#THIS IS RIDICULOUSLY CUTE I'M SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW

[chimielie]

the lucky ones

summary: Hinata x Reader. on your twenty-second birthday, your well-meaning family does something awful.

word count: 1.5k

cw: reader's parents do something shitty, insecurity, mild peril, not a soulmate au but the concept of soulmates/fate/etc is central

a/n: elements of truth everywhere... aunt saki and uncle junichi's stories are real... everyone in my family met their life partner by age 21... i'm cooked

"We just want you to be happy," your mother says, her tone apologetic even through the tinny audio of your phone.

You smile with gritted teeth and wrap the arm not holding the device around yourself. It's cold standing outside the restaurant, your thin cardigan not doing much to protect you from the wind chill.

"I told you we shouldn't mess with this kind of stuff," you hear your father chide her, barely loud enough for the speakers to pick up on. "Just let it be the kid's birthday. We'll come now, okay?"

You have... a particular family inheritance.

Your grandfather and all of his siblings and all of their children met their soulmates by the age of twenty-one.

Aunt Saki met her husband in junior high, starting dating in first year, and have been married for twelve years. Great-uncle Junichi and his wife went to high school together and never spoke, then bumped into each other on the street while both on vacation in a different country a year after graduation and have a summer home there. Your mother had been engaged, met your father at university, and penned a letter to her fiancé right away that she had met someone who would make her laugh for the rest of her life.

To make things worse, they're all deliriously happy. You grew up surrounded by couples who loved each other truly, madly, and deeply, your childhood belief in fairytales cemented by the plethora of evidence all around you.

When you got to be of dating age, that belief had been rudely shattered.

The rest of the world didn't live like your clan did. You went on first dates and came away being told that you expected too much, that you would never find a partner willing to do all that for you.

You're nice, but I don't think I can give you what you need.

We're so young. I'd have to be crazy to commit this early.

I can't see a future with you.

Each mismatch chipped a little further away at the bubble your family had built. At the same time, as the years passed, your relatives began to grow antsy, subtly nudging you when an attractive man walked by, failing to comment casually when you posted a photo with a pretty friend. You wanted to think it was sweet, that they wanted the happiness for you that they had, but the closer you got to leaving twenty-one behind, the more you began to feel like each matchmaking effort, blind date, and engineered meet-cute screamed "what are you doing wrong?"

"This is ridiculous," you say finally, squeezing your eyes shut. Despite yourself, a tear slides down your cheek. "This is—don't bother coming. I don't want to see you."

You'd been meant to meet them for dinner tonight—for your fucking twenty-second birthday dinner—but you'd arrived at the restaurant and been guided to a table for two, an ornate display of roses sprayed up between the chairs, and a man waiting for you.

You hadn't been proud of it, but you'd refused to even speak to him beyond a perfunctory get out, knowing exactly what your parents had done. You click off the call and wish you could throw your phone in the street, tilting your head up and trying to force yourself to take deep breaths. How your own parents standing you up was supposed to make you happy, you had no idea.

You sigh and walk away from the restaurant, knowing that you'll never be able to come back. It's a shame; you really liked their coq au vin.

It's a busy night downtown. People stream past you on the sidewalk, couples and families laughing, the city lights so bright you imagine they're twinkling along with the music of love. You'd be appreciative if you weren't feeling so crushed.

You don't mind that you haven't met the love of your life. You know love is still out there—out there for you, even, not as jaded or lovelorn as your family seems to assume. You just wish the expectation from all the epic romances you grew up with wasn't so high-pressure.

As you stew, your pace quickening as you visualize the bubble bath and bottle of wine waiting for you at home, you don't quite look both ways when you cross the street.

There's a gust of wind—a screech—a shrill noise you only realize a few seconds later is your own scream. You blink and suddenly you're knocked on your ass, sprawled back in the middle of a cross walk, one of your wrists bent at an awkward angle. You stare into the headlights of the car that just missed hitting you by a hair, shaking out your wrist once you're sure it's really not moving anymore. Not broken, but it'll be stiff for a few days, you're sure.

"Oh—" there's a bitten off curse. You're still a little shocked as the owner of the car, his hair as orange as the vehicle and hurtling towards you twice as fast, rushes out, babbling apologies. "I'm so sorry, are you okay? Did I kill you? Crap, I killed someone!"

You shake your head slowly, starting to push yourself up and wincing as you lean on your bad wrist. The stranger offers you his hand, putting a hand on your back, not too low, steadying you. It must be the adrenaline—your nerves spark under the touch.

"Thanks," you say, your voice low. "Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."

"No, I'm sorry," he shakes his head vigorously, unintentionally shaking you a bit with him. You laugh a little. It's hard to be angry with someone so dynamic.

You sneak a glance up at him as he guides you to the sidewalk. He's also handsome. He's stocky, well-muscled from what you can tell of his body that's supporting yours, but his face is almost pretty, his features delicate over strong bones. There are earrings, little gold studs, glinting in his earlobes that you hadn't noticed until he'd come this close. His eyes, though: they're alight with life, shining under the streetlights even as he's so obviously worried about you. You lose your breath all over again.

"I should make it up to you," he says when you've safely reached the sidewalk. "You could hit me, if you wanted." He starts fishing around in his pockets, presumably for his car keys, before you can even process that insane sentence.

"No, I don't want that!" You blurt as he pulls out a keyring, trying not to look at the way his shorts stretch around his thighs or his button-up over his pecs. "You don't have to—just, um, what's your name?"

"Shōyō," he says, and you can see it in his eyes again, that spark warming and steadying, like a wildfire put in a hearth. "Yours?"

You tell him. "Seriously, you didn't hit me."

"But your wrist," he takes your hand, stroking rough fingers over the exposed skin of your arm. There are bandages on some of them, making you wonder what he does for a living. Maybe carpentry? When your breath stutters in your chest, you swear he heard it from the snap of his gaze to yours, the subtle twitch that pulls you closer to him.

"It'll be okay," you insist. "But, um, if you really wanted to help me out... I've had kind of a shitty night and a ride home would make things much easier."

"Yes!" He says, his volume making you flinch back. "Sorry. Yes. Of course. Be happy to."

His car is still in the middle of the street, the hazards blinking merrily. It's a nice car, you note, its color as bold and vivacious as the owner. As you slide into the passenger seat, Shōyō holding the door so you don't have to use your injured hand, you notice something that makes your heart drop in your chest for the second time that night. A spray of red roses sticks out of the cupholder, the stems carefully protected by a clear wrapping.

"Are you on your way to a date?" You ask as he gets in on the other side, blinking at you owlishly until you gesture to the bouquet. "I'm so sorry, you really don't have to do this—I don't want to make you late—"

"No!" He assures you, yelping over your stumbling speech. "No. I, um, actually was coming back. She cancelled last minute. In fact," Shōyō says, tugging the roses out of their makeshift sheath. "I think these are for you."

You accept them, wordless with shock, slouching down a little in your seat. When you touch your cheek, your skin is warm, your chilled fingers against it enough of a sign that you're awake. Your phone buzzes under you, a notification from your dad that you swipe away without looking.

You were a late baby, stretching out your due date and waiting almost until midnight for the timestamp on your birth certificate. You're not twenty-two for another few minutes.

"Shō," you say, not sure what confidence possesses you to call him by a nickname when you've only just met. "What do you think of fate?"

[cameronsbabydoll]

Simon “Ghost” Riley Taking You To The Zoo (because you begged)

"Si, pleaseee? We never do anything fun when you're home."

You're practically climbing into his lap on the couch, arms around his neck, giving him the full big eyes treatment like you're about to pass away from sheer boredom.

Simon — home on leave, hoodie sleeves pushed up, skull tattoo peeking from his wrist — gives you that flat, unimpressed stare.

"The fuck's fun about the zoo, love?" he mutters, deadpan. "Payin' twenty quid to smell animal shite."

"But there's penguins!" you gasp, like that's life changing news. "And meerkats! And those little monkeys that sit on your shoulder sometimes —"

"If any animal climbs on me I'm launchin' it over the fence."

"SIMON."

But he takes you anyway.

At The Zoo...

He's trailing behind you like some big grumpy bodyguard — black hoodie, cargo pants, absolutely looking like he got lost on his way to a tactical op — while you're darting from enclosure to enclosure like you're five years old.

And every time you gasp and grab his hand all excited — "LOOK at the otters!! They're holding hands, Si!" — he just shakes his head with that little scoff under his breath.

"Christ, I married an absolute nutter."

But he stands there anyway. Lets you tug him right up to the glass. Stands so close behind you his hand rests lazy on your lower back — protective without even thinking.

The Petting Zoo Part

You're feeding the goats and he's just leaned on the fence, arms crossed, mask tugged low so you can see the sharp curve of his unimpressed mouth.

"Y'know they're gonna eat your hair next, yeah?"

"They're hungry, Simon!"

"So's half of Manchester, don't see me handin' 'em me dinner."

But then one of the goats does try to nibble your sleeve and you're squealing, hiding behind his stupidly broad back, while he huffs out a rare laugh.

"Told ya, daft thing."

And of course he buys you the little cup of animal feed anyway.

On The Way Out...

You've somehow collected:

1 penguin plushie

1 keychain that says "Zoo Day!!!"

and a ridiculous animal-themed headband you insisted was "so cute."

Simon is holding the bag without complaint.

"'M startin' to feel like a bloody pack mule." he says, dead dry.

But when you link your arm through his and lean your head on his shoulder all happy and sleepy, he glances down at you.

Voice low, rough, but warmer now.

"Had a good day, then?"

"Best day ever."

And there's just the smallest twitch of a smile tugging at his mouth as he grumbles,

"Yeah. Me too, pet."

[yanderedrabbles]

💕 Yandere Valentine's Day Gifts ♥️

Prompt: You own the local flower shop. It's Valentine's Day. Which customers will be popping in?

Yandere! Sugar Daddy calls you two weeks before Valentine's to order fifteen separate bouquets for his darling. Every exotic and rare shade that roses come in.

"I want them delivered fresh. Early morning please."

"Yes sir, I can manage that," you tell him, still reeling at the ridiculously large amount he just paid you.

On Valentine's Day, his maid let's you and your crew into his penthouse. You can't help but let out a low whistle when you see the size of the place.

He directs you to set the bouquets out around the living room. The morning light from the floor to ceiling windows catches on the glitter you dusted across the arrangements.

He has a sort of nervous energy - arranging and then rearranging the flowers. You sometimes hear a thumping, banging sound from deeper in his penthouse but when you ask him about it he says its just the building creaking. You don't know much about skyscrapers this high and so you let it go.

When it's all finally to his satisfaction, he tips you and your crew very generously. As you leave, you see him setting out a whole slew of iconic Tiffany jewellery boxes.

His darling will be showered with the most expensive love money can buy. Whether they want it or not.

Yandere! Bisexual Best Friend breezes into your shop like a true haute couture diva. He looks over his designer sunglasses and snorts with disdain at the traditional red bouquets.

"Nothing so cliche for my girl," he tells you.

He orders pink and white camellias, with sprigs of baby's breath. He has you wrap the stems in matching pastel paper. When you ask him if he'd like to include a card, he writes his message in a beautiful, looping cursive.

'I know no boyfriend will get you flowers that you actually like. That's why you have me. Happy Valentine's Day gorgeous.'

"Very elegant," you tell him.

"Thanks. I'm meeting her for brunch and drinks after this."

He shows you his other gift for his darling. A bottle of expensive perfume, in a glittery blush pink box.

When you ask him if his friend has any dates planned, he tilts his head and smiles without any warmth at all.

"Not if I can help it."

Yandere! Actor doesn't come into the shop or call you directly. It's his hurried, harried assistant that places the order.

"Five dozen roses in a single bouquet. I'll bring you some chocolate that he wants between the flowers. Oh, and a card. Don't forget the card."

When she drops off the chocolate for you to use in your arrangement, you can't help but want to look up the price. Everything from the packaging to the hefty weight of each chocolate screams luxury artisanal brand.

The final arrangement is beautiful, but in a looking-good-on-camera sort of way. You don't know the order is for him until his assistant accidentally let's it slip who her boss is. Your eyebrows shoot up but you manage not to ask any questions. A billionaire and now a celebrity. Seems like everyone wants to be extra romantic this year.

"What does he want on the card?" you ask, pen poised.

"Oh, he sent one for you to use." She hands you a card printed on thick cream paper, elegant in its minimalism. You glance at the writing before you can stop yourself.

'A star like you deserves all the flowers. Happy Valentine's dollface.'

Cute. The exact sort of thing you'd expect from a heart throb like him.

It's only when you see him and his darling on the red carpet later that night - his arm around their waist the entire night - that you begin to wonder if there's more to their relationship than meets the eye.

Yandere! Werewolf shows up right before you close, hands on his knees while he catches his breath. He ran straight to your shop after football practice and there's still grass stains on his chin.

"Oh god, tell me I'm not too late for roses." He looks so worried that you take pity on him and agree to look in the back for any bouquets that might have slipped under the radar.

He must be supernaturally lucky, because you manage to find a dozen red roses. When you get back to the front, he's taken out the rest of his gifts from his backpack.

There's an overstaffed werewolf plush, an extra large leather dog collar, some pre-packaged bones and a chew toy.

"Interesting selection," you say as you ring up his flowers.

He rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah. They uh... have a dog. It's mostly for the dog."

You get the sense he isn't being entirely honest, but you're not the type to pry. When you're done, he shoots you a gorgeous smile.

"I totally owe you one. You really kept me out of the doghouse."

He's just about to leave when he suddenly remembers something. He digs in the pocket of his letterman jacket and pulls out a clear packet of candy hearts. You look closer and realise he must have picked out individual sweets just for their message. They're repeated again and again.

'Be mine.'

'Yours forever.'

'Kiss me.'

"Do you think these are canine safe?" he asks you. You think about it for a second and then nod.

It's only after he's left that you wonder what sort of dog would want to eat candy like that.

[lovemni]

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ ∘ ∘ ‪ 승민 ; HOLD ME TIGHT ── aftercare with your boyfriend, after a particularly long and rough night.

𓍯 idolbf!seungmin ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ）1k ── ༯ HEADCANON, fluff, humour, aftercare, bit suggestive, req. by anon! . ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ woohoo, double post !! might post again today, cause i feel like it. thank you to my luv, anon, for requesting this, hope i have written it to your expectations! (╥﹏╥). jeongin's next ;3. so many asks, i'm gonna be posting daily, please be patient hehe. comments, requests, asks likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! comment/ask if you want to be added to my mastertag ! happy reading <3

the dim lighting of the bedroom cast soft shadows over the minimalistic walls, the faint glow of moonlight spilling in through the window. it was quiet now, save for the occasional rustle of sheets and the low hum of the heater working to keep the chill of winter at bay.

seungmin knelt on the bed beside his girlfriend, his hands working meticulously at her shoulders, thumbs digging gently into the knots he was sure he'd caused. his brows were knit in concentration, his usually sharp eyes softened with guilt. he rarely ever got like this—serious, cautious, and so full of concern it made y/n want to burst out laughing again, but she bit her lip to hold it in. for now.

"you’re laughing in your head, aren’t you?" seungmin asked flatly, his voice low but laced with exasperation.

"no," she lied, her lips twitching as she bit back a giggle.

seungmin paused, fixing her with his trademark deadpan glare. "do you think i’m joking? i feel terrible, y/n. terrible." he exaggerated.

she turned her head slightly to glance at him, cheek smushed against the pillow. his fingers froze on her shoulder blades, a slight pout tugging at the corner of his lips. god, he was adorable. for someone who prided himself on being savage and composed, seungmin looked like a kicked puppy right now.

"min, you’re literally being ridiculous," she said, her voice brimming with amusement. "i told you i’m fine. i liked it."

his expression didn’t change. "i was too rough. you winced like…twice. that’s two times too many."

y/n rolled her eyes dramatically, flipping onto her back despite his protests of "stay still, i’m trying to help." she reached out to cup his cheek, her fingers warm against his skin. "first of all, i winced because i was overwhelmed, in a good way. secondly, you apologizing twenty-seven times is going to make me start keeping a tally."

seungmin blinked at her, his lips twitching into the faintest semblance of a smile before it disappeared again. "it’s not funny."

"it’s very funny," she teased, sticking out her tongue. "you’re being such a baby about this, it’s cute."

"..not cute," he retorted, his ears burning red as he avoided her gaze. his hands returned to her shoulders, his touch feather-light now, as if he feared breaking her. "you’re impossible."

"and you’re overthinking. i’m fine. actually, i’m better than fine—i had a great time. you’re just melodramatic," she quipped, letting her voice drop into mock-seriousness.

"melodramatic?" he echoed, scandalized, his hands pausing mid-massage. he tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at her. "that’s rich coming from you, miss ‘do you think my soul left my body just now?’."

y/n erupted into laughter, clutching her stomach as she replayed her own words from earlier in her head. "okay, fair, but in my defense, it did feel like that."

"right. that’s why i’m apologizing," seungmin muttered, shaking his head but unable to hide the upward curl of his lips this time.

she reached up to grab his hands, pulling him down to lay beside her. he came willingly but let out a small grunt of protest. "i’m not done—"

"you’re done," she interrupted, poking his cheek. "come here and stop worrying. it’s getting embarrassing."

"embarrassing," he repeated, tone dripping with mock disbelief. he turned onto his side to face her, propping his head up with his hand. "that’s it. i’m officially offended."

"oh no," she said dramatically, clasping her hands to her chest. "what will i do if the kim seungmin is offended? whatever shall i—"

he reached out to clamp a hand over her mouth, shaking his head. "y/n. stop. talking."

her muffled giggle turned into a full-blown laugh as she shoved his hand away, and he groaned, flopping back onto the bed. she turned to face him, their noses almost touching now. his sharp features softened in the dim light, his usually playful smirk replaced with something tender.

"seriously, though," he murmured, his voice quieter now. "i don’t want to hurt you. ever."

y/n felt her chest tighten at the sincerity in his tone. she reached up to trace the line of his jaw with her fingertips, her touch light but grounding. "i know," she whispered. "and you didn’t. i trust you, seung."

his eyes searched hers for a moment, as if looking for any sign of doubt, but all he found was the warmth and reassurance that she always gave him. he sighed, finally letting the tension seep out of his shoulders as he relaxed beside her.

"you’re so annoying," he muttered, but his lips quirked up at the corners.

"and you’re dramatic," she shot back, poking his chest.

for a moment, the room was filled with a comfortable silence. seungmin reached out, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. he wasn’t usually one for skinship—he’d much rather tease her from across the room than cuddle—but moments like these, when the world was quiet and it was just the two of them, he let himself indulge.

"can we just agree that i was a little rough and move on?" he asked after a beat, his voice muffled as he buried his face in her hair.

y/n hummed thoughtfully. "mmm, no. i’m gonna milk this for at least another week."

"of course you are," he deadpanned, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on her back. "you’re lucky i love you."

"aw, you love me?" she teased, leaning back to look at him with a mischievous grin.

he rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it, his cheeks tinged pink. "don’t push it."

"too late." she leaned up to kiss his nose, her heart swelling at the way he scrunched it in response. "i love you too, you big softie."

seungmin groaned dramatically, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. "this is why i don’t do skinship. you get all weird and sappy."

"you don’t do skinship because you’re awkward," she shot back, grinning.

"not true," he argued, pulling her closer and holding her firmly against his chest. "i’m holding you right now, aren’t i?"

"true," she agreed, nuzzling into him. "maybe you’re not as awkward as i thought."

he let out a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "don’t get used to it."

"too late," she whispered, her voice full of warmth.

and as seungmin held her close, the lingering worries from earlier finally faded away. because with her in his arms, laughing and teasing like always, he knew they were okay. better than okay. they were home.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily thank you luvie <3

[daxisyzz]

Hello!! I just happened to stumble across one of your short stories and I think they are incredible and absolutely adorable 🥹 I had an idea where the reader and Bucky are on a mission, having been mission partners for awhile now. What was supposed to be something simple takes a turn for the worse when the reader gets critically injured. The reader survives, but after coming so close to loosing them, Bucky realizes that he is in love with them. I'm imagining a cute fluffy scene in the hospital together towards the end. ^^ No pressure or anything, and if you can't get to it, that's perfectly alright :D Here's a happy Bucky GIF as payment lol. Have a good day!

heyyy!! Love this idea. Here's your fic <3

Bedside Confessions

Word count: 1.5k+

It’s not love.

At least, that’s what Bucky tells himself when his heart skips a beat watching you laugh across the common room. You’re lounging sideways on the couch, barefoot, wearing some ridiculous old band tee, waving your hands animatedly as you tease Sam about losing a bet. Bucky chuckles under his breath, sinking deeper into the armchair with a beer in hand, pretending like he’s paying more attention to the TV than to the way your smile lights up the room.

It's not love, it’s just...he’s comfortable around you. That’s all.

Right?

He watches you without meaning to, tracks the tilt of your head when you’re joking, the scrunch of your nose when you’re faking being offended, the way you tuck your legs up when you’re cozy. It feels easy. Natural. Like breathing.

Maybe that’s just what friendship feels like when it’s good. Really good.

He doesn't even question it when Steve saunters in with a tablet tucked under his arm and says, "Briefing in five. Bucky, you’re paired with [name] again."

Bucky just grins. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

You hop off the couch, stretching your arms over your head, and Bucky tears his eyes away fast enough that he nearly gives himself whiplash.

Not love. Just...habit.

The mission seemed simple enough on paper.

A low-level hostage situation in an abandoned warehouse. In and out. Keep it clean, keep it quiet. But nothing ever really goes according to plan, especially when Hydra’s fingerprints are involved.

You and Bucky move through the dark, ruined building with practiced ease, shoulder to shoulder, covering each other like you've done a hundred times before.

You crack jokes over comms, whispering snide comments and bad puns that make Bucky snort so hard he nearly gives away your position once. You were always like that — a pressure valve when everything got too tense.

It’s when you’re clearing the second floor that everything goes sideways.

Gunfire erupts from behind a stack of broken crates, and you shove Bucky hard, taking the lead to draw fire away from him. You always were the reckless one, the one who moved first and thought second because you trusted him to have your back.

You do take the guy down, one clean shot to the knee, but not before another bullet finds you.

Bucky hears it before he sees it — the sickening, wet impact of a bullet hitting soft flesh — and then you're stumbling backward , your face twisted in confusion and pain, your hand pressed against your side, blooming red.

His heart doesn’t just stutter. It stops.

"[NAME]!" His voice is a rasp, rough with panic he hasn't felt in years. Not since the worst days. Not since he lost everything once before. His arms catch you before you can crumple, his gloved hands pressing hard against the wound, his voice a desperate, low chant.

"Stay with me. Stay with me. Please."

You try to smile — that stubborn little smile you always give him when you're trying to convince him you’re fine — but your eyes are glassy, and your hand is shaking.

Bucky’s shouting into comms before he even realizes it, demanding evac, demanding medical, demanding anything that will get you out of here faster.

The hospital is too bright. Too sterile. Too slow.

Bucky sits in the hard plastic chair outside the operating room, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands clenching and unclenching like he could strangle time into moving faster if he just tried hard enough.

He's still got your blood on his jacket. His hands. His heart.

The surgeon’s words spin in his head — critical but stable, lost a lot of blood, bullet missed major organs by a hair — but none of them make the knot in his chest loosen.

Sam tries to talk to him. Steve tries to get him to leave, even just to eat something. Bucky doesn’t hear them. Doesn’t move.

He stares at the double doors like he can will them to open.

It hits him there, in the too-quiet, too-cold hallway:

He loves you.

God, he loves you.

He loves you in a way that makes him feel like his ribs are cracking open, like his soul is laid bare and all he can think is how he almost lost you and he didn’t even know.

Didn’t even know until it was almost too late.

How fucking stupid can he be?

When they finally let him in, you’re still unconscious, tubes snaking from your arms, machines beeping steadily at your side. You look small in the hospital bed, pale against the stark white sheets, and Bucky feels like a goddamn idiot for not realizing it sooner.

He pulls the chair as close as he can get, leaning in, his metal hand carefully wrapping around your much still, much warmer one. His thumb strokes lightly over your knuckles, afraid to hurt you, but needing to touch you. Needing you to be real.

"You scared the hell outta me, doll," he murmurs, voice low and rough. He smiles, a broken, helpless little thing. "You know that? Always throwing yourself into trouble. What were you thinking?"

You don't stir.

He sighs, resting his forehead lightly against your joined hands.

"I was so stupid," he whispers. "Didn't even realize what you meant to me until I saw you fall." He squeezes your hand gently, like a silent apology. "You're everything, [name]. You’re...hell, you’re the reason I still get up in the morning some days."

He leans back a little, rubbing his free hand over his face, and then just lets it all pour out — the fear, the guilt, the love he’s been too dense to name.

"I don't know when it happened," he says, laughing under his breath, the sound watery. "Maybe it was the way you always made me laugh when I thought I forgot how. Maybe it was the way you look at me like I’m not broken. Maybe it was just you being you. Loud and brave. Impossible."

He shakes his head, staring at you like he could memorize every detail.

"I love you," he says, finally. "God, I love you. And if you don’t wake up and let me tell you that to your face, I swear to God, I’m gonna lose my mind."

There’s a pause.

Then —A small, unmistakable sound.

A giggle.

Light. Breathless. Completely, beautifully alive.

Bucky freezes like he’s been hit with a stun gun, eyes snapping to your face.

You're awake.

Barely, your eyes are just barely fluttering open, your mouth twitching into a mischievous little grin but you're awake.

And you heard everything.

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes uselessly, his entire brain short-circuiting.

"You little— you’ve been awake this whole time?" he sputters, half horrified, half overwhelmed with relief.

You’re still smiling, your voice raspy but full of unmistakable warmth as you tease, "Maybe. I wasn’t gonna interrupt. It was a good speech."

Bucky lets out a choked laugh, pressing your hand to his lips like a prayer, but when your eyes meet his — bright and sincere and a little watery, he suddenly finds himself looking away, overwhelmed, flustered in a way he hasn't been in decades.

"Don't look away from me," you whisper, your voice shaking just a little. "You're all I can think about too."

His eyes snap back to yours, wide and stunned, and you squeeze his hand with what little strength you have.

"I’m not dreaming, right?" he asks, voice thick. "You’re really here?"

You nod, squeezing his fingers back weakly. "I’m here, Buck."

He leans in, brushing a feather-light kiss against your forehead, lingering there like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast.

You close your eyes at the touch, heart stuttering in your chest for a whole different reason now.

But when he pulls back, you blink up at him and say, playful and soft, "Did your aim get worse or something? You missed my lips by like...a few inches."

Bucky stares at you for a beat — and then bursts out laughing, the sound bubbling up raw and real from somewhere deep in his chest.

"You little shit," he says affectionately, shaking his head.

And then —He leans down, one hand cradling your jaw so, so gently, and kisses you for real.

It’s soft at first, tentative, like he’s asking permission — but when you kiss him back, when your hand fumbles weakly into his jacket and pulls, he deepens it with a kind of desperate tenderness that steals the breath from both of you.

He tastes like relief. Like hope. Like home.

When he finally pulls back, resting his forehead against yours, you're both grinning so wide it almost hurts.

"Don't ever scare me like that again," he whispers, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

"I'll try," you promise, a little breathless, a lot in love. "Only if you stay close enough to catch me next time."

Bucky chuckles, brushing another quick kiss over your nose, your cheek, your temple, like he can’t get enough now that he’s allowed to love you the way he always should have.

"Deal," he murmurs. "I'm not going anywhere, doll."

And you believe him.

Because for once —In the middle of all the chaos and noise and danger of the world —You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Together.

Always.

Divider credits: @saradika-graphics

@shortlikerdj

[thebestsetter]

"If I was a color, I think I'd be yellow"

"Why?"

"Non-important. I just feel it"

He has never seen yellow the same way again. It was everywhere. He looked for it everywhere. And everytime, without fail, he remembered you. A pretty sunflower. Your blinding smile. A little minion figure he saw on the mall. You crying after watching the latest "Despicable Me" movie (and him laughing at your cute stupid crying face). A silly Winnie the Pooh keychain on a crying child's backpack. You talking to the said sad kid you both saw on the street and trying to cheer them up, playing with them and making sure they were smiling, their worries melting away in the speed of light (you'd make such a great mother, he thinks, making his face grow bright red right after). The sun in all of it's glory. You. You. You. You.

You were like a plague infecting his brain and soul. He couldn't focus on anything anymore because you were always running through his head, the sound of your laugh playing inside his mind 24/7 and driving him half insane. He couldn't take it anymore. He had to ask you why you said to him you were yellow. How did you know? What made you so sure of it? Why you had put him under this spell in which everytime he catches just the smallest and quickest glimpse of yellow, the image of you came flooding his mind and senses? Did you even think about him the same amount of times he thought about you? He didn't know. He couldn't know unless he asked you. And it was not fair. Not fair at all.

"Remember that day you told me you were yellow?"

"Yeah" you said, stopping mid-sip of your milkshake and looking at him with your beautiful a confused face "Yeah, I do. Why?"

"You never gave me an answer to the question I asked you that day" he ignored how the first sentence you said made his heart fluster and his stomach go silly.

"Which question?" How humilliating. He's gonna have to swallow his pride and repeat it. Utterly ridiculous.

"Why?" He couldn't care less about how hurt his ego was right now "Actually, how. How did you know you're yellow?"

"Easy. It's 'cause yellow and purple are opposites, so they look good when put together"

"What?"

"Yellow and purple are on opposite sides of the color wheel, silly! So they're complementary colors and go well together"

"I know that. But what does purple have to do with you being yellow?"

"You remind me of purple"

And suddenly, he realized yellow has never been alone. Next to the beautiful sunflower, there's a bellflower, that looks gloom when compared to the yellow plant, but basks in the joy it seems to bring nonetheless. Just like you are the one to bring joy to his life. Beside the minion figure, there's a figure of those bad purple minions, and while one is considered pretty, funny and nice, the other one is scary, angry and people tend to avoid them. It reminds him of you two: extroverted and kind you and introverted and rude him. Perfect opposites. Perfect together. He hadn't noticed before, but the child's backpack was purple, and this memory was followed by the the sound of the laughs you and the little fella shared. Kids should always be happy, smiling, harmless and having fun. Comfortable. Safe. In that way, you make him feel like a little kid. Your warm embrace, so protective and oh so motherly. He feels relaxed around you. Overjoyed. And even though he doesn't smile a lot, you always seem to make him want to crack a real, big grin. It must be a superpower of yours. Lastly, the sun, always followed by the moon. Even though they don't "meet" often, when they do, they create one of the prettiest phenomena known to humanity: an eclipse. They're always apart, but when they're together, it's so beautiful that the whole world stops to see.

"That's cringy. And kinda stupid."

"No it's not! We're a perfect duo! Just admit it!!"

"'Course we are"

"What did you say? I didn't quite hear you!!"

"I'm not saying it again."

So don't act surprised when your wedding is full of beautiful sunflowers and bellflowers. You should see it coming. They look good together right? Just like you two.

RIN ITOSHI, Kunigami Rensuke, Nagi Seishiro, MICHAEL KAISER, Barou Shohei, SAE ITOSHI, TODOROKI SHOTO, SHINSOU HITOSHI, BAKUGOU KATSUKI, USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI, KAGEYAMA TOBIO, TSUKISHIMA KEI (his name's kanji meaning moon is just so-- perfect fot this fic) , Osamu Miya, Suna Rintarou, MEGUMI FUSHIGURO + any character you think fits this!!

Curiosity!!!: Bellflowers mean "everlasting love and commitment" in flower language, while sunflowers mean steadfast love!!

Masterlist

Wrote this in the middle of my portuguese class. I hate it. I'm in love with him

[willowsnook]

“We accept the love we think we deserve” (QH)

Quinn hughes x bsf!reader

request from @asmilinghopelessromantic book prompts here

—---------------------------------------------------------

“So you’re actually into football?” Your date asked incredulously from across the table, and you frowned, fiddling with the stem of your wine glass in your hand., 

“Yeah, college football, specifically but I still enjoy the NFL,” you said and he nodded. 

“I mean, I get it,” he started. “If I were a girl, I’d want to watch a bunch of hot guys run around and sweat too.” 

You were sure that he expected you to laugh or make a joke in response, but you didn’t. You just stared at him unflinching while he started to get uncomfortable. 

"I'm actually quite interested in the game itself," you replied flatly. "The strategy, the plays, the team dynamics. Not just sweaty men in tight pants."

He laughed nervously, taking a large gulp of his wine. "Right, right. I was just joking around."

The rest of the dinner dragged on painfully, with forced conversation and awkward silences filling the space between you. When the check finally came, you insisted on splitting it despite his half-hearted protests.

"I had a nice time," he lied as you both stood outside the restaurant.

"Yeah," you responded, not bothering to match his pretense. "I should get going."

The walk home gave you time to reflect on yet another disappointing date. Without thinking, your feet passed the way back to your apartment and headed towards your best friend’s instead. 

“Y/n,” Quinn said, surprised, as he opened the door. “I thought you were on a date.” 

“I was,” you said, irritated. “Another winner, as you can see.” 

Quinn frowned as you pushed past him, taking your shoes off near the door. You could see the top of another head sitting on the couch in the living room. 

“Hey Petey,” you called out and he turned to you, a warm smile on his face. 

“Hi angel. Bad date?” He asked. 

“He told me that he understood why I loved sports so much, getting to watch hot, sweaty guys and all,” you told him, and he cringed. 

“I mean, I know that’s why you’re friends with me but oof,” he joked and you let out a much-needed laugh. He patted the seat next to him so you slunk down, Quinn taking the armchair off to the side. “Do you have a picture of him?” 

Pulling out your phone, you showed Petey one of the guys’ pictures from his profile. He was average, nice brown eyes and a cute smile, but nothing special. Petey grimaced. 

“You always go out with the ugliest guys,” he said, and you chuckled. 

“Well, it’s not like I’m a model,” you joked and both boys’ heads snapped towards you. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Quinn asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"You're literally so fucking hot," Petey added, looking at you like you'd just said the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. Your cheeks slightly reddened, but you brushed them off. 

“You guys are my best friends; you’re supposed to say that,” you argued, and Petey scoffed. 

“This is literally insane, why on earth would you think think that,” Petey pressed and you just shrugged. 

“I mean, I’m surrounded by attractive hockey players all the time and none of them ever hit on me,” you justified. “Even in college, I hung out with Quinn’s friends all the time and never once did any of them show any interest. So it was kind of easy to figure out that I wasn’t in that league.”

Quinn looked at you shocked and Petey didn’t say anything for a moment until he finally realized what was happening. A massive grin broke out on his face as he looked at Quinn. 

“Oh this is rich,” he said, laughing. “You’ve really done it now Huggy. Amazing work.” 

Confused, you looked over at Quinn, who had his head in his hands. “What are you talking about? I’m not upset about this guys - I’m happy with how I look, I’m just realistic.”

Quinn lifted his head, his expression a mix of frustration and something else you couldn't quite place. His eyes met Petey's, silently communicating something that left you completely in the dark.

"Y/N," Quinn finally said, his voice softer than usual. "None of those guys hit on you because I told them not to."

You blinked, processing his words. "What?"

"I may have... threatened bodily harm to anyone who tried anything with you," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "Since freshman year."

"You did what?" Your voice rose an octave as you stared at him incredulously.

Petey was practically vibrating with amusement. "Oh my god, this is better than I thought. Tell her why, Huggy."

Quinn shot him a glare that could have melted ice, but Petey just grinned wider, clearly enjoying the show.

“You know I’d never stop being your friend, even if I had dated one of your teammates,” you assured Quinn, who just looked even more pained by your statement. 

“That’s not it, angel,” Petey practically sang. 

“Then what is it?” You pressed, eyes darting between the two of them. 

Quinn looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he stared at some invisible spot on the coffee table.

"Quinn?" you prompted, your heartbeat inexplicably picking up pace.

"Because I've been in love with you since we were eighteen," he finally blurted out, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. "And I couldn't handle watching you with someone else, especially not someone I knew."

The room fell silent. You could hear the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen, the faint sound of traffic outside the window. Your brain struggled to process what you'd just heard.

"That's... that's not possible," you stammered, shaking your head. "You've never... you never said anything."

"Of course I didn't," Quinn said, voice strained. "You're my best friend. I wasn't going to risk losing you.” 

Finally deciding to be an adult, Petey stood up, mentioning that he would grab another beer. Your eyes never left Quinn. 

“So let me get this straight: you let me believe that I wasn’t hot enough to date someone like you and have watched me go out with loser after loser because you are in love with me?”

Quinn cringed but nodded. 

“Did you ever think that by doing that, you made me give up on my crush on you a long time ago?” You asked, and he froze. 

“You had a crush on me?” He asked, eyes wide. 

You laughed, “Of course I did, Quinn. I was literally in love with you but you never made a move!”

Quinn groaned, resting his head back into his hands. You moved from the couch to perch on the arm of his chair, your knee bumping against his. 

Quinn reached up hesitantly, his fingers hovering near your face before gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The simple touch sent electricity down your spine.

"All those guys," he murmured. "None of them deserved you."

"And what about you?" you asked softly. "Do you deserve me?"

Quinn’s gaze lifted to meet yours, his eyes full of something so raw it made your breath hitch.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, voice low. “But I’ve loved you every day like I do.”

You blinked, heart skipping, stomach flipping—but it still wasn’t enough.

“Well,” you whispered, brushing your fingers against his jaw, “I think it’s about time we start believing we deserve better.”

And then you kissed him.

And for once, Quinn didn’t hesitate.

[mywritersmind]

UNCONVENTIONAL - LN4

summary : In which trying to make it home for thanksgiving fails and a cute british driver feels bad.

listen up : no warnings just cuteness! happy thanksgiving to all my americans <33 im thankful for YOU🫵 lando norris x american!driver!reader

word count : 1968

⋆༺

I groan out loud, dropping my phone onto the jet’s seat. “We’re stuck.” Lando sits up from his position across two seats, and frowns.

“Shit.” I look outside of the planes window, seeing the snow and fighting back tears. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not even december! Snow should not be here!” I wipe my eyes. I know Lando feels bad and I'm not making the situation worse by crying. But I’m having a hard time today because I'm supposed to be with my family.

Lando offered me and some other drivers a ride to Qatar for the next grand prix. Thanksgiving happened to fall the day before media day so I thought I could stop by my parents house and leave that night.

I never particularly loved Thanksgiving, but now that i’m traveling so much because of work, I've learned how much I truly can miss my loved ones.

Lando bites his lip as I sit back down and pull the blanket over me. The pilot informed us that we won’t be getting in the air for a few hours which means we have to go straight to the track instead of seeing my family.

I take a breath, “It’s okay. I appreciate you trying.” I hate crying in front of the guys, even if he is my friend. I hate it because it just plays into the whole emotional woman thing, and even though Lando is one of my best friends, right now I can’t help it.

Lando sits across from me, nudging his foot against mine, “How about we have thanksgiving here?” My head shoots in his direction as he puts on a small smile, “I don’t know a lot about it and I know I'm not your family… but I can try to be a substitute.”

I swallow, wiping my eyes again before I cross my my arms, “How would we even do that?”

I did not expect Lando to take my words as a competition. Still, thirty minutes later I'm sat with a full course meal spread out on the tiny table in between seats. There’s no huge turkey or array of pies, instead we have chicken wraps and fries. We have chips, popcorn, pesto pasta, orange chicken, a bagel, salad, and bread. A bottle of champagne sits next to me as Lando sits down.

His smile is wide as he looks down at the spread, “Good enough?”

“How did you…” I shake my head, laughing, “Yeah it’s good enough! Lando, this is really sweet.”

“It’s my first thanksgiving, I had to make it delicious, even if it is all airport food.” He shrugs and starts pulling things onto his plate. My legs are crossed on the comfortable seat and as I watch him pick his meal, I smile.

I bite into the chicken wrap that’s actually delicious. Lando taps on his phone before music starts playing over the speakers.

I smile at him as he chews, “So… what do Americans usually do on thanksgiving?”

I shrug and sip some champagne, “Eat, gossip, be thankful?”

“Okay! Let’s gossip then. Sounds easy enough.” Hes ridiculously committed to the bit and I adore him for it, “Did you know Franco’s signed with RB?” I start coughing, practically choking on my food.

“What!?” I scream.

Lando’s laughing now, “No I don’t actually know, I just couldn’t think of anything else.” I kick him under the table as he gasps.

“That’s evil! I got so excited.” I’m laughing with him now, our food picked apart and a mess in front of us. “What are you thankful for?”

He thinks for a moment, a curl falling into his face that makes my stomach flip a little. “Mmm… My family and friends.”

“That’s too generic. It’s thanksgiving- get deep, Norris.” He gives me a slight smirk before nodding.

“I’m thankful that the championship talk is over. I’m thankful for Chicken wraps.” He holds his up, proudly as I roll my eyes. “And I'm thankful for you.”

I’m a tad bit shocked, “For me?” I expect him to say something stupid or flirty, but he’s dead serious.

“You’re a really good person. I like being around you and for that, I'm grateful.” He raises his glass and I hit it with mine, “Now go on, brag about me.”

I roll my eyes, back to smiling humorously, “I’m thankful that I'm not alone right now.” His eyes don’t stray away from mine, “And I’m thankful for snow. Even if it’s pissing me off, it’s very pretty.”

We both look out the window in sync, the snow still falling. The runway is fully white, matching the trees and wing of the plane.

When I look back at Lando, he’s already looking at me. His face is relaxed, his freckles prominent and curls perfect. “Do you want to go?” I say suddenly as his expression turns confused.

“We can’t yet, we still have like two hours.”

A smile tugs at my lips, “I mean outside.”

He looks hesitant, “It’s freezing.”

I stand and grab my suitcase, unzipping it and pulling out my puffer jacket at record speed, “Did I mention every thanksgiving, something really random but really fun happens?” It’s true, for some reason this holiday brings out funny stories. “You’re not scared of some snow, are you Norris?” I step closer, narrowing my eyes.

He stands, grabbing his own jacket, “I’m just saying, don’t come complaining when you’re freezing and wet.”

“Me!?” I scoff, zipping up my jacket, “You’re the one who needs four layers for a sunny day.”

⋆༺

LANDO

I’m freezing my ass off but I would rather become a human icicle than tear my eyes away from her smile. She’s giggling and running into the snow, twirling around as snowflakes fall into her hair.

“Don’t slip, Y/n!” I yell after her as she turns around, the biggest smile on her face.

Her hand goes to wipe the hair that’s being blown in her face, snow falling around her, “Come catch me, Norris.”

I roll my eyes and hurry over to her as she laughs and dances around. I can’t help but laugh with her, it’s fucking contagious.

She sticks her tongue out, leaning her head back to catch snowflakes. Y/n is so perfectly caught in the haze of the snow and light peaking through the clouds that she looks like an angel.

She pokes my cheek and holds onto my jacket as if she’s about to fall. “Your nose is red.”

“You should get a job in detective work if the whole driving thing doesn’t work out…” She scoffs loudly and punches me in the arm.

Unfortunately, she’s stronger than she looks and because the ground is icy, we’re both falling seconds later.

She lands on top of me, laughing so hard that she’s crying, “Fuck! Are you okay!?”

“Like you care!” I sit up, holding her tightly still.

She laughs and plops down next to me, laying her head back and arms out. “Oh no-”

“Angel time, Norris!” She screams at me.

“I’m going to become snow!”

She doesn’t respond, just stretches her arms and legs out and waves them back and forth to make the snow part below her.

Something about her is my weakness and I honestly can’t complain when she looks so happy. I join her, my hair getting soaked and her laughs making me smile.

I make my angel in peace as snow floats down from the sky, landing on my face. I hear the rustle of her jacket as she turns her head to me, “Thank you.”

I smile softly, examining her face and the snowflakes that melt as soon as they touch her skin. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry that I'm not your family.”

She lets out a breath, “You’re my found family. That’s close enough.” her words make my heart beat faster, “Even if you are British and your first thanksgiving was on a grounded plane.”

“I wouldn’t wish it any other way. Although, next year we should try for a more friendsgiving approach. Maybe with the whole grid?” Her smile grows as she looks up at the sky.

“I'm very down for that.” As i’m mentally tracing her side profile in her mind, a voice and light comes very loud.

“You two!” I realize we’re in trouble instantly and stand up as fast as I can, slipping all over the place as the voice gets louder and the flashlight shines directly towards us.

Y/n is trying to get up with me but she’s laughing and slipping so it’s significantly harder. I grab her hand and we make a run for it, up the stairs and into the warm cabin. The door shuts behind us and I lean my head against the wall, sighing in relief of not being caught making snow angels.

Y/n is breathing heavily across from me, a smile permanent on her face as she looks at me. Her hair is wet and I'm sure mine is the same. I can’t feel my hands and I couldn’t care less.

“You look like a popsicle!” Y/n takes her hands and wraps them over mine, getting close enough that I can feel her breath on my skin.

I’d like to pretend that what happened next was a symptom of my cold state, but I’ve never been a good liar.

As soon as she looks up at me, her eyes big and glassy, I lean down and kiss her. Her lips are warm despite her cold hands gripping my own and as soon as she pulls back, I swear.

“Fuck. I’m sorry-” I didn’t even ask! God, I'm an asshole and now I'm completely stuck. Would I die if I ran outside and hid in the woods?

But she doesn’t look mad. She looks… pleased? Her hand slips out of my reach and moves to the side of my neck, “Don’t be.”

And then she kisses me. I think I blackout because I have no clue how long we’ve been kissing but I do know that I'm now completely defrosted and warm.

“You okay?” I whisper as Y/n pulls away.

She nods, “Thanks for kissing me.”

I laugh, “You’re very welcome. Thanks for kissing me back.”

She smiles again backs up a bit, fiddling with her rings, “So… was that just a thanksgiving thing or a way to warm up or…?”

I’m smiling big now, moving my hands under her jacket as she squirms because of the temperature, “I’ve been waiting for that to happen so if you limit me to once a year, i’ll be pretty sad.”

She nods, biting back a smile, “Good to know!” She slips away from me and pulls off her jacket, sitting in a seat and pulling her blanket around her shoulders.

I slowly walk so I’m in front of her again. She’s smiling at the floor, motioning me to come sit, “There’s one more thanksgiving tradition I do every year.”

She pulls out her ipad and scoots closer to me, I feel like i’m dreaming. “And that is…?”

She clears her throat, still avoiding eye contact.

“The Thanksgiving episode of Gossip Girl!” She starts rattling on about the backstories and starts the episode but i’m still stuck on her face and how her eyes won’t meet mine.

“Y/n…” I say it softly, bringing my hand to her chin and turning her face to look at me. She’s blushing. I don’t think I've ever seen her blush.

“Mhm?” She sounds like a mouse.

I brush her wet hair out of her face and press a soft kiss against her cheek, “I really like thanksgiving.” She just smiles and nestles into my side, my arm around her.

She lets me have some of the blanket and whispers, “I really do too.”

[suguann]

✎. you aren’t happy about your roommate’s party until you meet the attractive guy down the hall.

tags. fem!reader, future installments will contain smut, age difference, original characters, college student reader, one-night stands, angst, dirty talk, hurt/comfort, size kink, unplanned pregnancy

featuring. simon

It’s your first semester living off-campus, and Finn is boundlessly enthusiastic about all things that involve cheap liquor and crowded spaces, even more so now that she roped you into being her roommate after promising to split the cost of furnishing an apartment that’s probably too expensive for two undergrads working part-time, low-pay jobs.

You don’t like parties, really. 

Movies and the social connotations surrounding parties have always made them seem like some monumental proverbial chip in your college experience; the real thing, once the bright-eyed shine of trying something new wears off, is more or less a bunch of random people packed into a room like sardines who abate their social awkwardness with alcohol and loud music.

So, no, you can’t exactly say that you enjoy the thought of Finn’s friends (and everyone she hardly smiles at) cramping up your already tiny apartment—especially when one of them is Miller from one of your business classes, who gives you the creeps. 

And leave it to Finn to invite him, anyway.

"Now he knows where I live," you grumble into your bowl of cereal—something probably too sweet and (definitely) full of sugar for breakfast.

Finn shrugs, not at all worried for you, as she pours more sticky orange batter into the hot pan on the stove. "The guy has a crush on you. I think it's cute. And he seems harmless."

“Harmless until I end up in a ditch somewhere.”

You don’t have to see her face to know she’s doing that thing with her mouth whenever you say something she thinks is ridiculous. “If you’d agree to split the Netflix bill, you wouldn’t be stuck watching horror movies. Why do you only own horror movies, again?”

"That's easy for you to say.” You roll your eyes, ignoring her question. “You don’t have to sit by him every week.”

(As if that would ever convince her to change her mind.)

"Ow! Shit!"

You look up right before Finn drops a steaming pancake onto her hand and rushes to the sink to run it under cold water. The mutilated pancake lay forgotten with the others that didn't survive her last several attempts.

"Finn, I think this is unnecessary," you tell her after swallowing a mouthful of cereal. "Can't you do something more practical? Like sticking a note to their door?"

Finn looks up from the sink, her wild, red curls bouncing from the movement. "Oh, come on! Don't chicken out now. I've already made fifteen of these things." She points her pink spatula at the tower of not-quite pumpkin-shaped pancakes on the counter. "Plus, who's going to turn down free food? Now, go put on your costume and hand these out."

You shovel another spoonful of cereal into your mouth, scowling. "I'm not wearing the costume you picked out. It's so...inappropriate."

You’re pretty sure Finn picked out your costume from the dicey sex shop down the street rather than an actual Halloween store—the amount of mesh compared to solid fabric only solidifies the theory.

Finn finally turns the water off and gives you a stern look, amused eyes set under a furrowed brow. "I can find the one you own in the children's section at Costco."

You roll your eyes. "I really don’t feel like flashing my tits to the neighbors while offering them breakfast.”

She grins, wide and teasing. "You have nice tits, though.”

"Yeah, I'm sure the old woman down the hall would love to see her neighbor in the equivalent of a thong and nipple coverings at the start of her day." You don’t think you’d ever be able to look her in the eye again.

"Miss Yado is cool,” Finn says, returning to the stove to continue cooking. “She'll probably just tell you to wear a jacket or something."

You pick up your empty bowl and lean over the counter to put it in the sink. "I didn't know you talked to our neighbors."

Finn shrugs, flipping the pancake in the skillet. "She normally walks her dog while I'm heading to class. I stop to talk to her sometimes when I'm not running late." 

“Oh?”

She shoots you a wry grin over her shoulder. "You'd know the neighbors too if you didn't scowl all the time."

In response, the corners of your mouth tip down. "I don’t scowl."

"Now, would you go change? These are getting cold." 

Several minutes later, you come out of your room wearing the same costume you'd worn the past two years. Finn pouts when she sees you forwent the one she had picked out. However, she doesn’t do more than shake her head and shove a handful of food containers full of pancakes into your hands.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember to smile,” she tells you before the front door closes behind you.

You start on your end of the hall, going door to door and handing out the small containers. The whole time, you’re wondering why Finn couldn’t do this herself, considering you’re hardly a people person as is. Thankfully, nobody seemed too annoyed about being bothered on a Saturday morning—only one neighbor shut the door in your face before you could say anything.

But it’s fine. You’re not going to let it ruin your day. Plus, you only have one person left.

There’s a small pit of nerves in your stomach when you knock this time—half expecting another door to the face. What you don’t expect, however, is the tall and imposing guy who answers.

Who also doesn’t appear to be any less annoyed.

Your mouth opens and closes helplessly, all words stuck to the back of your tongue, watching as stray water droplets drip down from his wet hair and travel down the side of his face before dispersing into the dark stubble lining his jaw.

You stare. And stare. Eyes, most likely, bugging unattractively out of your head.

How did Finn never mention the super hot neighbor who lived six doors down the hall?

He gives you a once-over, and part of you suddenly wishes you’d gone with Finn's costume instead. Only because here, at that moment, you’re willing to admit that maybe the one you have on looks like a six-year-old picked it out—especially when this guy, who is way out of your league, scrutinizes it for a second longer, mostly your frilly crew socks. 

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice low as if he hasn’t been awake for long.

You blink, mild embarrassment rushing through you from the sudden realization that you’ve been standing there and saying absolutely nothing.

"Hi, um, I'm your neighbor from down the hall. My roommate and I are throwing a Halloween party, and we're inviting people in the building." Annoyance slowly melts off his face.

"Thank you,” heavily tattooed arms cross over his broad chest, and he leans against the door frame (and you definitely don’t stare at how his biceps seem to strain against his black t-shirt). “But I think I'm getting a little old for parties."

The corners of your mouth tip up in what’s the beginning of a smile.

"Okay, sure. You're, what, twenty-five?"

It’s a stupid joke, and for a moment, you panic, afraid he’d been unimpressed, but then his lips quirked slightly. "Not quite. Nice costume. Let me guess, fairy?"

"Witch, actually. I’ve always gone with something more original," you babble and bite your lip before you can say something else.

"It’s cute." 

Cute?

You’re unsure if you should feel elated that he thinks so or self-conscious—that he might be making fun of you—so you settle with a mumbled “thanks.”

"So, what's with the container?" he asks, nodding toward your hands.

"Oh, um, my roommate thought she could bribe people with food to come to the party." Truthfully, it’s to prevent potential complaints from the neighbors, but you decide not to mention that part, although you think he knows by the way the corner of his mouth subtly lifts.

You give him the plastic container and watch as he stares into it with a furrowed brow. "It's a... pancake?"

"Er, yeah. My roommate likes to go above and beyond for everything."

"What's it supposed to be?" he asks, glancing up at you.

"Um, a pumpkin..."

You look between him and the container and find Finn had accidentally mixed up her presentable pancakes with the throwaways. And the pumpkin shape is...well, it isn't.

"Ah, I see," he nods, his slowly drying hair falling onto his forehead. "That makes more sense."

You can’t stop the giggle that bubbles to the surface. "You think you can do better?"

"Yes, actually," he grins back, all cocksure, with a flash of white teeth. "Maybe I’ll bring some over some time."

"I won't tell her you said that." However, you can't wait to rib Finn later.

"Right, it probably wouldn't make a very good first impression." Then he sticks out his free hand, "Simon."

You shyly shake it—ignoring the little skip in your chest at how big his hand is compared to yours—and tell him your name, too.

His eyes flicker down to his watch, and he curses under his breath. "Well, it was nice meeting you. But I have to finish getting ready for work."

Only then do you take note of the tactical pants and heavy boots he’s wearing.

When you meet his gaze again, you find amusement there, and you consider, with a new rush of mortification, that it probably seemed like you’d been openly eyeing his crotch. 

You clear your throat, the back of your neck feeling hot, and you pointedly pretend your voice doesn’t hitch when you breathe a soft, tremulous, "Okay, sure.”

"Tell your roommate I said thanks for breakfast."

"Yeah, I'll tell her. Um, I guess I'll see you around." No longer able to make eye contact with him, you turn away and begin walking (though it’s probably closer to running) toward your door.

And you definitely don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s still standing there.

You spend most of the party hanging out near the front door, quietly hoping Simon might show up—even though it seems unlikely. After all, he did mention that he’s too old for parties, and a small, insecure part of you wonders if it was his polite way of turning you down.

"The guy was running late,” Finn had tried to reassure you. “I'm sure he was thinking about how to beat expressway traffic before the lunch hour rush hit. Not about the crazy lady in a witch costume running away from his door."

That was the initial deciding factor between your witch costume and the one Finn’s been trying to force you into—only so you don’t have to hear another person call you cute just to seem nice.

And leave it to Finn to jump at the opportunity to help you get ready, though she nearly freaked out when you popped into your joint bathroom with an old tube of mascara that you rummaged out of your nightstand.

"Do you know how many germs are probably on that thing?" Finn’s nose scrunched up as she threw it away in the waste bin near the toilet. "Please tell me you haven't used it since you bought it?"

You had rolled your eyes. "Probably not."

Finn sighed, then smiled. "Luckily for you, I own more than a crusty mascara tube." 

You were about to argue, but when Finn told you to sit on the toilet lid with a dangerously sharp liner pen, you’d clenched your jaw instead, unsure what you were more scared of when Finn brought the pen close to your face: that your friend might potentially stab you in the eye or that you’d come out of the bathroom with raccoon eyes.

Thankfully, when Finn finally finished, neither was the case, except the number of looks you’ve been receiving anytime someone stops in the kitchen to get more drinks is something you hadn’t anticipated—especially when one of them happens to be Miller.

You’ve been avoiding him and his overly bare chest from the moment he walked through your front door. It grew more challenging after Finn left your side (the traitor) to talk to a guy you’ve seen her hanging around with on campus a few times. 

And with the apartment feeling smaller than it already is, you’re only option is to blend in with the group hanging around your kitchen island.

You’ll be fine, Finn said.

Right, you think as you adjust the scanty tube top under your mesh shirt, trying to cover more of yourself with what little fabric you have at your disposal, and you wonder if it’s too late to change—

A knock at the door makes you perk up, regardless of how noisy the room is, with eardrum-shattering music and loud college students. You pull it open, expecting to see Simon on the other side, only to be disappointed when it’s one of Finn’s friends and her girlfriend instead.

"Hey, Roma." You realize you probably sound rude and attempt to give them your best smile—which is more or less a grimace.

Roma smooths out her extremely short referee-style dress. "Sorry, we're late! I couldn't remember where you lived. There are way too many blue apartment buildings around here..."

Everything she’s saying goes in one ear and out the other when you spot Simon stepping out of the door to the stairway across the hall. You hold your breath, waiting for him to look up from his phone.

But he keeps walking.

"Uh, yeah," you say distractedly before speeding up the conversation. "Hey, Finn is in the living room, but I'll see you guys inside, okay? I need to do something."

You step around them to catch up to Simon, which you learn isn’t easy in heels. So you call his name, hoping he hears you and smiling when he turns toward you. And you don’t miss how his gaze trails down your body slowly.

It makes something inside you quiver as you nervously play with the short hem of your skirt.

“Hey,” he says, sounding every bit as tired as he looks—his shirt from that morning now wrinkled with bluish hollows under his eyes—though he tries to hide it with what you think is an attempt at a smile.

And your cheeks burn because you feel guilty. 

"Hey," you repeat dumbly. 

Your eyes lower as his smile melts into one of faint amusement at your lack of tact. You fidget, shifting from one foot to the other. Maybe, you think, you should have let him walk into his apartment before you could embarrass yourself further today.  

After a moment, you meet his gaze again. 

"Uh, I just wanted to see if you still wanted to come over…But I imagine you're probably not up for it, so I’ll leave—"

Simon surprises you when he shrugs his shoulders and says, "Sure."

Your mouth gapes, unsure if you heard him correctly. "Wh-what?"

"I just need to shower and change, and then I'll be over. Okay?"

"I... yeah, okay," your nod is shy, trying not to betray eagerness.

A lazy grin stretches across his mouth. "Nice costume, by the way," he disappears into his apartment before he can witness how his words make you flush.

And you walk back to your apartment feeling a little more floaty than when you left.

masterlist

[taasgirl]

summer samba - oscar piastri

summary: jenson button's daughter, y/n, is very well known around the paddock, and when her dad loses a bet, she finds herself spending more time in the mclaren garage

a/n: no face claim, imagine y/n as you wish. also i know jenson is only 44, but imagine he's older for the sake of this fic - and that y/n is 22

liked by danielricciardo, pierregasly, and 43, 218 others ynbutton fernando pls win this weekend, i have a bet with my dad

fernandoalo_oficial I will try just for you liked by ynbutton

user50 y/n is so inconic

landonorris Okayyyyyy fit

ynbutton okurrrrr

danielricciardo No bet on me winning?

ynbutton i'll bet on u next week i promise

user82 Her dad is Jenson Button and she gets to be best friends with the drivers Y/N I WANT YOUR LIFEEE

liked by oscarpiastri, ynbutton, and 153, 982 others jackdoohan FP1 in Canada LFGGGGG tagged: alpinef1team & ynbutton

ynbutton LETS FUCKING GOOOOO

jackdoohan WOOOOOO

user66 are they dating?

user82 Nah just friends I think

danielricciardo My son 👨‍🍼 liked by jackdoohan

user92 You're so fine jack pls i need u

user42 jack and y/n would be such a cute couple

user90 ya'll say this about every driver y/n interacts with

liked by ynbutton, astonmartinf1, and 2, 822, 397 others f1 HE'S DONE IT! FERNANDO ALONSO WINS HIS FIRST GRAND PRIX SINCE 2013! tagged: fernandoalo_oficial & astonmartinf1

user63 THE ROOKIE HAS DONE IT AGAINNNNN

user98 best rookie oat ngl

ynbutton YES YES YES EAT SHIT @ jensonbutton

user82 Y/n really loves her bets huh

jensonbutton @ user82 She does unfortunately.

astonmartinf1 💚🤍

user98 alonso dominance could bore fans

liked by f1, ynbutton, and 128, 985 others jensonbutton So happy for you @ fernandoalo_oficial, I never once doubted you for a second.

ynbutton yes you did. u called me ridiculous for betting on him p1

jensonbutton Don't expose me

user98 So what do you owe Y/N?

jensonbutton $300 and Mclaren Paddock passes apparently

fernandoalo_oficial Y/N told me about the bet, extra motivation 🤣 liked by jensonbutton

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and 1, 288, 763 others oscarpiastri Disappointed that I couldn't get more points for the team, but there's plenty to learn and grow from. Congratulations @ fernandoalo_oficial, proud of you brother 👊

mclaren We keep pushing 🧡

ynbutton head up osc! i'll be cheering you on next race

oscarpiastri Thanks y/n 🩷

user77 @ oscarpiastri okay why are we lowkey robbed on y/n x op81 content

fernandoalo_oficial ♥️

view ynbutton's story...

liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63, and 47, 229 others ynbutton Montreal I love uuuuuu #eatshitdad tagged: georgerussell63, jensonbutton & roscoelovescoco

lewishamilton I think you spend more time with Roscoe than with me...

ynbutton what can i say 🤷 roscoe's cuter than u

user69 Y/N AND GEORGE YES I HAVENT SEEN THEM IN SO LONG!!

user92 ur dad is beekeeping age

jensonbutton What does this mean?

oscarpiastri Looking good y/n

user98 wait lowkey i want them together

view ynbutton's story...

liked by mclaren, oscarpiastri, and 62, 879 others ynbutton thanks for the passes @ jensonbutton tagged: mclaren

mclaren Let's get you in some papaya liked by ynbutton

oscarpiastri Modelling in front of the right garage 👌👌

ynbutton i'll be cheering you on!!

landonorris Hmmmm

user93 someone decode this rn

user33 AHHH UR SO PRETTYYY

user25 wyd if i say that y/n and oscar SHOULD be a couple??

landonorris Throwing up I think

liked by mclaren, ynbutton, and 2, 365, 873 others landonorris Stuck in third all week (P3 in quali, the race and now I'm a third wheel) tagged: mclaren, oscarpiastri, ynbutton

mclaren Yeah but you're our favourite third 🧡

user03 admin this could mean MANY things

oscarpiastri You've been with me all week??

landonorris Uh huh, and the girl you won't shut up about

user59 why u so fine

user83 Not lando exposing oscar 😭

user97 OH MY GOD YNOSCAR TRUTHERS RISEEE

user34 Who are you third wheeling?

liked by user55, user87, and 23, 877 others user49 any else noticed that ever since the montreal gp, oscar has like really made an effort to befriend fernando, jack, and liam... who all coincidentally are VERY close with y/n button. just saying 😏

landonorris oscar u ain't slick

user65 OH MY GOD LANDO WHATTATTATA

user44 lando commenting is all the proof i need

user59 somebody sedate me i need a ynoscar interaction

user98 Lando pls play matchmaker xx

user87 OSCAR JUST ASK HER OUT OMD

liked by jackdoohan, landonorris, and 54, 120 others ynbutton oh yeah babyyyy

jensonbutton Who is that Y/N?

ynbutton don't worry about it dad 🤫

user87 woah normal y/n post BOOM SOFT LAUNCH

liamlawson30 Another photo dump I don't make smh

ynbutton shushhhh

user11 oscar perhaps

landonorris Who is that sexy man

ynbutton that's a daniel ricciardo plush toy. landonorris ynbutton Oh shut up

user64 y/n is such vibes i love her

liked by jackdoohan, ynbutton, and 1, 473, 861 others oscarpiastri YEAH BABYYYYY P22222

landonorris Wettt

user92 excuse me

mclaren Proud of you Oscar 🫂

user48 PRETTY MUCH THE SAME CAPTION AS Y/N AHHH

ynbutton p22222 out of 20 cars is rlly bad sorry babes x

oscarpiastri No you're lying nooooo

user81 oh he's defos posted this as a thirst trap for y/n liked by oscarpiastri

view ynbutton's story...

caption: ya'll do i keep him

view oscarpiastri's story...

caption: I think she likes them 💐

liked by landonorris, liamlawson30, and 1, 290, 822 others oscarpiastri She said that I lose aura points if I admit that I had a crush on her for over four years??? tagged: ynbutton

landonorris FOUR YEARS? it's worse than I thought

ynbutton he willingly bought that shirt btw!

oscarpiastri Would you rather I take it off? ynbutton oscarpiastri you know what i rather 😉

jackdoohan And to think that you actually wanted to be my friend liked by oscarpiastri

jensonbutton I knew it @ fernandoalo_oficial pay up

ynbutton YOU BETTED ON THIS??? fernandoalo_oficial ynbutton We bet on everything

liked by jackdoohan, oscarpiastri, and 81, 844 others ynbutton do i lose aura points if i admit that the only reason i wanted mclaren paddock passes was to see my crush of five years 😢

landonorris FIVE YEARS?? IT DOES GET WORSE

oscarpiastri Yes you do

ynbutton shut up

user93 YNOSCAR GIRLES WE UPPP

liamlawson30 SO YOU FINALLY ADMIT THAT YOU LIKED HIM FOR THAT LONG I FUCKING KNEW IT

ynbutton i WILL attack you liam

oscarpiastri She also bought this shirt willingly

user22 i just want what they have

hey guys!! let me know if you liked this hehe. WHO'S EXCITED FOR THE EUROS EEEE?? anyways thank you all so much for your support, my reqs are open so feel free to drop anything in there :)

[wincore]

I faked my engagement for free cake samples and got sued after I ran away AIO | haechan

pairing: haechan x baker!reader

genre: comedy, fluff, rivals (?) to lovers (?)

warning(s): quite possibly you will be inflicted with cringe, shameless scamming, mild swearing, one (1) innuendo

words: 5.4k

song recs: santa doesn’t know you like i do by sabrina carpenter, too late for chocolate? by kana hanazawa, like a raspberry by 宇宙ネコ子, honey by kara

a/n: ty to my queens lana and cat for gassing up this dumpster fire i wrote in a caffeine haze while watching my bf die every 20 secs in ds3. the initial plot was going to be far longer and more fleshed out but i fear i'm past my prime ( ._. )" i still hope you guys have fun with this one!! i got to play around with hallmark comedy far more this time, so overall it was a fun time writing <3 happy new year, my lovely mooncakes!!

part of a nonsense christmas: reddit edition collab <3

r/AmITheAsshole

u/YeastMode6969 • 3h

I faked my engagement for free cake samples then got sued after I ran away. AIO?

I (24F, small bakery owner) faked my engagement to get free cake samples at my rival bakery but the employee said I needed my fiance to be there. I panicked and grabbed the first guy to come through the bakery door after me. Turns out he’s not just some random customer. To top it off, he was ridiculously attractive even though he pissed me off every two sentences. I had a panic attack, told myself it’s totally not my fault, and moved on by baking fourteen cakes over the weekend. I thought I got away with it, but three days later, I got an email from him—he’s now suing me for “emotional damages” and “theft of pastries.” Am I doomed, or is this just karma with extra frosting?

⥣ 7.7k ⥥ 2,701 Comments

bun_theory0222 • 2h

INFO: Did you at least try the samples? Were they worth the lawsuit? We’re all dying to know here.

➥ Reply ⥣ 3.2k ⥥

muffinbutdrama1122 • 1h

nah cuz why is he suing when he CLEARLY wants to flirt??? this man is embarrassing but so are you. somebody matched ur freak <3

➥ Reply ⥣ 1.7k ⥥

soggywaffle0205 • 6m

YTA why can’t this shit happen to me. AT LEAST I would commit to the bit.

➥ Reply ⥣ 420 ⥥

cerealfordinner0323 • 2h

Bro sued you just to slide into your life again. He’s not slick, and neither are you. Good luck with that wedding cake.

➥ Reply ⥣ 9,011 ⥥

. . .

If you could hop a few steps to the right, feign unconsciousness, and climb right into the active fireplace, it could potentially make everything okay. For you, that is. Not for the poor bakery employees who would have to call the cops. 

“I’m sure he’s a handsome one!” The girl behind the counter giggles, light pink dusting her cheeks. “You’re- you’re so gorgeous!”

Setting aside the fact that most gorgeous women you know end up with malformed gargoyles, your current predicament is almost equally sinister. What started as an innocuous process to gain free wedding samples (in other words, a scam) has led to a question that should be obvious but completely escaped your mind following your trailing success.

“We’ll need to have you come in with your fiance for the free wedding cake samplers. Is he around?”

Is he around?! Boy, you sure hope so. Because now you’re also frantically looking around with the employee after you blurted out another lie: “He’s going to be here soon!”

When did you turn into a compulsive liar? You’re not sure if your mom would be proud of you for being so good at nabbing free food, or disappointed that you’re a filthy liar. After all, she did tell the buffet employees you were under 10 all the way till you were 14. So, really, you’re not the source of the problem! You brush your festive red skirt of invisible crumbs, trying to busy yourself.

The cafe itself is well decorated for Christmas—a silver reindeer bores holes into your head from by the front door, a small Christmas tree stands at the center that’s a little emaciated but the cute Sanrio ornaments in Santa hats make up for it, and most importantly, a beautiful Mont Blanc cake sparkles from atop the glass counter. (Seriously, why didn’t you think of this? Your own bakery is all sparkles and no play.)

You move out of the way of other customers, and casually glance at the source of your awe and joy. Powdered sugar dusts the top as idyllic snow, covering the sugared cranberries and sugared chestnuts, not dent in them under the white fondant star. The base of the cake is tied with an edible red ribbon, completing the seasonal aesthetic of it. A sigh rests momentarily upon your lips before it escapes. 

You love Mont Blanc cakes, but you never quite get it right. That’s your biggest failure as an up-and-coming baker, and such is the reason for your unhinged serial sampling scam. You swear it started off as a search for inspiration in a creative rut but before you knew it, a lie had spilled from your eclair-sweetened lips, and another, and another. 

It is at this point that you briefly consider bolting for the door. Tibet is great around this time of the year. Maybe if you convert to a monk lifestyle and atone for your sins, you’ll be granted a pardon in the form of delicious sweets. Before you can make your escape, however, the front door jingles, and in strides a sight unbelievably reassuring. A man with caramel hair enters, who might as well be wrapped in a giant red ribbon and seated atop a snow-white horse in golden ornaments.

It’s a Christmas miracle. Hallelujah! They still apply to you.

His smile—soft and sweet as meringue hearts—lights up the room as he inhales the warm, sugary air of the bakery. You’re hit with the vaguest sense of familiarity. He might be one of the few customers you get these days. For a moment, you falter. Are you really going to victimize this stranger?

Yes. Yes, you are. The situation is dire.

“Hi darling!” You exclaim within earshot of the employee, before lowering your voice. “Could you help me out a little here?”

The man blinks, dazed for whatever reason. “Uh… sure?”

“Okay, then follow along and ask questions later,” you reply, and loop your arm through his gingerly. The touch of his fuzzy winter coat makes you relax a little. It is chocolate-colored, with beige fluff around the collar. Not now, you think to yourself, You need to stop thinking about sweets for one goddamn moment.

“Here he is,” you laugh sheepishly as you bring the man forward. Gosh, what in the heavens are you doing? You didn’t even ask his name. 

The employee stares, jaw agape. What’s with the reaction? He’s not that hot. 

“O-oh,” she responds. “That’s quite the surprise. I never knew. Congratulations, sir!”

You turn to look at him. He simply scratches his chin with a sheepish smile, and manages to respond with a “Thanks, Kimi.”

He must be a regular, you think. Oh, (Name), what did you get yourself into? You’re just gonna have to read his name off his coffee order first.

“We have a selection of samples for our wedding cake choices,” the girl, Kimi, moves to the far side of the counter, offering a small menu card to the two of you. “I know you’re not a big fan of wedding cakes, Mr. Lee, but the latest tiramisu flavors should suit your tastes, no?”

Just how close are they?! You chew on your lip and try to calm your depraved little heart.

“Well,” he responds, thinking for a second, “I actually hadn’t thought this far. What do you think, honey?”

He turns to you with a radiant smile, but you sense a hint of mischief. You don’t have time to think of that though—so you just change the topic. 

“Actually, do you have a Mont Blanc flavor? I’ve always had trouble perfecting it myself.”

Truth be told, that ‘honey’ had flowed from his lips and struck you straight in the heart. He’s not too bad to look at, you think now. His tousled hair catches the light with a playful sheen, framing his face and accentuating his disbelieving smile, while his fluffy coat adds a cozy touch to his charming, boyish demeanor. If you were to overthink a little, you’d find a hint of mischief in his voice. Alas, you’re a simple girl who only overthinks sweet treats, not boys.

“You bake?” He blurts, before his ears turn red from realization.

Kimi shoots him a puzzled look and your breath hitches in your throat. Was the miracle an idiot in disguise?

“I mean, uh, gosh, you make me so nervous, honey.” He looks like he’s trying his very best to ace an exam he never studied for. “I meant to ask if you're going to bake.. today? Don’t look at me like that.” 

Maybe you should’ve picked a candied apple and prayed that a witch had poisoned it. You can’t even force out a smile at that pathetic save.

“You’re a lucky man, Mister,” Kimi jabs, a look of distrust in her eyes before they flash to you. “I’m afraid Miss (Name) in a wedding dress would make me drop dead at the altar.”

“Oh, you- you flatter me,” you choke out, “I promise you wedding gowns aren’t my thing at all. Besides, you’d look beautiful in white yourself.”

Why is she so into this wedding conversation? How close are these two? You’re not sure how to react, and neither do you know how this man is going to explain your mysterious disappearance the next time he visits the bakery. You’re sure as hell not going to continue the act beyond this. It’s time you retired from this scam business. You’re not even sure how you’ll talk your way out of this with the man, currently engaged in small talk with Kimi. 

And— is he blushing?! Does he have something going on with the girl—Kimi? Did you just ruin something? Your heart tightens a little, and you have to physically restrain yourself from falling to the floor, head in your hands.

You laugh awkwardly, trying to diffuse the situation. When you open your mouth, you are interrupted.

“Actually, Miss, I think I take back what I said about the handsome part,” Kimi jokes, evident disdain sent towards Donghyuck.

Your natural response is a little laugh that leaves before you know it. Maybe, the feelings you sensed were of unrequited resentment. He does have the kind of face that looks like it’s often smacked by girls. No offense to him.

Kimi hands you the first sample (two delicious slices of Mont Blanc) and excuses herself to fetch the rest. The two of you make your way to a booth with the heaviest silence you’ve ever experienced. You might as well be at a funeral.

“So… free samples are that good, huh?” The man asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Shut up,” you mutter. 

“I’m Donghyuck, by the way,” he responds with a youthful laugh. “Might I have the honor of knowing my fiance's name?”

“(Name). And stop looking at me like that.”

He lets out a short breath.

“You know, maybe we should’ve pretended it was an arranged marriage.”

“Quite proficient in the scamming business, are you?”

“Oh, you’re better off not knowing my dirty secrets.”

You couldn’t care less about his secrets but the look you shoot at him is certainly dirty.

He opens his mouth but you interrupt him to absolve yourself first. “Listen, I don’t do this often. And I’ll have you know it’s nothing personal. Well, not against you. The owner of this place maybe.”

Donghyuck blinks. “Oh? Do tell. I’m all for being a hater with my fiance.”

You stare at him, not impressed.

“Sorry.”

“Okay, so this started a month or two ago. I had been working tirelessly, testing recipe after recipe, trying to perfect the Mont Blanc cake. It was my dream to make it iconic, you know? But before I could even settle on the perfect combination of flavors, some smug bastard opens a bakery right across from me. And what does he have as his specialty? Why, the Mont Blanc cake of course. Seasonal! Cute, elaborate new decor every two weeks! Just how rich is he? I bet he doesn't even bother to create his own recipes. This guy didn’t just steal my idea, he’s turned my passion into some overpriced, generic trend!”

You heave, tired from the onslaught of frustration. Chewing on your lower lip, a pout naturally makes its way onto your face, and so do more complaints. 

“And that’s not all, okay? I never see him at the bakery. I refrain from entering my competitors' establishments unless I greet them in person. But this asshole is just never there! What, is he too good to work at his own bakery? Too good to grace us lowly bakers with a visit? How could he just swoop in and steal my signature item?”

Donghyuck listens to your rant with intent, cheek resting against his palm. He even looks a little ridiculously charmed right now. 

“Wait… so you’re the infamous Free Cake Phantom everyone’s talking about?” He gasps.

You’ve finally turned to your poor, neglected Mont Blanc sample, just for your heart to jump out. “What?”

“Just kidding. Your secret is safe,” he says, digging into the cake with infuriating nonchalance. “But hey, you’ve got good taste. This Mont Blanc though? It’s my personal recipe.”

Your fork halts halfway to your mouth. “Your recipe? What, you work here or something? And, no offense, but it’s overwhipped.”

If that’s a joke, it’s not very funny. The man looks more like a confectionary than a confectioner. There’s no way he works here. He’s probably some jobless guy drifting from bakery to bakery on early Saturday mornings.

His jaw drops. “Overwhipped? Are you kidding me?”

You wave the fork at him like it’s a weapon. “Chestnut puree shouldn’t have the texture of mousse. It’s called finesse, Mr. Lee.”

Before he can respond, Kimi returns with another tray, and you slip back into character, placing your hand on Donghyuck’s. “Thank you,” you coo at her. “I can’t wait to share all these flavors at our wedding.”

Donghyuck stiffens slightly at the unexpected contact, but he recovers quickly, plastering on the fakest grin known to man. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Kimi laughs. “You’re such a lovely couple. When’s the big day?”

You freeze, and so does Donghyuck. For a moment, neither of you has an answer.

“Oh, we’re still, uh, deciding,” you blurt, glancing at him for backup.

“Yeah, we’re thinking spring,” he adds smoothly. “Cherry blossoms. Very romantic.”

“Y-yes. Maybe the Raspberry Rose should be in the winner’s spot then.”

As Kimi bows politely and walks away again, Donghyuck leans in to whisper. “Should I book the honeymoon now, or…?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you hiss, elbowing him in the ribs. 

He makes a pained sound, but recovers quickly. 

The second flavor is dubbed “Marble Eclipse”, a decadent blend of rich chocolate and vanilla, perfectly balanced with a luscious buttercream frosting. You try to focus on the taste, but Donghyuck’s smug grin as he watches you take a bite is more distracting than you’d like to admit. You’re not easily flustered, not by men. Unfortunately, he would have been the exact type you’d have tried to nab in college.

You shake your head. Focus, (Name), you think to yourself, You’re in the enemy’s lair right now!

“So… I might as well come clean,” Donghyuck says with a serious tone, right after you’ve taken a bite. You pause in horror. What arcane knowledge is he going to use for your humiliation this time?

“I visit your bakery often, and I must say your selection is just as good, if not better.”

You exhale.

“Oh, it’s better alright,” you retort, before realizing the unwarranted passion in your voice. You compose yourself. “I mean, maybe their Mont Blanc is… a solid competitor.”

Donghyuck laughs, clearly amused by the bashfulness on your face.

“Wait, are you patronizing me?”

“Of course not!” He places his hand over his heart in mock hurt.

“I think the difference is that this one keeps up with the youth.” He waves his fork about, explaining his point further. “Everyone loves new, shiny things. Cycle those as much as possible. Have you ever considered holding blind box events with your cupcakes? I’m sure the kids would love to find out which flavor of panda bear cupcake they got—matcha, my personal favorite, or coconut cream, or… god forbid, chocolate mint. Ugh. Have you considered removing that from the menu? Anyway, that shouldn’t take too much time and money, right?”

The youth? What is he, forty? However, however, the look on his face as he describes your own baked goods to you is enough to make you intensely flustered. Has this man visited so often? And you never noticed him? How could you miss that easy-going smile?

A familiar figure saves you from whatever awkward, garbled response you were going to muster.

Despite Kimi’s arrival, Donghyuck has a hard time taking his eyes off you. Lashes swaying with each flicker of his eyes over your face, he’s hardly taking a bit of the delicious marble cake, in fact. What, have you got something on your face?

Kimi apologizes profusely before you can say anything to greet her. 

“There’s only one slice prepared for the Tiramisu Dream sample,” she explains. “I’m so sorry about this. Would you mind sharing this one? I apologize again.”

“No worries, Kimi,” Donghyuck responds, laughing a little. You shake your head and reassure it’s alright too. 

Anyway, that slice is going to be yours. You’re ready to pry it from his cold, dead hands.  

To your surprise, though, he shoots a friendly smile at you. 

“Want the first bite?”

“May I?” You ask, just to be sure.

“By all means,” he says, gesturing grandly. “After all, what’s mine is yours, fiance.”

You swear, if he calls you that one more time, he’s going to end up in the cake display.

Kimi stares at the two of you blankly for a moment. It instantly flusters you and Donghyuck both, so much so that the idiot digs his fork into the cake slice and holds it up to your lips with a soft ‘ah’ —and so much so that you actually accept it graciously. 

And all that only for Kimi to not even notice as she excused her way back to the counter. So now you’re just two idiots deep in your romantic charades. Donghyuck clears his throat, too late to cover his coral-tinted cheeks and ears. You’re certain you wear a similar expression.

“You’re- you’re so weird,” you jab, unable to come up with an insult higher than middle school grade. 

“What, you wanted me to do airplanes too?!”

“Take that fork and drive it through your tongue, will you?”

“Woah, woah, no need for violence, Miss (Name). Peace and Love.”

Unexpectedly, it makes you break character into unbound laughter. The weariness of the act and the silliness of the whole situation leaks into the sound, and it’s enough to make Donghyuck join in. For passersby, you are just a couple already past your third, fifth and seventh dates.

“Any comments for the tiramisu cake?” Donghyuck asks, grinning ear to ear.

You catch your breath, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “Yeah, I have a comment: who puts this much cocoa powder on top? Are you trying to choke your customers?”

“Awh, and I thought you were gonna be nice,” he whines, “Your smile is just so… inviting.”

As if on cue, he chokes on the cocoa powder. 

“I still like it,” you continue. “I’d just do it better.”

“I have the utmost confidence in that.”

Gosh, his smile is nauseating—too bright, too easy, like he’s actually enjoying this. Maybe he’s a rising actor, and you’re the one being hoodwinked. After all, who looks at someone like that on a first meeting?

A moment passes, and suddenly his thumb is at the corner of your lips, brushing off the cocoa powder with a touch so casual it feels anything but. “Got it,” he murmurs, and the air between you shifts, warm and oddly heavy.

“So, how do you know all this?” you ask, changing the topic. You’re forcing yourself to focus, to breathe. 

He leans back, a small laugh slipping out like he’s grateful for the lifeline. “You- uh- you could say I’m a connoisseur of pastries,” he offers, his voice lighter now. “I like to sample the best around town—just, you know, legally. I even take notes of my favorites.”

He gestures towards you, and you scoff.

The words settle between you as you toy with the edge of your skirt, smoothing the fabric down over your lap. There’s something about the way he speaks—so casual, so effortless—that needles at you. For a man so annoyingly confident, he sure seems relieved to have redirected the conversation.

Your hand grazes the tiny snowman buttons on your cardigan, tracing the cold plastic absentmindedly. His gaze flickers to the movement, then back to your face, a smile tugging at his lips like he’s trying not to laugh. You don’t know what’s more embarrassing—getting outed as the Cake Thief or the fact that he’s bound to know he flusters you.

You tilt your head, giving him a skeptical look. “How professional of you.”

The bite in your tone is softening, and you don’t like it one bit.

He holds up his hands, feigning surrender. “Hey, it’s an art. Someone’s gotta appreciate it, right?”

The faint chatter of other patrons fills the room, but his presence sharpens the moment, making it feel like it’s just the two of you. For a fleeting second, you catch yourself wondering what kind of person would take notes on pastries for fun. It’s so bizarrely specific, so utterly unnecessary—and yet, so like him.

His smile deepens, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he teases.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no stopping the traitorous grin threatening to break through. You refuse to indulge him, even as you feel the faintest crack in your defenses.

"Maybe,” you say, finally.

He chuckles, the sound warm and genuine, before leaning back against his chair with a satisfied air, as if he’s won something. You glance at the tray, willing yourself to focus on anything else.

How awkward. How warm. 

You spot a napkin fluttering off the table, carried by a sudden draft from the door. Instinctively, you step out of your chair to grab it, but Donghyuck beats you to it, scooping it up with an exaggerated flourish and a bow.

“Your knight in shining armor,” he declares dramatically, holding it out like a trophy.

“More like my nuisance in sugar-stained armor,” you retort, snatching it from his hand.

He laughs, unabashed. “Ah, so sharp. Yet here you are, sharing cake with said nuisance. Life is full of mysteries.”

“I’m just here for the cake,” you deadpan, dusting your hands off.

For a second, his smile falters—not in hurt but in sheer disbelief. He tilts his head, studying you with an incredulous expression, and you suddenly feel like a frog under a magnifying glass.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he says, almost to himself, his voice low but still playful.

“Get what?” you ask, genuinely confused.

Donghyuck presses his lips together, fighting back a grin. He steps closer, leaning in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of chestnut cream. “I mean, I could spell it out for you, but that might ruin the fun.”

“Spell what out?” you press, a little flustered now.

He straightens with a laugh, shaking his head. “Nothing, you airhead. Absolutely nothing. Is your head full of cotton candy, by any chance?”

You narrow your eyes at him, but before you can respond, he’s already pulling his chair back, resuming his seat with a sigh.

“Mont Blanc, Marble Eclipse, and Tiramisu on the first date,” he states, deep in thought. “Maybe Matcha Lemon, Lavender Peach, and White Chocolate on the second… Perhaps a Red Velvet and a Strawberry Shortcake before you realize I literally own this place?”

You feel the heat intensify on your cheeks. You almost miss the last part, clouded by the implications of the rest of his words. He… wants to go on more dates with you? Was this a date all along? You’ve been swindled into having fun with a man somehow. He even knows the ins and outs of a baker’s life. And he’s charming in an oddball sort of way. You shouldn’t be feeling solidarity with this weirdo. But then again, somehow, his laugh is very… endearing. 

Wait a minute.

“You- you really own the place?!” A scream dies in your throat.

Donghyuck looks positively taken aback. “So you actually weren’t aware?!”

“What do you mean? How the hell am I supposed to know?! You described yourself as a connoisseur of pastries. I thought you were some kind of freelance failure so I didn’t pry!”

“Excuse me?!”

“Well, either that or you’re unbelievably rich. But then you don’t look it. Your sleeves have flour and oil stains on them, and your shoes are all dusty too, and there’s gold flakes in your hair—okay, how did I miss this?”

“Geez, way to judge someone by their looks. I’m not taking that from the local tart snatcher.”

The retort barely registers because your brain is too busy replaying the words “I own this place.” The realization hits, and before you can think better of it, the chair screeches back as you bolt upright.

“Wait, where are you—” Donghyuck’s voice is cut off by your shrill, mortified “Bye!” as you make a beeline for the door, leaving behind a very startled staff and a half-empty tray of cakes. Immediately after your exit, you let out a shriek. 

What the hell are you doing?!

Your face burns as you speed-walk down the street, each step punctuated by the memory of your impulsive retreat. You must have cast your senses away at that moment, like some wide-eyed fool in a fairy tale, almost charmed by that silly man and his absurd little quirks. It’s not your fault, of course—it’s his, with his flour-dusted sleeves, that stupidly endearing laugh, and the way he talked about pastries like they were a love language. What was wrong with him?! you think, conveniently ignoring the fact that it was your awkwardness and runaway theatrics that had caused the scene. You’d blame it on sugar overload if it weren’t for the nagging realization that maybe—just maybe—he’d gotten under your skin, and the fact that you deserved it.

. . .

You hadn’t expected to hear from him again. Not after your embarrassing getaway. But three days later, you’re staring at an email with the subject line: "Notice of Legal Action for Unauthorized Sampling."

You open it with trembling fingers, only to find what can only be described as the world’s most dramatic—and definitely fake—lawsuit. 

Your jaw drops as you scroll through the email. He’d even attached a fake case number: #CAKE-404-NO-FUN.

The body of the email was littered with ridiculous legalese. Phrases like "egregious acts of confectionery negligence" and "failure to properly appreciate artisanal craftsmanship" were scattered between absurdly specific accusations.

There is a diagram. An actual diagram. Arrows pointing to "Exhibit A" (the Mont Blanc) and "Exhibit B" (the empty spot on the tray), annotated with notes like "victim of hasty consumption" and "left to fend for itself."

And then, at the very bottom, there it was—the pièce de résistance:

“This suit may be settled by one (1) heartfelt apology and one (1) coffee date at the aforementioned bakery. Should you require legal counsel, I suggest bringing your A-game. I am, after all, a connoisseur of arguments… and pastries. 😉”

You groan, head thunking against the back of your chair. The audacity. The drama. The fuckass emojis. 

This man is getting to you.

Your first reaction is, of course, panic. Your second? Rage. And by the time you storm into the bakery at ass o’clock before it even opens, Donghyuck is waiting for you, leaning against the counter like he owns the place. (Which he does, actually.)

He’s propped on his elbows, his posture easy and unhurried, as if he’s been expecting you. The black apron around his waist is slightly askew, and his beige T-shirt bears faint streaks of flour across the chest, a testament to an already busy morning. His fluffy brown hair is an artful mess, the kind that looks unintentional but infuriatingly perfect, with a few errant strands curling over his forehead. There’s a streak of something golden—sugar, maybe?—on his cheek, catching the light as he tilts his head to regard you with an expression that’s equal parts curious and smug.

“You’re early,” he remarks, his voice low and teasing, as though he isn’t the root of all evil.

“You think this is funny?” you demand, shoving your phone in his face.

Donghyuck grins, unbothered. “Hilarious, actually. Did it get your attention?”

“You can’t just send someone a fake legal notice!”

“Worked, didn’t it?” He shrugs, leaning back with infuriating calmness. “Besides, you owed me an explanation for your Houdini act. You know, poor Kimi had to clear your tray. She almost cried.”

“She did not!”

As if on cue, Kimi pokes her head out of the kitchen. “Oh, she absolutely did. It was tragic,” she deadpans before ducking back in.

You groan, feeling your cheeks grow hotter by the second. “You’re unbelievable.”

Donghyuck leans back, smug as ever, and gestures to the email still open on your phone. “Unbelievable or resourceful? Let’s review: I sent a single, harmless message—full of creativity and wit, I might add—and look where we are.”

“At me wanting to strangle you?”

“At you running right to me,” he corrects, his grin widening. “What, were you worried?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap. “I’m here because—” 

You stop, realizing you don’t have a decent answer. “I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of thinking I took you seriously.”

“Oh, you absolutely took me seriously.” He nods sagely. “I saw the panic in your eyes. Admit it: for a second, you thought you were going to have to pay me a hundred grand or grovel at my feet.”

“I- ugh- fuck you!” is all you can muster, stepping forward without thinking.

He mirrors your movement, the space between you shrinking by degrees. 

“But seriously, you ghosted me, and I had to get creative. What the hell was I supposed to do? I figured the legal drama might get my point across.”

“What point?”

“That I wanted to see you again.” The words come out so easily, so matter-of-fact, you don’t know how to respond. When you finally glance up, he’s watching you closely, his expression uncharacteristically sincere.

“Just because you’re all cute and covered in flour like the star of some indie chef movie doesn’t mean you get to toy with me.”

“Ha! You’re presumptuous—despite all the fine details on me you seem to observe.” He leans in. “But guess what, I’m a greedy bastard that loves attention. So, look closer.”

And you look anywhere but his lips, too pink and too plush, as your face grows hotter than a convection oven on broil.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you manage, staring resolutely at the display of cakes. “That hardly counts as details.”

“Details,” he echoes, his grin growing wider. “Like the way I look at you?”

“You’re just a flirt,” you mutter.

He gasps, mock-offended, and gestures dramatically to the kitchen. “Kimi, did you hear that? I’m just a flirt!”

“You said it, not me,” Kimi calls back without missing a beat.

You laugh despite yourself, the sound surprising you. And Donghyuck doesn’t miss it. His gaze softens, the teasing edge in his voice dropping slightly. “There it is. I knew you could laugh without running away.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

For a moment, the air shifts, the humor giving way to something quieter. Donghyuck’s gaze lingers—not on your awkward posture or flushed cheeks, but on you, as though trying to piece together something he doesn’t quite understand.

“What?” you finally ask, defensive.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, but there’s a small, genuine smile now. “Just... you’re such a fidgety person.”

“Are you trying to shell out an insult?”

“No, I mean, I always see you scuttling here and there. Always on the move. Always observing, but never stopping long enough to be seen. You just… don’t seem like someone who takes much time for yourself.”

You blink, caught off guard. He tilts his head, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s crossed a line.

“I’m wrong?” he asks, almost sheepishly.

“I—” You pause, unsure of how to respond. “You’re nosy, that’s what you are.”

“That’s a yes,” he decides, grinning again.

Donghyuck chuckles, leaning just a little closer, his warm brown eyes locking onto yours. “Tell you what,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur, “I’ll prove I’m not just nosy. Let me take you out. Somewhere you don’t have to bolt out the door halfway through.”

“You think I’d agree to that?” you retort, though your words lack bite. The proximity is doing something to your brain, and you’re acutely aware of how close he’s leaned in.

His grin is confident and infuriating. “I think you’d be curious enough to say yes.”

Your breath hitches as you realize how little space is left between the two of you, your noses almost brushing. “Woah,” you whisper, trying to play it off, “my mommy warned me about boys like you. All up close and personal with flour in their hair.”

He raises a brow, unrepentant. “Smart woman. But she didn’t tell you we’re pretty good at first dates, did she?”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes, soft but genuine. “Fine,” you say, straightening up and taking a step back before your pulse betrays you further. “But you’re paying. And no weird cakes this time.”

“Deal,” he replies, his smile softer now, more sincere.

And for a moment, you believe it—not just the act, not just the cakes and the banter, but the idea that maybe, somehow, this strange, sugar-dusted series of events has led to something real.

. . .

r/AmITheAsshole

u/YeastMode6969 • 16h

UPDATE: I faked my engagement for free cake samples then got sued after I ran away. AIO?

Fine, you guys were right. We’re dating now. Let’s just say we’ve been filling my cream puffs lately  🫠

Edit: I also got the Mont Blanc recipe!!

⥣ 7.7k ⥥ 3,297 Comments

kimikakes • 13h

KIMI HERE, REPORTING LIVE FROM THE SCENE: they literally argued over frosting consistency for half an hour yesterday. This relationship is built on chaos and croissants.

➥ Reply ⥣ 7.1k ⥥

bun_theory0222 • 2h

Hellooo where are the recipes. Priorities, OP :/

➥ Reply ⥣ 4.1k ⥥

lil_sugar_daddy0813 • 1h

man i was betting on donghyuck dying alone i dont wanna lose my $20

➥ Reply ⥣ 1.3k ⥥

muffinbutdrama1122 • 1h Give me your money NYEOW ➥ Reply ⥣ 1.7k ⥥

soggywaffle0205 • 6m why are you suddenly a furry ➥ Reply ⥣ 1.1k ⥥

muffinbutdrama1122 • 1h pays the bills ➥ Reply ⥣ 2.7k ⥥

[solxamber]

HELLO!! Hi!! My goodness I really hope I'm not too late!! I really love your works and had been way too busy these days to scroll on here like usual. Seeing that you have a holiday event had caught my eye and the whole thing makes it so cute!! I was hoping maybe you could do Heartslabyul, 7, Fluff or pomefiore, 4, comedy!! Happy Holidays and thank you so much for working hard with these events!! ❄️🤍

thank you so much! Happy holidays <3

(I'll take any opportunity to write for my wife :) I'm also running out of title ideas someone send help)

Perfectly Reasonable Reaction || Vil Schoenheit

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "I'm NOT jealous" ; Genre: Comedy

It was just another day of being the prefect/unofficial errand-runner/problem-fixer/therapist at NRC.

This time, you were helping a nervous first-year untangle a charm spell gone wrong. With zero magic to your name, this mostly involved you holding the instructions and squinting at the text like it was written in ancient runes (which, frankly, it might as well have been).

“Okay,” you said, pointing at the paper. “Try… flicking your wrist, but like… less aggressively. Right now, it looks like you’re swatting a fly that insulted your mother.”

The freshman nodded frantically, his hands trembling as he adjusted his stance. You smiled encouragingly, even as you silently prayed he wouldn’t accidentally explode the lounge.

Across the room, Vil was perched on one of the elegant sofas, sipping tea with the precision of a king. And by “sipping tea,” you mean glaring daggers at the poor first-year while trying to look aloof.

“Roi du Poison,” Rook whispered dramatically from beside him, his eyes sparkling. “Your expression is most tempestuous today. Could it be the fires of jealousy I see in your eyes?”

Vil didn’t even dignify that with a response. He simply crossed his legs, radiating judgment.

“I’m not jealous,” Vil said eventually, setting down his tea with the kind of grace that would make royalty weep. “I’m merely concerned for my significant other’s safety. The freshman looks like he might combust at any second.”

“Oh, naturally,” Rook replied, clearly trying not to laugh.

You, oblivious to the brewing storm behind you, clapped as the first-year finally managed the spell without disaster. “See? You got it! You’re a natural.”

The freshman looked like he might cry with gratitude before scampering off, leaving you to clean up the scattered papers.

Which is when Vil swooped in like a bird of prey spotting its target.

“Darling,” he said smoothly, already taking the papers from your hands.

You blinked up at him. “Vil? What’re you—”

“You’ve been standing far too long. Sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sit,” he repeated, and before you could argue, he placed both hands on your shoulders and gently pushed you into the nearest chair.

“Uh… okay?”

Then, without warning, he sat on your lap.

Your brain stalled. “Vil. What.”

“I see this as a necessary course of action,” he said loftily, adjusting his position until he was comfortably settled.

“...For what?”

“For ensuring that everyone here understands you’re unavailable.” His arms looped around your neck, his tone casual, but his eyes daring anyone to approach.

“I was helping a freshman,” you said, biting back a laugh.

“Yes, well, he seemed very comfortable with your assistance,” Vil replied, sniffing imperiously.

“He looked like he wanted to die,” you pointed out.

“I’m not jealous,” Vil declared immediately, his pout saying otherwise.

“Oh, obviously,” you deadpanned. “You’re just… asserting dominance by turning my lap into a throne.”

“Exactly,” he said, completely missing your sarcasm.

You couldn’t help it anymore—you burst out laughing, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Vil, you’re ridiculous. I love you, but this? This is a lot.”

His cheeks pinked, but he didn’t move. “If it ensures people don’t get too close, then it’s worth it.”

You grinned, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Well, Mr. Not Jealous, you’re cute when you’re clingy.”

His face went a shade darker, but he still didn’t budge. Instead, he sighed dramatically, resting his head on your shoulder. “Be that as it may, you should be more cautious. You’re magicless, and people will take advantage of that.”

“Yeah, because freshmen with shaky hands are definitely my greatest threat,” you teased.

“Watch it,” he warned, but his voice was fond.

Behind him, Rook was positively vibrating with delight, a camera in his hand. “Ah, what a beautiful scene! The protective Vil, shielding his beloved with the ultimate act of affection—shared proximity!”

You and Vil turned to glare at him, but Vil’s arms stayed firmly around you.

“Remind me to confiscate that later,” you muttered.

Vil’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “As you wish, darling.”

And so, you sat there, Vil refusing to move from your lap, your legs starting to go numb, and the entire lounge buzzing with gossip. But hey—at least you weren’t helping any more freshmen.

Masterlist

[rafescherie]

hii can you please do one where y/n does a TikTok trend on rafe’ the think fast I’m another girl’ and she like pounces on him

✮⋆˙ reader forcing rafe to participate in the 'think fast, i'm a random girl' trend on tiktok

warnings — none, really! fluff, & rafe being forced to make his girlfriend happy by partaking in one of her favourite silly tiktok trends (oh, the horror!).

cherie's note — thank u for the request anon<3 this trend is too cute

"what are we supposed to be doing, again?" rafe sighs gently, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of his shirt, eyes flicking between you and the flashing red light on the camera. you adjusted your cellphone on the dresser, making sure the angle was just right, the lighting was good, the background wasn't too cluttered, and most importantly, that rafe hadn't caught on yet.

"you'll see," you grinned, far too pleased with yourself. "promise it's nothing bad."

rafe's jaw tensed like he wasn't entirely convinced. he hated being on camera — said it felt stupid, like people were just waiting for you to mess up. but you? you loved dragging him into stuff like this. the more ridiculous, the better. and there was nothing better than seeing his reaction.

"so you're not gonna tell me?" he tried once more, though he already knew the answer.

"nope. just trust me, ray." you laugh, stepping closer to grab his hands and pull him to his feet. "and smile. people love you."

he scoffed but didn't pull away, the warmth of his palms lingering against yours.

"yeah, okay," he muttered, cracking a half-hearted grin. the camera reflects the pair of you — your poor boyfriend standing by your side without a second thought. "but if this goes viral, i'm blaming you.:

"oh, it's definitely going viral."

you tapped the screen to start recording, and for a moment, rafe stood stiffly, like the mere presence of the camera made his skin crawl. his hands shoved into the pockets of his khakis, eyes darting between you and the phone.

"what do i do?" he mumbled, clearly uneased.

"just stand there." you tried to hold back your laughter, suppressing the rising giggle trying to force its way out of your chest, but the anticipation was beginning to bubble over. "and think fast."

rafe blinked. "think fast? what are you—"

before he could finish, you launched yourself at him, arms wrapping snugly around his neck.

"think fast! i'm a random girl!"

he stumbled back a step, his hands catching your waist out of instinct. his face twisted in confusion, blue eyes darting over your face.

"what the hell?" he mumbled, his grip on your skin tightening.

but instead of letting go, rafe held you there, brows screwed in disbelief at the fact you had just pounced him.

"was that supposed to scare me?" he asked, a sly grin threatening below the surface.

"you weren't supposed to catch me!" you laughed, pushing lightly against his chest. "i'm a stranger, rafe! you're not supposed to — catch me like it's no big deal."

"baby," rafe's hands stayed firm on your waist, thumbs tracing absent circles on the sensitive skin, "maybe it would help if you weren't wearing my hoodie? kind of hard to miss that..."

"you ruined it." you teased, feigning a pout.

he snorted, pulling you closer.

"yeah? well, you make a pretty cute stranger," he murmured, his voice low. "maybe i should take my chances more often."

you rolled your eyes, though the warmth of his breath against your skin sent a flutter through your chest.

"too bad you'll never know," you teased, scrunching your nose up at him. "this stranger’s officially retired."

"good," rafe smirked. "because i’m not interested in random girls. just you."

his words earned a soft laugh, your fingers curling at the fabric of his hoodie. "smooth, cameron. i'll let it slide — for now."

"uh huh," he grinned, strong arms wrapping around your shoulders. he places a soft kiss against your hairline, inhaling the smell of your coconut shampoo. "whatever you say, princess."

[cobaltperun]

Jerks With Hearts of Gold - Property Damage

SMUT! Bottom Tara Carpenter x Top Female Read

Summary: Tara's reckless habit bites you in the ass before you can finish.

Warning: Smut, so minors do not interact, top Reader, bottom Tara, oral sex, vaginal sex, multiple orgasm, fingering, strap-on.

Masterlist / Side story of this request

Word count: 3k

It started as a cute, albeit a bit reckless habit, one you somehow managed to silently encourage. It was cute and you had too much faith in your rented apartment's furniture. In your defense, Tara looked adorable and rather happy every time she got the chance to throw herself at your bed, with or without you on it. And you had a sneaking suspicion that your silent, but nonetheless positive reactions to her actions only fueled her happiness.

You came back one night from a date, surprised that you actually managed to get an entire night just for you and Tara without having to do elaborate plans to keep your relationship a secret from Sam and Tara's friends. Well, you figured they were also your friends now. Either way, Sam allowed you and Tara to hang out, fooled by the essay Tara and you had to write for your class.

Okay, fooled wasn't the right word here. The essay did exist, and the deadline was approaching, but you didn't even touch it tonight. And Tara made some excuse that the essay was long, and it would be more practical for her to spend the night. And Sam, being completely oblivious to all the things you and Tara have been doing over the past months, agreed to that.

She actually got fooled by this pretend-we-hate-each-other bullshit, so you felt no regrets. Granted, Tara was convincing, groaning and complaining about it even as you pretended to drag her outside her apartment, all for Sam to see and hear it, just so Sam would believe it. She even kept the act up as you went down the stairs and went across the street, just in case Sam was watching from the window. All of that vanished the moment you were out of sight and your date began, taking you to the cinema, then to your favorite bakery, and finally, to your apartment.

Tara went straight into your bedroom and threw herself at your bed, doing the infamous Tara Bomb she's been doing even before you got together. She would just drop down on the poor bed again and again, and it stood strong for months.

You both should have known everything had its limits, especially if enough force was consistently applied to it.

When you came into the bedroom, seeing as you weren't a lunatic with a ridiculous habit of assaulting your own bed and thus felt no need to rush in, you saw Tara looking a bit concerned.

"Everything okay?" you asked, sitting down behind her and wrapping your arm around her waist.

Tara seemed relieved all of a sudden. "Oh, no, nothing. Just feel a bit guilty over constantly jumping on your bed," bullshit, Tara would never. "It would be a lot more worth it if I landed on you," okay, maybe not bullshit.

"You really want to ride me, don't you?" you teased as she turned around and straddled your lap, kissing you slowly. The taste of her lips was addictive and in an instant you forgot about your bed and Tara’s desire to one day drop a Tara Bomb on top of you.

"Mhm," she agreed and nipped your ear. Her hands immediately digging into your hair, messing it up as she pushed her body against you. "It's been too long," she complained, seriously this time, as you caressed her thighs and then slipped your hands higher, toying with the hem of her shirt.

"It's been a week," you teased her, though you were already pulling her shirt up to take it off.

"Too long," she breathed out, leaning back just enough to let you take her shirt and bra off, while she did the same to you. Her nipples were already hard, tempting and making your mouth water. "Baby, I'm so, oh-" you couldn't resist, not that you even tried, you leaned down and sucked her nipple into your warm mouth while kneading the other breast. "I'm so wet and ready for you," she began grinding slowly, just enough to tease herself. You pulled her up, making her straddle your thigh instead of your lap. Immediately Tara rolled her hips, grinding on your thigh as you nibbled on her nipple and then sucked on it. She was moaning softly, hugging you, her wetness soaking her panties and seeping through to her jeans. “Need more,” she gasped, sensitive, needy, almost desperate.

"Yeah, go on then," you patted her ass and she got up, guiding your hands from her breast and ass to the belt of her jeans. She looked down into your eyes as you took her belt off and pulled her against you. You eyes filled with intense desire as you kissed her right above the waist band of her jeans.

Tara took a deep breath, pushing her jeans and panties down, urging you to strip her naked as you went lower with every inch of skin she revealed until you kissed her right above her pussy. She could see the satisfied grin on your face as you slipped a finger through her folds, making her lean on you as your touch still caught her by surprise and she felt desperate. You kept teasing her for a bit, rubbing her clit as she grasped onto your shoulders, and then you pushed your fingers inside her soaking wet pussy, groaning at how warm it was, and yet smirking as Tara’s knees buckled a bit and she leaned almost all of her weight on you. You glanced up, meeting her eyes as she moaned, rolling her hips and riding your fingers.

You pulled them out, smirking as she glared at you, but the glare vanished as you brought the wet fingers to your lips. "Definitely wet," you licked your finger clean and pulled away, leaning back on the bed and taking what remained of your own clothes off. Tara could tease you as well, she climbed onto the bed, her back turned to you as she knelt there, on her hands and knees.

"You want me like this?" she asked, spreading her legs and enticing you to just take her already. You were going to drive her crazy with all the teasing, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She craved that teasing, craved this back and forth or pleasure and slight pauses, prolonging each night that ended like this.

You moved until you were behind her, taking in the view, and Tara blushed. The way you were looking at her, like she was the most beautiful sight you will ever see, just turned her on more. "You're going to drive me insane," you whispered, her pussy clenching at the tone of your voice, eagerly expecting your fingers, tongue, or strap.

"That's my line. Fuck, just touch me already!" she pleaded, desperately wanting to feel your touch.

Finally, you placed your hand on her lower back and began sliding it down, slowly moving from her back, over her ass, leaving her trembling and hungry for more. "Maybe you should tell me how wet you are," your slowly rubbed her pussy, spreading her wet pussy lips and asking her to tell you something you could already feel yourself.

"Mhm, bet you could put it in me right away, that's how wet I am for you," she gave you what you wanted, turned on by this. By showing you how much you turned her on, how much she wanted you. And the fact that you wanted her just as badly only increased the pleasure and happiness she felt.

"I'd rather get a taste first," you leaned down and licked her from behind and she barely kept her arms from buckling underneath her as she gasped, fireworks going off in her head as your warm, wet tongue licked through her folds. Your thumb found her clit and Tara felt heat coursing through her entire body. Each touch of your tongue and fingers, the steady hand on her inner thigh, it made her even wetter, made it even easier for your finger to occasionally penetrate her.

"Y/N," she gasped, all she could feel was you, your touch, and it felt so good.

"You taste so good," you hummed, your voce sending vibrations through her clit and making her drop her head down onto your pillow, and Tara could only mumble 'please' as you continued eating her out. "So needy and wet for me."

"I've told you al-" just as she spoke up you pushed your tongue inside her pussy, making her cry out in pleasure. "fuck I'm gonna cum already!" you've gotten way too good at fucking her, way too good at knowing exactly what to do to have her shake from the pleasure.  Way too good at making her body addicted to your touch. Fuck, she was dripping wet and she was sure your chin was soaked as well. You sucked on her clit while fingering her with two of your fingers and she came with a loud, broken cry of your name.

You watched her, her body shaking as she buried her face in the pillow, her knees barely keeping her ass up as you went and put the harness and a strap on on, and you slowly caressed her thighs and ass. Tara moaned, she's always loved these light touches between orgasms, just light displays of love as your hands stopped at her hips, an unspoken promise shared between you of what was to come.

"Fuck, give me more!" she demanded, in usual Tara fashion, wanting more immediately after cumming the first time. "Fuck that damn strap into my pussy," she groaned into the pillow, needy and bossy at the same time.

"So bossy," you teased her as your hands moved from her hips, up her sides as the tip of your strap rubbed against the opening of her pussy.

"Fuck yeah I'm bossy," she turned around, her eyes filled with lust. "You've spoiled me," she confessed as you pulled the strap away made her whine again. "Just take me already! I need you," she whined.

"Turn around," you ordered, lust and desire consuming her, and Tara immediately did as she was told, and even spread her legs wide. And something in you might have cracked when she reached down and spread her pussy for you. And if you even had the slightest intention to tease her it all went out the window as she reached down with her other hand and tugged at the belts of the strap harness. She was often like this during sex, somehow being bossy and quick to listen at the same time.

"Yeah? You want me like this? Soaking wet just for you?" she knew she was getting exactly what she wanted as you leaned over her and pushed the strap inside her wet pussy, and it slid right into her. "Finally!" Tara cried out, legs instantly wrapping around you, her fingers digging into your shoulder and back as you began thrusting into her.

You set just the pace Tara loved, not too gentle, but not rough either, steadily thrusting into her as she met each of your thrusts with the same intensity, lost in the pleasure and the heat of your naked bodies pressed together.

"Just like that, fuck my pussy, Y/N, fuck me, pound your strap into me," she was surprisingly tame tonight, as you found the perfect angle and she arched her back, her nails digging deeper into your skin as you her wetness coated the strap and dripped onto the sheets. She reached up, tilting your head up so she could kiss you, and you opened your mouth, letting her slip her tongue inside it, letting her control the kiss as you fucked her.

You couldn't think of anything that could quite compare to this, to making love to the love of your life, to seeing her drop all her defense mechanisms and just let go. She trusted you completely, with her pleasure, and her safety as she gave you all of her. “Harder, faster, don’t hold back,” she gasped and you sped up, thrusting harder into her.

"Y/N," she whined, clutching you tighter, wanting you deeper, closer. "Y/N," she kept moaning your name, increasingly more desperate as you slipped your hand between the two of you and found her clit.

"I know, Baby," you kissed her neck softly, gently sucking on the side of it.

"I need you so much, need to be yours, need to be taken by you," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly and giving you yet another sign she was close. "I'm close," she whispered, tossing her head back and baring her neck to you as you dragged your upper lip down from her chin and then lightly bit the spot where her neck and shoulder met, leaving a barely noticeable mark that the clothes and light make-up would cover.

"Cum for me, Tara," you rubbed her clit a bit harder, feeling her legs lock around your hips. "Good girl," you knew that would push her over the edge even faster. "Taking me so well."

"Oh, fuck!" nothing short of completely stopping would have stopped Tara's orgasm now. And you were so damn close as well, just a bit more. A few more thrusts and you'd cum together with Tara and you buried your face in her neck, breathing in her intoxicating scent as she moaned in your ear.

"Y/N!" she cried out, cumming hard around your strap, squirting slightly, and you immediately pulled out, halting your own orgasm for a moment, and the look on Tara's face promised you that she would get you over the edge, as soon as she recovered just a bit.

"I've got you," you hugged her and kissed her neck as she continued breathing heavily, shaking slightly in your arms from the intensity of the orgasm as she slowly got her breathing under control like every time you pushed her to two orgasms.

And then it happened. You put your arm on the wrong spot on the bed, and it just collapsed, tilting forward underneath you as the wooden frame cracked and broke, leaving both you and Tara surprised.

"Are you okay?" you immediately asked Tara and she nodded, her eyes wide and the look on her face actually a hilarious mixture of shock, shame and holding back her laugh. "What the fuck?" you asked, looking around you and at the broken bed underneath you and Tara.

"Might be my fault," Tara admitted sheepishly and you blinked a few times, suddenly realizing exactly what she was talking about. The Tara Bombs.

"Good thing it didn't break while I was still inside you," you laughed and that settled it for Tara as well, as she hugged you, pulling you back down on the broken bed, her laughter mixing with your own. And just as you stopped laughing the bottom of the bed fell as well and you were sent into another burst of uncontrollable laughter.

When you finally calmed down you pulled her closer, intending to lift her up and go to the living room. And while doing so her still rather sensitive pussy rubbed against the strap you were still wearing and she whined.

"Sorry," you kissed and held her close, knowing she got really sensitive when she came twice. That was why you immediately pulled out instead of chasing the orgasm that only a few thrusts away.

"It's more than okay," not that Tara minded, as long as you didn't touch her pussy for a few minutes after the second orgasm. "Doubt you'll be able to carry me, though," she laughed lightly, and that would have been true even if you didn't just spend so much energy making love to the girl in your arms.

"Just means you'll have to walk," you joined in and helped her off the broken bed. "Guess we're sleeping on the couch," you said and took the strap off to clean it after you recover.

Tara took your hand and pulled you with her to the living room, still naked and with nothing but a bedsheet, blanket and a pillow in your arms. The two of you made the temporary bed since there was no way you'd be going to Tara's apartment at this hour and Tara snuggled up to you.

"You didn't finish," she pointed out and you shrugged, you were close, but the bed breaking underneath you kind of ruined that plan.

"I can live with that," you assured her, but she had another idea on her mind as she kissed you and then went down, blazing the path from your lips to your pussy with her lips and soft kisses. "Tara," you moaned softly. She didn't need to do this, but damn, you were close, and you'd definitely appreciate it.

"Just relax for me," Tara said, her lips wrapping around your clit as she gently sucked and fuck, you really were close.

"Relaxing," you shut your eyes closed and just gave into the feeling as she put just as much passion into getting you to cum as you did when you were making her feel good. And between her efforts and your body just responding to her you quickly reached your orgasm, moaning her name as Tara once more kissed the same path, only in reverse.

"I love you," she said, snuggling into you once more, and you just took a moment to process everything, to take in the rare moment of vulnerability from Tara shown by those three words.

"I love you too," you kissed her and hugged her tightly, drawing small circles on her bare back, just the way she liked it. "I really don't want to get up though," you groaned after a couple of minutes.

"You'll let me shower alone?" Tara teased as she got up and went to your bathroom, and well, when she puts it like that.

"Hell no, you'll use up all the warm water!" you exclaimed, jumping in right after her and pulling her back against you.

"Sure, keep telling yourself that's your reason," she rolled her eyes, and you just kissed her shoulder before turning the water on.

[misotsukiiyeooo]

Pretty Princess

Pairing: Dad! Kim Mingyu x Mom!F! reader

A/N: Guys idk what was going through my head when I made this. (Not proofread sorryyyy)

Genre: Fluff + Crack

Word count: 16.1k

Synopsis: Mingyu's dressed as a pretty princess? who knew you teasing him would lead to the tables turning later?

It was a Saturday afternoon, and you were in the kitchen making dinner while Mingyu played with your daughter, Eunseo, in her room.

Their giggles and laughter echoed throughout the house, piquing your curiosity about what was happening. As their laughter grew louder, a smile crept onto your face; it was one of your favorite sounds.

While you continued cooking, you could hear their feet tapping on the floor, the sound increasing in volume until they both appeared in the kitchen.

“Mommy, Mommy! Look, Daddy's a princess!” Eunseo giggled as she pointed at Mingyu.

He wore several pink hair clips and bows, complemented by glittery eye makeup. He looked adorable, even in the tight princess dress that he had somehow managed to pull just above his forearms.

You laughed along with Eunseo. “He does look like a princess! Wait, let me take a picture!” You took out your phone and focused on Mingyu, whose cheeks were tinted pink.

He rolled his eyes, crossed his muscular arms, and unintentionally tore the dress. Seeing Eunseo's expression, you quickly stifled your grin.

“Daddy…you’re too strong for my dress,” she sighed, causing you to chuckle.

“I’m sorry, Princess. I’ll buy you ten more tomorrow, okay?” Mingyu held up ten fingers, causing Eunseo to smile happily and nod her head.

“Deal! Now Mommy, take a picture!” Eunseo jumped around excitedly.

You pointed your camera at Mingyu. “Gyu, strike a pose!” you smiled.

Mingyu obliged and struck a dramatic pose, putting one hand on his hip while blowing a kiss to the camera as if he were on a runway.

The kitchen lights made his glittery eyes shimmer. “You’re a natural!” you laughed hysterically, and Eunseo agreed.

Mingyu’s smirk grew into a smile as he heard you both laughing. He loved making both you and Eunseo laugh, especially at the same time. He knew he looked ridiculous, but he didn’t care if it meant bringing joy to his two girls.

Eunseo continued to bounce around him, giggling loudly as she watched her dad make silly faces. She was having the time of her life.

You put your phone down and walked closer to him to admire the makeup. “This makeup is so pretty, Eunseo! You did an amazing job!” you praised, giggling as you wiped a bit of smeared lipstick from his face.

Eunseo puffed out her chest with pride, clearly happy with your compliments about her makeup skills. “I know! I used my favorite colors for Daddy!”

Mingyu sighed, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Oh, I see! But can you both make sure you’re cleaned up before dinner is finished?” you asked Eunseo.

Eunseo pouted a little, not wanting the fun to end just yet, but she nodded and grabbed Mingyu's hand, tugging him toward the bathroom.

“Okay, Mommy! Come on, Daddy, let’s go clean up!” Mingyu chuckled and followed her into the bathroom.

You smiled softly at the sight of your little daughter bossing around your tall husband. You took one last photo of him, wanting to capture the back of the dress that was torn, before returning to your cooking.

A few minutes later, they emerged with Mingyu's hair all messy from taking out the hair clips and most of his makeup gone. His face was still very glittery, though.

You walked up to him with a smile, standing on your tiptoes to reach his hair and try to fix it. "Aww, Gyu. Your hair's all messy and cute."

Mingyu chuckled softly as you attempted to tame his wild hair. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him and helping you maintain your balance.

"Well, Eunseo is a mini you, so I'm not surprised," he teased. He then leaned down to give you a quick kiss on the cheek, still grinning at you.

"I guess you're right," you replied with a grin, caressing his cheek with your thumb in an attempt to rub off the glitter. "I see that not everything came off…"

Mingyu closed his eyes for a moment as he hummed softly. "You know how stubborn glitter is. It’s going to take more than just a bit of rubbing to get it off," he teased again.

Eunseo had been watching the two of you, giggling to herself as she observed the playful banter. Suddenly, she tapped your leg.

"Hmm? Yes, Eunseo?" you turned to face her adorable little self.

She looked up at you with her big, innocent eyes, a mischievous glint sparking in her gaze.

"Can I do your hair next, Mommy?" Eunseo asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes at you.

"Oh, um…" You glanced at Mingyu, nervously seeking his support, before turning back to Eunseo. "Sure… of course you can do my hair, baby."

Mingyu chuckled at your reaction, clearly amused by how the tables had turned. He was eager to see what hairstyle she would choose for you.

"This should be interesting," he whispered so only you could hear.

"Don't remind me," you replied, just as Eunseo happily tugged you away.

Mingyu laughed again, as he could already imagine what Eunseo would do to you. He couldn't wait to finally have something to tease you about.

Mingyu's jaw dropped as he saw you, completely taken aback by your new appearance.

You looked adorable with your messy hair adorned with a princess tiara and glittery makeup.

He had to bite his lip to hold back his laughter, his eyes widening as he looked you up and down. You were now wearing a purple dress that matched the tiara.

“Oh my God…” Mingyu muttered, a smirk returning to his face as he tried to suppress his chuckle.

“She looks so pretty! Right, Daddy?” Eunseo asked excitedly.

Mingyu nodded quickly, unable to deny that you indeed looked pretty. He was just struggling to keep a straight face, his lips twitching.

“Y-yeah…” he managed to say, his voice slightly shaky as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Laugh all you want now… I still have the photo of you,” you mouthed to him with a glare.

Mingyu’s eyes widened slightly as he read your lips, and he stood there in silence.

“Daddy, take a picture of Mommy now! Mommy looks more like a pretty princess than you did.” Eunseo smiled as your eyes widened in surprise.

Mingyu grinned, slightly taken aback by Eunseo’s comment, but taking a photo of you, knowing you wouldn’t appreciate it—he could never pass up an opportunity like this.

“That’s a great idea, sweetheart!” he said mischievously as he reached for his phone.

"Maybe Daddy can take the photos later, Eunseo?" You try your best to avoid having Mingyu take a picture of you.

Eunseo looked up at you with a pout. "But Mommy…" she whined.

You sighed in defeat, giving in once again. "Fine, just one photo…"

Eunseo's face lit up with excitement as she jumped up and down. "Yay! One photo, Mommy!"

Mingyu laughed, watching the two of you with a smug smile on his face. He knew he had won this round.

Mingyu met your glare with an innocent smile, pretending to be oblivious to your annoyance. He was enjoying this way too much.

"What? You agreed to it, love," he teased, holding out his phone and preparing to take the picture.

"Smile, Mommy!" Eunseo requests. Mingyu loved how excited Eunseo was to have this photo taken, he was looking forward to seeing your forced smile.

"Yeah, smile for the camera, Princess." He playfully used your new nickname against you.

You sighed once more, giving a strained smile.

Mingyu snapped the picture, clearly pleased with the expression on your face. He looked down at the photo on his phone, admiring your strained smile and messy hair.

"Oh, that's perfect," he said with a smirk, showing the photo to Eunseo.

"I'm going to check on dinner," you said, walking away toward the kitchen.

Mingyu watched as you walked away, then put his phone away and followed you into the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind as you began to check on the food.

"You look adorable when you're mad, Princess," he teased, resting his chin on your shoulder while holding you close.

Mingyu knew you weren't in the mood to respond to his teasing, but he didn't mind. He thought it was cute when you pouted and didn’t talk to him.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, planting soft kisses against your skin.

"This cute act you're putting on isn’t going to work," you finally replied.

He pulled away from your neck and rested his chin on your shoulder again. "Who said I was trying to work anything? I'm just giving my lovely wife some affection."

“Mhm.” You scoffed before turning to face him. “Could you watch the food while I take this off?”

Mingyu pouted playfully as you turned to him, reluctantly releasing his hold on your waist. He wanted to keep holding you, but he knew he had to follow your request.

“Fine, fine. I’ll watch the food,” he said with a sigh.

“Thank you~,” you replied sweetly, hugging him as you discreetly pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Mingyu was caught off guard as you suddenly hugged him. he wasn’t expecting you to be so affectionate after your previous annoyance.

He wrapped his arms around you returning a hug and pulling you closer to him. He didn’t notice as you slipped his phone out of his pocket, too distracted by the feeling of having you in his arms.

You take the phone and walk away to the room to "change," leaving him oblivious.

Eunseo walks into the kitchen and tugs on Mingyu's pants. "Daddy, can I play a game on your phone?"

Mingyu looks down at Eunseo, a smile forming on his face at her request. "Sure, sweetheart, but let me unlock it first," he replies, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone.

He frowns when he realizes it isn't there, patting his pockets in confusion.

You quickly walk away into the bedroom, giggling.

Mingyu looks up as he hears you giggle, a puzzled expression crossing his face. He looks down at Eunseo again, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Where is Mommy, sweetheart?" he asks.

"Mommy is in the room," she replies, pointing toward the bedroom door.

Mingyu follows Eunseo's gaze toward the bedroom. "I see…" he mutters, gently ruffling Eunseo's hair before making his way toward the bedroom.

You quickly put his phone under your lap as you hear him open the door.

Mingyu enters the bedroom and his eyes immediately fall on you. He notices how you quickly put something down under your lap, and his suspicions grow.

"What are you hiding, love?" he asks.

"Nothing! I was just taking these clips and my tiara out of my hair," you say, feigning innocence.

Mingyu looks at you skeptically, clearly not buying your excuse. He sits down on the bed next to you, his eyes fixed on the lump under your thigh.

“Oh really? Then why are you so defensive?” he asks, leaning closer and placing a hand on your thigh.

“Me? Defensive? Never,” you reply, crossing your arms.

He smiles, amused by your stubbornness. He knew you were trying to hide something, and he found it endearing how hard you were working to deny it.

He reaches over, grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his lap, so you are straddling him. He wraps his arms around your waist, trapping you against him and preventing you from getting away.

“Hey!” you yelp, giggling as you stretch your arms out, holding the unlocked phone above your head.

Mingyu looks at you in disbelief as he notices the photo he took of you earlier displayed on the screen.

“Give it back,” he pleads.

“Not until I delete this photo!” you laugh, stretching your arm out as far as possible, just out of his reach.

“And why do you want to delete it so badly, hm? I thought you looked cute in it,” he teased, his hands slowly moving up your body in an attempt to distract you.

“Cute? Don’t lie to me,” you retorted, unaware of his true intentions.

Mingyu laughed, clearly amused by your sassy response. He knew you were getting defensive, and he was enjoying it.

“I’m not lying, love. I genuinely think you look cute in that photo, even with that strained smile on your face.”

“Nope! I need to delete it!” You held the phone above your head, fully aware that one wrong move would allow him to take it from you.

He knew that you were serious about deleting the photo, but he wasn’t going to give up that easily. He suddenly shifted his grip on your hips, flipping you over so that you were underneath him on the bed.

"You think you can hide it from me? We both know I'm stronger than you."

Your eyes widen in shock as everything happens so fast. You quickly squirm, trying to grab the phone before it falls onto the bed. You do your best to reach it before he does.

Mingyu holds both of your wrists with one hand as his free one gets ahold of the phone.

"Hey! That's not fair! Give me that!" You reach for his phone.

"No can do, love. You had your chance but you failed." He grins cheekily.

"But the photo…" You sigh, giving up hope that he will let his guard down. "Fine…"

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, surprised by your change in attitude. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

He loosens his grip on your wrist but keeps hold of his phone to ensure you don't delete the photo.

You sit up on the bed quietly, and he watches you, his gaze locked on your face as he tries to figure out what you're planning.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice low and curious.

"Nothing…" you respond dismissively.

Mingyu tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. "I know you're up to something…" He squints at you, skeptical.

"Nope, not at all…" You glance at his phone.

Noticing the direction of your gaze, he smiles and waves the phone in front of you. "Ah, so you're still thinking about the photo. I thought you said you were done trying to get it back?"

"Did I say that?" you ask, tapping your chin as if contemplating.

He looks at you, confused. "Yes, you just did—"

Without warning, you quickly tackle him to the floor.

Mingyu lets out a surprised grunt as his back hits the ground with a thud. He hadn't expected you to be so quick.

"How did you—" He looks at you with pure confusion.

"Let me get that phone!" You finally manage to grab it.

Mingyu laughs as you take hold of the phone, his grip slipping. A playful glint shines in his eyes as he looks up at you from his position on the floor.

"I can't believe you tackled me for a phone…" he pouts.

"I had to! I can't let you keep this horrible photo," you reply.

He tries to grab the phone back, so you react quickly by tossing it toward the front door.

"Now that was dirty," he shakes his head at your tactics.

You quickly jump off Mingyu to retrieve the phone, but he grabs your legs, making you fall to the floor. "Hey!" you whine.

As you’re inches away from the phone, you hear the door unlock. Both of you look up to see Eunseo standing there.

She tilts her head at the sight of you two on the floor, with Mingyu holding onto your ankles.

"Daddy? Mommy? What are you doing?" she asks, obviously confused.

"Eunseo! Give Mommy the phone, okay?" you plead, stretching your hand to grab it.

Mingyu quickly responds, "No, Eunseo, pass it to me, please?"

Eunseo looks between you and Mingyu, her eyes darting from the phone to your face. She looks unsure, not wanting to get involved in whatever was happening between you two.

She thinks for a moment, then says, "But Mommy, I asked Daddy to play on his phone first. You can get it after, okay? I promise." She grabs the phone, walks out of the room, and leaves you both in disbelief.

Mingyu is completely stunned by Eunseo's betrayal. "She's supposed to be on my side…"

You let out a tired laugh, realizing how childish this all was. "I can't believe we did all that just for her to end up with the phone…"

Mingyu also chuckles wearily, letting go of your ankles. "I know… she won the fight without even trying, huh?" He catches his breath.

You nod, "She didn't even have to do anything. She just stood there and looked cute." You shake your head.

He looks back at you, grinning, "Well, on the bright side, at least I still have that photo of you."

"Don't forget, I also have the photo of you, pretty princess," you laugh.

"Damn it, I can't believe I let you take a picture of me like that," he mutters.

You get closer to him, crawling onto his lap. "You did it because you love me too much."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm not so sure now after that tackle stunt you pulled," he says playfully.

"Hey!" You hit his chest playfully, laughing along with him.

Reqs are open!!

Taglist!!

@wonunonu @hanniehae-yoon @jjunie-0 @minminghao @honglynights @bath1lda @allieyaaa

[chippa44444]

TFA Autobots reacting to SO collecting robot model kits?

(im thinking Op specifically but go nuts) 👉👈

Thank you for your request! English is not my main language so I'm sorry if I make any mistakes!

TFA Autobots React to Their Human S/O Collecting Robot Model Kits

[Autobots (Optimus' team) x GN!Reader]

🔥 Optimus Prime

He notices the model kits with a curious look at first, a little uncertain.

“You’re really into… robots, huh?” he asks with a small, slightly awkward smile.

But when you tell him you started collecting long before meeting him—and that now, no plastic version could ever compare to the real thing—he freezes, his optics widen, and then… he chuckles softly.

“…You really know how to make a bot blush.”

Later, if he sees you assembling a model of him, he might glance at it quietly… and then strike the same pose in real life while pretending it’s a coincidence.

🛠️ Ratchet

“Model kits? Bah. What’s the point of fiddlin’ with tiny pieces when you’ve got the real thing right here?” he grumbles.

But when he sees you carefully clipping, painting, and fitting parts together with your deft fingers, he finds himself quietly impressed.

“You’ve got good hands,” he mumbles. “For such a tiny thing.”

You mention you've made one of him, and he instantly demands to see it.

Ends up squatting nearby, arms crossed, giving "helpful" (and very bossy) advice.

“That part’s upside down. No, not that shade—use this one. That’s closer to my actual paint job.”

He won’t touch it—he’s too scared he’ll break it—but he’ll hover like a grumpy old guard drone.

💪 Bulkhead

“Oh wow!! Look at all these tiny lil’ bots!! They’re so cute!” he exclaims, his massive frame practically lying down to peer into your display shelf.

When you warn him not to touch anything, he immediately backs off with wide eyes.

“O-oh! Sorry!! Didn’t mean to break your treasures! They’re just so cool…”

Then he spots one that vaguely resembles him and gasps.

“That one’s me!! Right!? It’s gotta be!!”

He gets ridiculously happy, and later? He secretly crafts a tiny badge with his own name and places it beside that model like a proud little kid.

He also starts asking if he can be part of your collection too.

“I promise I’ll stand real still! Like a statue!”

🌸 Prowl

He watches your hobby with quiet interest, eyes following the movement of your hands as you assemble piece by piece.

“There’s something meditative about this, isn’t there?” he says, voice low. “A miniature reflection of order and discipline.”

You gift him a model of a sleek samurai-style mech.

“I thought this one looked a bit like you.”

He takes it with delicate fingers, silently examining it for a long time.

Then softly murmurs, “If I had only ever existed like this… I wonder if you still would have loved me.”

He stays beside you in meditative silence while you build. Doesn’t speak—but his gaze? Always watching. Always warm.

⚡ Bumblebee

“Wait, WHAT!? You collect robots!? That’s so cool!! Is there one of me!? Please say there’s one of me!!”

He’s bouncing on his feet, practically vibrating with excitement.

You try to tell him to be careful and not touch anything, but he pouts dramatically.

“…Sooo you were into plastic robots before me?” he asks, suddenly sulking.

You reassure him that he’s way better than any model kit.

Instant mood switch. He beams.

“Yeah!! 'Cause I talk and move and do this—TA-DA!!” He strikes a heroic pose next to your shelf.

Starts showing off every time you're building.

“Need a reference model? I can hold that pose forever if you want. Take pics. Frame them. Worship me a little.”