got hurt so I have to kiss you kiss.

When he breaks the kiss, you’re both breathing a bit heavily, and you don’t know what to do, so you just lean in and press your lips to that wrinkle between his eyebrows that you’ve been thinking about so frequently since the first time you noticed it. You brush a hand through his hair, and when you pull back, he’s smiling.

“What was that?” He covers your hand on your side with his own and helps get you toward the elevator so you can be patched up by the EMTs; JJ and Spencer are left staring, open-mouthed in your wake, with an unconscious unsub at their feet, but neither of you are concerned about that.

“I’ve been thinking of doing that for months now: to kiss that spot between your eyes so you’ll stop frowning for a change. Since I couldn’t, I decided to find other ways to help you stop frowning so much. It kind of became my life’s mission.” He sighs, puts his arm around you and holds you close while you wait for the elevator to bring you to the ground floor.

“I stop frowning when you’re around because you’re around, not just because of the things you do for me,” he tells you, and he presses his lips to yours for another warm, soft, perfect kiss. “I’ve been thinking of doing that for months now.” You tilt your head, make a sound of contemplation, and he chuckles softly. “What is it?”

“I think those cryptic idiots we work with might be onto something,” you say with a grin, and when the elevator lets you off and Hotch helps you toward the ambulance to be patched up, Derek and Emily are waiting with concerned looks on their faces. They must be pretty confused to see you’re grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, you guys were right; Hotch does have a thing for me!” you call as you walk past them, and when your wound is properly dressed and wrapped, you put your arms around his neck and let him kiss you until the frown and accompanying wrinkle are nothing but distant memories.

*The novel excerpt is from The Weaver by Emmi Itäranta.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed

[finelinevogue]

Every time I look at this pic I am just imagining you and Harry are in New York and you guys are wating for you can to come and some fans took pic of you guys being the cutest couple 😩😩

okay i like this one!! my inbox is so full rn and i just wanna say i see everything, it’s just my inspiration comes a lot quicker for some rather than others, but i’m working on them slowly!! i promise <33

“Harry!”

You squealed as you accidentally bumped into another person as you ran down the stairs and through a corridor, back up some stairs, a left and a right so you could reach the platform for your train.

You were running really late. You and Harry were supposed to be at some fancy event for the release of a new Gucci line that Harry had campaigned in, but when Harry had seen you in your emerald sparkly dress he just couldn’t keep his hands to himself and had over-divulged in you. Now you were running through the New York subway, running for your train that was about to leave in 47 seconds if it was running on time. The only problem was that you were in black high heels, so it was impossible to run fast.

“Will you bloody hurry up woman!” Harry shouted back to you, running ahead to clear a path for you both. However, when he saw you and your heels were slowing, at the danger of breaking an ankle, he waited for you to catch up and swooped you up in to his arms. He ran for the both of you, you being cradled bridle style with your arms tightly around his shoulders and laughing as he ran as fast as he could. Your dress was blowing and you were worried you might flash someone.

“Harry oh my go— sorry!” You called out to a random man you accidentally took out with your legs.

“Fuck, we are actual twats.” Harry laughed as he rounded the corner to the platform.

“The train! Harry run!” You stressed, watching the doors about to close. Harry ran and pressed the button just in time. Someone on the other-side of the door was also pressing the button to help you get on.

The doors opened and Harry carried you both on safely.

“Thanks man!” Harry nodded to the guy who had helped you.

“No problem man. Are you okay?” The guy asked you, Harry now putting you down so you were standing.

“Oh yeah I just cannot run in heels!” You chuckled, pointing to your now scuffed shoes.

The train started moving and Harry caught your arm as you nearly went toppling over from lack of balance. Once you were both stood up you did a quick look at the train-line route and counted how many stops were made before yours; 4.

“You both don’t look dressed to be travelling on the sub.” The guy stated which made you both laugh, you rolling your eyes as you had been thinking the exact same thing.

“We are already late and New York traffic will mean we won’t show up until two weeks time. So the subway it was.” Harry explained, standing behind you with his arms draped loosely over your shoulders comfortably. You felt the warmth of his chest on you back, slightly sweaty from both the heat of the subway but also the running that you’d both just done. You brought one of your hands up to hold onto one of Harry’s, squeezing it just because you could.

“Y’both crazy.” The guy laughed.

“We know.” Harry laughed back, scrunching his nose and then coming to give you a kiss to the top of your head as the train came to a stop.

“Alright well this is my stop. Have a chill evening.” The guy waved you both and hopped off the train when the doors opened, leaving you to breathe a heavy sigh and lean back into Harry’s pressing back more. You bathed in his comforting smell of pine and vanilla.

A group of young people got on the train and stood opposite to you two. You looked over at them and noticed that they had noticed Harry, smiling and giggling to one another. You smiled to them, not wanting to draw more attention to the situation than safe. Harry squeezed your hand to let you know everything was okay and he wouldn’t let anything happen to you - if things did get crazy. One girl came up to you boldly.

“Hi Harry, could I get a photo with you please?” They asked, holding a disposable camera up as if to prompt that the photo would be taken on that instead of a normal phone. That was the way to Harry’s heart, you knew.

“‘Course, yeah.” Harry replied kindly, untangling himself from you and moving to the side to stand next to the girl. They’d handed the camera to another friend in their group so they could take the photo. Harry stood next to the girl, arm around their shoulder and smiling cheesily in his Gucci suit that made him look so goddamn handsome.

“Thank you so much.” The girl smiled.

“Do you want a group photo with him?” You asked the whole lot of them and they eagerly grinned, holding out the disposable camera to you as they thanked you. Harry bent over at the front of the group, holding up a peace sign and opening his mouth in a wide smile. You captured the moment perfectly, a slight red light in the background as you pulled into the next stop.

“Thank you so much. Have a good night.” They all spoke kindly, and you saw them take a couple of candid photos of you and Harry as moved back towards one another and managed to find seats to sit down on thanks to people getting off. There was only one seat, however, so you were left to sit on top of Harry’s lap much to his enjoyment.

“It was nice of you to take photos with them.” You smiled at him, caressing his cheek softly and then kissing him over that spot.

“You were nice to offer a group photo.” He replied, smiling in pride over how kind and thoughtful you were. He was so in love with you and all your golden personality traits that built you up to be his little shining star.

“You’re such a good person H.”

“Not as much as you are, baby.”

“I’m not having this debate with you.” You scoffed playfully, hitting his chest playfully.

“‘Cause you know i’ll win.” He said smugly and all you wanted was to fucking kiss that smirk off his face, but in this public space there was no chance - especially when you knew that group of fans were definitely pointing their cameras at you even if you did have you back to them.

“Y’so difficult.” You rolled your eyes.

“I know, but you love me.”

“Too true.” You buried your head into his neck and sniffed his homely scent as you allowed his presence to encapsulate you. It really was true. Still is. You love Harry Styles.

[myherowritings]

welcome to the family

SUMMARY. After mistaking the guy on your lockscreen as your boyfriend, your grandmother knits him a sweater to welcome him into the family. Childe sees your tweet about it the next morning.

PAIRING. celeb!childe x reader

WORD COUNT. 1.0k

GENRE. celeb au, loosely based off a tweet

A/N. small drabble because i kind of got excited at the thought of celeb au childe o.o also like...have u listened to his english va sing those cheesy songs? i absolutely love it HFJKGHG pls enjoy xx sof

You weren’t a fan of the celebrity with the title Tartaglia, alias Childe, real name unknown to the public.

Definitely not a fan.

The only reason you knew even that much about him was simply due to social media blowing him up as the infamous white boy of the month. And from there his fame only grew. (Though you had to admit, he was at least more interesting than the previous other candidates.)

You weren’t a fan, but you couldn’t deny he deserved the recognition he received. His acting was pretty captivating, his singing voice pleasing to the ear, and his body... Well, his body...

“Earth to Y/N,” your mom called, drawing you out of your rapidly spiraling thoughts. You were visiting your family home for the weekend and you were currently in the living room with your mother and grandmother, watching bad reality TV and snacking on junk food. “You’ve been spaced out today. Too busy thinking about your boyfriend?”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Huh?”

Like most grandparents, your grandma seemed to have a special radar to let her know when her grandchildren had a potential suitor at hand. Just the mere mention of the word made her perk up. “Boyfriend?”

“Yeah! I don’t know why they were keeping it a secret from us, but I saw the picture on their lockscreen,” she whispered to your grandma conspiratorially, loud enough for you to hear. “He’s a cute guy with ginger hair.”

The picture on your lockscreen off a cute guy with ginger hair… You were only half-embarrassed to recall that it was a picture taken from Childe’s outdoor picnic photoshoot where the poses they made him do attempted to paint the image that he was there on a date with you. His clothes were casual and his smile was familiar.

You absolutely hated that marketing strategy but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t willingly fall for it each time.

But again, you weren’t a fan…

Oh, who were you fooling? You were halfway from breaking and making a Childe fan account if your dignity didn’t get the best of you.

“Childe? He’s—”

“Your boyfriend! My grandchild finally found love in this world?” asked your grandmother, teary-eyed as she completely ignored her favorite trashy reality show on the television to get a better look at you. “I’m so happy for you! This is so exciting.”

“Grandma, wait—”

“You have to bring him home and let us meet him,” she rushed on animatedly, giving you no time to squeeze a full sentence in. “No, before you do that, let me make him something for you to give to him! What size is his shirt? Is that a picture of him? Oh he looks nice and strong! I’ll knit him a turtleneck. You give it to him the next time you see him, okay?”

Your grandma ran to get her knitting needles and yarn, leaving a whirlwind in her wake as you stared open-mouthed at the spot she once occupied.

That was how you ended up going home the next day with a brand new turtleneck sweater your grandmother made for your non-existent boyfriend.

The situation was so bizarre, you decided there was only one thing you could do: Pull your phone out as you sat on your bed to tell Twitter about the events of your weekend.

— ✩ —

It wasn’t everyday Childe woke up to check what the top tweets of his tag were on Twitter.

Okay, that’s a lie.

It was everyday.

He had an image to keep, after all. And it interested him to know what others had to say about him, despite how bad that might actually be for his state of mind.

Childe didn’t like deceit, but showing some parts of himself to only some people and other parts to others wasn’t lying. It was self-preservation. Everyone had a persona of sorts, and he preferred for his to be intact. What was the point of showing everyone every side of him?

He knew who Childe and Tartaglia were. He knew who Ajax was. As long as he knew, he’d be alright.

Was it a lonely path? Maybe. But it paid well and made his family proud. What more could he ask for?

Acting may not be as cool as being, say, a toymaker as his younger brother would proclaim, but at least he got to travel the world and explore places he never could’ve before. And the cute fans of his were also a definite bonus.

Childe continued scrolling through his phone when he stumbled upon a tweet that seemed to be gaining numbers quickly. It was posted only a few hours ago last night (his time, at least) by what looked like a personal account.

@y/n: Y'ALL WTF my mom saw my lockscreen (which is a pic of childe) and told my grandma that he was my bf and then my gma got so excited she knit him a WHOLE SWEATER and told me to give it to him. how could i break her heart and tell her he’s just a celebrity i like omg

@y/n: here’s a picture of the sweater she knit. isn’t it adorable? i almost feel too bad to just wear it myself though hjfkhg [Attachment: 1 Image]

A surprised chuckle escaped his lips as he looked at the picture of you holding the cream-colored turtleneck up, the large sleeves covering most of your body in the photo. You were right. The sweater did look adorable. As did a certain little fan of his who was also featured in the image.

Without giving it a second thought, he began to type his reply.

@TartagliaOfficial: Why wear it yourself? Didn’t your grandma say it’s meant for me? :( It’d be a shame to disappoint her.

In only a matter of minutes, he refreshed the page and found your name in his notifications. For some reason, he felt a rush of adrenaline flow through his veins as he waited for your tweet to load.

@y/n: am i being punk’d or r u asking me out???

Childe laughed to himself, exiting the tweet thread so he could click on the private message icon on your profile.

This would be fun.

[thedamageofherdays]

This week's [23-08-2021 - 29-08-2021] reading log is here! I read a lot again this week and I feel like it's a lovely variety of fics. Most fics are Stucky like usual, but there's at least one other ship. I am constantly amazed by the talent people have in this fandom! There was one fic I read on Tumblr that I can't seem to find unfortunately, but when I do I'll make sure to reblog and rec it 💕

Favourites are marked with a 🌻

When life gives you lemons by moonthejedi394 @moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 40k words, Mature] (12/15 chapters available)

Or 13 Terrible Things to Do With Lemons Other Than Making Lemonade

Steve Rogers is a home health nurse. He works for an agency, which assigned him to the aging Winifred Barnes, the one and only Silent Era Hollywood darling. As her needs increased, she requested the agency assign Steve to her full-time. She could pay for it, so she got it. Steve then moved in with her, becoming her caregiver; he cooked, he cleaned, he managed her medications, he made sure she was comfortable.

Winifred's children treated him less than ideally. He was the help, after all. And then Steve had the audacity to go and turn out to be eldest son James Barnes's soulmate. No one saw that coming.

The Masseur and the Assassin by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 17k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes needed a vacation from his job. What he found was a happy ending.

The Words Breathe by buckbarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

All Steve has to do is keep his promise. When he doesn’t, Bucky gets mouthy.

Soft by this_wayward_life @wayward-lives [Stucky, 2k words, Explicit]

The last time he'd seen Bucky he'd looked unhealthy, with pallid skin and greasy, lanky hair. Now, Bucky shone; his hair was thick and silky, his skin a deep bronze from spending so much time outside. He was softer, too; the hard muscle that used to cover him was now replaced by soft fat, his body still strong, but in a more mundane way. His thighs were thicker, his ass plumper, and when he'd pulled Steve into the river Steve had noticed the pudge on his stomach.

Seeing Bucky so happy, well-fed and shining, was a bit of a kick in the face. For all the years they'd known each other, he'd never seen Bucky so... care-free. Now that Bucky was putting on weight, his middle soft and his body malleable, it sent a bolt of arousal through Steve every time he noticed the curves of Bucky's body.

Or: Bucky put on a bit of weight in Wakanda, and Steve is Not Coping.

🌻 Revive Another Side of Me by dontcallmebree @iamthe-wo-manwhocan [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Steve’s never lived in a world without Bucky, and he’s not living now. It takes them a while, much too long, to get that awaited rest, a little slice of peace after the dust has settled.Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are inseparable, history remembers. But they’re not men of the past quite yet.

🌻 imagine being loved by me by spacebuck @spacebuck [Stucky, 20k words, Explicit]

Just after 1am - a few hours after he posted today’s photo - he hears the tell-tale sound of a twitter message. Bucky grabs his phone, not checking who it’s from as he opens it because it’s probably one of his mutuals yelling at him as per usual. When he actually looks at his phone, though, it’s not Natasha

The ‘verified’ check stares back at him for a long moment before he can even bring himself to process the name on his screen. Steve Rogers is messaging him. Or, he reasons, a very good fake. The handle looks right though, not that Bucky knows. Not that Bucky has Captain’s America’s tweets set up as notifications, or that Bucky’s own display name is set to captain america’s bitch. Not at all.

Hey, the first message says. It’s Steve.

🌻 JB’s Complete Lube Services by dixons_mama @dixons-mama [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

People just didn’t approach Captain America and proposition him. Although, sometimes Steve wished they would; even the pinnacle of virtue and justice needed to get dicked down from time to time.

Or, the one where Steve has the hots for a mechanic and decides to be proactive in getting that dick.

If it had to be someone by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Bucky had known since he was a child that he didn’t have a choice in who he married, but he’d thought he had more time before the day arrived.

Miscalculations by christywantspizza @christywantspizza [Ransom Drysdale/Reader, 6k words, Explicit]

Ransom tries to get you to sleep with him by less than honorable means. You give him what he wants, just not how he wants it.

How to Seduce a Writer by obsessivereader [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

What's a determined master strategist going to do when the oblivious writer he's trying to woo keeps missing all the clues?

He doesn’t think it’s because he hadn’t signaled his own interest to Bucky. He’s pretty much done everything short of hitting Bucky over the head with semaphore flags by this point. There’s no way Bucky could’ve missed them. Unless… There’d been that one link he’d stumbled upon when he’d googled ‘how to talk to a writer’. It’d been written by a writer, who’d been candid about how oblivious writers could be, and how someone could go about seducing one. An idea starts to form. It’s ridiculous, but at this point, he’s willing to go with ridiculous, since subtle wasn’t getting him anywhere.

🌻 Pod Bless America by Deisderium @deisderium [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

Bucky can't believe his favorite podficcer recorded his newest fanfic AU of the show Commandos. He's even more surprised when the customer who busts him listening to fic while he's working in the office supply store turns out to be that podficcer.

* The guy—maybe bi_shield?—took his phone, looked down at the screen, and smiled. "Yeah, that one's mine," he said with no evidence of embarrassment. "It was a good one." He handed the phone back to Bucky.

"I wrote it," Bucky croaked.

take a bite by wearing_tearing [Stucky, 7k words, Mature]

"I’d never let anyone freeze to death.” Steve gives a big sigh and flutters his lashes. “All that blood gone to waste.”

Bucky’s lips turn down and his nose scrunches up a little. “I want to be grossed out, but…”

“But you get it.” Steve gives him a pointed look. “Vampires aren’t the only ones who can appreciate how juicy blood is.”

*

Or: Vampire Steve saves newly-turned werewolf Bucky from a snowstorm.

Leaving the Shield Behind by BuckyAboveEverything [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

“So, on one hand, we have Steve Rogers - hunk, genius, animal lover. Buys you waffles and overpriced coffee. 100% wholesome all-American boy.”

“And, on the other hand, we have Capsicle – twink, smart-ass, fanboy. Reads your stories and sends you fanart. Possibly a pervert or a serial killer.”

Bucky groaned.

“I am 100% certain I am 0% sure of what to do."

Bucky Barnes, full-time copywriter and free-time fanfic writer, struggles to choose between two equally-attractive suitors, only to find that he doesn’t have to after all.

* Based on a true story *

Cap's Book Corner by Neche [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

Recluse Author Bucky Barns stumbles into fanboy Steve Rogers bookstore one day...

Cat Nap by galwednesday @galwednesday [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

Objectively, losing the Bucharest safehouse and its contents was the least of Bucky’s problems. The balding agent he’d seen directing the raid was apparently affiliated with SHIELD, which was a shadowy government agency that made representatives from other shadowy government agencies suddenly remember urgent appointments when Bucky tried to bribe, threaten, and otherwise shake them down for information on what the hell SHIELD might want with a former brainwashed assassin. Dodging SHIELD should be his number one priority.

Subjectively, he wanted his fucking cat back.

at any given moment by honeypuffed [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

Steve and Bucky find out that everyone thinks they're sleeping together.

Brought to Brightness by eyres [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

Army veteran Bucky Barnes has fallen in love with Steve, a guy he met online a few months after he returned from Afghanistan. Only problem is, he doesn't know Steve's last name or even what he looks like.

When his sister helps him send his story into MTV's Catfish, he's hoping they can help him meet Steve or, at least, let him move on with his life if Steve isn't real. Little does he know, Steve and Captain America have more in common than just a first name.

🌻 Nokken Wood by leveragehunters @leveragehunters [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

When Sam's friend needs a house-sitter for his place in the country, Steve jumps at the chance. Six months rent-free to do nothing but draw and paint and wander the countryside, looking for inspiration? It was like a dream. But when he gets lost in a storm and nearly falls into a pond he starts to rethink the whole like a dream aspect of life in the country. And when a red-eyed, sharp-clawed, silver-fanged creature rises out of the darkness, Steve is one hundred percent certain the dream's morphed into a nightmare.

...until it gives him a cup of tea.

(Inspired partly by this prompt a supernatural creature is supposed to scare you but instead it gives you a cup of tea and a blanket because you're having a bad day and you keep coming back and partly by this painting.)

Professional Pride by galwednesday [Stucky, 700 words, Teen]

Bucky is having a very good day, until he turns around and finds himself face-to-face with Captain America.

“Oh shit,” he blurts before he can stop himself, and Captain America blinks at him. “Hey, hi, I didn’t expect to see you here.” Here, at New York’s Pride parade, surrounded by thousands of happy screaming people wearing rainbows and sometimes not much else. What is he doing here? Is he on guard duty or something? Was he just on a mission and happened to be passing by on his way back?

He’s in uniform but with the cowl loose around his neck, so when he rubs the back of his head it fluffs up his matted hair. “I, uh. I saw one of your–temporary tattoos?” Captain fucking America says, like it’s a question.

The A-bridged Guide to Trolling by galwednesday [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

“I don’t have any money.”

Oh no, now the girl looked upset. Her eyes were huge and her lip was wobbling. Bucky tried to think fast despite the oh shit oh shit oh shit looping through his head.

“That’s okay,” Bucky said gently. “I don’t need money. We can figure out another kind of toll.”

The girl frowned at him. “Like what?”

Bucky scratched his head, trying to think of something a kid was certain to have on hand. “Do you know any jokes?”

(Fantasy AU in which Steve is a hedge witch with a green thumb, Bucky is a bridge troll who's new in town, and knock-knock jokes are a viable form of currency.)

It's a bittersweet ending (if you know what I mean) by relenafanel [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

“I’ll see you around, Steve,” Bucky answers with a smirk, moving away from the counter with a wink.

Steve watches him go. Bucky’s wearing a pair of skinny jeans coated in something to give the appearance of leather. It’s impossible to not watch him go.

stuck on you by wearing_tearing [Stucky, 5k words, Teen]

“Bucky? You don’t look so hot.”

Bucky makes a tiny little sound in the back of his throat, only to start coughing. Of course he doesn’t look hot. He’s sick and he’s dying and Steve obviously isn’t attracted to him.

Decision-Making in Relationships (Paid Research Opportunity!) by castiowl [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

Clint looked thoughtfully at the flyer. “I guess your actual roommate wouldn’t be down with it?”

Bucky frowned. “Have you met Steve Rogers?”

no way out but through by hollimichele [Stucky, 9k words, Teen]

Steve never sees it coming.

you got blood on your hands (and i know it's mine) by nighimpossible [Stucky, 3k words, Teen]

Bucky refuses to see Steve after his deprogramming.

Like What You See by daisymondays [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

For all the time Bucky’s spent fantasizing about meeting Captain America, he’d never imagined it would be while posing nude in front of a drawing class.

🌻 A Real Boy by itsnotbleak [Stucky, 5k words, Teen]

It took the Winter Soldier three weeks to remember that human beings needed to sleep and eat.

It took Steve far too long to realise the Winter Soldier was sleeping in his bed.

Amapola by chaya [Stucky, 830 words, Teen]

Total fluff. Bucky's recovering nicely. Steve's oblivious. Sometimes it's best to set aside subtlety for action.

Knocking Boots With Sugar by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 4k words, Explicit]

In between summers at college, Steve Rogers wants a new adventure beyond his lonely life in Brooklyn. He ends up in West Texas working on a dude ranch where Bucky Barnes is a long-time employee. When Bucky offers to buy Steve a drink, they end up drunk on tequila and making out in public. For the rest of the summer, they're inseparable. As the summer draws to a close, Steve realizes he doesn't want to leave.

Rogers and Associate by roe87 @jro616 [Stucky, 7k words, Teen]

When they first meet, Bucky is a hooker and Steve is a cop. She's been arrested, but Steve lets her off.

Years pass and they maintain a casual friendship, seeing each other out on the streets most nights.

Though he later makes detective, Steve loses faith in the system and quits his job.

He wants to set up as a private investigator, and he asks Bucky if she'd be his assistant.

Just in time by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Bucky knew the apartment he was renting was old fashioned, but walking in the front door and finding himself transported back to 1938 was not on the list of things he had prepared himself for.

🌻 You Like What's in My Head by dontcallmebree [Stucky, 15k words, Explicit] (with art by @kocuria)

Bucky can’t decide if Steve’s a tough nut to crack or incredibly easy. The timbre of his voice, a low and almost amused, “Sure, kid,” when Bucky asks for a drink feels like something gripping him on the back of his neck.

He thinks this might be one of those moments in life he’ll pinpoint in the future and either curse at for dooming himself, or remember fondly with pride.

He’s right. Bucky Barnes blunders through falling in love with Commander Rogers and tries to find a deeper meaning behind the expensive gifts and thorough fucking.

Can I Sit Here? by BuckyFrickenBarnes [Stucky, 962 words, General]

Bucky has unusual methods for getting rid of his writer's block.

Or, Bucky needs that table.

Workplace Romance by BuckyFricken Barnes [Stucky, 1k words, General]

Bucky is under the impression that his boss hates him.

Or,

Steve needs to get better at dealing with his feelings.

🌻 1-800-MAYTAG by Miss Plum @misspluckyplum [Stucky, 1k words, Explicit]

Bucky just wants to get some housework done. It gets out of hand fast. Silly little fluff and smut romp with snarky stucky boys.

Eyes of the Forest by Lordelannette [Stucky, 7k words, Explicit] (2/8 chapters available)

When Omega Bucky Barnes comes to Eagle Lake, it was in search of wolves, a creature that had not been seen in the area for decades.

What he finds instead is Steve Rogers, a handsome, though quiet Alpha who seems to be everywhere in the forest.

[planetkiimchi]

pinterest worthy | l.mh / h.hj

summary — Hyunjin and Minho are two different types of beautiful, and their significant others are perfectly alright with that.

pairing: Hyunjin x nb!oc, Minho x fem!oc

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing anything kpop-related so far! it’s not really a fic, but i wanted to write something for my bias and bias wrecker &lt;3

Hyunjin is Pinterest worthy.

He reminds Jae of faeries with their paper-thin wings, flitting around like butterflies do among flowers. He is a different kind of beautiful, with his long hair framing his face and the way he rolls his eyes when he’s dancing to God’s Menu.

Hyunjin walks like he’s a model posing for pictures, long legs captured perfectly as he strides across the airport. His side profile is prime for photographs, hair covering half his face, all half-smiles and hooded eyes.

When he’s gaming, Hyunjin leans forward, biting his lip in concentration, one leg crossed over the other and ears plugged.

Hyunjin is Pinterest worthy, Jae thinks. In Stray Kids, among the rowdy group of (surprisingly introverted) idols, Hyunjin and Felix are the most photogenic. Hyunjin has a face shape that attracts people’s attention, a smile to die for, and eyes that betray his emotions.

Hyunjin is like a faerie, unlike Felix’s angelic smile, because mischief lies in those eyes and on the tip of his tongue, as Jae has seen when Minho threatens to stuff toilet paper in his mouth. His art is beautiful, his beauty alluring, and attention-drawing.

Hyunjin and Jae look stunning in any and all candids captured of them, almost like they have a sixth sense for hidden cameras. Their perfect posture and newsworthy love is often commented upon, praise dropping from people’s lips.

Hyunjin’s pretty face fills Jae’s gallery at times, pictures they take of him while he’s eating, or pictures of him sleeping, sent to them by the members. Some are from news articles, the ones that they realised were better than anything they could have taken themself.

Hyunjin’s just photogenic that way. It doesn’t stop at Hyunjin—he has a feed that’s filled with nice photos of himself and Jae, all the pictures cohesive, aesthetic, and enviable.

Jae learns to live with it. They dress up to leave the house, almost regal in the way they hold themself. It begins to be a habit to linger a little too long by doorways in hopes of people catching a glimpse of their outfit, to watch the way they lift their foot to adjust their shoe, subtly letting their hair fall over their eyes.

And so, the Pinterest worthy that Jae once thought Hyunjin was, becomes the way their relationship is.

a different take

Minho’s aversion to photographs has always puzzled Leo. She thinks he’s the most handsome person she knows, and when he sits in a corner, face set in his resting bitch expression, she thinks about how lucky she is to be his significant other.

Minho cocks his head like a cat when he’s confused and rolls his eyes when he’s tired. He walks like he’s got places to be, strides long and assured, confident just like his dancing.

Minho leans on everything from the couch to the wall to his palm when he’s gaming, and takes his gaming very seriously. He hates to be interrupted, unless it’s for his cats, Leo, or dance.

He has a beauty that can’t be captured on camera, so Minho and Leo look like cryptids in most, if not all of their photos, sometimes even the ones that they are posing for.

It’s not that Minho isn’t beautiful. Minho literally fits the Korean beauty standard, almost to the letter, with a sharp nose and sleek jawline, smallish eyes and full lips. Even the arch of his eyebrows and his cheekbones look absolutely gorgeous in real life. It’s just that when Minho laughs, his eyes pull into a line, and every single moment of his laughter is blurry in photos.

Leo has tried multiple times to capture Minho’s beauty, going from camera to phone to photo booths, but all her experiments continue to prove that Minho isn’t photogenic, and his unglams fills her gallery at times, until she clears them all.

Minho’s just not photogenic that way.

His love for Leo is similar, in that they never go for Instagram-able experiences, preferring to get dirty than to take nice pictures, preferring to be active than to pose for a good shot. They have plenty of inside jokes from their hangouts, but their memory is the only thing they take away—and maybe two or three photos.

Minho isn’t the most outwardly affectionate either, though he kisses Leo back when she kisses him first, and rests his arm on her thigh, slapping her butt when it’s in reach.

It’s nothing glamorous, nothing that would get them into the tabloids, simply because it’s so uninteresting, and nobody would want to see photos of Minho gaming while Leo sips coffee from her mug and reads.

Minho’s not being Pinterest worthy, but Leo’s okay with that—after all, neither is she.

[jayeray-twst]

How He Shows You Affection: Cater Diamond

Warnings: None all fluff!

He Takes Pictures of You

“Say strawberry!” Cater ordered with a toothy grin, as he snagged you around the waist and pulled you close, pressing your cheeks together with his arm extended out, holding his phone.

Several months of dating meant you were now quick enough on the draw to smile at the camera for the first snap of the shutter and were even quicker to turn your face to the side, pressing an affectionate kiss to your boyfriend’s cheek before he managed to hit the button again.

“Babe!” he whined a playful lilt to his voice that probably would’ve fooled most, but you saw right through it to the faint blush on his cheeks and the warm look in his eyes.

Cater always got a little flustered when you did little things like that to catch him off guard, which was only fair in your opinion considering how much he did it to you. Your boyfriend had enjoyed flustering you, and gone out of his way to tease, and flirt just to see if he could.

“Let me see?” you asked, making grabby hands at his phone. He immediately passed it over without complaint, pulling you into his arms and resting his chin on your shoulder so he could see the screen too as you looked at the photos he’d taken.

The first was pretty cute, with wide beaming smiles on both your faces, but the second one definitely stole the show. As per usual, even when caught off guard Cater managed to take the picture at the perfect moment, just as your lips brushed his cheek. His eyes were wide with surprise and there was the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks.

“Cute,” you cooed, pleased with the way it had come out, “You going to post that on MagiCam?”

“You know me so well,” he teased, giving you an affectionate squeeze around the middle before accepting his phone back, “We really take the best pictures together babe!”

“If you say so,” you told him lightly.

“I do say so!” he informed you, one hand still holding you to him as his clever fingers tapped away at the screen of his phone one handed, “You’re so photogenic it should be against the rules!”

You huffed in affectionate amusement. Honestly you were pretty sure the only reason you came out looking half so good in all the photos Cater took of the two of you was because he had an eye for it. Cater’s ability with a camera was exemplary, enough to put professionals to shame in your own opinion and frankly you were more than a little flattered that his favorite subject seemed to be you.

His timeline on MagiCam was full to the bursting of pictures of you, doing everything and anything under the sun, almost all of them candid or taken with only a split second’s notice and yet somehow you looked good in all of them. Not only that, but all the pictures were tagged with flattering words about how amazing you looked and how blessed he was to have you and to be your boyfriend.

Looking at it never failed to make you feel warm inside. MagiCam was a huge part of Cater’s life, and when it came to his content you were front and center. It was like his entire timeline was a testament, his own unspoken way of showing his devotion to you more eloquent than any words could ever be. After all if a picture was worth a thousand words than Cater had written entire epochs on how much he adored you.

“Alright all uploaded!” he cheered, pulling you from your fond thoughts and twirling you around in his arms with a bright laugh, “Now that, that’s done we should probably go check up on the A-Deuce combo. They’re supposed to be painting the roses, but knowing the two of them…”

You laughed in agreement and let him drag you off to go check on Heartslabyul’s two most troublesome first years, feeling immensely fond of your boyfriend.

Later when you were scrolling through your own social media you weren’t surprised to find the picture of the two of you from earlier beaming smiles at the camera, tagged with mushy cute things like #loveofmylife, #smilebabe, #aren’twecute?. However the picture of you kissing his cheek was missing.

You fully intended to ask him about it the next day, right up until you caught sight of his phone again. The picture was there both in his background and as his lock screen staring you in the face. You honestly couldn’t do anything in the face of that besides melt and give your sweet boyfriend an affectionate kiss, feeling completely and utterly adored.

He Tells You (And Only You)

Cater was the kind of guy who flirted with everyone, so at times it could be hard to take his words seriously. Compliments like beautiful, wonderful, and precious were a dime a dozen, and not limited to just you either. His whole personality seemed to be exuberant, extroverted and friendly, the kind of guy who had friends everywhere because he had no trouble making friends. He felt almost unreal with how perfect he was.

There were times, especially at the beginning of your relationship that it had made you incredibly insecure. Cater was popular, both through MagiCam and just in general, and you had no idea why he’d want to be with you of all people when it seemed like he could have anyone he wanted. In the face of your worries his words almost felt insincere, shallow and hollow, as if he didn’t really mean them because he said them to everyone he met.

However, the longer you were with him the more you realized something incredibly important. Despite the compliments that fell from his lips at the drop of a hat Cater never, ever used the word love. Sure there was an implication of love, as he said things like “I adore this’ or ‘I’m wild about that’. He said ‘I’m captivated’ or ‘I’m infatuated’ or ‘I’m enthralled’ but never ever ‘I’m in love.’

It was like the words were anathema to him, almost as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it at all. It was then you realized, slowly but surely that a lot of the face he showed to the world was a carefully crafted mask. Just as you’d suspected no one could be quite that perfect, happy and friendly all the time.

Cater got frustrated, anxious and annoyed just as anyone else did, he was just much better at hiding it. There was also a pretty vicious side to him, one that could hurl lethal insults wrapped in so many honeyed words that only those who were looking for it or really paying attention to him noticed.

Funnily enough this actually made you relax. It humanized him, and made him seem more relatable rather than the near perfect being he’d seemed before. Once you realized how much he was hiding you carefully did your best be worthy of his trust, so he could have a safe place to rest. After all keeping up a cheerful mask at all times sounded utterly exhausting to you no matter how good he was at it.

Slowly but surely, he’d begun to let his walls down, coming to you when he had a rough day, sitting in silence with you, cuddling with you, enjoying quiet little moments that you once would’ve thought he’d hate. Instead Cater seemed to relish these stolen moments with you, and as you began to truly see each other for who you were rather than the face you both showed the world you finally got to hear it.

Love. A word he admitted he hadn’t quite believed in and so had never bothered to say. A word he felt was trite and meaningless because of how often it was said over every little thing. A word you’d managed to change his mind about, one that was special and intimate and meant only for the two of you.

“I love you,” you murmured to your boyfriend as the two of you lay cuddled together on his bed, curled up and quietly watching movies together on his laptop. It was something you didn’t say nearly as often these days, as you’d slowly adapted to Cater’s way of thinking that saying it about too many things cheapened the meaning in a lot of ways.

“I love you too,” he assured you, equally quiet, his normal exuberance set aside in placed of utmost sincerity, the words so real and rare on his tongue that you had no choice but to believe them.

He’d only ever said them to you, only ever planned to say them to you, a word that was meant for you and you alone, a little piece of his heart with your name stamped clearly in ownership. It was a privilege you savored and treated with the utmost care, it was the very least you could do to prove your own affections for your boyfriend who cared so very much.

He Makes Things For You

“How do I look?” you asked your boyfriend shyly as you emerged from the dressing room.

Normally trying on clothes with Cater was a lot of fun. Even if you didn’t enjoy shopping all that much Cater made it into an experience. He had an extremely good eye for what would look good on someone and what wouldn’t. and put a lot of interesting things together. He was also perceptive enough to know what would make you uncomfortable and what wouldn’t, and work within your comfort zone.

It made him the idea shopping partner, and lots of fun, especially since he was more than happy to try on anything you asked for him as well. Honestly it was a bit unfair just how good Cater looked in pretty much everything. There were a few times you’d purposefully tried to pick silly things and yet, whether it was sheer force of personality or because he was simply that handsome he always seemed to look good. Still it was fun to try, and the two of you always had a good time together, laughing and teasing joyfully, and you almost never left empty handed.

This however was different. Cater had always had an eye for fashion, and had occasionally dabbled in making his own clothing. However, he’d never really taken it all too seriously before, despite the fact that perfectionist Riddle recognized his talent and had let him design the outfits for when they had to dress up for unbirthday parties.

Despite that, it had never occurred to you that Cater might want to try designing something for you. However he’d apparently wanted to do just that, as he’d shyly approached you with the suggestion when you’d complimented some of his work. That in itself had let you know how very important this was to him. Cater was never shy, so the fact that he’d been so hesitant to ask said a lot.

Which was of course why you’d agreed without a moment’s hesitation. Honestly even if he hadn’t been so shy about it you would’ve said yes. Cater knew your style inside and out and you trusted him more than words could say.

Your trust turned out to be well founded, and the outfit he’d made for you was utter perfection. It was done in colors that flattered your skin, eyes and hair, and had a cut that flattered your figure. You weren’t sure you’d ever felt so simultaneously beautiful and comfortable before. You absolutely loved it, you just hoped Cater loved it too.

“You look beautiful,” Cater told you, quick on the mark as ever with a compliment as he hopped up from the couch he’d been waiting on, “But then again you always do.”

You huffed at that, but didn’t protest as he circled around you, holding still so he could view you from all angles.

“Do you like it?” he asked, once he reached your front again, uncharacteristically shy again.

“Cater are you kidding I love it!” you told him fiercely, not willing to let any sort of insecurity stand.

“Pretty sure you’d have to say that even if it was ugly babe,” Cater told you a little wryly.

“I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings,” you conceded, unwilling to lie, especially when you knew how much Cater valued honesty, but also unwilling to back down, “But in this case I’m definitely not exaggerating! Have you seen me?!”

You twirled in front of him arms spread for emphasis, “I look amazing! I feel amazing which, as you’ve told me, is just as if not more important! If you don’t believe me we can march right over to Pomefiore and get Vil. I’m sure you’d believe him!”

“No need for that,” Cater told you with a huff of amusement, his eyes warm and full of affection as he gently tugged you to him, his warm hands clasping your elbows as he peered into your eyes, “You really do like it babe?”

“I really, really do,” you answered him, with all the sincerity you could muster, “So much so I might just have to wear it every day. I’m not sure my other clothes could ever compare.”

“No need to go that far,” he insisted, though the bright look in his eyes belied the words, “I can always make you more.”

“So long as it doesn’t put you out,” you replied, “I’d love to wear your clothes Cater, anywhere anytime.”

Your boyfriend gave you one of his rare soft smiles, tugging you into his arms and just holding you, clearly grateful for what you’d said. You hugged back, quietly scheming to yourself determined to help Cater realize how talented he was. He deserved it, but in the mean time you would simply savor how much he clearly loved and trusted you, letting you be his first real model. You really couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend than Cater Diamond and you were now even more determined to make sure he knew just how much you adored him in return.

Like this or my writing in general? Feel free to drop by my ask box to make requests! Just make sure to read the rules first! Want to support me or make a commission? Please see my Ko-fi!

[theonewiththefanfics]

Give You Hell (one-shot)

Synopsis: When you’re in a relationship with someone famous while being famous it can be difficult. But not for the Reader and Harry, yet when her past comes knocking, she’ll make sure to know where she stands.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, some minor angst, like microscopic 

Warnings: swearing, reference to past abusive relationship, but nothing explicit.

Word count: 3428

100% inspired by ‘All American Rejects’’ ‘Gives You Hell’

Dating someone famous while being famous yourself had pros and cons, much like everything in life. The cons mostly came from the outside, not from the inside. It was the opinions of others, thinking what they said mattered, the scrutiny of the press, hoping one of them would mess up, and they could run some bullshit article just so their numbers could go up, without a second thought of how the people involved felt, and it was some jealous fans who didn’t seem to comprehend the people they admired were actual human beings with feelings and thoughts and emotions and autonomy. But other than that, Y/N’s and Harry’s relationship was just like any other. Save for when their emotions bubbled over, millions of people heard them in songs.        They’d met at the iconic yellow-suit-Harry Brit awards. She’d been right next to Hugh Jackman opening the show, a red glittering bodysuit with a black and gold ring-master jacket, a top hat adorning her head as she dominated the stage. If Harry had been sloshed at that point (much like he was later on, but who was Y/N to say, given how most of the night was a blur for her), he would’ve absolutely started drooling at the sight of her, and he was one of the thousands who stood up, hollering and clapping as she and Hugh ended their performance.

       Much to his dismay though, Y/N wasn’t one of the people assigned to sit by his table, instead, she was a couple of rows behind, whispering something into Billie Eilish’s ear, the two erupting into uncontrollable laughter.        He felt like a creep as he tried to catch every possible glimpse of Y/N, her smile making his heart race. She’d been on his radar for a while, had even thought about asking her to collaborate on a song for ‘Fine Line’, but at the end of the day, it was an album of personal discovery (and when one of his producers told him Y/N was halfway across the world in the middle of Norwegian woods for the next half-year working on her own music, he didn’t want to be a bother). But seeing her then, Harry wondered why he hadn’t reached out on his own, especially after at the after-party Lizzo had dragged Y/N to him and introduced the two.        The following day, pictures of them dancing together, drinks in hands and drunken grins on their faces would sweep the web, sparking millions of rumours, but, at that moment, they didn’t care, nor did they care about what was written because as Harry twirled Y/N under his arm, as much as the connection was there, that night they went their separate ways. Even when they were drunk, they understood that about the other person, and wouldn’t accept anything else, but a sober and coherent ‘yes’.        Sometime midday the next day, Harry reached out to Y/N through a DM on Instagram checking in on how she was doing, which then turned into a six-hour FaceTime call.        “What do you mean you’ve never had a hangover?!”        Y/N laughed at Harry’s almost offended expression. “I mean I’ve never had a hangover. I’ve never thrown up while drunk or after being drunk, my head’s never hurt – nothing. I mean I’m tired, but that’s because I’m still on New York time and got to bed at like five AM.”        “You… are something else.”        She wiggled her eyebrows. “Is that something else something good?”        Y/N didn’t know, but when Harry saw her eyes sparkle, his heart skipped a beat, and he immediately knew – she was it. “The best.”        “Well…” she bit her lip. “If I’m the best, would it be too forward of me to ask you out for a coffee?”        What Harry didn’t know was that when she saw him smile as if those were the best news in the world, her heart skipped as well, and she knew he was the one.        “Only if it’s my treat.”        “But I was the one who asked you out.”        “Yes, but you can pay for the second date.”        Holding in her squeals of joy was tough, but she raised her eyebrow, giving Harry a sly smirk. “Already so confident there’ll be a second date?”        Harry scoffed. “And a wedding!”        Seeing Y/N throw back her head as she laughed, made all sorts of butterflies fly through his stomach.        “Okay, Styles. I’ll take your word for it.”        Three months into the relationship, the two were booked to appear on The Graham Norton show together, which was also the first time they’d appear officially as a couple at a work/outing kind of a setting since the rumours started floating, and a picture of Harry kissing Y/N outside of a hotel room had sort of confirmed that.        “So, you two.” Graham pointed between Y/N and Harry with his cards. “Have started to date? Not to say anything Harry, but Y/N… I didn’t think boy-bands were your type.”        That made her lean over in laughter as Harry gave everyone a shocked face, before slumping back and pouting, nudging Y/N with his knee. “That’s not funny.”        “I mean it kind of is.”        “She was twelve when she swore off boy-bands.” Graham nodded, taking a sip of his wine. “Isn’t that what you said last time you were here?”        “Hey, it’s been ten years since I said that!” Y/N laughed. “Cut me some slack. All the people I was crushing on are married anyway… with kids… and could probably be my dads… I have issues, don’t I?”        Everyone exploded into giggles while Harry shook his head, chuckling.        “Love you with all of your issues.” He nudged her shoulder, and she nudged right back, taking a sip of her drink.        “Yeah, give it a couple of months. You’ll regret your words.”        The thing was Y/N was so wrong, and she’d never been happier to be so wrong. Each morning they were together, Harry woke up to her showering him with kisses or vice versa. As private as Harry was, his Instagram stories were now filled with pictures and small videos of them, of Y/N’s face half-covered by a blanket, glasses crooked as she smushed her cheek to his chest and watched a movie, or her eating breakfast while re-watching old Bones and Castle episodes with captions like ‘dunno how she keeps the food down’ and ‘she swears it’s just for research’, while her feed was full of candid Harry photos or her rummaging through his closet and showing everyone his immaculate style, and giving tips how others can recreate it (also she may or may not just use that as a reason to steal his clothes).        Generally, people loved it, and their love for one another. It was refreshing to see them enjoy each other’s company, and not be afraid to do so, especially now, given how it was a couple of days before Y/N ended her tour in New York in Madison Square Garden, to which Harry had specifically flown out for despite being in the middle of filming for ‘The Little Mermaid’. Three AM blinked on the clock, as the two finally drifted off to sleep after five hours of a passionate reunion when her phone dinged, indicating a message had arrived.        “Turn it off,” Harry grumbled into the skin of Y/N’s back. “’S too early.”        She hummed in agreement, furrowing her brows as her palm blindly searched for the offending device, and she squinted her eyes as the light burned her retinas before widening in shock at the message.        Harry felt her body go rigid, and he pressed a kiss to her neck. “Everythin’ alright, lovie?”        “Uh – “ she stuttered, trying to process the words on the screen. “Uh, yeah. Yes, everything’s fine. Just… some last-minute changes for the show. They want something really big for the ending, and some of the propositions are just…”        She could feel a smile stretch across Harry’s mouth. “Extravagant?”        “You could say that, yeah.”        “Sounds like it’s gonna be one hell of a show. Not that the others weren’t.”        Y/N switched the phone off wiping away the message first and then turned to cuddle into Harry’s chest. “It most certainly will.”        For the next two days, she was an anxious ball of mess, as her crew got everything ready, and her and her band rehearsed relentlessly before she asked all of them to gather at the studio to add a song to the setlist.        “It’s gonna be a couple more hours, Hazza,” Y/N murmured into the phone as Harry had called in to check on her. “ ‘M sorry. You don’t have to wait up for me. I know you’re still adjusting to New York time.”        “ ‘S alright,” he slurred, clearly already falling asleep but determined not to. “Can’t sleep without you anyway.”        At those words, Y/N’s heart did that stupid flipping thing it’d been doing ever since Harry entered her life to stay, and a shy grin blossomed on her lips. “You’re exhausted, sweetheart. But I’ll tell you what - if you do go to bed, I’ll be sure to wake you up with a kiss when I get back.”        “You promise?” She could hear the smile on his face.        “Swear it.”        “Alright, lovie. I’ll be waiting to cash in on that kiss.”        “I’ll run to give it to you as soon as I can. G’night.”        “See ya’ in a bit.”        Y/N let out a shudder as she heard the call disconnect. She entered back inside the studio and clapped her hands, drawing the attention of her producers and band members. “Where were we?”

***

       The hour before a show was always nerve-wracking for Y/N. It’s when the adrenaline truly started to rush, when her feet and palms got all tingly, and her ears and cheeks heated up. It was when their warm-up band exploded on stage, and the crowd got pumped up. But the best moment that night by far was right when she was about to run out, Harry had pulled her back by the wrist and kissed the living daylights out of her.        “You’re gonna kill it tonight,” he muttered against her lips, words skimming her mouth and making her smile as bright as the sun. She seemed to do that a lot around him. It’s why he now dedicated Golden to her every time he sang it.        “Thank you. For being here.”        Harry flicked her nose. “Always. Now go. People are waiting.”        When Y/N finally appeared on stage, pretty much glowing as brightly as the stage lights, her fans went wild, and even more so when she jumped, starting off the show. The whole time, her gaze flitted to backstage just to get a glimpse of Harry, and whenever she did, she saw him dancing, singing along, filming her having fun and some clips of himself as well, going absolutely ham to her songs.        As the night was moving towards the end, usually, she’d feel euphoria from giving a great performance, after hearing thousands of people sing her songs in unison, now Y/N felt closer to throwing up and fainting.        “So uh…” She pushed back strands of sweaty hair, hollers of people echoing in her head. “This is a very special show tonight. Umm… this is the first concert my boyfriend’s come t - .” She didn’t even get to finish the sentence before the cheers of the people interrupted her, deafening the girl even with the earplugs.        “But umm… it’s also a special show because two days ago someone reached out to me, and uh… he… well, he was as important of a person once the same way Harry is right now, and he wrote this.”        Y/N went over to where the piano chair was, lifted it and fished out her phone from it, revealing the message that’d been basically haunting her nights and days since receiving it.        “Breaking up with you was the biggest mistake I ever made.” To her own surprise, her voice was steady and sure, unlike her hands which were trembling like leaves in a storm. “I know you look happy and in love, but I know it’s not true. I’ve known you for five years, I know how to see through the mask you put on every day just to make sure others are happy while you yourself suffer an inauthentic life. But you do deserve to be happy. And I’ll be waiting for you if you decide to give us a chance again. I’ll be at your concert in Madison Square.” She looked out into the crowd. “You wrote a song once for me. If you sing it, that’s how I’ll know you feel the same.”        By the time she got to the end, there were no more shouts or screams, but confused murmurs. Y/N let out a shuddering breath, hoping that she could manage to do what she wanted, and everything didn’t fall apart. “The thing is, I’d like for Harry to come on stage, please.”        She could see the fear in his eyes as he jogged to stand next to her, but he disguised it with an overenthusiastic smile as he waved over towards the raging sea of people. He’d seen the message, had seen her reread it more than fifty times by that point, and as sure as he was in their relationship, when someone who held such importance, no matter if good or not, in someone’s life came knocking again, you could never be too sure what would happen. Harry didn’t want to say anything, believing if it was important enough, she’d tell him. Guess that was it.        “So, uh…” Y/N pulled Harry’s arms over her shoulders and grasped onto them, grounding them both. “This is for you.” Y/N looked over into the crowd before glancing over her shoulder, Y/E/C eyes meeting Harry’s wavering green ones. “And you,” she whispered so that only he could hear. “Hope you know I mean everything.”        As the cords started playing, she felt Harry unwarp his arms from where she’d been holding them over her shoulders and a smile erupted on her face.        “I wake up every evening,” Y/N sang, “with a big smile on my face, and it never feels out of place.”        “And you’re still probably workin’,” Harry’s voice joined in, grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s, as he now had a microphone in hand, the other placing earplugs in his own ears, “at a nine-to-five pace… I wonder how bad that tastes.”        “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell,” the two harmonized, Y/N’s eyes locked onto the masses, imagining the face of her ex-boyfriend who had the audacity to send that message.        “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell.” Harry was looking at the crowd as well, now fully understanding the message and the person behind it, and although he lived by ‘treat people with kindness’, he couldn’t help but gloat at the fact he got to sing with the love of his life on stage, and basically serenade a break-up song to a person who didn’t know how to appreciate what he’d had.        Y/N cocked her head to the side. “Now, where’s your picket fence, love, and where’s that shiny car? It didn’t ever get you far. You’ve never seemed so tense, love. I’ve never seen you fall so hard. Do you know where you are?” It was hard not to smile, knowing where she was and who she was with. Harry threw an arm over Y/N’s shoulders as she sang, giving a mock sad look, while Harry pouted. “And truth be told, I miss you… And truth be told, I’m lying!”        “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well.” Y/N pointed towards where she imagined her ex was standing. “Then she’s the fool, you’re just as well, hope it gives you hell! Hope it gives you hell!” For a split second, the music slowed down, guitar strumming in the air, as Harry pulled Y/N by the palm and towards his chest.        When the next lyrics came out of his mouth, he knew them to be true as he sang them to the man, he’d heard Y/N talk about, to the man who thought everything he’d done to her, every horrible word and deed was justified, to the man who thought breaking someone else down was the only way to bring themselves up. “Now tomorrow you’ll be thinking to yourself, where did it all go wrong, but the list goes on and on.”        “And truth be told, she misses you,” Harry hummed, Y/N letting out a large laugh, holding onto his bicep, as he slightly changed the lyrics. “And truth be told, she’s lying! When you see her face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you walk her way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!  When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well.” Harry sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “Then she’s the fool you’re just as well hope it gives you hell.”        “Now you’ll never see,” Y/N took over the song. “What you’ve done to me.” She placed a hand over her heart. “You can take back your memories, they’re no good to me. And here’s all your lies, you can look me in the eyes, with that sad, sad look that you wear so well.” She dragged her finger down her cheek, giving a pout while Harry mimicked her stance before turning the mic to the audience.        “When you see my face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell,” the crowd sang back with such vigour, Y/N was sure the whole ground was shaking just from their voices, and the clapping and stomping to the drum rhythm would bring the whole world down. “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well, then she’s the fool you’re just as well, hope it gives you hell!”        The two were jumping around the stage like madmen, adrenaline filling their veins. “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!” “Hope it gives you hell!” Everyone else repeated.        “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!” “Hope it gives you hell!”        “When you sing this song and sing along, well you’ll never tell. Then you’re the fool, I’m just as well, hope it gives you hell!” Y/N grinned once more, placing her hand over her heart, meaning every word – she was just as well. She had amazing friends, a career that’d flourished, and a person who loved her more than words could describe.        “When you hear this song, I hope that it will give you hell!” Harry crooned down the mic, knowing their happiness would, Y/N’s happiness would give him hell. And he enjoyed it, knowing how good her life was.        “You can sing along I hope that it puts you through hell!” Her voice became the only sound as the last word echoed around everyone, her chest heaving up and down from the exertion, from all of the emotions running through her body as well as the overwhelming feeling of not only having Harry watch her perform but to end up performing with him.        When his hands wrapped around her body, it startled her out from the daze, and the popping confetti startled her even more, as the rest of her band joined the two to take their bows, grins on all of their faces while they did so.        “Not the song you thought I’d sing, is it?” Y/N laughed into the mic, Harry’s arms tightening around her waist. “There’s a reason I blocked your number, let alone you from my life. Don’t think I won’t do it again.”        “But I would like to say thank you, to the asshole in question,” Harry said, making Y/N’s forehead scrunched up. “You let go of the best person ever; you had the honour of calling yourself her boyfriend, but instead, you chose to walk away. So, thank you for that. Because now I’ll have that honour and pleasure for the rest of our lives.”        Yeah. It was one hell of a show.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog​ @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: I love ‘All American Rejects’ and have been listening to ‘Gives You Hell’ non stop. It’s the best break-up song ever, and you won’t convince me otherwise. 

P.S. my tags are always open :)

P.S.S. please don’t repost my work on other platforms without my explicit written permission. reblogs are fine :)

[legends-live-in-memories]

Picture Perfect

AYO! its me back with more content for the second time this week while i ignore my other wips again. this is a lil gift for @queen-o-leen who i promised wholesome content for! I hope you like it!

Timinette/Timari Oneshot 1.9K words (not related to my other timari oneshots)

Summary:

“Tim spends a nice day in a park in Paris and takes a picture of a pretty girl.

He somehow gets an almost date out of it.”

no warnings this time. completely family-friendly. I know i surprise myself with this one too.

without further ado

He would be the last to admit that Jason was right and that time away was what he needed at this point in life but it can’t be ignored that, for the first time in possibly three years, Tim was having a wonderful day. He was having a wonderful week actually. After one too many unsuccessful cold cases and the simmering anxiety of off-world missions, his family, primarily Jason, for some reason, demanded that he take some time off and away from his unusual brand of normal. How that meant being sent across the Atlantic Ocean to Paris of all places, he wasn’t entirely sure. Alfred probably had a hand in that decision given that, as part of his forced vacation, Tim was not allowed to actually plan any of it. Him. Timothy Jackson Drake. The guy who stalked and manoeuvred his way into Batman’s house and team. The guy who tracked and found said man when the universe thought he was dead but was actually drifting through time. Yeah, Tim was not pleased about being led blind on his vacation. 

At least Paris was a nice city. And he brought his camera. He figured he could use this time to get back into old hobbies and what better hobby to start up again in the city of love than photography? He’s taken pictures of every tourist attraction worth visiting by his second day and began to take candid shots of people and animals. Would Damian like the animal pictures? Maybe, if they came from someone who wasn’t Tim. Is he going to try and give them to him anyways? Absolutely not. He liked his liver where it is, thank you very much. They would serve as great bribing material however. But that’s a thought for another day. 

Right now he was working on capturing what could possibly be described as the stereotypical outing with friends. He’s sitting along some bushes near the entrance of a park and staring at a group of teens his own age hanging around. He spots a brunette with thick curls of hair animatedly speaking with a guy in a vibrant cap. She’s waving a camera herself, and he appreciates her taste in equipment. Her eyes spark with fox-like mischief while the cap guy has a peaceful aura about him; like an old turtle. Next he sees a blonde, her hair is in a ridiculously high ponytail and she’s in a deep conversation with a red head off to the side of the whole group; her words are rushing out of her and she’s a buzzing bee with excitement. Another blond is in the area, but he sits in a broad patch of sun possibly napping with an open book on his chest. Very cat-like Tim supposes. He barely pays them more than a second of thought however. No. 

His focus is on the quaint beauty directly in his line of sight. She’s poised up against the giant tree trunk with a sketchbook in her lap and pencils surrounding her. Her hair hangs by her shoulders in twintails and it’s a colour so dark it seems to absorb the shade of the tree. She’s scribbling furiously on the page before her and her tongue is slightly peaking out to the side. Her forehead is creased with stress lines and her shoulders hunch slightly over her frame. She’s the vision of deep concentration and dedication and Tim would be a fool not to capture her. He’s gotten wide shots of her companions but now he wants to focus on her. 

Looking through the lens of his camera he zooms in on her profile. When his camera focuses, he spots a constellation of freckles across her cheeks, barely there, almost blending in with her complexion but Tim is nothing if not hypervigilant. He goes to take another photo when a bug flies into view. It’s a ladybug. It lands precariously on the tip of her nose and it’s just the thing that breaks her out of her work-induced trance. Tim is watching her now, long forgetting to click the shutter. Her eyes cross as she stares intently at the black-spotted creature and its presence seems to amuse her. She’s giggling to herself, as if sharing an inside joke with the bug and reaches a slim finger to swipe the insect gently from her nose. She inspects it and smiles a smile so soft that not even a feather could compare. He feels like an intruder. More so than one who takes pictures of cute strangers in public. 

Coming back to his senses, he takes another picture, the final picture, and lowers the camera from his face. He looks back at his temporary muse and finds that she is already looking at him. Her head tilts in confusion. Apprehension. Possibly a bit of fear. Which is valid given that Tim was pointing a camera at her from across the public park. What should he do though to quell her fears? 

He felt his face lift into a grin; he didn’t need to look at himself to know it was awkward and forced. A shrug of his shoulders and a flimsy wave of the camera in his hand was the only thing he did. Before he could begin to stumble over himself in apology, however, she surprised him. With a cautious hunch, her shoulders brought up to her ears, and an embarrassed smile to match his own, she slowly flips her sketchbook around and he comes face to face with, well, his face. It was a portrait of him. She had drawn a portrait of him. And she was showing him. Feeling embolden, he flips his camera to show her the screen but she’s too far away. He gets up on unsteady legs, cramped from his uncomfortable position, and begins a slow stride towards her. She meets him in the middle.

“Hi.” He barely speaks those words. They’re more like an exhale or a sigh of relief that he hadn’t scared her off. 

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind the drawing.” Her voice is high and light. Like a spring breeze. She’s daintily waving at him and he sees that her fingers are rough, and calloused. Unexpected but he finds it rather charming. Before he could get another word in, she’s off like an engine. “I just saw you there, and you had your camera so I figured you were taking pictures of us and thought that if you were then you wouldn’t mind me sketching you in kind but I should have asked and I’m sorry for breaching your privacy—” 

“Wait, slow down.” He fears that if he hadn’t interrupted her when he did she would run out of oxygen. Did she even breathe during her spiel? A voice in his head, that sounds like Cass, utters a soft ‘pot, kettle’ and okay, he sees a lot of himself in her mile-a-minute style of speaking. 

“No need to apologize. I’m flattered, truly. You were right, I was taking pictures of you. And your friends!” he hastily adds that last part. He turns his camera so the display screen faces her and he feels himself hold his breath in anticipation. 

A blush rises to her cheeks, red like the ladybug that interrupted her. He quite likes that colour on her. His eyes drift to the sketch and he’s further impressed by her skill. She has an eye for detail. He notices a bird in the background. It’s a robin. That piques his interest and lights a flicker of fear within him. 

“May I ask,” he begins slowly, unsure of what that little addition could mean. Did she know? How could she? Was his identity compromised?

“Why did you draw a robin in the background? It’s lovely but I’m curious,” he finishes. He’s going to play dumb until he has more information. She seems taken off guard by the question and raises her shoulders to her ears again in an embarrassed hunch.

“Well,” she starts, but she seems unsure and the words die on her tongue. She tries again.

“I just saw it fly by and then it landed behind you. So I thought ‘why not?’ and drew it. It seemed fitting.” She wasn’t looking him in the eye and now he felt kind of felt like a jerk for baselessly accusing some random girl. Of course it was just a coincidence. This bat-paranoia was going to be the end of him one day. It’s by sheer miracles and luck why it hasn’t already. 

“Oh, no worries. It just surprised me because it’s my favourite bird.” Right. Lie to the pretty French girl. But what else could he do? Tell her the truth?

“Then it’s a cool coincidence, huh?” She seems encouraged by that tidbit of information.

“Yeah, pure luck on your part.”

“What?” She seems more startled at that than Tim thinks she should be but before he can think deeper into it she speaks again and he would be a fool to not give her his undivided attention.

“Why did you take a picture of me with the ladybug? If you don’t mind me asking.” That stumps him because, to be honest, he does not know why himself. It just felt right. So he tells her as such.

“Well that would be another coincidence because ladybugs are my favourite insects.” She gives him a full smile alongside that statement and the brilliance of it almost blinds him. He wants to capture that smile for eternity. 

The thought strikes him. He doesn’t want this moment to end. He knows by the Friday of next week he’ll be flying back to Gotham where it’s business as usual and Red Robin won’t have time for commitments and puppy love. But right now? Right now Tim Drake is on vacation with a week and half left and all the time in the world to entertain the idea of a spring romance. Making the decision, he goes for it and takes the chance.

“I was getting a bit hungry. Do you know anywhere that’s good to eat at?” It’s an offer, open to interpretation. If she just lists some place, he knows where her interests lay. If she offers to escort him somewhere, then she’s taken the bait for exactly what it is, an invitation for more; whatever more is. He hopes she takes the bait. 

“Yes I do actually! My parents own a bakery just outside the park.” Her enthusiasm is uplifting and the offer of a place so personal is a good sign in Tim’s book. “Let me show the way, and I could join you if you would like.”

“Perfect. That’s wonderful. It will be my treat since you’re going out of your way on my account.”

“Nonsense. Like I said, it’s my parents’ bakery. They’ll be more than happy to give some complimentary snacks.” She loops her arm around his and begins to drag him to the park gate. She’s strong and her grip is firm and Tim feels lightheaded at the ease with which she pulls him. He can’t help but be swept up in the tides that is this girl. 

“I’m Tim, by the way. Tim Drake.” He offers his name, something he should have done at the beginning.

She looks back at him over her shoulder and he’s caught up in the oceans of her eyes. They’re alight with joy. 

“Nice to meet you, Tim. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” 

“Nice to meet you too.”

They’re almost by the bakery now, he can smell the fresh baked goods from here, and he can’t wait to sit down and get to know this girl better. Maybe get her number by the end of their lunch.

Yeah. Tim was having a wonderful day.

[robinofinashiro]

request from anonymous: I was wondering if you could do a NSFW reinerxreader fic where he gets back from Marley and sees how much the reader has changed (for the better) and falls in love with her all over again (let's just say they had a crush on each other since they were kids) hehehe

request status: CLOSED 

NOTE: i’m so sorry but NSFW reqs are off now. i didn’t feel confident in the writing so i took it off from an option but i hope i gave the rest of the imagine some justice. 

pairing: reiner braun x fem! reader

when signing up for the Marley Warrior Program, you didn’t sign yourself up for it. you felt as though you didn’t have what it took to become a warrior or make it through the training so you didn’t even bother to sign yourself up. 

however, you were a honorary Marleyan through one of your parents. Pieck and Reiner were some of the friends you had when they signed themselves up for the program. Reiner was your closest friend throughout your childhood so when you heard that he was picked to inherit the Armored Titan, you felt a bit bittersweet about it. 

you knew what the implications were when kids chose to be warriors. they only had so many years to live before the titan powers essentially killed them. they would be gone for YEARS at a time and have the possibility of not returning back home. 

the announcement of the warriors finally returning home from Paradis was news ringing throughout the city. the heroic effort from Gabi Braun was the latest thing being talked about as it finally gave all warriors and the candidates a chance to come home. 

“mother, I’ll be back, I’m going to watch everyone welcome them back,” you told her. she nodded, giving you a smile knowing that the only person you wanted to see back was Reiner. 

the adults talked amongst themselves when the two of you were kids about how you two were perfect for each other. you were attached to the hip when he wasn’t with Bertholdt and the day before he left to Paradis was a day you wouldn’t forget. 

the two of you were under a tree, Reiner speaking about how nervous he had became over the course of the last few days. leaving his mom, you, and missing life in general were thoughts running through his head. you had no idea what to do or say considering you weren’t in the position to even give him advice. 

the night was already crawling in when Reiner had offered to walk you back home. you were holding onto his arm a bit tightly as you knew this would be the last time you’d see him for a few years. 

you reached your home, giving Reiner a tight hug before whispering to him that he’d be okay. once you pulled away, you could see conflict inside of Reiner’s head before he grabbed you by the shoulders and basically smashing your lips with his. 

after Reiner pulled away, you couldn’t help but laugh. you knew Reiner was the last person to know anything about kissing anyone. Reiner internally freaked out, thinking what he did was wrong. 

“Reiner, relax,” you whispered before grabbing him by the hand and pulling him towards you. you cupped his cheek softly with your hand and returned the kiss back but a lot more gently. Reiner sighed in relief, letting you take the lead.

once you finally pulled away, you looked at him in the eye seriously. 

“come back to me alive, Reiner.” 

he gulped nervously and nodded before giving you a quick hug and running back towards his home. 

you wore the clothes you thought would be the most eye appealing to Reiner. you hadn’t seen him in years, the two of you fully grown adults by now and you honestly had no idea if Reiner would even care to see you anymore. 

all those years in Paradis must’ve changed him as a person. being surrounded by them probably made him a stonewall and who knew, maybe you were just some after thought to him now. 

you walked to where everyone was meeting the warriors and candidates. you stood next to a couple awaiting their kid as the doors finally opened and you felt your heart started to race seeing everyone sitting in the back of the horses. 

“exciting right?” the woman said happily. you nodded, “waiting for someone in specific?” she asked. 

you nodded, taking the photo of you and Reiner from the back pocket of your skirt. 

“Vice Chief Braun was a close friend of mine from childhood.” 

her eyes nodded seeing the photo, “wow,” was all she managed to say before screams erupted even louder as the horses that held Pieck, Porco, Colt Reiner, Gabi, and a few others finally entered. 

you clapped softly, trying not to draw too much attention to yourself as you laughed at the way Gabi was celebrating for herself. 

Reiner scanned the crowd, hoping to see his mom when his movements came to a halt. his eyes landed on you. he was at a stuck for words. you were beautiful to say the least. you were now a bit taller. grew into your figure a bit more and although he hadn’t spoken to you, a part of his heart ached hoping that within those years he was gone, you hadn’t found someone else. 

Reiner knew it was a bit ridiculous to bank on that hope. he was gone for years and you were at home, probably gaining an education, meeting entirely new people and probably having people fall in love with you left and right but regardless, he still hoped that the feelings you had for him as a kid were still there all these years later. 

you gave yourself a few minutes, deciding not to bother Reiner’s reunion with his mom and his close family. you had went to a nearby food stall for tea to keep yourself occupied.

“hi, can I order one medium tea please?” the man nodded, before turning quickly to make your tea. you tapped on the wood, anxiously waiting for your tea before deciding to see if it was okay to see Reiner, “here ya go,” the man said handing you the cup.

you reached into your bag for the money before you heard someone clear his throat. you turned around, wondering who it was that made that rude noise. 

“I’ll pay for her.” 

the man quickly discarded the charge, telling Reiner it was no charge for you if you were with him. Reiner nodded before the two moved so the next people in line could order. 

“Vice Chief Braun.”

you had no idea what else to say. the two of you remained looking at each other for a while. finally, you let the best of you crawl up and embrace him in one of the tightest hugs you had ever did. 

Reiner sighed, hugging back instantly, accidentally making your tea fall on the ground, spilling everywhere. the tea was your last thought as you hugged Reiner even tighter when you felt a few tears drop onto your button up shirt. 

“I can’t believe you’re finally back,” you whispered to him, “you’ve grown so much Vice Chief Braun.” 

he shook his head no, making you confused. 

“it’s Reiner to you. it’s always been Reiner.” 

you laughed, “of course Reiner,” you giggled. Reiner sighed, feeling a sense of normalcy in your voice and laugh, “I’m glad you still waited all these years for me,” Reiner whispered. 

you looked at him in the eyes, seeing the teary gaze still in his eyes. 

“when I told you to come back alive, that was my promise that I’d wait for you.” 

Reiner nodded, instantly feeling the love he felt for you as kid rush back to you. the idea that you waited all these years for him and promised him and yourself that you wouldn’t bat an eye at another man until he returned was more than Reiner could ask for. 

this time, Reiner cupped your cheek, a bit harsher than he intended and kissed you. you felt yourself yelp at the gesture before relaxing into the kiss. the kiss from back then felt like child’s play in comparison to now. 

this kiss was blood, sweat, and tears in the making. Reiner was a lot more confident now compared to how he was back then as his arms instantly snaked around your waist to deepen it. your arms went around his neck, feeling Reiner’s tongue enter your mouth. 

truth be told, you felt a bit weirded out to be so open with the kiss you were having but eventually, you heard Reiner’s cousin, Gabi scream for him. you pulled away from the kiss, Reiner now a bit sad that it had to be cut off. 

“Reiner, your mom is looking for you! she wants you to know that dinner is going to be ready in an hour!” 

she looked too Reiner before looking to you and smiling. 

“you’re Reiner’s girlfriend, right? I like you!”

you were a bit taken back but nevertheless, you smiled and thanked her as she ran back to her friends and family. 

“you’ll come to dinner, right?” he asked, “I’m not finished with you just yet.” 

you could help but laughed, “of course. I became friends with your mom while you were gone so it shouldn’t be too weird,” you joked as Reiner locked his hand with yours before heading back to your place to reintroduce himself to your mom and siblings.