#One Day i will start making my aus into threads but [[[shrug emoji]]]

[c-optimistic]

Soulmate au?

i.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Kara asks suddenly one day. They’re in Lena’s office, having a rather late lunch, and had lapsed into a rather awkward silence when Kara blurts out her question.

(Mending friendships is slow, tedious work.

But much like all her other goals, Lena doggedly pursues it, determined to see it through.)

“No, I’m a scientist,” Lena laughs, putting her fork down. “Why do you ask? Do you think you found your soulmate?”

She doesn’t know why she asks. She doesn’t want the answer to that. She doesn’t want to hear about Kara’s dating life. Ask her why, and she’d vehemently deny knowing the reason, but the truth is that the thought of Kara with someone else sends poisonous shards through Lena’s chest, twists her all up inside, and leaves her feeling like her world has crashed around her.

(It’s not dramatic at all.)

“What? No!” Kara says to Lena’s ultimate relief. “No, it’s for an article.”

“You’re writing about soulmates?”

“Well, not exactly. There’s this woman here in National City who claims she can find your soulmate.”

“Oh?” Lena says, raising an eyebrow. Kara nods.

“Apparently, she can see the three ‘Marks’ of soulmates.” When Lena just eyes Kara skeptically, Kara grins and shrugs. “I’m serious! She claims there’s the Mark of Pain, the Mark of Skin, and the Mark of String.”

“...right,” Lena says, stretching out the word and smiling when Kara laughs. “So how does it work?”

“Well, I’ve only talked to her on the phone. But she says soulmates are attached in different ways. And she can sense it. Even if we ordinary people can’t. Like, her string theory—”

“—I don’t think that’s what the string theory is, Kara,” Lena interrupts, but Kara’s on a roll.

“I know, I know. But she says she can see it. Red thread, tied from one person to another. Or tattoos on people’s skin that matches in some way, and only she can see.” Kara shrugs. “She has a pretty good Yelp rating. Everyone says she’s gotten it right.”

“That seems more like confirmation bias than anything. And of course she’s making money off this.”

Kara smiles warmly at her, her eyes soft behind the glasses she didn’t technically need. She looks at Lena in a way that makes Lena heart skip a beat or two, that makes her momentarily forget about the past year of difficulty between them. Suddenly, she’s only looking at her best friend, and she’s a little bit in love.

“So you don’t believe in soulmates?” Kara confirms, her smile turning wistful.

“Why? Do you?” She doesn’t know why she asks. She doesn’t really want to know the answer, sure that any response Kara gives will just be a kick to the chest. Another crack in her heart.

She really wishes she hadn’t asked.

“I don’t know,” Kara responds after a short pause, clearly giving it a lot of thought. “But I hope soulmates do exist.” Kara lets out a laugh. “Maybe this woman can lead me to mine.”

(And there it is, that kick to the chest and crack in her heart she expected.)

Lena looks away, pretends to be startled by the time, but even as Kara gathers her things to leave, she secures Lena’s promise to look into this mystical soulmate finder together.

It’s a promise Lena is sure she’s going to regret.

ii. pain

“So, it’s weird that she refuses to see us in person, right?” Lena asks, looking to Alex for some support, which the elder Danvers is only too happy to give. “It’s odd. Why doesn’t she meet us in person?”

Kara shoots them both an impatient look, clearly not impressed with their negativity. “She doesn’t want to be affected by our energies while she’s working,” she explains, checking her phone before looking up and making sure they are at the right place.

“Our energies?” Alex asks dubiously, making a face at Lena behind Kara’s back. She times it poorly; before she can school her features into a neutral expression, Kara has turned to look at them again, her eyes narrowing.

“Being skeptical and being dismissive are two very different things,” Kara scolds them, sounding just a bit testy. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping an open mind, even about things you don’t or can’t understand.”

Alex opens her mouth, clearly about to start a debate, but Lena butts in, silencing Alex with a hand on her shoulder and giving Kara a small, placating smile. “You’re right, we’re sorry. We’ll behave,” she says, squeezing Alex’s shoulder until she lets out a grunt in the affirmative. When Kara is seemingly satisfied, nodding at them briskly, she continues leading them down the street, eyes on the storefronts. Alex, however, elbowed Lena hard the second Kara’s back was turned.

“What’s wrong with you?” she hisses, elbowing Lena again. “We’ll behave?”

“She’s right, there’s plenty we don’t understand, plenty out there in the universe we can’t make sense of, so maybe keeping an open mind isn’t the worst thing—”

“—oh, shut up, you know very well you’re only taking her side for one reason, and—”

“I can hear you two, you know,” Kara says loudly, interrupting their hushed argument. “Also, we’re here.”

She stops and looks up at the rundown tea shop, nestled between an old record store that had clearly seen better days, and a very busy video game and comic book store. Lena tugs on her coat when a few kids eye her as they enter the store, ducking their heads together and beginning to whisper.

“All right, well explain where here is,” Alex says, stepping closer to her sister. “You haven’t actually explained anything.”

Kara nods, gesturing for them to enter the tea shop, the three of them finding an empty table and huddling around it, perching on tiny, uncomfortable chairs. The tea shop is, for the most part, a place Lena would never have entered on her own volition. It’s frilly and pink, photos of cats everywhere, with sticky tables and stifling heat. Yet, there’s also an odd comfort to the place: it smells heavenly, the aroma of freshly brewed tea mixing with a variety of sweets, all neatly arranged at the display next to the register. The customers also look like they’re at home, nestled in corners reading books, tapping away on computers, and even on what looks to be a very engaging date.

It’s nice. Even if she’s skeptical of the reason they came here, she’s glad she’s come across this place. She thinks she may even come by again, especially if their tea is any good.

“So apparently, there are two people who work here who are soulmates,” Kara explains, motioning for Alex and Lena to lean towards her. Lena finds herself swallowing a little when the aroma of the tea shop is mixed with Kara’s heavenly scent. Her mind goes a little fuzzy, and she knows she has a silly expression on her face because Alex is smirking at her. Kara, of course, focused on work and on her explanation, notices nothing. “They have the Mark of Pain. We’re here to observe, see if they actually can feel each other’s pain.”

“I don’t know if I’d like that one,” Alex says conversationally, leaning back in her rickety chair and eyeing the register and the zoned-out employee behind it. “I mean, can you imagine? In my line of work? Kelly would always be in pain.”

“You think Kelly is your soulmate?” Lena asks, a little surprised by the easy way Alex has said it. Like it’s a fact. Like it’s just true. “What about Maggie? How do you know?”

“Who says you have to have one soulmate?” Alex shoots back, shrugging. “Kara’s my soulmate too. Platonically, of course. You, even.” She grins when Lena’s eyes widen, when she opens and closes her mouth wordlessly, confused and overwhelmed and unsure. “What? Just because I don’t believe in this mystic lady doesn’t mean I don’t believe in the concept of soulmates. But who says it has to be romantic? Or that it’s just one person?”

“So what is it?”

“People in your life who enter it and just...stay. Your found family. Chosen family.” She looks away from the employee at the register and smiles at Kara. “Kara agrees. Right?”

Kara, who has pulled out her notebook and has taken a few notes down about the employee at the register, nods distractedly. “We were drunk when we came up with this,” she explains, meeting Lena’s eyes and blushing slightly for whatever reason. “But it just seems—well, it seems silly to think that in the entire universe there’s one person who’d be your perfect partner. That’s also really sad,” she mumbles. “If that were true, who’s to say my soulmate didn’t die with Krypton?” She shrugs awkwardly. “I think sometimes people are just connected. Meant to be in each other’s life. In whatever form that may be.” Kara looks at Lena carefully, her mouth opening and her cheeks reddening further. “Like—” But Lena doesn’t get to hear what Kara wants to say. At that moment, another employee comes in from the back entrance, looking slightly distracted, eyes on the employee behind the register.

“Look,” Alex says suddenly, sitting up straighter as the employee walks by, bumping into a table roughly. “Whoa,” she says, and Lena silently agrees.

Because just as the employee mumbles a curse and rubs their side, blushing furiously and looking embarrassed, the zoned-out employee at the register winces in pain, rubbing that same spot.

A point, Lena thinks, in the strange mystic woman’s favor.

iii. skin

Lena begins researching the strange mystic woman in earnest.

(In her free time, far away from Kara’s eyes or Alex’s judgment.)

Everything about her is frustratingly perfect—perfect enough that Lena is suspicious. The woman’s website is well-made and professional, littered with testimonials and photos of weddings. There are a range of services with a range of prices, and no matter how much Lena digs, she doesn’t see a single bad thing about the woman.

It’s the internet, she thinks as she scrolls through Google reviews, grimacing at the emojis that filled each comment. Surely someone, somewhere would use the anonymity to their advantage to say something less than complimentary.

No one is perfect, Lena thinks to herself. Which means one of two things: this woman is a fraud (more likely) or she has some sort of ability to force people to write nice things about her on the internet (Lena’s had a few drinks when this becomes a plausible option to her).

She doesn’t remember dialing the number on the website, but the next thing she knows, someone with an airy voice is on the other end, asking her if she’s ready to meet her soulmate.

“You’re a fraud, did you know that?” Lena asks. “It’s cruel what you’re doing, really. Telling people there’s someone perfect out there who loves them for them. That’s unkind.”

“Oh, Lena!” the woman says, the airy tone dropping for a moment. “I mean,” she continues, the affectation back, “I’ve been expecting a call from you, Lena Luthor.”

“Oh, have you? Can you see the future as well as the red string connecting people?”

The woman chuckles, and she sounds vaguely familiar. Lena’s drunk mind chalks it up to being drunk. “I can’t see the future,” she says, sounding amused. “I just knew you would contact me after Kara Danvers began her article on my business.”

“Oh?” Lena mutters sarcastically.

“The answer to your question is yes,” she says, and Lena chokes on nothing.

“I didn’t ask a question. The ‘oh’ was rhetorical.”

“No, Lena Luthor, the question you called me to ask. I’ll give it to you, free of charge: yes.”

“I don’t have a question,” Lena denies, not liking the way the woman on the other end of the phone laughs. “Is this how you tricked the others? Tell them what they want to hear, and they write you obnoxiously positive reviews?”

“So you admit it’s what you wanted to hear,” the woman shoots back with glee, that stupid tone gone, and for the second time, Lena swears she knows this voice. “I mean,” she clears her throat, “I haven’t tricked anyone. I just tell people what I see. Didn’t you see the truth at the tea shop?”

“I think there’s a perfectly logical explanation for that,” Lena argues. “Phantom pains, an old bruise, sympathetic—”

“—okay, you’re skeptical,” the woman interrupts, “I understand. What if I show you a second example?”

Lena thinks about it for a moment. “Fine. But on my terms. I want you to find Jess’s soulmate.” She’s just drunk enough that this seems like a wonderful idea. On the other end of the phone, the woman sounds like she’s hacking up a lung.

“Your secretary?” she asks incredulously, once again sounding familiar.

“How did you—”

“—okay, I will do this,” the woman interrupts, rushing to speak. “In two days, you will be able to see her Mark as well as the Mark of her soulmate, just like I do.”

“That makes no sense, what are you—” But she never finishes her sentence. The woman hangs up, leaving Lena looking at her phone, trying to blink away her shock.

By the time she wakes up the following morning, groaning at her hangover and nearly telling Kara she loves her when the reporter shows up to her apartment with coffee and pastries, Lena���s forgotten all about the call.

///

Jess lingers every time she steps into Lena’s office. She eyes Lena oddly, stares at her hands, and shifts awkwardly on her feet. After the third time, Lena rolls her eyes, sets her pen down, and gives Jess her full attention.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No!” Jess says immediately, then grimaces. “Well, yes. But nothing bad. Not really.” Lena waits her out, knowing Jess will get to the point eventually. “My partner and I, well, we had plans this weekend. We’re supposed to leave straight from work, so I was—”

“—oh, right. Your time off. Yes, of course, feel free to leave early.” She picks up her pen, thinking this is the end of the conversation.

“Um, actually Ms. Luthor, I was wondering if you’d be willing to meet him.”

“Meet who?” Lena asks distractedly.

“My partner.” Something must show on Lena’s face when she drops her pen a second time and looks up at Jess, because she hurries to explain. “He’s a huge fan of your work. And he’s a big part of my life. I’d like you to meet him. If you can.” She tacks on the last three words almost as an afterthought, not quite meeting Lena’s eyes.

“Yes, of course. We can—”

“—wonderful, he’s right outside,” Jess says, smiling wide, rushing out of Lena’s office. A moment later, she returns, a tall, charming looking man following close behind.

She introduces them, and for the next hour, they chat amicably, discussing Lena’s work and Jess’s exceptionalism, and the weekend getaway plans. Except, Lena’s not quite sure she retains any of the information she gleans from the conversation—in fact, if you asked her, she couldn’t even remember if Jess had ever mentioned where she and her partner were even going.

Because when Jess’s partner reaches out to shake Lena’s hand, his sleeve rides up just slightly, revealing a small tattoo with Jess’s name on the inside of his wrist.

Lena doesn’t need to see a similar tattoo, with Jess’s partner’s name, on the inside of Jess’s wrist for her to realize what she’s come across.

“Those tattoos are quite nice,” Lena says when they get up to leave, Jess’s partner leaving her office first. “The artist who did them is quite talented.”

Jess gives Lena an odd look. “I’m sorry, Ms. Luthor,” she says, “what tattoo?”

Lena gestures to Jess’s wrist, but when she looks down, the mark is gone.

And that is a second point in the mystic woman’s favor.

iv. string

Lena absolutely, positively, without a single shred of doubt, does not believe in soulmates. The concept is ludicrous. To think that in a massive and constantly expanding universe, the atoms that make her are somehow destined to be near the atoms that make up someone else is an entirely ridiculous conclusion. She does not believe in the concept of a perfect partner, of someone she is meant to be with, of an individual to whom she is forever connected.

(And to be quite frank, there’s a bit of fear too. She doesn’t want soulmates to exist. For one, she’s worried about the prospect that the universe would pay back her family’s misdeeds by forever ensuring Lena does not have a soulmate. And for another, the far more terrifying option, she does have a soulmate, and that poor soul is bound to her of all people.

What an awful, horrible fate—nothing she’d wish on her worst enemy, least of all the person she’s supposedly destined to be with.)

Lena does not believe in soulmates. She doesn’t.

What she does believe in is Kara.

(Kara, who had her back from the day they met. Kara, who had saved her life more than once. Kara, who made mistakes—just like Lena—but had met Lena halfway and worked hard to fix things between them. Kara, who for all her flaws and missteps, is Lena’s best friend in the world, the one person who has seen Lena for Lena, from the moment they first locked eyes.

Kara, who Lena is hopelessly in love with; Kara, who has never shown interest in women; Kara, who has recently taken up the really rather unfortunate habit of telling Lena she loves her every chance she gets.

And then there’s Lena, who swallows down what she wants to say and instead smiles bitterly as she intones, “I love you too, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”)

Lena is pretty smart. She can say so without sounding obnoxious about it, because it’s a generally accepted fact. She’s pretty smart, and she was dumb enough to fall in love with someone who could never love her back the same way. She rather thinks that if soulmates are indeed real, then that wouldn’t have been possible. Then again, perhaps that’s not entirely true.

(She thinks about Alex’s notion of what soulmates are or could be, of Kara’s thoughts on connection, and she thinks that maybe—even if she wants it to—she isn’t meant to be with Kara romantically. If there’s anyone in her life who is her family, anyone Lena has chosen, anyone she has picked again and again and again, it’s Kara.

It will always, romantically or not, be Kara.

And if that’s not the definition of a soulmate, Lena’s not quite sure what is.)

For the second time in less than a week, Lena finds herself dialing a number from a well-maintained website.

“Lena Luthor,” the airy voice says as soon as she picks up. “I admit I’m surprised you’re calling. I gave you proof and your answer. What more can you need?”

“These soulmates you find,” Lena says, trying not to let her disappointment seep into her tone too much, “have you ever thought maybe you’re matching people who aren’t meant to be together romantically?”

The mystical woman makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a snort of disbelief and a huff of amusement. “You’re—wow,” she says, dropping the silly tone, and if her voice was just a tiny bit higher, Lena would swear it was— “Listen. Yes, platonic soulmates are a thing. They’re great. We love them. Some people only have platonic soulmates. But you are not platonic soulmates with—”

“—yes but how do you know something like that, that seems hard to—”

“—it’s like talking to a brick wall,” the woman interrupts, and Lena can hear some sort of scuffle from the other end, as if someone is trying to pull the phone out of the woman’s grasp. “Look,” the woman says after a second, sounding a bit out of breath, “I’m going to tell you something I have never told anyone else. Of the three Marks, the most clear and obvious sign of two people belonging romantically together is the Mark of String.” The woman pauses, and Lena would almost swear that there’s someone else speaking to her. “Here’s what you should do. And I do this free of charge for you, because I’m highly invested in this,” she chuckles as if this is a great joke and then barrels on, “so listen carefully. Tonight, go see the woman you love. Spend the night. If you wake up with a red string tied from your pinky to hers, then you can rest assured she’s the one.”

“I don’t know if—”

“—Lena,” the woman admonishes, and Lena frowns, finally recognizing the voice. “Trust me on this.”

She goes through with it, trusting the not-so-mystical woman.

Except, when Kara sneaks towards the bed she gallantly gave up for Lena, a piece of red thread hanging from her hand, Lena sits up and clicks on the bedside table light.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Lena tells Kara.

v.

They’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, facing each other, Kara sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, and Lena trying hard (and failing) to act relaxed.

“So?” she prods, gesturing to the red thread still tied to Kara’s pinky finger. “Want to explain your practical joke?”

“Joke?” Kara says in shock, shaking her head immediately. “No, Lena, it’s not a joke. Not even a little bit.”

Lena’s heart skips a few beats at that, but she maintains an impassive expression. “I don’t understand then. Why would you—”

“—remember a few months back, when I told you I loved you for the first time?” Kara interrupts, jumping to her feet and pacing in front of the couch. She doesn’t wait for Lena to respond. “It took me weeks to gather the courage to tell you. And I’d memorized the whole speech, and at the end you just looked at me like I was speaking to someone else. You told me you loved me as a friend.”

“Right, because you meant it as friends, you…” Lena trails off. “Wait.”

An odd look passes over Kara’s face, something like amusement and exasperation. “Alex told me that I needed to be direct with you. But I—even when I tried, it was like you didn’t hear me.”

(Lena thinks back to all the times Kara had said I love you and she wonders if she’s just heard what she expected to hear and not what Kara was actually trying to say.

Her heart begins to pound in her chest at the very possibility.

Did Kara really....?)

“So what? You decided to recruit Nia to pretend to be a mystical woman? To prove what exactly?”

Kara, surprisingly, looks smug. “You recognized her. I knew it. She was way off script on the phone call, and I tried to get her off the phone but she—”

“—Kara, focus. So the whole soulmate thing was fake?”

Kara winces at that. “Well. Yes, technically.” She stills, coming to a stop several feet in front of Lena. “I asked a few people to help out.”

“Wait, so the two people in the tea shop…” Lena trails off, eyes wide.

“Right, two DEO agents. They should definitely look into acting as a career, I mean they had me convinced, and I knew it was fake—”

“—and Jess?” Lena asks, feeling vaguely overwhelmed.

“Special temporary tattoos made by the DEO, easy to rub off, for both her and her partner.” When Lena is silent a touch too long, Kara rushes to explain. “I mean, it was very hard to convince her to do it. She’s incredibly protective of you, she deserves some kind of raise.”

“She does,” Lena agrees absently, getting to her feet and gesturing towards the red string in Kara’s hand. “And this?”

“We weren’t supposed to get to this. I’d hoped the first two would convince you Nia could honestly see soulmates. I was going to tie it to your pinky. The other end would be connected to me, of course,” she raises her hand with an awkward wave. “But you, um. Caught me.”

Lena bites her lip, marvelling at the sheer amount of work Kara and the others put into this. “Who made the websites? They were perfect.”

“Brainy made them,” Kara explains, a frown appearing on her lips and a crease forming between her brows. “Though I guess he made it too well, since you were suspicious of it.”

“Kara, I—” Lena’s not sure what she wants to say, and she’s glad when Kara interrupts her, taking a step closer, looking at her with an earnest expression.

“Listen,” she says, determination etched onto her features. “I love you. In a romantic way. And if there are soulmates out there, then you’re mine. That’s all this was.”

Lena feels tears well up in her eyes, blurring her vision, and she wants to duck her head, to hide, but Kara is there and saying everything she’s ever wanted to hear, and so instead she just closes the last of the distance between them and wraps her arms around Kara, holding her close, face burrowing into Kara’s neck. “All of this just to say I love you seems a bit dramatic,” she whispers, feeling Kara’s arms go around her waist, clutching her tighter.

“I figured you’d need something dramatic to believe it’s true,” Kara jokes, loosening her hold just a bit so that she can pull back and look at Lena.

“You’re my soulmate too, you know. If there are things like that out there. It was always just you.”

Kara grins brilliantly at her, pressing their foreheads together. “Finally,” she whispers.

[jksangelic]

defanged (m)

↳ rating: M

↳ genre: smut, fluff, werewolf!au, a/b/o au, pwp

↳ pairing: mates werewolf!reader x werewolf/alpha!hoseok

↳ warnings: explicit sexual content, dom themes, breathplay, knotting, rough play, impregnation kink, overall general ”werewolf” smut themes, personality change, probably an uncomfortable amount of squishy mate talk

↳ summary:  hoseok is an easy mate—as such that there are moments you question if he’s just human. so when his sudden spike of aggression emerges, you do your best to keep this unknown man at bay. or, alternatively: young alpha hoseok has started teething and he’s being a bratty puppy about it.

↳ note: ok so if you were with me a few months ago you would know that this is actually a collab fic with a couple other writers but life happens and here we are now *cowboy emoji*. this is really important to me bc they’re such *clench fist* great people and i’m happy i received such an opportunity to collab with them (’: pls make sure to rb/like/visit our collab masterlist if you want to be in-the-know of when they post their parts!

also i wanted to play around with the humorous sides of what werewolves might go thru (-: so, like, short attention spans and hating loud noises and typical big dog stuff. with the teething, just imagine that their growth stages are prolonged because they’re, idk, maybe immortal or something lol

(i…… i’m not used to writing fantasy can u tell)

((gif isn’t mine + his side profile ;-;))

↳ words: 9k+

You could hear every miniscule thread snap and unwind from themselves, a simple task such as painting your nails becoming less relaxing than it should be.

“Hobi,” you mumble once. You swipe down your thumb again, carmine red smoothing over brightly and with utmost delicacy. He doesn’t listen, another squeaking grind of his teeth against the material of his sweatshirt followed by a snapsnap.

“Hobi,” you say a little louder, flinching from annoyance and staining your cuticle with the polish. You curse your discontents, waiting for him to look at you but only meeting a turned neck and eyes still glued to his phone, an I’m listening portrayed by his demeanor but not really meaning it.

He chews hard on the neckline, a solid rip completely tearing several inches down his chest, eyes widening and attention finally caught when his chest is exposed hilariously.

“Hoseok!” you yell, slamming the closed bottle onto the coffee table and meeting his startled eyes, “I just bought that for you!”

He hopes to play it off and shrugs as you swipe it from his teeth, untwined fibers poking out sadly. You smooth your thumbs over the poor fabric, the third victim of his recent gnashing problem.

“Why do you keep doing this?” you ask sadly, a little more bummed about the beautiful sweatshirt than you should be.

He responds simply, “My gums itch.”

You roll your eyes at his childlike excuse, the full-sized man sitting cross-legged and distractedly in his corner of the couch with his phone paused on some game with horrendously annoying music. Was he really your alpha?

“Why don’t you do us some good and go hunting.” You offer, a lame excuse to get Hoseok out of your hair for a bit. It’s what you deserve. He rolls over with a harrumph, shoulder now bare from the growing tear in his clothing. It made you giggle slightly.

“I’m in pain and you’re laughing at me,” he deadpans, body static-still and stubborn more than ever.

Your breath fans his skin as you slither next to him, “I’m sorry, baby. Are you really hurting? Why don’t you go to the dentist?”

Hoseok pouts, taptaptapping away at his screen instead of looking at you, “I don’t want to go to the dentist. They just itch.” Even now, he licks over the burning sensation of his gums, clenching and grinding his teeth to ease the feeling in any way. You can hear the collisions of his canines, your own tingling uncomfortably from the sound.

You shake your head. “Maybe you’re teething,” you suggest in all seriousness. It wasn’t impossible; your kind’s lifespan certainly placing such life stages at seemingly unusual times. In any case, it would simply mean his canines were most likely growing longer and stronger.

He scoffs as if you’ve insulted him, “I’m well over my teething days, Y/N. They just itc—"

“Say that one more time and I’ll neuter you,” you huff. When he lacks a kinder response, you push yourself off the couch to tidy your bedroom instead. He clearly wasn’t in the mood to have a serious conversation with you at the moment, and despite its rarity, you could use your space.

Your mate was in no way irritable; in fact, Hoseok was one of the sunniest alpha’s you’ve ever encountered. His kindness differentiated him from others, bearing his mark (and one day, hopefully, his pups) certainly deeming you quite lucky. He was a soft lover above all, never making you feel as a subordinate or anything of the like.

Perhaps it’s why you two were clashing heads recently, his personality completely contradictory from his true self. Never does he ignore you, let alone snap at you.

Folding your clothes (and purposefully leaving his items in a pile on his side of the bed in spite), you exhale heavily and leave for the living room once again, disregarding your now smeared manicure.

Hoseok beams at the shoe aisle, producing more light than whatever was already lit in the store. Due to his “issue”, stopping by the mall was a given. Two more of his shirts and even one of your necklaces mangled and chewed up like he was the Tasmanian Devil.

Petting his hair fondly, you give him a nuzzle to his cheek, “I’ll be in the next store over, puppy. Come meet me when you’re done.” He nods happily, wide-frame glasses bobbing atop his pretty nose.

You beeline for the department store in hopes of purchasing a few extra things for yourself before Hoseok sniffs you out. It’s immediate heaven when you sift through the dresses, picking a few out and dangling them happily on your fingers before bouncing from rack to rack. By the time you reach the dressing rooms, your arm aches from the pile you’ve accumulated.

“Hey there, you can go ahead and take that first stall right there,” a man directs, tall and intimidating and rather fucking handsome, you think. “My name’s Jaebum. Let me know if you need anything and I’ll go grab it for you.”

You bat your lashes and mouth a Thanks before waltzing into your room, appreciating his kindness perhaps a little too much. Despite your complex and absolute relationship status, it didn’t hurt to peek at what’s on display. It was only right!

You try on more than what you even remembered picking out, velvets and satins and the softest of cottons all hugging you warmly with every piece, a bittersweet happiness when everything seemed to fit you perfectly. The last dress, though, is your only hiccup. Material skin-tight and ending just a little above your ankles; you harrumph. Almost a perfect streak.

Dress still on (at least it zipped), you peek through the door and spot handsome Bum at the front. “Psst, um, do you mind getting me a couple more sizes in this? I think it was near the wall to the right.”

He grins and nods, almost grateful of the fact that you asked him to do so. Why was he even in this section? Should it concern you?

You watch as he leaves, back muscles showcased quite lavishly in his pristinely pressed suit.

Should it be more concerning that it didn’t?

You take a moment to look at the dress once more, smoothing over the velvet that bunched snugly at your waist and checking out your own ass. The fabric might rip if you sneeze too hard but you look pretty damn splendid.

“Found a few more and got you another color as well,” Jaebum says upon return. You almost snap your neck away from the mirror, hoping he didn’t see you ogling your bum. What a speedy fellow.

You politely open the door wider and reach for the hangers, “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Jaebum doesn’t fully hand it to you though, briefly but noticeably skimming over your body, “I think that size is cute on you too. You have a really beautiful figure.”

Maybe it should concern you. You chuckle awkwardly and look elsewhere. Please just give me my dresses, you almost say, now self-conscious in your skin.

“It’s even better when she’s naked. I would know,” Hoseok near growls, appearing out of thin air. He swipes the hangers from behind Jaebum, who is surprised beyond all comprehension of the word, and pushes you back into the room. You’ve never seen him look so enraged, face serious and twitching as if he would shift at any given moment.

“Th-There aren’t allowed to be more than one person in a—,” Jaebum nervously starts from the other side before the door is slammed on his nose.

You didn’t even see Jaebum’s reaction, nor do you ponder it when Hoseok drops your beautiful dresses and thrusts your back against the mirror with his hand to your neck, deliberately making you yelp loud enough for others to hear. You recoil as he bares his fangs, sharp and taunting, threatening to devour you whole and you know this isn’t your Hobi.

He doesn’t get the chance for whatever else he had in store when pure vehemence engulfs you, daring to stand your ground with a low guttural snarl and shoving him off. Your strength is nothing to snicker at, his shoulders nearly hitting the other wall despite his stature.

“What’s wrong with you?” you didn’t even care if everyone in the damn store could hear you, “Don’t you dare touch me!”

Regret instantly arises in his eyes, his hands reaching out to comfort you in any way but hesitant in the warning. He would rather die than hurt you, he was sorry, he was so sorry.

Your body can feel his sorrow and want, itching to touch him in any way but you push it down. The little she-wolf in you whimpers as you struggle out of the dress and leave him alone in the stall, begging for you to go back and forgive him.

Jaebum stands, bewildered, outside of the rooms. He sure did rue the moment he ever made advances on you. Not a word is spoken as you pass by and exit the store.

It doesn’t make it any easier when Hoseok follows you closely. “Baby, I’m sorry. Please.”

“You were going to shift because of some stupid sales clerk! You could’ve gotten us in some deep shit with the order,” you scold, “We’re going home. Right now.” This was a double-edged sword, you didn’t even get to purchase anything. Though your mood is far too foul to continue.

“But I didn’t! No one saw anything. I just lost my cool for a second, I promise. I know better.” Even Hoseok strains to keep up your pace, car already in view and goddamn you walk fast.

“Do you? Are you seriously justifying your actions? You need to uphold your responsibilities, Hoseok. You’re not new to this.” He finds that he despises when you lecture him this way, gums and skin and everything prickly and he wish he could gnaw on something right about now.

It was odd to tell him these things, taking into consideration that his role is considerably higher than yours and that he hardly ever faults as an alpha. If there wasn’t something going on biologically, what else could it be?

He’s obviously straining to keep his composure now, jaw slacked and knuckles cracking in his fist, “How am I supposed to do that now? It won’t happen again. It’s over.”

“Then what about your shitty mood swings? We don’t argue, Hoseok. You’re not mean, you’re not easily agitated, and you’re not a fucking paper  shredder. Neither are you aggressive to your own mate,” you throw in his face, unsurprised when he cowers again at the thought. It’s like the man was on his period.

Now that you recall, the last time you’ve ever seen him so angry at you is when you watched Endgame without him, and that should say enough. This was just all so new and unbecoming of someone with his level of reputation.

“You know I didn’t mean to do that. I never want to hurt you…” he leads as you beat him to the driver’s side of the car, watching him over the hood for him to finish his sentence, “I’m just—”

“You what, Hoseok?”

He jostles the door handle a few times, a rep of unsettling clacks making him uneasy.  

“Can you unlock the car?”

“You what?” you say a little louder, entirely avoiding his question.

“Goddammit,” he hisses, “Just let me in and we can talk about it when we get home.” You scan his face in search of anything. For the truth. For him to own up to what it is. What you get is nothing.

So you smile, “No.”

He stands cluelessly as you unlock your door and hop in, starting the car with a satisfying roll and opening his window just enough to see his addled facial expression.

“What are you doing?” he deadpans.

“If you won’t admit it then you obviously don’t take me seriously, and if you won’t take me seriously then I’ll take my car home by myself. So, toodles!”

He smirks nervously, slender fingers sifting through his hair, “Y/N, c’mon. Just let me in.” He’s even more staggered when you start reversing out of your spot. Eyes widening hilariously, he cusses under his breath as he walks cautiously towards the door.

“Have a fun run, baby. Better get home soon,” you feign pity, “looks like it’s going to start raining pretty soon.”

“We live an hour away!”

You drive down the row, turning on your signal just in case someone needed to know. Shucks, you were such a good driver, even in the parking lot.

Hoseok thinks otherwise, anger and panic so vivid that you can feel it from this distance. Walking Time Bomb even begins to jog, not willing to risk your bluff.

“Okay! Okay, I admit it. I may be going through something…” his wavering voice trickles into your head. “You’re right.’

You let him catch up to you, eyes shifty and fingers fiddling. “Hi, darling. Can you say that one more time? In person?” His chest puffs.

“I already said it once,” he begs.

Was his pride this important? Did the strangled mutt deep down change your Hoseok for the worst? An impatient car behind you honks and you shrug.

“You’re making people wait. I’m going to leave.”

“Jesus fucking—okay. I think I’m teething. Or something involving my dental state. It’s making me fucking grumpy and it’s painful and I want to punch a fucking wall because it’s stupid that this phase is so late.” You unlock his door mid-sentence, his body falling into his seat before he continues to blabber on.

“Oh, little puppy,” you slide your sunglasses from atop your head down to the bridge of your nose, “Don’t be so sensitive. ‘S like a human adult getting braces.”

The week passes by agonizingly slow. And that wasn't necessarily because Hoseok bitched and complained, throwing temper tantrums when the remote had fallen between the couch cushions or throwing his pants stormily when they would catch on his ankles and make him hobble about like a disabled chicken.

Or maybe it was because of that.

You dare to creak the door to his den (pun intended), having locked himself in such confinement to work through the paperwork that's been piling on his mahogany desk for days. He looks worn around the eyes, long brown hair pushed back with his fake reading glasses. You knock three times as if he couldn't already sense your presence. When he looks at you through his lashes, he nods for you to proceed.

"Hi, baby. How's the work going?" you ask with a honey-dipped edge.

He shrugs, "A lot of affairs from other packs that I have to go over. I should be done soon."

You slink behind his office chair and wrap your arms around his shoulders, "Mm, why don't you take a break and have a nice little bath with me?" He doesn't budge one inch, straightening out a stack of papers before stapling them neatly and tucking them into one of his drawers.

"I need to finish this. I've been pushing it back until the last minute."

Rolling him out a bit, you slide onto his lap and rest on his chest. Your touch always lulls a serene sensitivity from his skin, a natural effect that only you are capable of. But his muscles remain taut. Bones stiff and budging none whatsoever. Stuttering, you try again, "You've been working for hours. I'm lonely. Just an hour--,"

"Y/N. I'm warning you. Get off."

She-wolf unconsciously warns you to stand down upon this statement. Was he being serious? He's warning you? You search his blank face, waiting for him to crack a smile or lift you up and attack you with kisses. When he doesn't, you test the waters.

Your nails scratch the bare skin under his shirt, "H-Hoseokie, we haven't had sex in so long," you whine. Invading his space, however, only sets him off more.

He growls, deep and meant to be menacing. It takes brutal force to push yourself to move, a weight halting your ministrations. His word, no matter how rare it be, was your law. Do you dare defy that?

You unbutton his pants the same time he threatens, "Continue any further and see what happens." He's breathier than normal and that gives you some satisfaction. He was your mate, after all. Eternal fulfillment was your duty.

The feeling of his heavy and growing bulge, nestling in the crook of his thigh, is a success all in its own. You purr and rub your legs together, licking at Hoseok's neck lovingly and waiting for him to give in. "Hobi, you're already--ah!"

Your view spins as Hoseok scruffs you to his desk, cold wood pressed to your cheek and wrists somehow pinned behind you. Yiping in fear, you struggle in his harsh imprisonment.

"You don't fucking listen," he complains, voice balancing on the line between speaking and yelling.

"Hoseok! L-Let me g-go--," you start before he grinds himself into your ass, boner prominent and angry as it prods. He replaces the hand to your neck with his mouth, laving and suckling all the way down your shoulder.

"Can't do that. I warned you and you disobeyed me. You disobey your alpha, Y/N?"

"No, I'm sorry--," you squeak before your dress is thrown over your back and a sharp slap comes down onto your ass.

You don’t believe the sound that comes out of your throat, pressing your thighs together and wiggling the pain away. “J-Jung Hoseok! What is—” Another slap, harder than the first.

The nerves tingle all the way down to your toes as your eyes roll back. You moan once more, unsolicited and without restraint. Hoseok is content with your reaction, not expecting you to squirm so nicely because of your punishment.

"You like this, don't you? I can smell you leaking like some submissive whore," he snarls with an edge of disappointment. You're beyond mortified of how he speaks to you, although not inclined to deny his words. Not when he spanks you once more, with such force that a scream is rewarded and your back arches in euphoric pain.

"Hoseok, no more, please. I'll--I'll cum if you keep, ugh," you blabber over yourself. He thinks you look prettily pathetic drooling on his desk, so close to spilling over the edge from being physically humiliated.

"Tch, so weak," he comments before releasing your wrist and letting you collapse to the floor. "Are you done?" The question both turns you on and pisses you off, emotions swirling into something self-destructive.

Crawling on the carpet and up his leg, you nuzzle into his bulge, "But I still didn't get what I want." You don’t even ponder where this behavior is coming from; slinking out of you like a dog with its tail between its legs. Perhaps his own change of manner influenced one in you.

He could laugh at how easy you were being, wondering when he ever mated with someone who acts like such a sexually-obsessed brat. "Oh?" he prompts, "So you think you get to make the calls here?"

Licking the hem of his boxers in response, he doesn't feel pleased with your lack of words. You perk up when he shuffles his cock out from the confines of his layers. It’s almost instinctual, not wasting any time to pepper kisses and kitten licks to his tip. God, he even smells amazing. You don't care if you look ridiculous, feverish with your actions like he'd take away your precious treat if you weren't cautious.

He snickers at you, petting your hair with an unexpectedly soft touch. Your heart-shaped irises peer up, knowing he loves your eye contact when you suck him off. Watching the blush spread on his face means that you must be doing your job correctly. Besides, not even the Big Bad Wolf can deny when he feels his pleasure.

He almost can’t stand the self-righteousness that oozes off you. If you thought you were in control, you were dead-wrong. "You want my cock that bad, huh, baby?" your love bunches as much of your hair as he can with his fist, "Then fucking take it."

Then his girthy dick shoves to the back of your throat without warning, hips to your nose and thrustingthrustingthrusting as far as he can.

You'd sputter if your mouth wasn't so full, eyes overflowing with tears and throat constricting in hopes that he'll let you go. When he doesn't and continues to grind himself down your mouth, you dig your nails into his thighs and whine on his persistent cock. It doesn’t matter, the digging crescents in his thighs rousing him even further and even hoping those pretty nails of yours leave marks for him. He’d accept no less.

Hoseok thrusts twice more before pulling you off and watching you cough maniacally. The tears that gathered were now running down your face, accompanied with your saliva that leaks from your chin and onto the floor.

You couldn't breathe, you couldn't ask him to stop, and you loved it.

He cocks a brow as you struggle to catch up, "We'll stop here. You're obviously not made for this."

Pitiful is the only word he can use to describe how quickly you paw and beg for him, desperately wrapping your fingers around the base of his member and pumping him just the way he likes it, "No! I can take it, please use me." Your unstable hand massages the cum-saliva mix as well as it can, a small victory celebrated when he bucks into you.

"Mm," his thumb wipes a stray tear from your lip, "You're so beautiful when you cry. Will you sit on the desk for me?"

You don't hesitate to obey, being careful to hop up when your bum is so sore but otherwise eager for him to touch you again. When he places himself between your legs, your body hums.

"I'm... I'm not well, Y/N. I don't want to hurt you," he says, voicing his first concern after what's already happened. With his brows knit in concern and his slender fingers rubbing calmly at your sides, it's almost as if the Hoseok you know has returned. The Hobi that makes your pancakes just a little overcooked like you prefer. Who makes you a blanket nest when you’re feeling down. And will gladly give up his last bite of anything to watch you munch happily even after you’ve finished your own portion.

In some way, this was your same Hobi. Maybe not so sweet and innocent but more on the receiving end. Spending his days tending to you out of pure love and pleasure to see you bloom; it was just your turn to return the favor.

So you kiss him with fervor and mold your chest to his, feeling the scorching heat that emanates from him. He must seriously be straining himself, you think. His canines graze your lips and you know he's trying his best to hold back; to not completely obliterate you.

"I want to help you," you whisper against his mouth. You implore him and he doesn’t hesitate to take your offer.

You extend your legs as he rushes to pull down your thong, throwing it to the side, and embracing you with another kiss, all tongue and pants. Some of his documents get ruffled under your steadying hands and he shoves them off altogether, a rain of really important paper littering the room. He comes in a little too excitedly, slamming a drawer closed with his thigh and even scooting his desk across the floor.

“God fucking dammit,” he swears, your chuckles covering his wet lips. “I’m… a mess… not thinking straight. Need to cum inside you.”

You purr when his head rubs against your sex, an electric sensation tearing through you. “Want you to knot me,” you whisper. A mistake in its own because he’s practically moaning into your mouth when you say such things.

“Yeah, baby? Want your cunt pumped full? Hm?” he asks into your jaw, all the while spreading your legs as far as they can split with his strong hands. His hips begin to circle like he’s stalling as long as possible and that rouses you up in a way.

You nod with sultry eyes and chant, “Yes. Yes, yes.” By the second yes does he all but slam into you, your final confirmation his endgame.

Hoseok was truly blessed in size, something no mere human could ever match. His length alone would make you double over in ecstasy if he allowed you the space to. Squeezing around him only makes him fuck you deeper, both wanting and needing more of each other than you already have. You were made for him, and him you.

You whimper as he pulls out, his head tantalizing your g-spot before ramming back inside and forcing an angelic cry. “H-Hoseokie… Please, your pups. I want to have your pups”

The sounds of his hips against your skin with your moans and the subtle creak of his desk is almost humorous, you were fucking like dogs. Even more so when he pushes you flat against the wood by the front of your throat, his thumb tucked gently on an airway as your tongue flops out in simple bliss.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” he snarls with a particularly evil drill to your core that curls your toes. “Nothing to me would be more satisfying than to breed you.”

Your throat constricts and you cough, your tiny hands tugging at his fingers while barely being able to pry his grip. You can’t resist moaning through clenched teeth still, even when the prettiest wine red pours into his irises. Hoseok holds back incredibly well, despite having shifting eyes, his total control never fails to astonish you. It was years worth of training and you thank the stars that it was useful in a time where you were literally stuffed with his cock.

“And you’re so willing; so obedient now. You like when I fuck you like this. Just want that beautiful pussy bred until you’re spilling, right?” he chuckles with means to humiliate when your eyes flutter and drool spills from your swollen lips, “What a mate.”

You tighten, an embarrassing amount of arousal spilling and sticking to your love. He doesn’t mind one bit, rather, losing composure for a brief moment, “Ugh, so good.”

His hand suddenly withdraws from your tender neck and you sputter an attempt to catch your breath, a fleeting moment before he wraps his arms under your knees and prompts you to hang onto him when he stands. How quickly he’s able to switch positions is hot in itself, but the thought is also lost when you sink down even further on his dick.

“Oh, oh my god,” you wail pathetically, wrapping yourself around him and trying to lift your trembling body to ease how full you feel, even for just a moment.

“Hm? I thought you wanted this, baby. Wanted my complete, unforgiving love for you. Isn’t that why you walked into my office?” he smirks similarly to how you imagine the devil would. His hands find leverage against the closest wall, also shoving you against it and resuming his pace into you.

This, to whichever persona was hiding deep down in Hoseok, was divine. Incredible. You would die for this man even without the bond. He was literally screwing you braindead.

He pants, warm and sweaty and shirt somehow unbuttoned halfway down (when did you do that?), “I thought you wanted my knot? Not anymore?”

Your pupils blow out as you shake your head, you were so close.

“Ah, then I’ll knot you. I’ll knot you but you have to beg,” he says with a wink. Bastard.

“Please, please knot me, baby. Breed me and let me have your pups,” you sob, “Fill me up until I can’t take it anymore, Alpha, please—”

He jabs incessantly until you’re entirely maxed out, sloppy smacks echoing out further than the den and his growls emanating when you drag your sharp nails down his back, the fabric tearing under your fingers. Hoseok grinds his full length into you, reaching beyond the end of your walls.

“S-Stay,” he orders. He slows as the base of his cock swells and even though you asked for it, it’s always a little uncomfortable. You can’t even fathom how it feels for your mate, his sudden groans and the absolute necessity to lave at your neck only scraping at the surface of any real indication.

Hoseok told you once that it was similar to both being overstimulated and having a sudden spike of energy, which could explain his touchiness. It was cute though, and kinda hot.

Nestled deep inside, you can subtly feel the ropes of semen beginning to pool. You rest your head over his shoulder, buzzing from the intensity of it all and watching as the walls move and shift into the ones of your bedroom.

Hoseok’s hoarse voice surprises you, “Fuck, I’m so dizzy.”

The bed is a heavenly difference from the den’s desk and wall, your heart pounding a little too hardly when he places one of his pillows lengthwise under your back for extra squish. He was so cute.

But then he collapses on you.

“Oof—I’ve never seen you like that before. My ass hurts,” you state dreamily.

“Oh, love. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he asks seriously, lifting his head to study your face in case you lie. The red dissipated long before, his deep brown eyes twinkling down at you like they always do.

“You were a little rough,” you feign, pouting and pushing around his face with paw-folded fists. He thinks you look like an idiot, a cute idiot.

“I’m sorryyyy,” he whines, burying his face into your chest and wiggling around like a fish. His knot moves with him and you wince.

“Hoseok, stay still.”

Being showered in a sudden attack of kisses is what he responds with, not even aware of the task at hand and fake crying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t ever want to hurt you—I—oh no.”

You yipe as semen sloshes down your leg, shoving your palm into Hobi’s (who is undoubtedly back to his usual self) cheek and trying your best to not panic.

“Goddammit, Jung Hoseok! Stay still!”

beep boop hope you liked, leave some feedback if you did!

[war-sword]

what can i get you? (2)

part 2 | index | masterlist

draco x female reader [muggle AU, slightly aged up]

summary: One handsome Draco Malfoy is the only boy you trust at your new job to tie your ties. words: 3,139 a/n: i’m so glad y’all are liking this it validates me in that this isn’t boring as fuck :D once again too many details i looked up for this HAHAHA. also in case you missed it last time this story has a playlist! it’s a mix of songs i hear a lot while at my job and also others i name/ envision in this story. taglist: @clockworkherondale @accio-rogers @mayorofzillyhoo @diademofdraco @drawlfoy @ladybuginthetardis @silversslytherin @lushlavenderskies @socontagiousimagines @acciodracoo @eltanin-malfoy @maceyisntcool @newhopenessie​ @hp-slaps

read the rest of my masterlist

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The next time you work, it’s a much smaller event; a charity fundraiser at a small venue (this meant just plain black collared shirts, no ties, thank goodness). There’s only six people working including you, and you’re a little sad to see that Draco isn’t one of them. Luckily, Pansy is there, and none of the people are interested in the goat cheese and date appetizers you’ve been passing, so you sit on the metal kitchen counters with her, Theo and Blaise and eat them.

“Buffet parties are so nice,” Blaise sighs, putting another tiny piece of flatbread into his mouth. “We only really bus once. The dream.”

Pansy picks up the piece of paper that has the catering itinerary and menu printed out on it. “Holy fuck, this party ends at nine thirty. I might actually get to sleep at a normal time tonight.”

“What, no, let me see!” Theo rips the paper from her hands, and looks at it with a surprised expression. “Oh, shit, it does.”

Pansy does a little dance, and Blaise takes a photo of the paper with his phone. A minute later it buzzes with a notification, and he laughs as he reads it. “Yo, Draco is cheesed. He’s at the other party with Gabrielle in Brixton, he probably won’t get back ‘till one.”

“Poor bastard,” says Theo. “Take a photo.”

Blaise opens up his Snapchat camera, and you all squeeze into the frame. Theo poses with a goat cheese flatbread up to his mouth. Blaise captions it “sucks to suck”, and hits send. Draco responds almost immediately.

The photo is only of the top half of his face, and from the angle you can tell he’s in the kitchen. “This wedding has three courses, kill me,” is one caption. Another textbox right below says “tell new girl I said hey xx”.

You can feel all three of your coworkers staring at you as the Snapchat expires. “Give me that,” you say to Blaise, and they all laugh. Blaise hands you his phone. You take a similar photo, furrowing your brows. “calling me new girl? and xx-ing in the same sentence? the audacity.” you caption it. Draco takes less than ten seconds to snap back. 

This one is once again, the top half of his face, but features one of his perfectly-shaped brows in a high arch. “how else am I supposed to make an impression?” it says, with “add me, dmalfoy17” below. 

The snap was a full seven seconds, and you stare at it until it expires. You hand Blaise back his phone and whip your own out from your back pocket. 

“What’d he say?” Pansy asks, snatching the last flatbread away from Theo’s hand. 

“Something cheeky,” you shrug, playing it off. Meanwhile, you open Snapchat and type in his username into the ‘add friend’ bar. 

“Typical,” Theo mumbles, watching wistfully as Pansy eats the last appetizer. “I’m going to go check on how the tables are looking, see how many people have food so far.”

Draco Malfoy added you back!

You Snapchat Draco every chance you get as you finish up at your party, and once everything is packed you help take everything down to the loading dock and pack the truck. You and Pansy walk to your cars together, and you take a video of the two of you captioned “we out ” with the timestamp sticker reading a blissful 9:43. Draco sends back a photo of himself in the kitchen again, a text box full of angry emojis.

You say goodnight to Pansy. “You’re working tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah,” she says, standing on the doorframe of her car to look at you over the roof. “At Sunbeam Studios. You?”

“Same.”

“Nice,” she smiles. “I think most of us will be there, it’s supposed to be a big one. See you then.”

You hop in your own car and clock out. When you get home you take a quick shower and collapse into bed. You have three new Snapchats from Draco. In one of them he says he’s also working at Sunbeam tomorrow, and you smile in spite of yourself. You take a photo of you snuggled in your sheets, and caption it “going to sleep now just to flex on you. see you tomorrow.” You send it and put your phone on your bedside table. The buzz of your notifications cuts through the silence of your room, but you resist the urge to check them. 

The next day you arrive at Sunbeam and clock in. This venue is much bigger than the other’s, and when you walk through the back door your guess is confirmed that tonight will be a fancy wedding. Sure enough, Gabrielle hands you your uniform and asks you to go ahead and change, directing you to a closet. 

You put on the dress shirt and slip the vest on, and lastly tackle the tie. You thread it under your collar, and try to repeat the steps Draco showed you last week. Over, across, wait, that doesn’t look right. Which end was the short one? You try a few more methods and then sigh in defeat. You put your normal shirt into your backpack and leave the closet in search of one boy.

You walk around the back, which is bigger than the other venues you’ve been to, and find Draco in the kitchen. He’s still dressed in his street clothes and is helping organize trays of food to be heated that other people are bringing in from the truck. You walk up and tap him on the shoulder. 

“Oh, hey! Wow, you’re on time.”

He looks so genuinely excited to see you that you can’t help but grin. “Help?” You hold up the ends of your tie.

“Of course.” Draco takes up your tie and starts to knot it. You don’t even try to pay attention.

“Who else is here?”

“Just you so far, besides those of us who came from the warehouse with the truck. Gabrielle is about to loose her fucking mind if the rest of you don’t start showing up. She needs all the passers to help her make the bread boards and set up the salad course.” He finishes your tie and gives it a little tap, and then another to the end of your nose. Your chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself. 

“You’re not serving tonight?” You busy yourself with the buttons on your vest as you talk.

Draco leans against the counter and pulls a face. “No, sorry. They need me in the kitchen.” He nods his head in the direction of the door that must lead to the reception area. “Gabrielle’s out there, you should probably go.”

“Sorry,” you say, walking around the other side of the counter. “I’m still trying to process this betrayal.”

“I’m sorry! I’ll make you a box and save you some cake.” He leans on his elbows, looking up at you as you rest your back on the door. “Just come hang out with me in here when you’re not bussing– it’s a buffet so there should be some downtime. I’ll just yell at the others if they try to take a break back here.”

You laugh and try to think of something tricky to reply with when the door is ripped out from behind you, causing you to stumble backwards. Draco snorts. 

“Y/N! Come on, I need your help. Draco, stop distracting her!” Gabrielle does look incredibly flustered. 

“I was just coming,” you say, and Draco holds up his hands in mock surrender. 

You help Gabrielle arrange various breads on trays, along with scoops of hummus and goat cheese. You’re adding olives to the trays when Pansy walks in, doing the last buttons on her vest. Gabrielle practically throws a box of crackers at her and tells her to start adding them on, rambling on about how stressed she is. “...And then we left two boxes of food at the warehouse and I had to go back and get it… luckily we’re the closest. If it was the other party we’re doing tonight I would’ve lost my mind. That one’s all the way in Watford, they never would’ve made it back and forth in time.”

You politely listen, nodding when appropriate. You’re finishing the trays when Greg and Vincent walk in, in the midst of doing their ties and putting on the vests. Gabrielle yells at them to finish getting dressed later and to start assembling salads, shoving a bag of greens into Greg’s arms and a bag of shredded carrot to Vincent. “We’ll just assemble them on the plates out here. Please be neat.” 

You fill water glasses while they walk around and make the salads directly onto the plates, assembly line style. Pansy is following behind Greg, adding raisins to the beds of greens he’s laying down. You watch her for a moment as she adjusts the amount of salad on each plate, taking from plates with too much and adding to ones with too little before sprinkling her raisins. You catch her eye and she shakes her head furiously at Greg’s incompetence. 

Once all the glasses are filled, you help set out the bread trays onto the tables and head to the back to take a break while everyone waits for the guests to arrive from the ceremony. Draco and Theo are the only ones in the kitchen tonight, opening boxes of food and assembling appetizers onto trays. You grab the menu sheet off of the cooler and skim it. As usual, it all sounds delicious. 

“These people must love mexican food,” Pansy says, looking over your shoulder. “Who asks for two types of tacos at their wedding?”

“White people who want to be funky,” Theo says, pulling a pan of the goat cheese flatbreads from the oven and replacing it with one of chopped fried fish. 

Draco pulls the wrapping off a cardboard box to reveal miniature taco shells made from blue corn. “I don’t think we’ve ever made these.”

Gabrielle bursts into the kitchen to tell the four of you who helped set up to start passing. The goat cheese and tomato mozzarella flatbreads are the only thing that’s ready. You and Pansy each put on a single glove and place six appetizers around the edges of your circular serving trays, grab some napkins and head out. 

You weave through guests in the lobby, the pleasant sound of the string quartet that’s in the corner filling your ears. A group of bridesmaids in seafoam dresses stop you before you get very far and wipe your tray clean. Clearly everyone is starving, because they ask you to come back as soon as you can. 

When you return to the kitchen, Draco has a specially shaped wooden board with six tiny tacos in the little grooves ready for you. “They’re so cute. What’s in them?” You ask as you put down your empty tray for Theo to refill and pick up the board to examine them

Draco pauses in filling another taco and looks over at the menu paper. “Uh, sriracha chicken. Want to try?”

You nod. You move to put down the board, but Draco holds out the one he just made, and you open your mouth. You try to eat it as neatly as you can in one bite from his hand.  He gives you a questioning look, and you nod approvingly. “‘S good,” you say after swallowing. 

“Hey, stop stealing from the guests,” Theo teases. He leans towards Draco and opens his mouth dramatically. “I wanna get fed, too.”  

“Get your own,” Draco deadpans. 

You laugh at Theo’s offended face, and hurry out of the kitchen to hide your blush. It’s not from the spice. 

Tiny tacos are a big hit. You abandon passing the flatbread appetizers, waiting in the kitchen every time for Draco to fill your board. When he opens the next box of miniature shells, you’re all surprised to see that they’re yellow. Twenty minutes after that, the final box is filled with red ones. “If I’d known they were different, I would’ve mixed them!” 

“You’re fired, Draco,” Pansy mocks. “Out of the kitchen. You’re never allowed to touch tacos again.”

There’s a short break for the passers while the guests recess into the reception room and eat the salad course. Then you’re sent out to start collecting plates, and to tell the guests the buffet is open for them to get food at their leisure. 

The night goes on like usual– out on the floor, try not to drop any dishes, someone asks for a new fork, bus the plates in the back. This venue has a place for outdoor bussing, which you find nice since the weather is pleasant. Once it hits 9:30, it’s a struggle to take plates from guests who are still eating or sipping the very last of their drinks, as usual. You haven’t taken a break all night, because every time you would head out onto the floor there were dishes on every table to take. You dump the ice from some cocktail glasses into the liquids bucket and peek around the corner to where the truck is parked. Greg and Vincent are sitting on the back of the truck, sharing a cigarette and staring at their phones. You sigh in annoyance and put the glasses into their designated crate. If those two can take a break, you’re going to also.

You walk back into the building and into the kitchen. Draco’s the only one in there, sitting on a cooler and checking his phone as well. “Hey.”

He looks up as you settle onto the cooler next to him, stretching out your legs and popping your neck. “Hey. They keeping you busy out there?” Draco asks.

“Yes,” you sigh. “That, and Pansy and I are the only ones bussing. Greg and Vincent are out at the truck skiving off.”

“I’ll put Gabrielle on them,” Draco says. “They’re always doing that. At least they’re learning to not hang around where I can see them.”

“Where’s Theo?” You rub on your right shoulder– it’s gotten incredibly tight from carrying your heavy tray all night.

“Cutting the cake. You’ll have those plates soon, and that’ll be it.” Draco sets his phone on the counter and shifts towards you, motioning for you to turn also.  “Let me.”

Draco digs his thumbs into your tense muscles and you can’t help but groan. “Ugh, that feels heavenly.”

“You’ve got to switch the arms you carry with, Y/N. You’re so much tighter on the right.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, leaning into his touch.

The bliss of having Draco’s hands work your tense muscles is sadly short lived. Theo comes into the kitchen with the rest of the cake, having served all the guests. It’s got three different layers, vanilla, chocolate, and carrot, and you have a tiny slice of each. 

“We’re gonna go take down the buffet, what do you want me to save you?” Draco says, boxing up the untouched top layer of cake to put in the refrigerator for the new couple.

“Just some of the mac n cheese and veggies, please.” You grab your bussing tray and head back out onto the floor. Greg and Vincent have reappeared, and when there’s only a few tables left with cake plates you head to the back again. Draco is loading up the truck while Theo cleans the kitchen. “Want me to bring you these glass crates?” You call to Draco.

“Please!”

You carry the crates of glasses and dirty dishes from the bussing area to Draco in the back of the truck. You’re pretty strong, but Draco takes even the heaviest crates from you with ease. Why are boys allowed to be so muscular for no reason? 

“We’re missing some glasses, did you get everything off the floor?” Draco leans against the wall inside truck, looking down at you on the ground. He’s shiny with sweat, and he lifts up the bottom of his shirt to wipe his forehead off, giving you a great view of his toned abdomen. 

“Uh.” You continue to stare at him even as he drops his shirt, your mouth going dry. “I’m pretty sure.”

“Hopefully they’ll turn up.” Draco checks his watch. “It’s already eleven, why do people never want to fucking leave?”

You turn around to glance at the windows, still glowing blue from the lights inside, ‘Build Me Up Buttercup’ easily heard even from outside. You stare at the lights for a few seconds, trying to blink away the image of shirtless Draco from your mind. “Dunno.” 

When you turn back, he’s staring at you now. Draco jumps off the back of the truck and lands lightly beside you. “Let’s go help Theo in the kitchen, see if we can get everything else ready.”

The rest of the supplies are pretty much packed and ready to be brought to the truck. Everyone who had put on a uniform is changing back into their street clothes, and Pansy is taking off her dress shirt in the middle of the kitchen without a care. You momentarily wonder what would happen if you decided that bold, but end up going out into the hall to slip out of your uniform. 

They’ve finally turned on the lights in the reception room, and you all head out to do one last sweep of the floor, checking under tablecloths for stray forks or napkins. You find a few and carry them to the back, and the few glasses you were missing earlier make their appearance. Gabrielle shoos you all from the kitchen at last, telling you to go home. 

You put your takeout box Draco had made you into your backpack and head towards the parking lot, when you hear footsteps catching up with you. It’s Draco, and he’s carrying a giant bunch of white flowers that you recognize as the centerpieces from the tables. “Are you stealing?” You chide.

“See, I was going to give you some, but now I’m rethinking it,” he smirks. “I sometimes like to take them. My mum loves white lilies.”

“That’s sweet.” 

You’ve reached your car, and he stops with you, holding out the giant bunch. “Pick some.”

You make a serious face as you select a handful of flowers and bring them up to your nose. They still smell wonderful. “Thanks, Draco.”

“No problem.” He throws you a wink and turns on his heel. “See you next week, Y/N.”

You get into your car and clock out, setting the flowers on your dashboard. When you get back to your flat you carefully arrange them in one of your tallest glasses in some water, and set them on your counter. They’re a nice reminder to get you through your week.

◈◈◈

don’t you wish draco malfoy would give you a shoulder massage on the clock and give you flowers.... damn

[lamiralami]

TMA Retro 4: Page Turner

I was touched to see some tag commentary on yesterday’s post! Honestly, it gave me an emotion - I am traditionally very anxious about engaging online, it speaks to my immense love of TMA that it brought me to Make A Post At Last. It’s very affirming and reassuring to get some response to my lunatic treatises. Y’all are all right. 💜

Anyway, grab some lighter fluid and a sturdy wastepaper basket, time to torch your haunted novel in MAG 4: Page Turner

It’s ironic that this statement is about the Vast when it is one dense motherfucker. so many dangling plot threads are introduced here, each ready to hook you and start reeling. we’ve been into the meta plot since episode one but this episode is the first time the audience is made aware of such.

seriously: Jurgen Leitner and his library, Gerard Keay and Mary Keay, Michael Crew. the figures introduced in this one thirty-minute installment loom large over the rest of the entire run

you could, your first time through, even file this away as a one-off scary story if not for the fact that Jon knows what’s going on (enjoy it while it lasts, my son). He’s heard of Jurgen Leitner. He alludes to an incident with his library in 1994. Deeper than that, he immediately takes the statement at face value and treats the claims within it as authentic, which is a complete 180° on the first three episodes

and this is such a smart story choice? Jon shapes our perspective into this universe and up until now he’s been utterly dismissive of the validity of the stories he’s telling. To go from practically rolling his eyes to scheduling a meeting with his boss about tracking down more haunted books - that tells us that Jon takes this seriously as a threat. And that makes us take it seriously too, makes us take note that strange books are dangerous things in this world. Any offhand mention of books in future statements will be enough to make us sweat

And! It starts winding the narrative tension on a character level. Why and what does Jon know about Jurgen Leitner and his library? Why does he say his name with such venom? And if he’s so sure about the supernatural nature of these books, why is he so loath to believe the other statements?

(and then it takes 80 + episodes to fully answer these initial questions. Jonny enjoys a slow roasted torment)

love that the statement giver presents, as proof of his iron-clad sanity, the fact that he works as a theatre technician. speaking as someone with an unfinished theatre degree: theatre people are feral my good buddy, try again. I mean, we refuse to say the name of one of the most famous plays in the English language because we think a ghost will trip us for the indiscretion. this is not the trump card you think it is.

a quick sidebar for the Red String Brigade: The Trojan Women is an ancient Greek tragedy that involves a baby being thrown off a city wall. The Seagull’s first published English translation was done by Marian Fell, and also a seagull is a bird and birds can fly. Much Ado About Nothing is very good and you should all watch the version from 2011 with David Tennant and Catherine Tate.

it’s interesting that these early episodes seem to take a cue from urban legends in some respects. Nathan Watts gets extremely drunk at a party and then is almost skinned by a monster while having a smoke. Joshua Gillespie is approached while engaging in a whirlwind of debauchery and has to take care of a cursed coffin after accepting money for what he thinks is a drug trafficking gig. Amy Patel regularly spies on her neighbour for her own entertainment and then has to watch him be replaced by a malevolent entity only she can perceive. and now Dominic Swain pushes past his guilty conscience to score a valuable book off an unknowing charity shop and...gets a bit dizzy and haunted by a phantom stink for a few days then gets ‎£5,000, well anyway, the point is he got spooked! spooked after doing something kind of iffy! that is pure urban legend procedure; modern day fairy tales imparting dire  consequences onto societal transgressions. in a horror story this structure offers a false sense of safety - if you’re a good person, the monster won’t come for you. I can’t recall which upcoming statement yanks the rug out from under us with the first completely random victim.

cannot comprehend how this guy didn’t start plugging the book into google translate the second he got home. that probably saved him from being taken by the book but I am still judging him for not even trying it. yeah you’d be sucked into some sort of sky hell but at least you’d know what’s in the book!! could never be me

(yes I am aware in this universe I would have been eaten years ago. I’ve made my peace with that)

grbookworm1818 slays me. I don’t know which is better, the idea of Gertude carefully curating the most sixty-five-year-old-on-goodreads username she could as a cover for her cursed purchase history, or her actual sixty-five-year-old brain just expressing itself naturally because Gertrude is a very busy woman who doesn’t have time to immerse herself in the ins and outs of internet culture, she just wants to buy the demonic tomes she’s selected for destruction and get on with her day thanks.

did Gertrude know what a meme was? which Archivist could convincingly pose as a millennial best, Gertrude Robinson or Jonathan Sims?

The Key of Solomon and its former keeper, Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers, are both real historical figures. the book is basically Renaissance-era magical au fanfic of the Bible, and the man was a 19th century British occultist (and likely drinking buddy of Jonah Magnus) who founded a Very Serious Secret Society. this is a picture of him whiiiiiich rather dispels any sense of menace he’s meant to invoke. what kind of cosplaying nonsense

Mary Keay is such a striking figure. “She was very old and painfully thin, but her head was completely clean shaven, and every square inch of skin I could see was tattooed over with closely-written words in a script I didn’t recognise.” a Look, a vision!

I’m guessing that Our Gerard was blasting heavy metal at 2 am to try to drown out his undead mother while waiting for her manifestation to dissipate. I like to imagine him frequenting Reddit advice posts about dealing with toxic family members, poor lad

oh my gosh Mary refers to Gerard as “her Gerard” is that where Jon got “our Gerard” from?? I feel betrayed??

whatever, I’m reclaiming it. Our Gerard is meant with affection now babey! 

the eye portrait is a bit puzzling. the inscription - ‘“Grant us the sight that we may not know. Grant us the scent that we may not catch. Grant us the sound that we may not call.”’ - could almost be read as an invocation against the Eye? But in general Gerry is fairly Eye-aligned, so...shrug emoji

(honestly my main takeaway from the eye portrait is that it’s finely detailed and near photorealistic so we can add “tortured artist” to our list of Gerard Keay traits and is it any wonder that he’s so Fandom Beloved?)

Mary is Not Good at negotiating sales. her main technique involves terrible tea, bringing up repressed childhood trauma, and getting her magic book to drop animal bones onto customer’s shoes. I’m guessing Pinhole Books was in bad shape even before the police investigation and murder charges.

hahaha, the Vast pushes Dominic down the stairs. classic. you gotta grab what opportunities are available

so did Gerard have to follow Dominic back to his flat and wait awkwardly on the doorstep at like 3 in the morning, hoping none of his neighbours would notice and call the cops

the revelation that Mary’s been dead the whole time! this episode may be more intent on world building and plot set-up but damn if it isn’t still a good little ghost story.

kind of rude of Gerry to just burn a book in this guy’s flat without asking and then steal his wastepaper basket.

Jon may not call the statement giver a liar for once, but never fear, he’s still our petty bastard man. accuses Gertrude of filing statements without reading them, has Sasha double-check Martin’s research, grumps about his general misfortune . he’s stressed from the Archives’ disorder and having flashbacks to a certain picture book but by Jove, that won’t stop him making snide comments on what’s supposed to be an official audio transcription!

[nikkxb]

What Money Can Buy

Inuyasha Pairing: KogKag Rating: Mature Prompt: @iinuyashaa said “Kouga’s like a wholesome sugar daddy” and it was a downward spiral from there. Coffee Shop AU for AU Yeah August. Author’s Note: Listen, if you squint, you can see the coffee shop part of the au, promise.

The black credit card had been burning a hole in her pocket all week. Every time she opened her wallet, it caught her eye. Hard not to considering how out of place it was. Still, even with the compromise they came to, she shied away from it and either used her own debit card or the little bit of cash she had each time she paid.

Kagome wasn’t certain how long it was going to take before the sight of that black sliver didn’t shock her or if she would ever get used to it. The entire idea was completely foreign, but her protests hadn’t worked and he continued reminding her of the crazy arrangement she made, so she simply ignored it instead.

Until now. Apparently, Kouga really didn’t like her not using his card and he had the uncanny ability to call at the worst possible times.

“Kagome,” he said as her coffee order was called, his voice a mix of affection and exasperation, “I gave you the card so you can use it.”

“Yeah, but I have it covered.”

Miroku handed her the drink when she neared the counter, his raised eyebrow indicating that he knew exactly the conversation she was having on the phone. No privacy anywhere.

“The schedule’s posted,” he said, glancing at the new customers that just walked in. “Tell Kouga hi for me.”

Cup of coffee and lemon scone in one hand, phone to her ear in the other, Kagome didn’t hesitate to escape the noise of the cafe and slip into the back. Her eyes went to the bulletin board just as she realized the silence coming from the other end of the line.

“Kouga?”

“I’m here,” he said, something warm curling in her stomach at the adoration still in his tone. “How’s your schedule look for next week?”

Damn the man for asking about the one thing she didn’t want to tell him.

“It’s…alright.”

Her pause had been too noticeable.

“How many hours?”

She blew out a breath. “Eighteen.”

The beat of silence that came after that told her all she needed to know: her streak of ignoring the shiny new card in her wallet was about to end.

“Kouga, I’m fine, I prom—”

“We made a deal, right?” Concern started to thread through the other emotions in his voice, but she focused on the affection instead. “I agreed that I won’t pay your bills, you agreed to let me pay for everything else.”

“I haven’t needed to buy—”

“And we also agreed that food doesn’t count as a bill,” he continued, confirming her suspicions. He knew she paid for her coffee. “Nor do clothes or dinners with friends or the new book you’ve had your eye on for three weeks.”

“Kouga—”

“Use the card, beautiful.” Wise of him not to let her speak, especially paired with that pet name that sent her stomach fluttering, and they’d been dating long enough for him to utilize the knowledge effectively. “Go shopping, get your groceries, meet Sango for drinks, and have fun. Please. Use the card.”

“Kouga, I told you the slow season was coming up—”

“If you don’t use that card, I’m going to shop for you.”

She froze, knowing Kouga just won. The last time he’d purchased something for her, she came home to a box containing shoes more expensive than her rent and a jewelry set that could have supplied lunch to a small army. Considering he hadn’t even touched clothes, Kagome couldn’t take the risk of him dropping a fortune in retaliation and stocking that in her closet.

And then expect her wear said fortune.

“I love you,” he said softly, breaking through the mental struggle she was experiencing.

“I love you, too.”

“Have fun today. See you tonight.”

Kagome stared at her phone, running through the conversation again in her head. Her thumb moved and she tapped Sango’s name before putting the phone to her ear.

It appeared that she was going shopping.

*

She was heading toward the line at the bookstore when Sango showed up. Kagome hadn’t intended to start there, but one look at the store amidst a sea of clothes and expenses, she knew it would be easier. A book was simple. Small and easy, something she would have afforded herself and something she knew without a doubt he would have gifted her with.

So with book in one hand and wallet in the other, Kagome made her way to the register before she was interrupted by Sango.

“He finally get to you?” her friend asked with obvious amusement.

“He threatened to go shopping for me himself if I didn’t start using his card.”

Her complaint was received with a laugh.

“You’re not supposed to be on his side,” Kagome spouted in annoyance. “What happened to being strong, independent women?”

“Strong, independent women get to be strong, independent women because they’re smart, Kagome,” Sango shot back easily. “So when a strong, independent woman falls in love with a strong, handsome man who’s so in love with her, he wants to give her the world—and just so happens to make enough money to do so—said strong, independent woman thanks her lucky stars and accepts her new sugar daddy.”

“Don’t call him that!” she hissed, looking around at anyone who might have heard. “He doesn’t have to give me his money to give me the world. He doesn’t have to give me money at all.”

Sango’s response was interrupted by the line moving and one of the cashiers calling for Kagome, so she took the interruption and placed her book on the counter. Her fingers stuttered over the black card, not even able to touch it, before she shook her head and—

Use the card, beautiful.

Kagome didn’t blink as she passed over the thick, black credit card, finished out her transaction, and tucked the card and receipt in her wallet. Sango was waiting for her and if she focused on that, she could grab the bag and get going and be out of the bookstore and into the mall before she finally realized what she actually did.

“Oh my God, I have a sugar daddy.”

“Now she’s getting it,” Sango cheered, bumping her shoulder into Kagome’s.

“I’m a total slut.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Sango, I have a sugar daddy.”

“And you fell in love with him before you knew how much money he had.”

“But—“

“Kagome.”

That hard tone had her gaze shooting up.

“Are you with Kouga because of his money?”

Kagome shook her head.

“If Kouga was just as broke as you, would you leave him?”

She shook her head again.

“Are you using Kouga?”

Another shake, this one with wide eyes, but Sango continued before she could speak.

“Then stop.”

Standing there in the middle of the mall, Kagome reflected over their relationship and how it progressed over the last year since he first came into the coffee shop she worked at. How he continued coming in to talk to her, how he finally asked her out for lunch, and then how he nurtured a relationship between the two of them before she finally fell in love.

“Do you think he gets something out of buying stuff for me?” Kagome blurted out.

“Probably,” Sango shrugged. “I would be surprised if he didn’t, but I think it’s more to do with taking care of you than some type of power trip.”

“So me not using his card,” she paused, not quite certain what she thought of her own realization, “is like an insult?”

Sango’s eyes softened and she leaned in. “I can’t answer that, Kagome. You have to ask him. But you said you needed some new bras, right?”

Oof, good hit. Kagome was wearing her last good one and that was saying something considering it was holding on by a thread.

Sango read her expression correctly. “Let’s go get you some bras. You can rationalize it later when you remember what Kouga gets out of you buying lingerie.”

*

Shopping turned out to be a good idea.

First, Kouga noticed. Ten minutes after she left the bookstore, he sent her a text containing a single, red heart. After she left the lingerie shop, his text told her he was taking her out that evening on a date paired with that knowing eyes emoji. Sango took one look at “date” and made sure she found a new dress to go with her sexy underwear. And after the dress, she stumbled upon a few clothing essentials and Kagome spent more in one afternoon than she could remember spending in months, but each purchase was rewarded with sweet words from Kouga. It made the whole thing easy to swallow.

Second, she really did need the clothes. Well, maybe not everything she bought, but the underwear, definitely. And nice fitting jeans were hard to find, especially when they were on sale — which they were. And comfortable shorts that didn’t show off her butt cheeks almost didn’t exist anymore, but she found a few pairs anyway. So with all of that, Kagome ended up with more clothing than she had been anticipating, but it was all clothing she would wear.

Exception to the dress. Not many places would she wear that, but she was getting use out of it on their date and it was nice to have a nice gown in her closet in case something like this happened again.

And it was a wonderful date. Kouga took her to a really nice restaurant where he was dressed in a button down with no tie and good-fitting slacks that showed off the length of his legs. He always looked good no matter what he wore, but in her new dress and heels, Kagome almost felt like she finally fit next to him.

She still preferred him in jeans and a tee hanging out at the park. Their casual dates were where she fell in love with him and she wouldn’t trade them for all the nice champagne in the world.

But Kouga loved taking her out, showing her off to anyone they saw. He asked about her shopping and what she got, Sango and how she was doing with her upcoming summer classes, even about work and life and Kagome’s other friends and reminding her all over again why she loved him. Even with his ridiculous amount of money.

It was only on their way to his home when Kagome finally plucked up the courage to ask him the question she’d been wondering for days.

“Kouga, why do you want me to spend your money?”

“Because I like taking care of you,” he answered immediately.

“Yeah, but you already take care of me.”

He tore his eyes away from the road for a split second to study her. “Not in the same way.”

“But I don’t need you to,” she said, trying to sort through her own thoughts. “I don’t need all of this. The dress is nice, but completely unnecessary if I get to be with you.”

The came to a stop in front of a red light and Kouga took the opportunity to reach out and squeeze her hand. “It’s necessary to me.”

She jerked, but he continued talking.

“Let me explain.” He squeezed her hand again. “No, you don’t need any of this. You are more than capable of surviving on your own and you were doing a damn good job of it before I met you. I don’t want to take that from you, Kagome, because I know how important it is to you.”

So far, so good; he was making sense and still acknowledging her pride.

“You’re a giving person. I’ve never seen someone hand out their heart to so many people in so many ways. You remember the day I finally talked to you? I watched you pull out your own wallet to paid for a little girl to get a cookie because she just so happened to walk in from the rain.”

“Every child deserves a cookie when they’re scared and looking for their mother,” she protested quietly.

His face broke out in an immediate, large smile. “See? You’re still doing it now.” Kouga turned back to the road as the light turned green. “Kagome, you give and give and give all the time. I look at you and all I want to do is give back.”

“You already give back.”

“Not enough.”

“Kouga,” she stressed, “it is enough.”

He was quiet, a frown starting to furrow his eyebrows and she let him have the moment to think. “It’s enough for you because you’re happy with me, something I’m damned lucky for and always will be. But it’s not enough for me, not when there’s so much more I can give you.”

Sango’s words echoed in Kagome’s ear.

“And since you’re so stubborn and won’t let me take care of you the way I really want to,” he continued, his tone turning teasing, “I do it this way. You want to pay your bills? I understand and respect that. But a shopping spree? Nice clothes and pretty dresses and good books you’re going to read and the peace of mind that you’ll have all of that even when you have slow hours at work? That is what I want to give you.”

She never thought of it that way, not in the sense of what Kouga was feeling. After being on the receiving end of pity masked as care far too many times, Kagome learned to refuse help she didn’t earn. But if giving her a credit card made Kouga feel at ease, that made it a little different.

Only one question left to ask and it was one she really wanted the answer to, but she wasn’t sure it was an answer she wanted to face.

“Was it insulting when I didn’t use your card?”

His silence said everything.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t mean it, Kagome,” he interrupted softly, “and I didn’t tell you for a reason.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t think it was fair to guilt you into doing something you really didn’t want to do.”

Her heart warmed with affection for this man. “Is that why you kept calling me when you noticed I wasn’t using it?”

“Part of it,” he grinned, “but mostly because I really enjoy seeing just how stubborn you can be.”

“I still bought way too much today,” she said. “Some of it has got to be taken back—”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Kouga squeezed her hand again. “I’ll rip the tags off and steal your receipts if I have to, but you’re not returning anything after I finally got you to spoil yourself.”

That tugged at her heart even more, a small smile growing on her lips as she realized just how much it meant to him.

Still, she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. “I still feel weird.”

“I know and I think you’ll feel weird for a while.” Kouga pulled into the driveway to his home, parking in the garage before turning to face her. “But thank you for doing it, anyway.”

“You’re welcome.”

He looked at her in the dim lights of his garage, his eyes dancing over her face and then down her dress. His grin turned dirty and Kagome’s cheeks instantly heated as she remembered what the grin was for. “Please tell me you’re wearing your new lingerie. I’ve been dying to see what you bought all day.”

“You think I bought them for you?” she asked, feigning propriety in order to hide the sudden bout of bashfulness.

“I know you did.” He undid his seatbelt and slid out of the car and Kagome knew better than to open her door before he got to it. Some things, she was learning, meant a lot to him and Kouga really wanted to take care of her in his own way.

He helped her out of the car, pulling her up and into his body as he let his hands slide down the silk covering her sides before they settled on her hips. “This dress looks fantastic.”

“Sango helped me pick it out,” she answered, sliding her arms up and around his neck.

“I’ll have to thank her.” He crowded her against the car door. “But first, I need to see what you have on under here.”

“Nothing special,” she lied.

His eyes were knowing as he leaned down and touched his lips to hers. Her heels made kissing him easier, a simple tilt of her neck as she pressed her body against his, welcoming the slide of his tongue.

“Do you work tomorrow?” he murmured in her ear as he nipped the sensitive skin of her neck.

“No,” she breathed.

“Good.” His tongue slid down her neck and he sucked gently on the curve of her shoulder. “You can spend the day showing me everything you bought.”

“Is this going to become a thing?” she asked, desperately focusing on the feel of his mouth rather than the reminder of her day. “A fashion show every time I use your card?”

Something in her voice must have tipped him off because he pulled back, his eyes finding hers and searching out answers to questions he didn’t ask. He didn’t need to; his concern was etched over his face.

“Does it really bother you?”

She swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze, consider his feelings, swallow her pride, and be truthful about her day. “At first, yes. But after talking to you, I think…I think I feel a little better.”

The silence stretched as he watched her, but then he must have found whatever he had been looking for and a grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “If you’re really struggling, I don’t mind shopping for you.”

“Oh no,” she returned immediately, already picturing the monstrosities she’d come home to. “Please don’t. I’ll be fine with this.”

“Good.” Kouga kissed her again, then pulled her away from the car. “Now come on — it’s about time I really appreciate some of your purchases.”

I know the focus about the credit card sounds like ridiculous consumerism, but if you guys ever get the chance to hold a black American Express card, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve had a few come through my register when I worked at a bookstore in college and oh man, you know something’s different the instant it touches your fingers. It’s insane.

Also, thanks to anon, smutty second chapter here!

[be-more-cryptid]

A Winter’s Date Night

A quick college au genyatta thing I finally finished. It’s just under 3k words so it’s on the shorter side but I wanted to finish it up.

i might do more with this college au in the future too.

(also if y’all want a spicy second chap let me know)

Link on Ao3

Genji stands in his bathroom staring critically into the mirror. Who gave his hair permission to not cooperate on date night? He groans and seriously contemplates taking another shower just to get all of the gunk out of his hair and start fresh, but a quick look at his phone tells him he does not have time for that.

“Look, let’s find some middle ground here, yeah? I know you’re mad after that last bleaching but I promise, if you work with me tonight I’ll pick up some of that deep repairing conditioner and fix you up right,” Genji mumbles to his own goddamn hair as he goes in for another round of trying to get his hair to work with him. Who knows, maybe his hair could be a merciful god tonight.

“Are you… bargaining with your hair,” Hanzo raises an incredulous eyebrow as he leans on the bathroom’s door frame.

Genji flips him off behind his back without looking away from the mirror, “Yeah well if I was you, I’d be doing more than bargaining. Or maybe I missed the fashion trend of untended split ends.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Have you tried not being a total ass when you’re stressed? And are you seriously getting so bent out of shape over your appearance for someone who grew up as a monk?”

Genji groans and lets his head drop back to look at his brother over his shoulder, “Can I just be vain in peace here? It’s important to me.”

“Sure, fine,” Hanzo shrugs and pushes himself away from the doorway, his hands dropping down to be shoved into the pockets of his Archery Club sweats, “but just so you know, you should have left five minutes ago if you wanted to get to the other side of campus in time.”

“What!” Genji shrieks and scrambles to grab his phone off the bathroom counter amidst all his hair products and makeup. The phone lights up with a 6:25pm on the lock screen. Shit shit shit. He was supposed to pick Zenyatta up at his dorm at 6:30, but it was clear on the other side of campus which was at least a 10-minute walk.

“Why didn’t you warn me!” Genji tears out of the bathroom and snatches his coat off the back of his desk chair, shooting an accusatory glare at his brother now lounging on the couch with his phone in his hand.

Hanzo looks up from his phone at him with a less than impressed look, “I’m not your keeper. You should be responsible enough to keep track of time for your own dates.”

“Augh, fine, whatever. But you better not be here when I get back! We had a deal,” Genji says as he hops on one foot to tug his boot on, then the other.

“You don’t have to remind me, I actually remembered the plan for the night,” Hanzo retorts, a hint of smugness creeping into his tone.

“Fuck off, but thanks.” Genji snatches his keys off the hook near the door and speeds through his mental checklist: keys, check, phone, check, wallet, check, yeah good enough.

“Okseeyoulaterbyeeeeee,” Genji calls as he rushes out the front door of their apartment and slams the door shut behind him. He takes the two flights of stairs down two at a time. Once down at ground level, he starts power walking down the sidewalk to get over to Zenyatta’s dorm. The cold air really hits him then. He pulls his scarf up over his mouth and shoves his hands in his pockets. A brief glance at his phone shows the time at 6:28 and he winces. So much for being on time.

He could run the rest of the way, but then he would be sweaty and out of breath to pick up his date. He might be in amazing shape, but a sprint across campus in a couple layers of clothes will still take a lot out of him.

Instead, he pulls up Zen’s chat thread and taps out a quick omw lost track of time, sorry!

It buzzes before he can put his phone back in his pocket with Zenyatta’s response: No worries, thank you for the heads up. I can’t wait to see you! Followed by two heart emojis which definitely do not make Genji grin like a love-struck idiot. Nope, not at all.

When Genji finally makes it across campus, Zenyatta is already outside on a bench in front of his dorm building. Genji smiles and pulls his scarf back down from his nose as he approaches his partner, “Hey there handsome, what’s a guy like you doing out here alone in the cold?”

Zenyatta looks up from his phone and a warm smile spreads across his face. He stands and pockets his phone, “Oh just waiting for my boyfriend. He has a habit of being fashionably late.”

“Does he now,” Genji slides up to Zenyatta and slips his arms around his boyfriend’s trim waist.

“Yes, but since he is the one with the plans for our evening, I think I’ll have to let it slide,” Zenyatta retorts. He leans up and kisses Genji, looping his arms around the taller man’s neck and happily sharing his warmth in the cold winter night.

When they break away Genji is left with a fluttering heart and a doofy smile on his face. Looking down at his boyfriend he wonders for the umpteenth time if he was ever going to get tired of kissing this man. He leans his forehead on Zenyatta's and mutters, “I am sorry for being late though.”

Zenyatta hums and slides his hands down to cup Genji’s jaw, “All is forgiven.”

They share one last quick kiss before stepping out of each other’s space and settling for Zenyatta’s hand tucked into the crook of Genji’s arm. Zen smiles up at him and asks, “So, what is our plan for the night, dearest?”

Genji starts walking, Zenyatta easily falling into step with him as they walk down the path away from Zenyatta’s dorm, “How does dinner then back to my place for movie night sound?”

Zenyatta hums again, his nose already rosy on the tip from the cold, “That sounds lovely. Where to for dinner?”

Genji shrugs and shoots a small wave to a couple of his friends from the kendo club as they pass the couple on the walkway, “I figured since I chose last time we could go someplace you wanted. And if not I’ve got a few places in mind we could hit up.”

“Oh you know, I’ve been dying to go back to that diner across from the science building. The one with the spiced oolong tea. I think miss Mei-Ling works there part-time if I remember correctly.”

“Sounds right. Angela was telling me about that the other day. Both of them spend more time in the science building then most of the faculty, I swear,” Genji chuckles fondly.

“Indeed, they both work so hard. Hopefully, miss Mei-Ling will have some time off to rest between work and her course load,” Zenyatta muses while they walk.

Zenyatta shivers and presses himself closer to Genji’s side. Genji smiles and pretends not to notice, but his heart flutters from the contact.

It’s not long until they’re passing the science building then crossing the street to the little diner that is well loved by the students. The Willow Diner is surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. Though, it’s not exactly the hotspot around campus, especially with all the clubs just a few blocks down the city streets. Even so, it’s a 24-hour diner next to a college campus, so it’s got a few people in the booths.

Mei is wiping down a booth when they walk in. She turns to greet them as the chime of the bell above the door signals that customers have walked in, but when she recognizes them she immediately lights up, “Genji, Zenyatta, it’s so good to see you two!”

“Hey Mei,” Genji grins and gives her a little salute.

“Greetings, miss Mei-Ling. How are you tonight,” Zenyatta untucks himself from Genji’s side now that they’re in the warmth of the cafe. He unwraps his oversized scarf and hangs it on the coat rack next to the door. Genji does the same and adds his jacket to the rack as well.

“Oh, I’m good, about to get off shift actually. Go ahead and sit anywhere and I’ll grab you guys some menus. Your usual drinks too?” She smiles and tucks her rag into the strap of her apron.

“That would be delightful, thank you,” Zen says and Genji flashes her a quick thumbs-up then leads the way over to a booth by the windows.

They settle into the booth and Mei drops off two menus and a small, steaming teapot and two cups, “Give it a few minutes to steep and you’re set. Like I said, I’m about to clock out, but Andrew should be off his lunch any minute now. He’ll take care of you guys.”

“Sweet, thanks, Mei. Got any big plans for the night?” Genji flips through his menu as if he wasn’t already set on what he wants to order.

“Nothing interesting. I’m actually going back to the lab after this. There’s a bug with my weather tracking and prediction model that I have to get figured out before my team’s milestone on Monday,” she sighs and glances at the clock above the front door, “we said we would meet at 7:30, so I got Andrew to cover the last hour of my shift tonight.”

Genji leans back in his seat and whistles, “Shit man, that sucks. Good luck with that. If you see Angela in lab tell her I said hi. And to get some sleep.”

Mei laughs and shakes her head, “As if that will do any good. I swear the only way to get her out of there is to actually drag her away from her projects. Well, I’ll see you guys around. Enjoy your meal!”

They both wave as she turns and walks behind the counter. Genji goes back to scanning the menu while Zenyatta actually decides what he wants, finding his attention pulled back to the man in front of him more often than not. Genji loves noticing all the small movements and details Zenyatta makes when reading. The slight squint when he’s focused, the small tilt of his head when he’s considering something, Genji has them all memorized by now.

Dinner itself was peaceful, the perfect break from their busy schedules. They chatted about life, their classes, their friends. The tea warmed Genji from the inside out and brought the cutest flush onto Zenyatta’s cheeks, which Genji pushed further with casual flirting spread throughout their conversation. Zenyatta, never one to fall behind, dropped his own flirtatious remarks in stride with Genji.

Zenyatta insists on paying when they’re finished since Genji covered on their last date. They bundle back up before heading out into the chilly night, Zenyatta automatically slipping his hand into the crook of Genji’s elbow.

Zenyatta looks up at the dark sky, not a star to be seen under the thick cloud over, “They’re predicting snow over the weekend. Maybe it will stick this time,” he sighs and pulls his scarf up to cover his chin, “I always start to get homesick this time of year, but a fresh layer of snow reminds me of home. And of playing in the snow with my brother when we were young before our duties kept us inside,” he chuckles, fondness clear in his voice.

Genji nods and they start down the path that will lead back to his apartment. He was lucky enough that his parents were willing to cover the rent for an apartment next to campus so that he didn’t have to stay in a dorm. The only conditions were to stay in school full time and to room with Hanzo, a small price to pay not to deal with RAs and campus restrictions.

“I’ve always liked the snow, especially when it snowed bad enough to close school. When we were younger, I used to goad Hanzo into playing in it with me. Even when we were teenagers, I could usually get him outside. Though then it turned more into a sparring match in the snow,” Genji laughs. “That went about as well as you could imagine.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Zenyatta smiles up at him, eyes full of mirth, “yet something tells me not much has changed. I believe I recall a certain someone starting a campus-wide snowball war last year during finals week.”

Genji snorts, “Hey you have no proof. And to my credit, Hana and Jesse were the ones who started it. I just got it more… involved. Plus we needed the break, the campus felt like a time bomb with too many short fuses. The students here need to learn to relax!”

“Mm, yes, relax,” Zenyatta shakes his head, cheeks bright from smiling and the cold, “I’m sure Angela would agree with that.”

“It totally wasn’t my fault she got pelted coming out of the science building. Ok, it might have been a little my fault, but I did apologize and make it up to her by buying her morning coffee every day for like two weeks.”

Zenyatta laughs and pats his arm, “I know, I know, I’m just giving you a hard time.”

When they get to Genji’s building, Genji fishes his keys out from his pockets and Zenyatta follows him up the stairs, “Fun fact, we have the place to ourselves tonight.”

“Oh?” Genji unlocks the door and Zenyatta steps in behind him, “Did you shoo your poor brother-”

Genji steps into Zenyatta’s personal space and cuts him off him off with a kiss, shutting the door and locking it without looking. He wraps his arms around Zen’s waist to pull him closer, smiling into the kiss when he feels Zenyatta’s arm loop around his neck. Zenyatta tastes like the spiced oolong tea that they love so much and Genji can’t get enough of it.

Zenyatta eventually pulls away, flush high on his cheeks and a little breathless, “Can I at least get my shoes off?”

Genji barks out a laugh and pecks him again before stepping back, “Yeah, sorry, I got impatient.”

“No need to apologize, dearest, you just surprised me is all. I don’t think I’d ever truly complain about something like that,” Zenyatta unlaces his boots and scoots them out of the way of the front door.

Genji pulls off his scarf and jacket and throws them on the low bench next to the door, “I’ll make us some popcorn.” He tosses his boots to the side, looking haphazard next to Zenyatta’s neat placement, “Make yourself at home!”

Genji busies himself in the kitchen, throwing a bag of popcorn in the microwave and putting the kettle on the stove for more tea.

Zenyatta’s head peaks around the corner and catches Genji’s attention, “Do you mind if I move some blankets around?”

“Nah, go for it. Building a nest?” Genji asks as he pulls out some chai.

“Perhaps,” Zenyatta hums then disappears back around the wall. Genji chuckles and finishes preparing the snacks and tea. He brings a bowl of popcorn and two mugs out into the living room and stops, taking in the state of the couch.

The spare blankets they keep under the couch have been pulled out along with the pillows from both the loveseat and the recliner, all stacked together to make a nest of sorts on the couch that faces the TV. Zenyatta twists and looks at him over the back of the couch with a proud smile on his face, “Like what you see?”

Genji snorts and presses a kiss to Zenyatta’s forehead, “Always. Now budge over, hot stuff coming over and I’m not talking about the tea.”

Genji winks for emphasis which has Zen laughing as he moves. They settle in next to each other, mugs of tea held in their laps and the bowl of popcorn between them. Genji cues the movie up on his phone then flicks it over to the TV.

Zenyatta perks up when he sees Cloud Atlas start playing, “Oh I haven’t seen this movie in so long. What a good choice, Genji.”

“Thanks, Hanzo actually recommended it. I’ve never seen it, but I did some research and it seemed right up your alley.”

“It’s perfect,” Zenyatta leans over and kisses Genji’s cheek, which gives him the perfect chance to then turn his head and capture Zenyatta’s lips in another long kiss. When they break away, Zen insists on pulling the movie back to watch what they missed, saying otherwise Genji won’t really understand what’s going on. He does so without complaint, then puts the popcorn bowl on his lap so that he can pull Zenyatta closer. Genji wraps an arm around his shoulder and plays the movie, already content not knowing what the hell is going on in the movie if that’s the price for spending some quality time with his boyfriend.